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fettsvette · 3 years

Text

Under the Crimson Moon

You have your period and feel gross. Boba Fett wants to fuck. A little blood never stopped the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy from doing his job, and doing it damn well.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 7.2k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Menstruation/blood kink, penetrative sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology:

cyar’ika - Mando’a term of affection meaning sweetheart, darling, beloved

“If I want you to do something, girl

We both know that you will

I’m a dirty old man with a dirty set of dreams

Take off that dress if you wanna keep it clean...”

‘Up in Them Guts,’ Brendan Kelly and the Wandering Birds

You hadn’t known he was coming until he’d actually arrived.

One minute, you had been in a deep sleep, wrapped in the warm blankets that shrouded the king-sized bed, and then suddenly, you were wide awake. Because you’d heard it, and you knew in your heart of hearts that it hadn’t been the lasting echo of a dream.

The sound of heavy bootsteps and the unmistakable jangle of spurs echoed in the crisp night air, emanating down the hall towards your bedroom doorway.

You sat up quickly, blood roaring in your ears and your heart pounding wildly in your chest, and your head snapped towards the entryway, illuminated only by the moonlight flooding in through the bay window.

And there he was, stepping out of the deep midnight shadows with that slow, methodical walk that seemed to encompass his very being: Boba Fett, the greatest and most feared bounty hunter to ever live.

And your lover.

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve sworn he was a statue of some ancient warrior, carved from marble and brought to life by a warlock’s spell. The way he stood unmoving and ramrod straight, just staring at you, always sent a thrill down your spine, his expression unreadable behind the darkened, T-shaped visor of his helmet.

But still you groaned - not out of arousal, the expected reaction to the presence of the imposing yet entirely irresistible man who was currently gazing at you - but out of annoyance. You squeezed your eyes shut, almost willing him to disappear, to take the hint, by the time you opened them again.

His timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Boba, please go away ... ” You grumbled pathetically under your breath, cracking an eye open to look up at the silent figure clad in dark green armor, looking at you expectantly. You heard him let out a sharp hiss under the helmet, and he gave a start, his head snapping downwards, and you just knew he was glaring at you murderously. You had no idea how he’d heard you from all the way across the room, but he had.

“ Oh ? What’s that , girly? You don’t like me anymore?” He stalked forward slowly, and the question came not with a teasing edge nor with an air of apprehension, but with an icy lilt to it. It chilled your blood, and it occurred to you that you may have just made a huge mistake in telling Boba Fett himself to fuck off. As much as you enjoyed the sexual satisfaction you got from these illicit romps with one of the most dangerous men in the known universe, the confident realization that he could potentially grow angry or bored enough to dispose of you at any time without even batting an eye absolutely terrified you. He was a bounty hunter, after all. At the same time, though, that same fear excited you beyond the wildest depths of your imagination. He’d shown you time and time again just how deadly he could be, and yet you had never turned away when you’d had the chance. And there had been plenty of those times.

“ No ! Boba, no. I - I s-still like you. Of c-course I still like you. But…” You began, stuttering and stammering like a nervous child, but stopped abruptly when Fett took another step forward, spurs clanking again. He either didn’t notice the effect his brief intimidation had on you, or he didn’t care. You assumed it was most likely the second one.

“ There’s a problem. ” Fett wasn’t asking you. It was a statement. Maybe another time you would have attempted to lie your way out of it just to save yourself the embarrassment that you knew was coming, but tonight you couldn’t even find the energy to attempt it.

“I can’t tonight. I just... can’t .” You murmured, almost tearfully defeated, gingerly sitting up in the bed to take a better look at your nighttime visitor. You could see yourself reflected in the viewscreen of his helmet, disheveled from sleep and sickly-looking, although you didn’t know if that was a trick of the moonlight or a sign of your current condition. Despite the intense cramping in your belly that was overtaking most other sensations, you still felt a flutter of longing travel to your loins upon seeing Boba Fett. How badly you wanted to grab him by that clunky belt and drag him down onto the bed next to you, free him from his trousers, and ride him until you found your release, but your body wasn’t in agreement with your wishes in the least bit. You took a deep breath, and steadily looked him in the eye.

“ I got my period this morning. ”

Silence. Not even a tilt of the dented helmet, a gesture you sometimes received after making references that he didn’t understand.

Feeling your cheeks aflame and slightly embarrassed by the lack of response, you tried again.

“...I’m menstruating, Boba. You know… moon blood? The curse? I don’t know if that’s a thing that happens to people where you come from, but I’m bleeding out of my vagina and I feel fucking miserable and -”

Fett cut off your babbling with a sharp gesture through the air with one hand, the other settled nonchalantly on his hip as he shifted his weight. He let out a gruff sigh that lifted and dropped his shoulders in an almost comical display of exasperation.

“I know what it is. I’ve been with enough humanoid females in my lifetime. Is that supposed to change our plans tonight, little one?”

It was your turn to go silent. You should have known something venomous and snarky like that would’ve been his answer. And of course he had more experience than you, he was older - by just how much, you weren’t exactly sure. He’d never shared his age, and you didn’t ask. He barely spoke as it was. And you still had yet to see his face. He’d never offered to show you, however, as if it were some closely guarded secret only he was the keeper of. And you didn’t dare try removing that strange, heavy helmet of his yourself. Boba Fett had never hurt you, but you felt if you were to reach underneath the sharp edges of his armor, peel it away from the complicated, mysterious creature underneath, there was no telling what he would do.

Hell, you had never even seen this man’s face and yet you had let him fuck you within an inch of your life . You’d never been ‘that kind of girl’ before you’d met him, upsetting everything you thought you’d known about yourself and the universe around you, but here you were. And here he was.

But his comment about being with other women in his past still spun ‘round your head like some mad arachnid’s twisted web, and made you wonder if he was presently doing this very same dance elsewhere - in other cities, on other worlds.

‘ If this is just a physical thing, no strings attached… ’ You found yourself brooding as you watched him languidly stalk over to the window next to your bed, tilting the green and red helmet upwards and search the night sky for things you could only vaguely guess at if you tried, ‘ Then why am I jealous of something I don’t even know is really happening? ’

“I just thought...you wouldn’t be… into that ...” You finally replied, meek as a mouse, and instantly trailed off once you realized you had no idea what else to say to him on this matter, your face burning. You should have been overwhelmed with desire at Boba wanting to fuck you this badly, but you found yourself apprehensive and shy - over a little bit of blood . It was times like this that you couldn’t fathom why a man from outer space, an intergalactic cowboy like something out of a comic book, had fallen from the sky and had chosen you.

His head turning slowly in your direction, Fett marched back towards the end of your bed, his hands gripping the leather belt at his waist.

“Your condition doesn’t matter to me. It’s a basic bodily function. Have you forgotten, foolish girl? I take what I want, when I want it .” He intoned brusquely, and your eyes widened, a delicious chill crawling up your spine, and you felt your cunt clench at nothing. The crimson tide had come in, and he still wanted to claim you.

Usually, you talked enough for the both of you. Now you found yourself utterly speechless.

There was silence while he stood at the end of the bed, and you goggled blankly at him. Fett was challenging you. He showed no signs of leaving, or of heeding your apprehension in the least bit. He just continued to stand there and stare mutely, stubbornly standing his ground. Damn it.

He had played this strange game several times before after one of your numerous meetings, lingering after it had become clear that you were way too fucked out to stay awake any longer. He’d never forced you into a situation that you hadn’t been game for, but he always seemed to want to make sure you knew who exactly owned you - or your cunt , at least.

So he hung around. You’d mostly hear him pacing the room, sometimes quietly rummaging through your bookshelves as if in a library, but more often than not, he would sit himself in the chair across the room, large gloved hands gripping the armrests and well-muscled legs spread mockingly wide, reclining back and holding a silent vigil over you as you fell asleep. He was always long gone when you awoke, although once there had been some sort of dried flower left behind on your nightstand, dark red petals with a metallic tint to them - quite obviously nothing that had grown on this planet. You had asked him about it the next time he had shown up, after an excruciating three month absence that he re-emerged from with several more dents in and copious chips of paint missing from his armor. He had gruffly feigned any knowledge of the gift, his focus only on the flower between your legs. The dried one, however - the little token of his appreciation or whatever you wanted to call it - stayed pressed inside one of your favorite books.

As a reminder.

Boba hadn’t moved in a while, still penetrating you with his eyes through that damned visor, when you finally decided to give in to him. You wanted him. Badly. Your reproductive system was in full rebellion against the idea and you felt fucking gross, but you weren’t sure you cared any longer. You needed him, couldn’t resist him. Hadn’t you read somewhere that orgasms were supposed to help relieve menstrual cramps, anyway?

You bit your lip and let him have his way.

“In that case, Boba… I think I might feel a little bit better if you fucked me.”

The self-satisfied, smug chuckle came like a rumble of thunder.

“Well, well… that’s my good girl. ”

He was across the room in the time it took you to blink.

Boba was extraordinarily light on his feet for a big man, and he was on top of you in the span of a breath. Rough leather gloves formed a vice around the muscle and bone of your wrists, pinning your arms above your head. You let out a shriek of surprise rather than pain - while his grip was firm, it didn’t necessarily hurt - and he answered with a low growl, kneeling on either side of your hips. He used one huge hand to continue pinning both of your wrists down, the other masterfully unclipping the heavy armor of his codpiece. You let out a near-hysterical giggle as Boba tossed it to the side and it unceremoniously hit the carpeted floor with a harsh thunk , smiling even broader as he brought the same hand up to rest against your cheek, stroking the flushed skin there.

“I told you, girl. I always get what I want, when I want it . Tonight isn’t going to be an exception just because you’re cycling and feeling sorry for yourself. If you’re not going to cooperate with me, nice and easy... too bad .”

Gooseflesh broke out all over your body at his words. You were absolutely fucking drenched for him already, and you wished he would just hurry up and take you already, tear off your panties and fuck into you until you were screaming yourself hoarse. You still weren’t sure of where exactly the man who called himself Boba Fett had come from, or why he was here , or why he’d chosen to mark you for his territory on this shitty little backwater world. Fucking hell, you didn’t even really know this man at all, did you? All you did know is that you were addicted to his touch, and despite your initial hesitations, you were practically begging for it now.

Boba used his free hand to slightly peel back the blankets concealing your thin nightie and period panties. With a contented hum, he lazily reached out to trace a thick gloved finger right along the line of your slit, and you let out a high-pitched, keening whimper, your hips twitching up involuntarily towards his touch. Boba clucked his tongue disapprovingly and shook his head at you, sighing and looking up towards the ceiling.

“How pathetic … is that really all it takes to make you fall apart for me, sweet girl?” Boba teased, releasing his grip on your wrists momentarily in order to fully pull the covers off the bed and toss them onto the floor. It only took those few seconds for you to take him unawares, weaseling out from underneath his looming form and using both hands to forcefully shove him backwards. Caught off guard by your unexpected show of strength, Boba fell on his back with a startled grunt, which was immediately followed by a groan as he watched you crawl on top of him. With shaking legs, you straddled his waist and positioned your heat right over his generous crotch, planting your sweaty palms against the reassuring coldness of his armor, and began to sloppily grind into him, dropping down to lie flat against his abdomen as you continued.

Trying to conceal his own quiet moans underneath his helmet, Boba allowed you to frantically grind your hips against the growing hardness in his trousers for a few more moments, one large hand cupping your ass and the other on your undulating back, holding you steady as you hectically rocked back and forth, up and down. You whined pitiably and grasped at the grooves of his breastplate like a drowning woman before his tolerance towards your juvenile ministrations finally ran thin. As you went to roll your hips against the outline of his length yet again, Boba grunted bestially and grasped you by the waist, pushing you off of him roughly so that you went tumbling onto your back next to him. Your chest heaving, you looked sideways at him with heavy-lidded eyes, your cheeks burning with desire. The dark helmet slowly tilted to the side as Boba stared at you, and you heard a disgusted scoff echo from within.

“That’s enough, you. Kriff, you’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you? Rutting in my lap like a loth-cat in heat and I’ve barely even touched you. Is that what you want, princess? Do you want me to touch you?” He purred mockingly, reaching down to lightly stroke your outer thigh with a gloved hand, briefly squeezing the soft flesh there and leaving fingermarks in his wake. You let out a throaty groan and thrust your hips towards his retreating hand, needing to feel his touch on your body, on your core.

“I need you to touch me, Boba, plea-” He reached out and grabbed you by the face, squeezing your cheeks together hard enough for it to almost be painful, and you let out a squeak as he tightened his grip, turning your face towards his.

“Oh no, little one. It’s not going to be that easy to get what you want from me, not after the way you carried on earlier.” He lowered his helmet until the forehead of it was touching your own damp one, and as you stared into the blackness of his visor, you found yourself wondering what color Boba’s eyes were, and what he would do if you were to reach up and pull that big green bucket away from his face. Before you could even truly consider it, though, he loosened his grip and released your cheeks. You exhaled sharply, a rush of cool air gradually taking the place of the rough leather on your skin.

Boba sat back on his knees, and grabbed you under your arms, hoisting you up and pivoting your body so you were now hanging off the bed, your feet dangling several inches above the floor. He lowered you slowly, making sure your feet were flat on the ground before he let his hands leave your sides, fingers purposefully trailing and pressing into the supple, pliant flesh of your still-covered, swollen breasts as he withdrew. The sensation of his trace along the tender tissues set your nerves on fire, and your nipples hardened to an almost excruciatingly painful degree. You considered reaching out to snatch one of those gauntleted wrists and plant his hand right on your tit, willing him to knead and squeeze and flick at the oversensitive bud at its tip, but were brought back to reality by a sharp smack to your ass.

You yelped, grabbing at your backside and whirling around to see Boba sitting on the bed, staring at you. He had taken his gloves off, and had swatted you with them, both forming a makeshift crop in his calloused hand. He let out an amused snort at your look of shock, and patted the palm of his other hand with the fisted leather.

“Go to the ‘fresher and clean yourself up.” You sensed by the edge to Boba’s voice that his patience was running low, and he gestured vaguely to the doorway with a jerk of his head. His rugged timbre crackled through the vocoder of the helmet, adding an even more ominous tone to his speech. He reclined on your bed, his ankles crossed nonchalantly, armored form looking massive and mind-bogglingly out of place as he lounged back against the pillows. It would have almost been a comical sight if it hadn’t been for the heady arousal you could sense in his gaze.

“And take that kriffing absorbent out while you’re in there. I want you nice and wet and open for me.”

You felt your heart sink right to your cunt at his last words. Stars, you were fucking dripping for him. A wave of liquid heat that had nothing to do with your cycle had pooled between your legs, and you felt your knees buckle as visions of what intense pleasures this man might put you through tonight swam in your mind. You shambled to the bathroom on legs that seemed to be made of gelatin, breathing heavily through your nose, trying to keep calm as you wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on your body in an attempt to make yourself somewhat presentable. You splashed your face with cold water to keep yourself from falling faint at the knowledge of what was to come, glancing at yourself in the mirror briefly. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils blown wide, almost completely black in the harsh light. A fresh round of cramps erupted in a band around your groin, and you were starting to think you’d die if Boba didn’t fuck you soon. Resting one leg on the toilet seat, you shoved your panties to the side and slowly removed the offending menstrual cup that you had inserted before you’d retired for the night, hastily discarding it in the bin. You didn’t care if it had tipped over and made a mess, you’d clean it up in the morning. All you cared about right now was getting back to Boba and feeling him twitch and throb inside of you.

He was waiting for you when you re-emerged, immediately rising to stand on the side of the bed. Beckoning you with the crook of a finger, he held out his hand to you as you practically ran towards him. As soon as the pads of your fingers had made contact with his, he spun you around to lie flat on the bed, head propped up behind the pillows, feet planted on the mattress and your legs spread so that he had a perfect view of your damp panties. Whether it was blood or arousal or a mixture of both, you weren’t sure - free-bleeding had never been your ‘thing’ and you weren’t sure if you liked the feeling - but as Boba climbed back onto the bed, openly admiring the wetness between your legs, you began to think that maybe it was something you could get used to.

He yanked down your underwear in one deft movement, grabbing hold of your calves one by one to remove your panties from around your legs, and tossed them to the side, where they landed in a crumple. He immediately leaned forward to spread your wet lips apart with his rough fingers, and you heard a sharp intake of breath come from underneath the helmet. It was barely audible, and you could tell that it had been involuntary from the way he had attempted to cut it off before it had even truly escaped. You flung one arm across your eyes, blushing furiously as you felt two thick fingers shallowly dip into your folds, swiping upwards briefly to gather some of the slick gathered there, then retreating just as quickly, before you could buck your hips into the welcome presence.

“ Such a dirty girl …” He cooed darkly, and you opened your eyes cautiously just to see what exactly he was talking about. He perched above you on his knees, gazing at his own hand, the one he had just been briefly exploring your wetness with.

His fingers were coated in blood - your blood, your menstrual blood - and he was smearing the red between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, as if utterly fascinated by it. His helmet briefly dipped down to his fingers as he greedily inhaled your most secret scent, and the low groan he released made you throw your own head back in an echo, fire traveling from your slick cunt throughout your body. Your cry came out much louder than anticipated, and his head immediately snapped up, his hidden eyes boring into you. You embarrassedly tore your eyes away from the darkened visor and noticed the impressive bulge straining at the crotch of his flight suit, along with the telltale damp patch that could only mean his cock was already weeping precum - fuck, this was turning him on.

He moved forward once more, brushing your legs further apart with a swat of the backside of his other hand and, resting his palm atop your shaking knee, almost calculatingly smeared the blood from his fingers along your inner thigh, back and forth, until the digits were nearly clean. You noticed a bit of dried redness still staining his skin, and the sight made you dizzy with arousal.

You threw your head back against the pillows once more and whined morosely at the mark your essence had left on him, offering no resistance when Boba grabbed you by your elbows, easing you onto your feet in front of his own kneeling form.

“Up you get, girl. Come on.”

You looked down at him, slightly puzzled as to exactly what he was doing, until he sharply prodded the backs of your knees with his arm, causing you to stumble forward. He caught your fall by positioning one thick thigh to rest between your legs, and you landed with your sopping core pressed directly against the grey fabric of his flight suit. Upon realizing your situation, you clutched at his biceps and buried your face in his neck with a muffled groan, every fiber of your being going into restraining yourself from fucking against the expanse of hard muscle. Boba Fett had remembered what you liked best, and he’d weaponized it.

“Go on. Ride my thigh, little one. Make yourself nice and slick so you’re ready to take my cock inside of you. You’ll probably have to cum at least once before you can handle it - I'm too big for you, aren’t I? ...But that’s what you want, isn’t it? My cock in your pretty little pussy?” Boba asked sweetly, his tone oozing with sarcasm. He jiggled his leg ever so slightly, and a shockwave of pure pleasure coursed through your veins, and you couldn’t help but let out a strangled squeal. Your calves shook in a futile attempt to hold yourself still despite it, to not give in to what he expected of you.

Boba had another idea though. He growled and clutched at your hips and began forcefully dragging you back and forth across the coarse material of his pants, causing you to emit a wail that echoed throughout the room. Boba hummed, satisfied with the effect his domination of your movements had on you, and lowered his head so that he was whispering in your ear, the sound delightfully harsh and metallic through his helmet’s vocoder.

“What was that, precious thing? You love fucking yourself against my leg like the needy little brat that you are, I know you do… now say it . Answer me, girl.” Boba punctuated his order with a slap to your ass, aggressively driving the muscle of his thigh up into your quim.

“Y-yes, Boba…” You weakly murmured, hiding your face against his shoulder, thighs clenching around his upper leg like a vise, your hips finally - almost involuntarily - thrusting into the meat of Boba’s thigh in time with the rhythm he jerked them back and forth with. “I… I l-love fucking m-myself on your thigh…”

“ Very good …” Boba chuckled darkly to himself as he continued to bounce his leg up and down while guiding your hips with his firm, strong hands, reveling in the soft grunts you let out as he controlled your riding of his thigh. He began flexing his quadricep to usher your impending orgasm along, occasionally pressing the tops of your thighs down to create more friction against your clit, friction you desperately needed as you chased your first release.

Your hips started to stutter much sooner than you had anticipated and you locked your arms around Boba’s neck in a death grip, lifting your face away from its place pressed against his breastplate to look into his eyes through the blackness of the T-shaped visor. Boba pinched the tip of your chin with his index finger and thumb, keeping your head in place so you were forced to meet his gaze as you came, his other hand planted firmly on your waist as he continued to shove your body back and forth.

“Come on, sweet thing. Cum on my thigh for me,” Boba encouraged as your grunting turned into high-pitched whines, spaced out with every push of your hips into his leg. Wriggling yourself in small circles and grinding your clit into the rough flak of his flight suit, you tipped your head back as you were finally pushed over the edge. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, devastating waves of pleasure rolling through your cunt and up through your clit as you rode out your orgasm. Boba didn’t slow his ministrations in the least bit, continuing to pump his leg up and down, holding you tightly in place as the spasms finally began to slow down and your clit became horribly oversensitive, until he finally allowed you to push yourself away from him, falling back onto the bed, panting loudly.

Trembling and shivering from the orgasm that had ripped cataclysmically through your body, you laid back on the bed, chest heaving violently, legs splayed and arms thrown limply above your head. You opened your watering eyes briefly to look at Boba, and they widened considerably when you saw that he was curiously running his fingers over several incredibly noticeable stains on the thigh of his flight suit.

Incredibly noticeable dark red stains. More like streaks, actually, following the line your pussy had made rutting against his thigh as you had sought your climax on the thick canvas.

You felt the warmth drain from your face, slightly horrified and ready to sink into the floor out of embarrassment. You’d been bleeding like a stuck pig all over his leg as he’d forced your orgasm out of you, and you hadn’t even realized it.

“Oh, Boba … I…” You began, rising up on your elbows, trying to think of what to say to placate him so he wouldn’t reprimand you for ruining a part of the armor that he cherished more than most other things. He was staring at you, unmoving, and that’s when you noticed his hands were actually shaking . The heat immediately rushed back to your face tenfold, and your cunt grew even warmer, your own arousal coating your inner thighs anew at how much of a mess you’d made of this man, in more ways than one.

“ Filthy girl. I’m going to fuck you hard for that.” The words came out in a feral snarl, and suddenly his hands were around your throat. You let out a gasping whoop as the air was forced from your lungs, although he wasn’t choking you hard enough to cause damage. The moderate pressure on your windpipe sent black spots to your vision, your own hands coming up to scrabble at the backs of his, more out of longing for his touch than a desire for him to stop, and Boba knew your limits by now. It ended soon enough, his iron grip relaxing almost as quickly as it had begun, and you gulped in fresh air. He ghosted the backs of his fingers over your exposed neck for a moment, wordlessly making sure that you were okay, and you pressed a chaste kiss to his knuckles as he dragged the digits over your mouth for a brief moment. Another growl left his lips as you did so, and your hammering heart flipped in your chest as you felt him still quaking from just how horny he was, how eager to finally take you.

Boba hurriedly unbuttoned the fly of his trousers, his normally deft fingers stumbling in his aroused rush to free himself. You couldn’t imagine just how turned on he must be to completely lose his cool like this, and it dazed you to comprehend that he was like this because of you . He finally shoved aside the rough material and pulled his cock free. You’d seen him too many times to count, but that first glimpse still sent your mind reeling. He was fucking huge. A perfect eight inches, ever-so-slightly curved to the right, veiny and deliciously wide, the glans plump and dusky pink and already slick with precum. He’d gone commando under his flight suit, and you found yourself wondering if he did all the time. You hoped so - it was fucking hot .

“Boba, wait - are you absolutely sure you want to do this? It’s… going to... make a mess…” You said weakly, grasping at his bracer with your trembling fingers and feeling as if you might faint as he lined up his considerable girth against your entrance. You felt the fat head of his cock against your lips, and it was like every nerve-ending in your body was fucking screaming at the tease.

He paused for a moment, sitting back and studying you intently, slowly pumping his engorged member and spreading glistening precum over the velvety, blunt head with a still-bloodstained thumb. A taunting rumble emanated from under his helmet, and his length twitched in his hand. Leaning down to cup your face with one hand, the other on the root of his erection, hot and hard and throbbing against you, you could hear the smirk in Boba’s voice.

“Oh, princess… I’m a bounty hunter. A little blood has never scared me.”

He entered you without any further warning, one deep, agonizingly slow thrust, and it felt like you were being ripped apart from the inside in the best way. No matter how many times you’d taken him, no matter how drenched and ready you were for him, Boba Fett’s cock was massive , the biggest you’d ever had. Tears sprang to your eyes and you wrapped your arms around his neck, knees involuntarily drawing up so that you could wrap your legs around his still-clothed waist, wanting him closer and deeper despite the initial burn. He bottomed out just as he was starting to hurt beyond your threshold, just as you were considering asking him to stop, letting out a deep, low groan as his balls and the dark patch of curls surrounding them made contact with your skin. You could feel the seam of his trousers against your ass as well, the knowledge that he hadn’t even bothered to take off his pants in order to fuck you sending a thrill up your spine.

And then he started to move.

Boba pistoned his hips back and forth at a near-frantic pace right from the start, already grunting with the exertion, and you knew that he was trying his hardest to keep some semblance of rhythm, to not mindlessly fuck into you like a wild animal, solely focused on chasing his own orgasm. Your whole body moving with every thrust, your cloth-covered tits bouncing as he slammed into you, you looked down between your bodies and watched his thick cock slide in and out of you. Your walls squeezed and fluttered urgently as you noticed the wet sheen of your blood coating his member as he plunged deeper and deeper into you. He dragged his cock out of you until only the head was still sitting inside, then rammed back home - once, twice; you began to lose count as your mind became hazy with the pleasure.

“Take the helmet off.” You found yourself gasping out, and Boba stopped as if he’d been frozen in time. He pulled his head back slightly to stare directly into your eyes, holding his body still above you.

“Please,” you continued, “I want to see you, I need you to kiss me, I need to see your face, pleaseplease please, Boba-“ You chanted as if in prayer, stopping mid-sentence as you realized just how still he had become.

Boba gave no discernible reply, either audibly or physically, but you could still feel his surprise through your hands, the taut muscles under your touch having suddenly turned to stone. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. Panic rising in your gut, you expected him to pull himself from inside of you and push you away, to disappear into the night never to be seen again, you began to utter a quiet “I’m sorry, Bo-“ when he shushed you with a hiss, and reached down between your bodies to press his index and middle fingers to your clit, rubbing slow, lackadaisical circles over the swollen nub. He chuckled from somewhere low in his chest, both at your pleading to see his face, and your renewed mewls of ecstasy at his teasing fingers.

“Hush, little princess. Some other time.”

With that, he pressed his fingers into your waist and lifted you off your back with ease, scooting himself to the edge of the bed so that his legs were hanging over the side, your own positioned on either side of his waist so that you were sitting flush in his lap, your thighs pressed firmly to his, his pulsating member buried deep inside of you. Boba gave you a moment to settle in his lap and adjust to the new position, then wrapped one arm around your waist to keep you from tumbling backwards and began slamming into you with an almost murderous intensity, his other arm reaching between you and covering your pussy with his hand, using his thumb to rub frenzied circles into your engorged clit, periodically pinching and flicking. You bit back a scream and your walls clenched painfully around his cock, and buried your face in the scratchy material protecting his throat. Your head tucked underneath the lip of his helmet, you could hear Boba panting and letting out throaty little moans, the sound unaltered by his vocoder at this angle, and the rasp of his true voice made you squirm with delight, grinding back against the sharp, shallow juts up into your core.

You felt a dampness forming on the material beneath your slack-jawed mouth as he fucked up into you; knowing that you were drooling right onto his clothing, completely cock-dumb and at the mercy of the man jackhammering into you, seemed to set off fireworks within your core. You heard a whining noise, steadily growing louder and higher-pitched as it went on, and it took a moment for you to realize that you were making that sound. Your second orgasm was building faster and faster, your own movements becoming hectic and sloppy against his rhythmic thrusting, and you persisted crying out wordlessly, rocking wildly on Boba’s lap. He continued to pound into you, growling and grunting like a beast, and that’s when you began to scream in earnest, the blunt tip of his cock finally scraping against that sweet spot deep inside your core, again and again and again.

Boba brought one hand up to stroke your cheek as his aggressive thrusts bounced you up and down in his lap, a soft shushing noise emanating from underneath the helmet. When that didn’t work to stifle your cries, he clamped one hand over your mouth, squeezing your face with the force of it.

“There you go, little one. That’s it, come on… cum on my cock. Let me make you feel good…” He murmured, thrusting up into you one final time and grinding his hips in a semi-circle as he did, his glans catching against the spongy patch deep inside you again, finally setting off a volley of apocalyptic spasms throughout your cunt. You clenched painfully around Boba, your pussy fluttering, your entire body shuddering and heaving with the waves of pleasure rolling through your system. The orgasm dragged on and on as Boba continued to grind into you and you shrieked into his hand, tears rolling down your cheeks from the intensity of it. His thrusts were too overstimulating, bordering on painful, as the spasms finally began to ebb, but Boba’s movements had become increasingly erratic, his own grunts louder, and finally - with a muttered curse in a guttural language you didn’t recognize - he harshly yanked himself out of your still-spasming cunt and pressed his cock against your belly. Streaks of Boba’s cum spurted up, leaving his mark all over the front of your nightie. When he was sure his cock had been milked for all it was worth, just before he began to go soft, Boba quickly lifted your ass up with one hand and sank you back down onto him, causing you to gasp and rut against him several times in your overstimulated state. He stilled you by wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his chin atop the crown of your hair, both of you completely exhausted and unable to even consider a second round anytime soon.

For a few minutes afterwards, you were pliant and vulnerable in his arms, your cheek pressed against the cool armor of his breastplate, shivering both with delight and the aftershocks of your climax. Boba’s own chest heaved as he attempted to catch his breath, his fingers running up and down your back, occasionally wiping the sweat and tears away from your face. You found yourself clinging desperately to his shoulder pauldrons, silently willing him not to move, to finally stay the night by your side. Neither one of you spoke, but you didn’t need to. You could have fallen asleep in his lap like this, legs dangling on both sides of his hips, his cock still inside of you, a strangely comforting sense of fullness.

It was too good to last, of course. With a relaxed sigh, Boba shifted, slowly lifting you off his cock. He left your opening with a wet pop , a mixture of pinkish menstrual blood and both of your arousals dribbling down the inside of your thigh as he flopped you down on the bed, stretching lazily as if he hadn’t just fucked your brains out. He stalked off to the bathroom without a word, probably to wash your blood off of himself. You closed your eyes for a moment, almost on the cusp of sleep and still sniffling from the tears your powerful orgasm had brought on, when you heard soft bootsteps returning from the other room, followed by the feeling of a damp cloth between your legs, gently cleaning your wrecked sex. You sighed softly at the unexpected sensation, and hummed contentedly when the cloth was removed and a warm hand settled itself over your lower belly, kneading the sore flesh there.

“Feeling better, cyar’ika?” Boba asked, and his tone made your heart ache. This affection was something fairly new, and you gave an affirmative, sleepy murmur in response. He had never called you that name before - he’d never even called you your actual name before - and you wondered what it meant, but knew you would only receive a brooding stare if you deigned to ask. You were too tired to consider it, anyway. You doubted you could stay awake for much longer.

The hand withdrew from your tummy, and as your eyes fluttered closed, you saw Boba standing over you, looking every bit the fearsome warrior. He reached out and tapped his fingers under your chin delicately, and you heard the sound of spurs moving across the room, away from your bed.

“ Good. ”

He was gone in the morning, of course.

It had been silly to think maybe you’d open your eyes and see him sitting in the chair across the room, waiting for you to wake up.

The only sign that someone else had been there at all was the delicious ache between your legs that always lasted for several days after one of Boba’s visits and the lingering scent of post-coital musk in the air, as well as a few bloodstains on the sheets and dried cum on your nightshirt that you hoped would come out in the wash.

And last night’s underwear had mysteriously vanished.

You thought you had a vague idea of where it might’ve ended up.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

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vs-redemption · 3 years

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Hey! Well since today is halloween , can i request a Dabi,Twice,Toga or Tomura (your choice) where thier s/o wanted to watch a very gore/scary horror movie with them but never got scared?

From Cindy: Thanks for request anon! I bumped this one up to the top of the priority list so that I could get it out as close to Halloween as possible! I chose to write Toga instead of Shigaraki just because I’ve never written for her and wanted to give it a shot. If you still want one with Shiggy, don’t hesitate to send in another request!

Dabi, Twice, and Toga x Reader - Watching a scary movie together

Dabi

One of the things Dabi enjoyed most about dating you was that you had zero connections with the League of Villains and were completely uninvolved in his extracurricular criminal activities. Those things were still important to him, of course, but after spending most of his time burning unworthy allies alive in alleyways, unleashing nomus into cities full of innocent people, and plotting ways to bring about the destruction of the country’s corrupted society in general, it was nice to have someone he could go to and take a break from the violence and just relax with.

You had never judged him for his goals or the morally questionable ways he went about achieving them, but you yourself had never expressed even the tiniest desire to participate. You agreed with him about some of the injustices present in the whole hero/villain system, but from what Dabi could tell, there wasn’t a single vengeful or violent bone in your body. Because of this, it was pretty amusing to him when you came up to him on Halloween, asking him to watch a scary movie with you. He lets out a dry laugh, imagining that you had one of the PG classics in mind. Imagine his surprise when he plopped down on the couch next to you and saw you pull up the title of the most brutal and bloody slasher movie available on the TV.

“Hey, you sure you want to watch something like this?” Dabi had to believe you’d gone to that movie on accident. “How about something a little more family friendly?” He raises his eyebrows when you whirl around to face him with a cute scowl as if he’d offended you.

“It’s Halloween, Dabi.” You say it as if that was all the reason you needed to back your decision. You turn back to the TV and press the play button on the remote. Dabi shrugs his shoulders and makes himself comfortable as the opening credits begin to play. Once you figured out how bad the movie actually was, he was sure you’d turn it off and switch to a different one. His bewilderment grew in intensity as the characters got hacked to pieces one by one with not a sound or twitch from you. By the end of the movie he’d gone from total shock to strangely proud. Who knew the love of his life would have such an iron stomach?

Twice

Twice had been looking forward to Halloween ever since Shigaraki had informed the League of Villains that they’d all be free from doing any nefarious activities that day. It wasn’t that he cared much for the spooky holiday, but it was rare for him to get a day off from his villain duties. Naturally, his plan was to spend the entire day with you, his imagination conjuring up adorable images of carving pumpkins together and making popcorn balls to pass out to the neighborhood trick-or-treaters. Thankfully, he could wear a mask when answering the door so nobody would recognize him as a member of the League of Villains.

When the day of October 31st finally arrived, Twice showed up at your place with bags full of Halloween candy and a bunch of other random things he’d managed to swipe from a nearby grocery store. He had told you that he would do anything you wanted today, so he wanted to be prepared. Needless to say, he hadn’t been ready at all for you to announce that you’d rented the new horror film that had come out recently. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the rating and read the description.

“Isn’t this too scary?” He asks you, the concerned look on his face was obvious even with the mask he wore over his head.

“No, I don’t think so,” you shake your head while grabbing a blanket so that you could both snuggle up together. “It’s perfect to get us into the Halloween spirit.”

“I just don’t want you to get nightmares,” he says sweetly before his clashing personality spoke up, “You’re going to cry for your mommy!”

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure him with a kiss on the cheek before pulling him over to the couch. “There’s no way I can get scared as long as you hold my hand.” The sweet words made Twice feel a little better, but he still had some reservations. If watching a movie like this would make you happy though, he wouldn’t protest anymore.

Somehow, all his worries had backfired on him. The film you’d chosen was full of jump scares that seemed to catch him off guard no matter how much he tried to prepare for them. What made it worse was the little snicker you let out each and every time he gasped and clenched his hand tighter around yours.

“How come this movie isn’t affecting you at all?” he whispers during an especially tense scene where the music really exaggerated the suspense. “You crazy or something?” You let out a small laugh and lean closer into his side.

“One of us has to be the brave one,” you tease while patting him affectionately on the leg. He knows you’re joking but puts a hand dramatically over his heart to act wounded anyway. The smile his antics bring to your face cheers him up, and he knows he’d watch a million more scary movies as long as it meant spending time with you.

Toga

“Happy Halloween!” Toga attacks you with a hug as soon as you open the door to let her in. Your front room fills with the sound of your laughter as she peppers your face with kisses. She was always super affectionate, especially if you hadn’t see each other in a while. Her role in the League of Villains kept her pretty busy, so you both cherished these rare occasions that allowed you to spend time together.

“Happy Halloween,” you reply happily once she gives you a moment to catch your breath. “I can hardly believe we have the whole night to ourselves!”

“I know!” Toga skips into your kitchen, going right for the block of knives you kept on the counter. She pulls out the biggest one. “I have so many ideas! Do you think we could make a jack-o-lantern with Mr. Stainy’s face on it?” Even though carving out the details of the hero killer’s face seemed a little above either of your skill levels, gutting and butchering a pumpkin sounded right up Toga’s alley.

“We can certainly try,” you say, causing your girlfriend to smile happily and cuddle the knife she was holding to her chest. It had taken you a while to get used to her quirky behavior, but now it hardly registered in your mind when she did anything unconventional like that.

“Hey,” you call her attention after a second. “Before we carve pumpkins, I was thinking we could watch a movie.” You tell her the title and a manic grin spreads across her face. Before you can even blink, she’s standing right in front of you.

“I’ve heard of that movie,” she hums while tilting her head curiously. “Isn’t it really super bloody and gory?” You nod your head in confirmation while wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“You like blood and gore,” you say knowingly. “That’s why I picked it.” Toga taps the flat end of the knife she was still holding against your shoulder as she thinks over your words.

“You’d really watch something like that for me?” she asks almost shyly. You nod your head again and she lets out a delightful sounding laugh.

“Okay!” She pulls out of your embrace so she can bounce excitedly on the balls of her feet. “But if you get sick, you can’t blame me!”

“I’ll be fine,” you assure her before running to grab pillows and blankets from your room to make the sofa more comfortable.

As the movie starts, Toga is both surprised and impressed when you keep your promise. The brutal action from the movie doesn’t appear to bother you at all. In fact, you seemed just as enthralled by it as she was. By the middle of the movie, both of you are cheering and rooting for the killer as he hunts down and slaughters each of his victims. When the ending credits begin to roll, you both agree that you’d have to arrange for more horror movie nights in the future.

#Dabi x reader #Toga x reader #Himiko toga x reader #Twice x reader #Jin bubaigawara x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Dabi #Himiko Toga #jin bubaigawara #Bnha twice #bnha #mna #Cindy's Writing

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rugbypolycule · 3 years

Text

what more could you do

pairing: arisu ryouhei x karube daikichi

characters: karube daikichi, arisu ryouhei

rating: general audiences, no warnings apply

words: 1788

summary: freshly dropped out of university and knee-deep in depression, arisu ryouhei breaks up with karube daikichi with no explanation. months later, unable to deal with the fallout, arisu goes to his apartment. wounds that have yet to fully scab over reopen.

ao3 link

Karube didn’t need Arisu. In spite of his poignant absence, the sun still rose every empty morning and set at frigid night. The cold still crept through the cramped apartment, through the creaking floorboards and in-between cracks in not quite sealed windows. The earth turned, it turned, and it turned without Arisu. In this, there was no argument.

So, Karube didn’t need Arisu. If the suffocating world outside his slowly encroaching walls continued its screaming persistence, then Karube too would refuse to bow out. He would grit his teeth, hunch his shoulders in his too-thin jacket, desperately not recalling an exasperatedly fond voice that would nag him to dress warmer. He would curse as he woke up to flecks of snow on his window pane and wrestle with his useless heater. He would not ache for the childlike wonder of someone who was no longer there.

Eventually, the snow would melt. The man who had left would take the rent money with him, and Karube would have to figure out where else he could take up space. Karube would go to work in a run-down bar in the sticky heat of the coming summer, cicadas filling the silence in his mind where a plan for the rest of his life should sit. Karube Daikichi would be, in all senses of the word, alive.

Even so, his chest was empty – so he filled it with tar. Karube was never particularly interested in smoking before the hole in his life abruptly dug itself. Now, the nicotine numbed the disquiet in his head, and his throat burned, and for a brilliant moment nothing felt real. For mere seconds, he could shed the sense of loss that hung around him like a bad smell. He tried his best to heave his heavy hurt out with every exhale, to no avail. He kept smoking, kept treading the smouldering ashes into the concrete beneath his boots outside his apartment building. Kept telling himself this was the last one, that this would be the last time he allowed himself to feel like this.

Eventually, the pack emptied. His hands trembled with it, fingers clenched around cool air. Pressure blossomed in the centres of his upturned palms, stomach knotted, the spaces between his ribs drawn tight.

He shoved his frostbitten fists in his pockets, steeled himself to face a space that was not his home. But as his eyes followed his cloud of exhale, they caught on a figure on the other side of the empty street.

Karube Daikichi realised he did not need a heart.

What was the point of a muscle which tore so easily? Which couldn’t regulate its sole function when it was confronted with such devastating eyes? His heart, this useless lead pump in his chest, that supplied blood to his forsaken limbs. To the legs that would halt for nothing tangible on this earth as they made their way towards Arisu. Like a pitiful asteroid in its hapless orbit around a star, Karube fell into place in front of the man who had left him.

‘Daikichi,’ was all it took to break him. To snap the thin wire that ran from head to heart, built to forbear embarrassment in times like these.

‘Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore.’ His voice was abrasion in the quiet evening air. Arisu, tensed and taught, raised his hands in cautious surrender.

‘Sorry. Karube, then. Karube.’

There was always something wounding in the way Arisu said either of his names. As if it was something precious. As if he hadn’t swirled the taste of it in his mouth and resolutely spat it out at Karube’s feet. It made him feel untethered, strings cut all at once and without warning.

‘You kept paying the rent. You left, without telling why, and you never stopped paying the rent. Do you think I need your pity, Arisu? Do you think I need your father’s money?’

Part of Karube wanted to spit more poison at Arisu. To ask if living as a constant disappointment to his father was really so much better than living with Karube. To ask if he really did hate him that much, that he would run to someone who had never tried to understand him, who never tried to love him. Karube had given him so much love. Why did he throw it away?

‘It’s not pity. I would never pity you.’ Arisu’s speech was often soft and hesitant, but in this statement there was an unmistakable firmness.

‘So then fucking explain! You left, Arisu.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

‘Why do you keep apologising? If you’re really that sorry then just…’

‘Just what?’ And his eyes. Glassy with unshed tears and rimmed with red from many previous. Arisu was a man exhausted. That his spine was curled forward, that his shoulders almost grazed his ears made him seem smaller and more fragile than Karube had ever known him to be.

The useless muscle in his chest constricted itself again. Karube’s veins throbbed with it. Had he ever really known Arisu? Had he ever meant anything to him? He bit his tongue to stifle the pathetic question he so miserably needed to ask. But brittle eyeteeth could only do so much against a brain on fire.

‘It’s not fair. None of this is… is fucking fair, Arisu,’ and he makes a fist around the urge to reach out, to touch his frost-reddened cheek, to gentle a thumb at the thin skin of his eyelids. He buried such bile once again in the pockets of his worn jeans, glared at the pavement like it would fix any of this. And he had to clench his diaphragm, swallow once, twice, to kill the sob that clawed its way up his throat. He could feel Arisu’s stare itching at his scalp.

‘I’m sorry. I’m- fuck I’m so sorry, Karube. Please,’ and the waver in his words stuck like needles in his skin, ‘you have to know that I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.’

And all too suddenly, a hand cupped his cheek. It was the cruellest thing in the world, the warmth of it. How Karube’s neck arched towards its softness, how Arisu’s palm was moulded to fit his jaw like they were fired in the same kiln, forged in the same fire. Who was Karube to stop it, when the seam of his lips smoothed ever so slowly against the length of Arisu’s thumb? How could he have halted the splintered shudder that parted his lips against the tendon of an unfurled fist?

Small, like the first patter of rain on a cloudy day, Arisu begged.

‘Won’t you look at me?’

Could he have? Was it possible stare bare-faced and guileless into the sun without burning? Karube was willing to go blind with it, if it was Arisu asking.

Some of Arisu’s tears had spilt, shimmering rivulets grazing his cold-stung features. Karube’s treacherous thumb carved its home in the hollow of Arisu’s cheekbone. Ridiculous. Both men, all fragile lungs and wounded eyes, stood holding onto one another as if he couldn’t quite believe he was real. As if the other would stay for as long as he was held.

Like breathing, like the most natural thing in the world, Arisu closed what little distance remained between them.

He kissed him, a whimper leaking from between the searing heat of their mouths. It was torturous, and roiling up the arched column of Karube’s throat came a smouldering ire. Arisu always did this, always dealt the blow while looking like the most injured person in the room. It made Karube want to hurt. Thus the kiss became more teeth than lips, a grab for purchase on whatever chilled skin was exposed to him. Karube kissed to mark, kissed to plea, kissed to hollow out a space for himself that had long since closed.

The inside of Arisu’s mouth was hot, and Karube was a man starved for warmth. His other hand settled, curling against Arisu’s jaw, and all at once Karube was cradling Arisu’s face. He crushed their mouths together again and again, lips stinging and teeth too blunt to cut deep enough to make it right. Karube’s rage rose like steam out of him in the slick kiss, leaving a gentle simmer deep down in his belly.

Arisu cradled Karube’s jaw like one would hold a baby bird. His fingers gentled against his jugular, feeling the searing jackrabbit pulse of his blood under the goose-fleshed skin of his throat. His chapped fingers ran feather-light up and down, ever-so-slightly grazing the beginnings of karube’s hairline. In days gone by, Karube’s favourite thing to do was let Arisu run his fingers over his scalp, working through the tangles in his long hair until he was satisfied. This caress now was more of an echo, ringing hollow in Karube’s chest. His lungs burned with it as he gasped for air into Arisu’s mouth, gasped for what he no longer had.

It was like being crushed.

Pulling away was like pulling glass shards out of Karube’s tongue. His lips stung and his eyes burned and his heart hurt.

‘Why are you punishing me for loving you,’ he choked out, mouth filled with sawdust, ‘why can’t I have you?’

The moment shattered, red string of fate slashed to pieces. Arisu recoiled and almost snapped back, spine ramrod, eyes red-rimmed and wild. The spell broke as Arisu remembered what he came here for.

‘I’m just here to drop off my key,’ he said, voice broken but tone flat as he could muster. Arisu was a different man with the same face, a crude impression of the object of Karube’s tragic affection. Nothing felt right in the cold street, not in Karube’s palm where the cruel metal of Arisu’s key was pressed, fingers moulded over it into a fist by Arisu’s pitiless hand.

‘Just like that.’ It wasn’t a question anymore. The air that had so violently filled Karube’s chest as they kissed had seeped out and then some, leaving him deflated and exhausted. What little hope he had left had been dying a slow death since Arisu turned the corner onto his street.

‘I’m sorry, Karube,’ and Karube didn’t doubt that he was in the slightest, no matter how much it made his ears burn and his pulse ache.

He replied, ‘thanks,’ as devoid of emotion as he could muster. Karube didn’t need Arisu. Not his hands nor his kiss nor his apology. Crossing the street and unlocking the door to the apartment he resolved to move out of as quickly as possible was as easy as breathing glass without choking. Karube didn’t need Arisu.

He didn’t look back.

#imawa no kuni no arisu #alice in borderland #karube #karube daikichi #arisu #arisu ryouhei #karisu #karube/arisu #elliot talks inkna

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mochiyoonfi · 4 years

Text

Without You (YG)

Synopsis: Months after you’ve broken up, Yoongi sees you with Jimin, one of his friends. He was Jimin’s hyung. How could he replace you with him? And what made him more upset was the pang, the clench in his heart when he saw you smiling with the younger man. He didn’t still love you. Did he?

Universe: Breakup!au

Pairing:Exs: Yoongi x reader. Current relationship: Jimin x reader

Warnings: Angst. Angst. Angst. Just plain angst. Really slight fluff.

Word Count: 4.3k

“Yoongi I still love you! We can work everything out! It was just one argument! I love you-”

“Y/n.” His tone was cold. A lot colder than it had ever been when he had spoken to you before.

He had changed. He wasn't the same, smiling boy he used to be. His career had destroyed him. His stupid boyband had taken your happy, cheerful, silly boyfriend and turned him into a perfectionist who never seemed to be happy anymore. He wasn't happy with his achievements and he certainly wasn’t happy with yours.

“It doesn’t matter if you still love me. Can’t you tell?”

Yes. You could tell. The way he didn't smile anymore wasn't just because he had changed. It was because the way he had changed meant he didn't want to spend time with you anymore. He didn't even want to be near you. All the nights he left you on seen, not replying to your persistent, loving messages weren’t an accident.

“I no longer love you.” He didn't even look you in the eyes. But you didn't need him to. You already knew how he was feeling. He was heartbroken right now too; it wasn’t just you. The years you had spent together suddenly seemed like a waste. Like maybe you shouldn’t have spent all of your love and affection on him. All the times you had waited for hours, staring at your phone for a text that you would never receive.

You brushed away your tears, determined now to break down. Not before you got your answers. “Why Yoongi?” When you felt your voice crack, you let go. You couldn’t hold back the torrent of tears gushing down your face. And you didn't even want to. “I was amazing to you! I wasted years of my life on you! Why are you doing this to me?”

He looked over, but closed his eyes immediately, fighting back his own tears as he packed up his belongings. The way you were sobbing over him made him feel like a monster. How could he do this to the girl he had promised to always love and take care of? But he had to.

“I don't enjoy spending time with you. At the end of the day,” He took a deep breath. Whatever words he said next had to be awful enough so you wouldn't cry over him when he finally left your shared apartment. “At the end of the day, you were just another item on my checklist. Another task on my schedule.”

You laughed and he flinched, not expecting such a reaction from anyone who was being broken up with, and especially not from you. “Yoongi, I still love you.” He grimaced and you giggled shallowly. “I won't try and stop you. Your happiness has always meant so much more than mine. And this time won't be any different.”

As he heaved his bag onto his back, tacking his suitcase in hand he stared at you, no emotion apart from pure regret. He didn't regret what he was doing, however. He regretted that he had waited so long to do so. He regretted leading you on so much that you still smiled when he broke your heart into pieces he even doubted were fixable.

“One last time?” You barely recognised your now former lovers voice, it was so broken and heavy.

You tilted your face up to his, meeting his lips, as your tears joined in the middle, salting the taste of your kiss. Unlike the earlier kisses you had frequently shared, full of love and lust, bringing the two polar emotions together as one, reaching fervently to find a deeper part of each other.

This kiss was sad, even a little reminiscent; one last memory before both of your lives changed drastically. You pulled back first, planting a kiss on his forehead as you smiled sadly at him. “It’s not all bad. You loved me at some point, right?”

He nodded slowly. “I used to but-”

You pressed a finger to his lips and he shivered from how cold your skin was, maybe it was almost as cold as your felt heart right now. “It doesn't matter. We had fun. I won't regret it.”

He smiled and helped you to your feet, and you hoped he didn't notice how bad you were shaking. “Then I won't regret it either then.” He whispered.

The last you saw of who you thought would be your one and only eternal love, was his back as he walked out of the door. The smell of rain wafted towards you, awakening a deeper sorrow inside of you. He left the door open and you rushed forward, stepping out the door, feeling rain land on your skin, wetting your clothes and hair. His figure walked down the driveway and stepped into a waiting taxi. You sighed and walked down to the middle of your driveway, waiting, of course, until Yoongi had left so he wouldn't see you. Your bare feet scratched on the ground. “Fuck it all.” You whispered. “Fuck. It. All.”

The rain traced your face and you couldn’t tell if you were wiping away tears or rain.

~♡~

You were in denial at first. You refused to believe Yoongi had actually got up and left. You didn't want to believe it was true. Maybe it was all some sick joke. You scoffed. He wasn't even that amazing. You would be able to find someone new. Someone better. Someone that would make Yoongi forget the reasons he had broken up with you.

A few days later you exited your stage of grief and entered one of just pure anger. You were mad at Yoongi. You were mad at yourself for not knowing he was going to break up with you. Heck, you were even mad that you still cared this much. That's when someone knocked on the door. You didn't go and unlock it. You didn't have any energy left for that. And you didn’t care, The door creaked open nonetheless and you jumped to your feet, expecting to see a sheepish Yoongi, apologising for breaking up with you, and you would yell at him, then you'd both cry and everything would be alright again. “Y/n?” The face you were met with was not Yoongi’s and you looked down at the floor, resisting the urge to cry again. “I-I-I, Yoongi sent me to pick up his stuff.”

“He couldn't even do it himself?” You spat, acid maring your voice.

Jimin stepped closer to you, looking worried. He was one of Yoongi’s friends, but in the past few months he was as good as your friend too. Jimin was also a member of Yoongi’s band, BTS, however. And your eyes burned with rage again and you stepped close to Jimin, who flinched.

“You're the reason Yoongi broke up with me!” You snapped.

Jimin pointed a finger at himself, disbelieving your words were intended for him, although he was the only one apart from yourself in the apartment. “M-me?”

“Yes!” You sat down on the floor, cross-legged. Fire had ignited in your heart and you didn't even try to stop yourself. “You and BTS! Yoongi changed after he met you guys! He became different! He was so focused on making his stupid fans happy that he wasn't even happy himself! He began to just ignore me! It was like I wasn't even his girlfriend! Like he didn't love me!”

Jimin nodded. “Let it out.”

“I would spend hours,” You yelled. “Outside his studio, happily waiting for him! I was happy just because I knew I would get to see him! I wasted hours just waiting for him! I spent so long trying to find ways for us to reconnect! For us to hang out! He would just say he was busy and give me that annoying gummy smile! He didn't love me! He loved making music and being popular! I was so good to him…”

You collapsed into your hands and began sobbing. “Why didn't he love me?”

Jimin hugged you, letting you sob into his shirt. You felt you should've hated him. He was a part of the people who took your Yoongi from you. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

Just the words ‘okay’, seemed to be a comforter to you. It calmed you, soothing the scars on your heart that Yoongi had carved, without even meaning to.

~♡~

Jimin came to your house everyday. He was soon the only person you wanted to see. You ignored your parents calls. When you saw Jimin’s name flash on your phone, however, you would reach instantly for your phone to pick up. His laughing voice warmed your soul. The only thing you needed. He was your placebo. Jimin somehow knew when to speak and when to just listen. He knew when to give you space and when to hug you.

And finally, 6 months later, you woke up happy. You couldn’t explain why. You were just happy. The thoughts of Yoongi far from your mind. Relief rushed through you. You had successfully gotten through your breakup. When you had felt like giving up, you had still kept going. No. It wasn’t because of your effort. Jimin was the person you had to thank.

“Jimin?”

Of course he picked up the phone instantly. He enjoyed and anticipated talking to you just as much as you did. “What's wrong Y/n?”

“Nothing!” You laughed. You noticed it was your first real laugh since the night Yoongi broke up with you, other than those crazy laughs you couldn’t contain while he shattered your heart. Instead of hollow sadness at thinking over your former lover, you felt nothing. “Nothings wrong! I-I’m so happy!”

He laughed over the phone. “I’m coming over there right now.”

“Please!”

You hung up the phone and rushed to get changed and to brush your hair. This would be the first time Jimin had seen you in over a year that you weren’t in pyjamas and crying or yelling.

And you wanted him to see you happy.

~♡~

“Hyung! You’re back from the military!”

Yoongi smiled, patting Jimin’s back. “It’s good to see you guys again. Jin went to see his girlfriend first. But-”

“Yoongi!” “Hyung!”

The remaining two thirds of the maknae line ran to Yoongi, grabbing him into a group hug. “We missed you so much! BTS isn’t the same without you and Jin hyung.”

Yoongi’s heart warmed. It had been a while since he had been fawned over, since he had felt so needed. Almost two years actually. He laughed as Jungkook wiped back tears.

“We’re throwing a huge party tonight!” The youngest boy boasted, his hair longer and curlier than it had been a year and a half ago, his mischievous grin still plastered on his face.

“For you.” Taehyung stated, as if it weren’t obvious. He sported bright red hair like he had almost 5 years ago when they had been promoting their music video, ‘Save me’, except it was in a mullet, his iconic boxy smile exactly how Yoongi had remembered it.

Jimin flicked Taehyung’s ear. “And Jin hyung too.”

The eldest of the maknae line hadn't changed much in Yoongi’s time away. He now had blonde spaghetti hair, similar to their DNA music video. His lips were redder though, almost as if they were recovering from bruising. “And Jin.” Taehyung agreed.

Yoongi laughed and grabbed their arms. “Let’s go inside.”

“This is a rather large party.” Yoongi stated.

Jimin laughed. “Well we were just going to have us and everyone from Big Hit, but then some of the other idol groups wanted to come-”

“My friends wanted to come too.” Taehyung added.

Jin wandered into the room and grinned at them. He whispered something to his girlfriend, who nodded and left. Instantly the maknaes set upon him, grabbing him into a hug as they had with Yoongi only hours ago.

“Jin hyung we missed you!” Jimin whined.

Jin smiled. He still looked the same as when he had entered the military, expect for his additional muscles. He was almost like a vampire. “I missed you guys. We got to see Joon and Hope before we left to come back though, so that was good. I hope they’ll do okay in the military too.”

Yoongi nodded. “I didn’t know Joon regrew his mullet.”

Jungkook laughed. “He and Taehyung wanted to regrow them. I just wanted longer hair.”

Tae nodded solemnly. “It looks good on you.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “I don't want to stand here and watch you two flirt with each other. Jimin do you have a girlfriend yet?”

Jimin flinched. Jungkook and Taehyung glanced at him nervously. “W-well hyung I do but-”

“Do I know her then?” Yoongi asked. “Tell me. It’s about time you get in a relationship.”

“You know her b-but-”

“Is she here? I wanna meet her.”

Taehyung stepped in front of Jimin. “Yoongi she’s over there.”

Yoongi’s eyes followed the direction Taehyung was pointing and he almost froze. A girl with long punch pink hair, in an ombre into watermelon pink, wearing a black short dress and white boots. You turned and smiled at them, waving.

“You..you’re dating her..?” Yoongi asked softly.

Jimin nodded. “I fell in love hyung. She needed a friend to be there for her when you left her. And I was that friend. For a long time.”

Jin and the two younger men were looking increasingly uncomfortable, even Taehyung, who had been unable to contain himself from telling Yoongi who it was Jimin was dating, looked as if he regretted it. When Jin’s girlfriend called him over, the three took it as an excuse to leave, and quickly rushed through their goodbyes, hurrying away from the awkward situation.

“When did you start dating?” The words that left his lips were barely audible, especially not over the loud noise of the party around them. But somehow, Jimin still heard.

“8 months after you guys broke up. I expressed my interest after 7 months though, she needed a little longer.”

Yoongi’s fists balled. “She’s mine-”

“She was. You broke her heart. You made her feel awful.” Jimin closed his eyes, suppressing the memories of his now girlfriend crying herself to exhaustion every night, because of the man who now stood in front of him, claiming her as his. “But it’s okay. She’s happy now.”

“She can’t possibly be-” Yoongi scoffed.

Jimin waved you over and Yoongi’s heart began to race. You walked with a bounce in your step, more confident then Yoongi had ever seen you. You first kissed Jimin’s cheek, then extended your hand to Yoongi.

He didn’t take it, and you lowered your hand, confidence wavering. “Yoongi sunbae. It’s been a while.”

“S-sunbae?” He asked. “N-no call me Yoongi. We know each other.”

You flashed a glittering smile at him. “Of course. How was your time in the military?”

Yoongi shrugged, trying to ignore the sickness pooling in his stomach. You couldn't make him feel bad. He was the one who did this to you. He had let you go-

“Have you been doing well lately? I saw your new song; Without You In Paris. The lyrics were really great.”

He nodded. You looked to Jimin for help, but he looked just as confused as you. Finally he took you by the waist. “We’ll go now hyung. Enjoy the party.”

He couldn't enjoy the party. All he could think of was you. Smiling so carefree as if you had never loved him. As if you had never smiled like that for him. Had you smiled like that for him? He couldn't remember.

You had never worn such form hugging clothes when you were with him. You didn't dye your hair because it drew too much attention. Why had you suddenly changed so much? It had been a little under two years since he had seen you. What had changed? Was it just the breakup? Or was it Jimin?

“Can I speak to you?”

You were the last person he had expected to talk to him. He nodded ferociously, wanting answers to his many questions.

The two of you stood outside on the balcony, looking out across the city lights as the cool night air washed around you. You spoke first, breaking the undeniable tension.

“Jimin suggested I should speak to you.” Your own voice surprised you. You had expected your voice to come out as a croak, or scratchy, betraying the fear and nervousness you felt. “He said he saw longing in your eyes. A longing only I could understand.”

He nodded. “Jimin knows me well. Not as well as you though.”

You smiled sadly. “No one will ever know you as well as me.”

“I never regretted it.” Yoongi said, voice broken as it was that last day you had with him. “I never felt bad for breaking it off.”

“I missed you. I called you everyday for the first month, begging you to take me back, telling you I would change. I left so many voicemails. And you-”

“And I listened to them all.” He finished. “I listened to every single one of them, but never replied to you.”

You smile washed away. “I know. It’s what made it all the harder for me. I still loved you for months.”

“The song, Without You In Paris, was about you.”

You nodded. “I had suspected such. I had only told you of my burning desire to travel to Paris one day. The lyrics… they really helped me.”

“How so?” He asked, glad that the conversation had switched to something he knew so well; music. “Regrets? Never. I’m sorry for the tears. The passion’s gone. I’m not looking back. One last time, for you.” You quoted the song perfectly, the words natural on your soft lips. “I realised I shouldn't have regretted things I couldn't have changed anyway.”

Yoongi nodded. “I wrote it looking at your picture. I was only ever sorry for making you cry.”

“It wouldn't have worked out.” You whispered.

“Our first concert in France was in Paris, and it was the first concert after our breakup.”

“I know.” You whispered. “I watched it.”

“To see Jimin?”

You looked down at the city lights, listening to the raging party inside. You plucked a hair from your head and watched it flutter below you, falling out of sight. “To see you.”

“I thought of you and only you in Paris.” He finally said after a gap of silence.

Tears began to flow down your face. “I went there with Jimin during our fifth month of dating. I was crying in my room the whole time. But it was what I needed. To forget the man who had ruined my heart.”

He began to cry as well, silently as he gazed off at the glittering moonlight.

“The best days of my life were with you.”

He managed to wipe away his lingering tears and he gazed at you. “Shouldn't you hate me? Haven't you tried to wipe my existence from your memory? After all I’ve put you through?”

“I loved you Yoongi. When you started breaking up with me, if you would've said you didn't mean it, I would've taken you back right then and there.”

“What about now? He croaked, even though he knew it was a hopeless question with an obvious answer.

“The best days of my life were with you.” You repeated, words stinging your lips with emotions you didn't fully understand. “At first I tried to forget I ever met you, that we ever fell in love.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Because I loved you. You were such a large part of my life. I couldn't erase the effect you had on me. But I needed to move on.”

“With one of my best friends?” He murmured.

You giggled slightly as you wiped away your own tears. “It wasn't a choice. I just fell in love. I didn't even realise it at first. It just happened over time.”

“But how...with Jimin? You were just friends...”

You nodded, the cool air bristling the hair on your arms, making you shiver. “He was just a friend. Then he told me he felt a connection, and I tried to avoid him, thinking it would be better to avoid ever getting in a relationship again. But the more I avoided him, the more I missed him. I realised I loved him. And when I finally went around to his house after a month of avoiding him, he asked me out.’

Yoongi sighed, feeling increasingly dissatisfied as he heard footsteps approaching the glass slider door separating them from the rest of the party.

“Y/n, it’s getting late.”

You smiled, turning away from Yoongi to walk towards Jimin, then she turned back. “Yoongi, I’m really sorry-”

“No you’re not.” He replied coldly, eyes filled with either fury or disappointment, you couldn’t tell.

Jimin grabbed your hand lightly, tugging you away from the older man as you finally tore your eyes away from him.

~♡~

“Y/n what did you guys talk about?”

You instantly recognised Jimin’s tone of voice. He was worried, but trying hard not to be. You glanced over at him, sitting on the couch, wearing just a singlet and jeans, his blond hair ruffled. Smiling, you approached him, taking off your jacket and sitting on his lap. “Are you worried?”

At first he didn't answer but he finally sighed and rested his head on your shoulders. “I’m not worried. I’m jealous.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re jealous that you aren’t my ex?”

He nestled into your hair, laughing, causing you to jolt from the cool air. “I don't want to be your ex, don't worry. He was sad, you cared. A lot. I wanna see you that worried over me.”

You stroked his hair. “Chimmy I don’t want to worry over you like that. I want you to be so happy I don’t have to worry.”

He pulled back and frowned. “But-”

“I was worried for him. I don't know why, probably because I loved him for so long.”

“Do you still love him?”

You looked deep into his eyes and planted a kiss on his nose. “Yes.”

He gasped, tears welling in his eyes within an instant.

You raised a finger to his lips. “But I love him as a friend. We have a really deep bond that we can't, and that I don't want, to break.”

Jimin smiled, grabbing you into a hug. “I’m sorry I was getting jealous. Did you have a good talk?”

“Yeah. Without You In Paris was written about me. Or about us.”

Jimin looked down. “I’m sorry I can't write you a beautiful song or whatever. Sorry that you had an awful time in Paris”

You laughed and hopped off his lap, sitting on the ground in front of your boyfriend. “I hated Paris.”

He sighed. “Yeah I know you did I’m sorry-”

“I hated it because it reminded me of Yoongi. I loved being there with you, it just reminded me too much of him.”

Jimin nodded, still looking sheepish. “I shouldn't have suggested we go there. I made a mistake it made you really sad and I promised to never make you cry-”

“Jimin, I needed to go there. It was part of moving on for me.”

He nodded again, this time a lot happier. He reached down to cup my face with his hand. “Baby, I’m sorry I didn't get to you before Yoongi did. I would have treated you so much better. I would never have let you go.”

You laughed. “Chimmy, I had so much fun being in love with him. But I should’ve known the relationship was ending. I love you now.”

“Y/n, there’s only ever one love.”

You scoffed. “If you read online stuff, you would know you fall in love on average 3 times in your life.”

He smiled warmly and grabbed you onto his lap, snuggling against your cheek. “Oh? So I’m number 2 then...Who’s next? Hoseok?”

You giggled. “No Jimin! I have no intention of having another love. Only you.”

Jimin placed his hand on his chin as if he was stroking an invisible beard in thought. “I think I will have another love in my life.”

You pulled back, staring at him in disgust. “You plan on breaking up?”

“I plan on falling in love with you again.”

Your eyes widened and you blushed, looking away from him. “D-don’t say such things. That’s too romantic.”

He laughed, a tinkling, pleasant sound that never failed to make you grin. “What’s wrong with me being romantic?”

“It makes me too happy.” You whined.

Jimin stroked your hair gently. “That’s a good thing, right? I want you to be happy.”

“Me too. I want you to be happy as well.”

~♡~

Yoongi only bought the magazine because your face was on it. Well, yours and Jimin’s, of course. The 6 dollars it cost was worth seeing your happy face however, even if it was just a picture. You were wrapped in Jimin’s arms as you were kissing his cheek.

The headline roared something about you being engaged.

He wasn’t surprised. Whenever he had seen Jimin in the dorms lately he had been smiling brightly as if nothing could go wrong. This was obviously what he had been planning. Yoongi felt a ripping in his heart.

It was his fault, so how could he regret it? It wasn't fair to Y/n or him.

But moving on was all the harder when one of his best friends, no, his brother, was dating the girl he still found himself missing. Maybe he didn't even miss her. He probably missed the effect she had on him. This made him feel even worse than seeing your intertwined fingers, your hands he had once held tightly, promising to never let go of, adorned with someone else's ring.

It could've been him.

#without you in paris #without you #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #angst fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop angst #kpop bts #bts fanfiction #angst bts fanfic #yoongi angst #suga angst #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Sky Full Of Stars - CH10

Sequel to Something Just Like This

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, ex mobster boss, still a little cocky, less ruthless and not at all short tempered anymore. Instead, he thinks he’s hilarious (she doesn’t agree, though). They both try to live a quiet life. And Dean hopes, very hard, that his former life won’t come knocking at their door.

Warnings: NSFW, angst, violence

WC: 3761

SERIES MASTERLIST

Two weeks have gone by with nothing much happening Crowley-wise. They have forbidden Ella from wandering out alone, so at least the little girl can’t meet him anymore. Ella’s not very happy about it, threw a tantrum every day for a week and it was hard, so hard to feel sympathy for their little girl when she’s being so unreasonable in their eyes.

Dean scolds Ella more too, and at the end it’s Y/N who has to step up and comfort their child.

Everyone’s on the edge. Nobody knows when Crowley would strike next and how.

Dean’s in his office, having a skype meeting with Cas and Gabe while Y/N’s in her art room when her phone lights up. She always takes it with her nowadays, doesn’t dare to leave it lying around in case Crowley texts and Dean sees it.

C: You ready?

Y/N: For what?

C: How do I know that you won’t be shitting me?

Y/N: You have my word.

C: Darling, that’s not enough.

Y/N: Why should I jeopardize my family when it’s me you want.

C: Your husband knows about me texting you? Huh? Did he get Ash to find traces of me?

It’s true, though. Dean tried to get Ash to dig up something but Ash came up empty handed. They have literally nothing and Crowley keeps the upper hand. Dean absolutely hates the situation they’re in and she can’t say that she likes it either.

Y/N: Ash couldn’t find anything. It’s only you and me, Crowley. Dean doesn’t know.

C: What does that say about your marriage if you keep things from him?

Y/N: Fuck you

C: I used to like you, Y/N. Thought you’d be too good to be true. Turned out you were a fucking skank rat who just thought about herself. You got Dean wrapped around your fingers didn’t you? Screwed him over. Wonder what’s so magical about your pussy that made him go back to you.

She’s shaking. Literally shaking, and she tries her hardest not to just smash her phone against the next fucking wall.

Y/N: Leave him out of this

C: Fine. Dean still owns his apartment, right?

Y/N: Yes

C: Meet me there tomorrow night. Come alone or you’ll never see your kids again.

Y/N: Okay

C: Here’s what you need to do: Slash Dean’s tires, take a bath, sneak out. Come see me. 9PM. Don’t forget, I have someone watching you too. So, if I see that you’re not alone, I get them to break in and… I don’t need to elaborate do I?

Y/N: No.

C: Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.

She pockets her phone. Brushes the tears away from her face, and sniffs a little before she breathes steadily, willing her heart to stop pounding so hard, and then she goes on with her painting, tries to stay calm.

Dean’s already in bed when she comes out of the bathroom. He had taken a bath with Ella and Neo and while he dressed them and tucked them in, Y/N cleaned the bathtub and took a shower.

He has his back leaned against the headboard and watches her, his expression unreadable. It makes her wonder if he knows what she’s going to do, if he knows that she basically made a deal with Crowley, that she told Crowley that she’s giving herself up to save her family. Dean’s not an idiot, he must know. She can’t read his face and it frustrates her.

“Watchu lookin’ at?” She’s smirking a little.

Y/N can breathe easy again after she made the deal. She came to make peace with it and she’ll own up everything with her decision.

Dean’s eyes are still on her and he smiles a little too, his lips curve up, it makes him look younger in the light, makes him look carefree.

A carefree Dean, is a rare sight. She only knew him briefly, but he’s a joy to be around.

“My world,” He answers her bluntly and it makes her blush.

Y/N climbs up to the bed to where Dean’s laying and he parts his legs so she can fit in between.

She’s trailing her hands along his thighs, rubs up and down through the fabric of the blanket, getting higher up, until she strokes along his pelvis and hips, fingernails dancing along his bare skin because he didn’t bother wearing a shirt. Dean hitches his breath and she chuckles.

Her hands pull at the blanket, just enough to reveal his underwear. They start to fill out, his cock swelling visibly at her touch.

“How are you feeling?” He asks her, reaches out a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her shoulder.

“I’m feeling good, you?”

“Much better when I know that you’re alright.” He says but then he inhales, holding his breath as she let her nails skid across his crotch. She can feel his dick twitch underneath the fabric.

“I wanna make you feel better,” She smiles, pulling the blanket further down, lets him kick it off and lays down, slots herself between his thighs as she mouths at his crotch, licks up his lengths through the fabric. She looks up to see Dean licking his lips as he watches her.

Y/N hooks her fingers into his underwear, pulls it down, makes room for him to slide it off one leg before she slots herself in between again. She blows air against his dick, sees it jerking up as soon as it hits him and then she looks at Dean, sees him nibbling at his bottom lip.

“Tease,” He mumbles and she has to chuckle at that.

She doesn’t use her hands yet, noses right in between his thighs, licks and sucks at his balls while his dick jerks and twitches against her forehead.

“Fuck,” Dean’s voice is strained, “Looking so good with my cock on your face and my balls in your mouth, baby.”

She always feels dirty when he describes what she does.

Working her way up, she fists his cock, it feels hot and heavy in her hands. She twirls her tongue around the head of his dick, plays with the sensitive string there, and Dean grits his teeth. “Fucking tease,” He says again and she laughs, because it’s true. She loves to tease him but he’s not innocent in that department either.

Y/N looks up at Dean, keeps her eyes on him when she opens her mouth and sucks at the tip of his dick, making him flinch and he squints his eyes. She loves to watch him, watch how she affects him because it’s good to see that she’s not the only one always affected by him.

She takes him deeper, bobs her head up and down, works the lengths she can’t fit in her mouth with both her hands. It’s getting sloppy, too, she’s drooling, and it drips down his shaft, makes it much better when her spit mixes with his pre come and slicks the way at the place she fists him.

Pushing her head on his dick, she tries to fit more of him into her mouth, gags and chokes when it hits the back of her throat. She comes up for air again, her eyes are teary, saliva dripping down her chin.

Dean's hands come around her head, fingers tucking her hair back behind her ear and he leaves his hand there when she goes down on him again, “Taking my cock so good. Fuck, such a good girl,”

His praises always manage to make her all tingly down there. She’s wet just from sucking him off.

She takes him down again, goes as far as she can and stays there, his pubic hair tickling her nose.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses out profanities above her.

She comes up for air, sucks him off steadily for a while longer until the tingling between her legs turns into throbbing.

Y/N gets up on her knees, parts the plaid shirt she wears in the middle and Dean sees that she isn’t wearing any panties and raises an eyebrow. But he couldn’t say anything because she’s straddling his thighs now, aiming his cock against her opening.

Slowly she sits down and she leans forward, cradles his face between the palms of her hands, lets the softness of the scruff tickle her.

Dean moves a little lower with her, so his lower back is flat on the mattress. That way, he has more control, and can do more for her either.

She braces her hands on his chest as she starts to bounce and Dean’s hands are all over her. Caressing her ass, spanks down on them, making it sting. They wander to the front, slapping down on her tits too, both at the same time, making her arch her back at the sensation on her sensitive nipples. He rolls her nipples between his fingers, pulling at them and letting them bounce back.

“Christ, you’re fucking perfect,” He’s breathing hard, and when she grinds on his cock, he almost lost it because she can feel it too, he’s so deep, it hits all her right buttons.

“Choke me,” She whispers, and she first thought that Dean didn’t hear her but he did because his hands leave her tits, travels up her chest, thick fingers spanning around her throat as he presses down. She grinds harder, rubbing her clit against his pelvis while his dick carves at her cervix.

“That’s it,” Dean pants, “Just like that, baby. Keep on riding, power through, come for me but keep on riding,”

She growls, it’s like he manages to push at every fucking button inside and outside of her and she comes so hard, her legs shakes and her thighs press together above his stomach. Dean’s still logged inside and he growls with her, feels her pussy cramping down on him like a vice and there’s really nothing else for him left to do than coming with her.

Dean chuckles as they both come down from their high. He keeps on stroking her legs, “Turn around, careful don’t let me slip out.”

Y/N frowns at first but then she does, almost failing but in the end she could turn herself around while his dick is still inside.

“Holy shit, that felt fucking amazing,” Dean grits his teeth, “The feeling of you turning while I’m inside of you, wow, fucking fantastic.” Dean pulls her back to lie down, careful not to slip out and then he turns to the side, spoons her from behind and pulls a blanket over both of them.

He kisses along her shoulder, up her neck, noses behind her ear. They stay like that for a while longer, and Dean strokes her whole body, from her tits to her stomach, down to her clit. She gasps when he circles his fingers around her nub.

“You didn’t promise me,” Dean whispers against her shoulder, his scruff rough against her skin, his voice sends vibrations throughout her body.

She can feel him swelling up inside of her again, and he moves his hips, fucking slowly and gently into her.

Y/N doesn’t answer him, wouldn’t know what to say.

“I know what you’re planning to do,” Dean whispers between kisses, licks and sucks up to her throat. She’s sure he’ll leave a mark but she doesn’t care about it. “I want to be able to stop you but I know that I can’t.”

He’s right. She’s stubborn and she won’t let him talk her out of it. She doesn’t know what to say, so instead she says, “I love you,” while she tilts her head back to look at him, she sees Dean crying, his tears dripping down the bridge of his nose onto her neck.

“I love you, too,”

She cranes her neck, kisses him, pours all the sorry into one kiss that she’s not able to say. He fucks into her slow, steady, deep, kisses her back, begs for her to stay with every thrust of his hips.

Dean tucked the kids in and decided to go to the living room, because Y/N said that she’d like to take a bath. He already took one this morning with her, made love to her, begged for her to stay and not do anything irrational with every fiber of his body, but now he’s spent and he knows that he needs to give her some privacy because the last thing he wants is to crush her with being present all the time to keep her from doing stupid things.

He switches channels on the TV when he hears a screeching of car tires. Dean rewinds, thinks it might have come out of the TV but it didn’t. He goes upstairs, sees the light in the bathroom and goes in. There’s a full bathtub. The only thing missing is Y/N.

Goddamnit.

Dean’s first instinct is to call Sam to come over and look after the kids, it seems like the best thing since Sam lived the closest. He then dashes down the stairs, goes to his study and opens up the weapons cabinet. He takes out his gun holster, swings it around his shoulders and secures his colt in there. Her gun is still here, though. Dean didn’t have time to check all the content because his phone’s ringing. It’s one of the security guys.

“Sir, are you the one who left?”

“No, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, we didn’t know if we should have followed. We did anyway but we lost her.”

Fucking great.

“Okay, doesn’t matter. Where’s she heading?”

“We think she’s heading to the city sir,”

“Great, thanks.”

Dean hangs up and walks over to where they had their keys and snatches his car key before he goes out to his car. He whistles for Truffles to follow him while he thumbs over his phone. Cas picks up at the second ring. “Y/N’s gone.”

“Oh no,”

“Yes, I might know where she’s heading but get Ash to track the car, call in the coordinates,” Dean gets into his Baby and starts the engine but when he drives out, he realizes the flat of his tires, “Fuck,”

“What is it?” Cas’ asks over the phone.

Dean gets out of his car, “My tires! Fucking fuck!” He kicks at them, as if it would make it better.

“Should I come pick you up?”

“No, we have no time, I got it. Bye Cas.”

Dean hangs up and runs to the front gate. There’s still the car with Gabe’s agents. Since he upped the security, there’s always at least two cars sitting outside.

“I need the car. Get out, get out, get the fuck out!”

The two agents scramble out, nearly falling out of the car as Dean gets in. “I want you to search the property and the streets around here. Crowley probably has men, I want them dead.”

“Yes, sir.” The big bald guy says.

Dean watches Sam’s car rounding up the street and drives into their driveway. Watches as his brother dashes out and goes into their home. Sam knows what to do, so at least Dean can take the worry about his kids off his shoulders.

“Call Gabe, update him.”

“Okay,”

Dean nods, and drives off.

Y/N parks in the garage, it all feels too familiar, as if she wasn’t away at all.

She takes the elevator up to Dean’s apartment. When she arrives, the door’s already standing ajar, the light inside is out, the only light source is the light from the hallway so she leaves the door wide open.

“Hello?” She calls out but doesn’t have to look around for long, Crowley’s right in the living room, his back turned to her.

He turns around as soon as he hears her, “There you are,” He smiles, “Alone too, I watched you. Never thought you would come alone since you’re such a sneaky bitch.”

She doesn’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult. She doesn’t say anything, but instead she asks, “Why here?”

“You can’t be so dumb, can you?” Crowley snarls, “Take a look around! This place is like a freaking museum of his past. This way I can hurt him too!”

“You want me, not him,”

“Having you doesn’t mean that I can not damage him,” Crowley snickers, “Just a little. It brings me joy,”

“You haven’t changed, did you?”

Crowley takes a flask out of his coat pocket, unscrews it and takes a large gulp, hissing through gritted teeth when he’s done, “Not true, I drink now. A lot,” He places it back, “You made me a fucking alcoholic!”

“How did you get out?” She doesn’t really want to know and she hopes that he doesn’t notice that she tries to stall.

Crowley shrugs and takes out a gun from his other coat pocket. “Oh, you know, telling them where some of their men are buried. Same ol’, same ol’”

“And now you want to kill me,” She’s exceptionally calm. It’s the result of having made peace with it.

“You’re the fucking reason for everything, you know,” Crowley waves around with his gun, “You got Dean to do everything you say. Without you, he and I would still be doing great things together. Maybe I would have run for Senate. We could have taken over the whole fucking country, so yeah, of course I want to kill you!”

“So, you’re killing me out of jealousy,”

Crowley laughs, it’s loud and it echoes off the walls, “You knew we were all in this together, yet you only helped him!”

“I love him.” She says matter of fact.

“Love,” Crowley chuckles, circles around her as if she is his prey and maybe she is, “You don’t understand love, darling. If you loved him you would have let him go. You wouldn’t tie him down with babies. Dean’s a great guy, a fucking great businessman. He doesn’t need to be tied down. He loved going out, sleeping around, he and I used to go around the clubs, taking names, breaking hearts. That’s what he loves, not taking care of you and the kids!” Crowley stands before her, spitting his words into her face, “I think I might actually do him a favor by taking you out.”

She knows that his words are meant to hurt her and it does, very much so.

Y/N opens her mouth to say something but she’s interrupted by loud barking.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Crowley hisses, locks his arms around her shoulder, and rams his gun into her back. They’re both facing the door with him using her as a body shield when he hisses into her ear, “I thought that I wanted to take my time with you but I guess, this is even better,”

Truffles arrives at the door, barking and growling, fletching his teeth.

It’s not long before Dean shows up, gun drawn, he’s panting hard. His expression when he sees her is pained. She didn’t want this, didn’t want him to follow her, didn’t want him to see. She’s crying, feels like an idiot because she can’t even let someone kill her without getting Dean involved.

“Let her go you fucking leprechaun,” Dean’s voice is calm, steady, she sees that he’s anything but, though. His hands are shaking.

Dean’s heart is pounding fast. This is not how his quiet life is supposed to be ending. He refuses to accept that.

Cas is still not here, he lives a little further away, needs longer to get here but he’s on the phone with him all the time. Dean has the phone in his pocket and the call with Cas is still active, so Cas can hear and react when needed. Dean looks over to Truffles and the dog shuts up but is still standing at attention, ready to attack.

“Well, hello Dean, it’s nice to see you. Did you miss me?” Crowley’s grinning.

“Fuck off, Crowley. We’ve all made our peace with the past, why can’t you?”

“Oh, excuse me, you’re not the one who was doomed to ROT IN FUCKING JAIL!”

Dean sees Y/N flinch, and can tell by the arch of her back that Crowley pokes at her with something, he guesses it’s a barrel of a gun. Dean hopes it doesn’t go off before he can talk Crowley out of it, because that guy’s not used to doing the dirty work, always had someone do it for him. Dean doesn’t even know if he can handle a weapon at all.

“So what? You got out, didn’t you? Even before your fucking time! Just fucking move on, we all did!” Dean shouts, “Do you really hate me so much that you want to take everything away from me?”

“She took everything away from me!” Crowley spits and his voice is full of anger.

Y/N flinches again, and Dean knows that he doesn’t have fucking time.

“Take me instead,” Dean says, loud, clear, so that it would get into Crowley’s brain.

Crowley just laughs, “Sure, and who’s going to be my sidekick? No can do, Dean. I want you to come to your senses. Let’s get rid of her, let’s us be a fucking team again. We can take over the state, the fucking country!”

Dean’s knuckles turn white, he wants for Crowley to stop talking fucking bullshit. Dean whistles, and Truffles surges forward on commando, rushes to Crowley so quickly Crowley doesn't even know what came at him.

Truffles bites into the man’s arm and Dean aims as Crowley almost topples over to the side from Truffles force on his arm.

There’s a sound of a shot and then another.

Crowley and Y/N hit the ground at almost the same time.

“No, no, no!” Dean shouts out, runs to her.

He feels like he has a freaking deja-vu. Trapped in an endless loop of seeing her getting shot at. He wants to fucking wake up from this nightmare.

“Baby, no. No, no, no, no!”

Everything that happens is a blur. Dean hears Cas. Feels Sergei pushing him away to have more room, hears an ambulance in the distance, feels Truffles nosing at his bloody hand and then it’s like he’s drifting off. He feels strong arms heaving him up, hears talking behind his back.

Dean’s tired. He’s exhausted. All he wants is to sleep and wake up to Y/N next to him.

CH11

#sky full of stars #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #nathalie writes

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

Text

Survey #313

“i’m your turbo lover / tell me there’s no other”

Where are you located at this moment? In my bed. What if you found out your ex was having a child with someone else? If it was Sara, I'm finding out who the fuck I'm flying up there to punch his face in. If it was Jason, I'd either faint or be in the bathroom vomiting. Or both. I can almost promise you at least one or the other while I have an absolute emotional breakdown. I'm not at the point in my recovery where I can hear that and be entirely okay. I'd be happy for any of the others. At what age do you think you'll be ready to have children? Never. When was the last time you couldn't stop laughing? Why? I don't recall. Which of your friends do your parents get along best with? I guess Girt, since he's known my mom the longest of the friends I still have. I don't know about Dad; he barely knows any of my friends seeing as I don't live with him and see him rarely. Is there anyone in your friendship group that your parents don't like? No. Can you recall the last time you were extremely disappointed? I surprisingly can't remember, even though I know it was recent. Who was the last person to un-friend you on Facebook? I don't know, it's not like I go hunting people down if I notice the number has dropped, lol. Do you know why he/she decided to un-friend you? I'm certain it would've been something political. Are there any food wrappings, boxes, containers etc. in your room? No. Do you know anyone who does have cancer? I don't think anyone who currently has it, no. I may know someone via association, but idk. What is the worst medicine you've ever taken? There are two that very strongly stand out: the first one was in middle school, and the second sometime last year. I was put on an antidepressant that made me absolutely love life in the morning, like I would practically prance through school, but come afternoon, I was a fucking demon. Mom took me off that shit so fast. Most recently, my birth control was changed to have more estrogen for some reason I can't recall (maybe it had to do with mood?? idk), and it made me... I'm just gonna say I was a ~mess~. I slammed on breaks with it so fuckin fast. Safe to say I returned to my normal pill. Has your house or where you stayed ever flooded? My childhood home came very close during Hurricane Floyd. Thankfully the water never got actually inside the house, but it was an absolute lake outside. What was the last event or special occasion you participated in? My niece's birthday was actually a couple days ago, so we celebrated at my sister's house. What do you find yourself reminiscing about the most? I'll give you one guess. Do you have a favorite pianist? No. Song you listened to last is...? I have "Turbo Lover" by Judas Priest on right now. What's the last type of cookie you ate? Uhhh I would assume chocolate chip. Do you have your own computer? I have my own laptop, and I'm possibly getting an actual computer come May?? One of my WoW friends knows the hell I've been through with this laptop, and she and her husband are getting new computers then, so she's basically pushed her husband's old one on me, lol. Apparently it works just fine, he just wants something better. I've told her again and again to make some money off of it, but she's pretty much giving me no choice lmao. I appreciate it a whole lot, though. It'd be pretty nice to separate games onto an actual, capable desktop versus making my laptop sound like it's screaming for God's mercy if I boot something up. Describe your computer chair? I don't have one. Well, there's an old one in the extra room I'm going to end up using, but all I know is it's black. I've never paid closer attention to it. Do you sleep with your door open or closed? Open. I feel too isolated with it closed. Are you going to keep your last name when you get married? God no, it's very unlikely. I hate my last name, take it away. Does it bother you when people beg? Why are they begging, and how insistently? It depends. Do you have any weird rings? I have two, but neither I consider weird, at least. Well, I suppose the one with "bitch" carved on the inside would confuse non-Supernatural fans, haha. Are you anything like your siblings? Not really, no. At least, my two immediate sisters. Mom says I'm extremely similar to her eldest daughter though and wishes we'd talk more, but yeah, I just don't have anything to talk about with her. I'm so bad at initiating conversation. When was the last time you shaved your legs? October for when I was doing that witchy photoshoot with a friend. I absolutely hate shaving my legs and pretty much only do if anyone else whose opinion would affect me may see them. What would be the best surprise you could receive right now? Uhhh I guess all the "upgrades" I want to make to Venus' enclosure: a 40g tank and a nice, accurate hygrometer and thermometer, as well as the proper kind of lamp for her. I feel like such a "bad snake mom" still having her in her current terrarium because, while it's perfectly liveable and not dangerous, it's too small for her. It's pretty much always on my mind to some degree nowadays, so just like, dropping the terrarium and extra tools off would be a massive weight off my shoulders. Did you ever skip a grade or get held back a grade? No, but I was able to skip the intro Writing course the last time I was in college; I just started in Writing II. Who took your profile pic? Anywhere where it's a picture of myself, odds are me. I hate getting pictures taken, but if it's gonna happen, it'll be through myself, knowing my "good" angle and such, lol. Have you ever been fishing? Do you know anyone who likes fishing as a hobby? I've been fishing many times, especially as a kid with my dad. There are pleeeenty of people I know who enjoy it. I don't anymore. Do you own any cats? What color are their eyes? Yes; his are a light blue. Is there a rose bush in your garden? What color are its roses? We don't have a garden. When was the last time you spent over $100 in one transaction? What did you buy? Over $100 with my own cash, a plane ticket. My recent tattoo deposit was exactly a hundred. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal? Would you judge a grown adult for doing so? No; Roman would NEVER allow me to cuddle anything else, and I am not even remotely kidding. I couldn't care less if any adult does, though. Would you rather read an erotic novel or watch an erotic film? Ew, neither, but I guess a book would be better just so my eyes weren't forever scarred. What’s your favorite way to make your home smell good? Do you spend a lot of money on making this happen? INCENSE!!!! God, I love incense burners. I don't light it anymore though because Venus' terrarium is also in my room, and it's not good for snakes. What are the main two colors in the room you’re currently in? Did you pick these colors out yourself? Just... white. That's it. Well, my furniture is brown. I didn't pick either. How often do you wake up in the night needing to pee? Usually once, sometimes not at all anymore. I guess my bladder actually grew a pair. If you live in a household with pets, who is responsible for their care - both in terms of finance and the physical tasks involved? As far as the physical care, me. Mom does help me do a full clean of Venus' cage sometimes, though, because I don't trust myself to both keep her around my neck while I scrub the tank, hide, bowl, etc., with a cat that is my absolute shadow. I don't want to be bent over the tub and Roman tries to do something; he's shown very little interest in Venus, but still, I'm one hell of a paranoid snake mom that doesn't want to risk her life. Full cleans only happen like twice a year, so I don't mind too much asking my mother for some help. I should point out that Mom doesn't want to hold her, so we can't reverse roles. Do you have anything hanging from your ceiling apart from lights? Not anymore, no. At my old house and the one before, I had lots of Pyramid Head gift tags hanging, but our landlord doesn't want me to do that here. Would you describe yourself as neat, messy or somewhere in-between? I'm in-between. If you have pets, when was the last time one of them needed to go the vets? Venus had to go to the vet about a year into me having her because she was showing symptoms of an RI in strange breathing episodes, which can be fatal to a snake. Thank God, nature, whatever, that she didn't. There were warning signs, but closer watch over her humidity saved her. Roman, meanwhile, was taken to the vet like a year ago to be neutered. When the pandemic is over, what is one thing you can’t wait to do again? I barely ever left the house beforehand, so... I guess go to the movies. What’s one thing (aside from essentials) that you spend the most money on each month? Has anyone ever told you you’re obsessed or addicted with it? N/A What’s your favourite genre of TV show to watch? What’s your favourite show that’s not from that genre? If I had to pick, uhhh... yeah, idk, due to the whole "not into TV much to begin with" thing. Would you rather be employed or self-employed? Why? Self-employed, though taking care of all business matters yourself is/would suck. I just really want to be my own boss for the sake of photographing whatever I want. IIs your hair naturally curly, straight or somewhere in between? Do you wish it was different? It's straight, but on the wavy side, and I wish it wasn't. Do you ever play online games with your friends? Which one(s)? Just WoW. In the last week, have you had any alcoholic beverages? Which? No. Do you ever wear accessories in your hair? Which ones? No. Do you feel free to post your views on social media? Yep. I honestly don't care who it pisses off. What is your favorite work of historical fiction? Well, I don't really know what you consider truly "historical" in age... That, and I'm bad at dates to begin with. There are lots and lots of older books and movies I adore, though. Old Yeller is one of my favorite books ever, for one. The Boy In The Striped Pajamas makes me sob, too. What cartoon character looks like you? I remember when Hotel Transylvania came out, my ex's mob pointed out how much she thought I looked like the daughter, especially when my hair was dyed black. Do you have hope for the future? Some days I do, some days I don't. Do you believe in yourself? Ehhhh... debatable, idk. Do you have trouble letting go of your past? Oh yes. Were you happy in high school? It's funny, I was very depressed in HS, but due to Jason and friends, it's one of my most cherished time periods. Were you ever a teacher's favorite? I mean it modestly, but I was almost always pretty obviously one of the teachers' favorites. I was a good student. Are you popular? I wasn't. If you won a title in the senior class polls, what was it? I didn't. Have you ever had a medical condition that made you unable to work? My social anxiety is so debilitating that it's made it questionable. It ruined my very short-lived previous jobs. What makes your life worth living? My future goals, family, friends... What is your favorite Bible verse? I don't have one. List five careers you've considered. Paleontologist, vet, game designer, author, and wildlife biologist are all past ones. Do you have any unusual talents? If so, what? No. What do you get compliments on? My hair and my art, mostly. What have people told you you should be? I've heard "a vet" most in my life. What is holding you back? My (mostly social) anxiety and extreme fear of judgment. Do you have anyone purely evil in your life? Hell no, I wouldn't allow that person to stay in my life. Have you ever felt threatened for your life? I've felt scared for it, yes. While riding my bike once, I ran into a guy in my old neighborhood who had a criminal history, including assault, just asking what I was listening to on my iPod. I stopped because I was scared to keep going, and he wound up asking for my Facebook, but guess who didn't accept THAT friend request. List ten positive words that describe you. That's too much thinking, man. List ten negative words that [you feel] describe you. And that's too much negativity to fish in. Are you a good person or a bad person? I mean, I try to be a good one. Have you ever contemplated being a bad person? I've done bad things, but I've certainly never deliberated tried to be an overall bad person. Have you ever resorted to vandalism because you didn't have a voice? No. Have you ever egged someone's house? Wow, no. Do you want to egg someone's house? Also no because I'm a fucking adult. Have you ever seen a piece of graffiti that you are thankful for? What an odd question. I mean, no? Name three people who hurt you and didn't care. I am quite positive Colleen doesn't care about the many times she did considering she's always right. Was your first crush sexual, or no? No, I was just a kid. What would you do if you got pregnant right now? I honestly can't say I know. If I was God forbid raped, I'd probably have an abortion because I psychologically could not handle that without being scarred for life. If it was by my own stupidity, I feel I'd probably have the baby but give it up for adoption. I just can't raise a kid. Do you have a medical condition that you are embarrassed or ashamed to tell people you have? No, I don't think so. What do you get asked the most? Hm. OH, WAIT, THAT'S EASY. I get asked a lot if my lip piercing hurt. Have you ever stood up for someone else who was being bullied? I know I have before, but I don't remember the occasion. What tragic news stories that you've heard has touched you the most? Man, that's a lot to think about. You see news articles on Facebook all the time, and a whole lot of them touch me, so I dunno. What is your favorite thing to order at Taco Bell? I like the cheese quesadillas, and whatever those cinnamon bites are called are really good. I'm still tilted they got rid of the fiesta potatoes, because I adored those. Where do you have cutting scars (if you have any)? I only ever had them on my wrist, but you can't see them anymore. Do you like cotton candy? Not very, but I mean, I can have a bite or two. It's way too sweet to eat a lot of it. What's the best piece of graffiti you've ever seen? I'm unsure, but I've definitely seen beautiful work, especially online. Do you like tattoos? "Like" is a colossal understatement. Do you like piercings? Yep yep yep. Have you ever made someone so mad that they broke something? No. Those are not people I hang around with. Who is the last person you slow-danced with? Slow-danced? I don't think I've done that since Jason.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''turbo lover'' by judas priest

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niuniente · 5 years

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Title: A Troll Who Didn’t Purr Fandom: Trollhunters Rating: PG Warnings: None Prompt #: 6 “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?” Relationship: Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler/Angor Rot Character(s): Barbara Lake, Walter Strickler, Angor Rot, Jim Lake Jr., Blinky Additional Tags: Stricklakerot, Polyship, Comfort, Oneshot Notes: This is not proofread as I couldn't find myself a proofreader. Also in AO3 Summary: Every troll purrs when happy. If not, there's something wrong with the troll.

“Blinky! Blinky!”

A storming sound of running feet accompanied the loud cries of Blinky’s name. It all started so suddenly Blinky almost fell from the small stool he was standing on in front of his bookshelf.

Three human teenagers rushed to the room.

“Ah, Claire, Toby and Master Jim. What with this ruckus? Is something wrong?” Blinky asked, deciding it was perhaps the best if he came down from the stool on a steady floor.

Claire had a big book in her arms. It covered almost half of her body.

“We were cleaning the storage, just like you asked, and found this”, she said, lifting the book up to get a better hold of it.

Blinky peered down at the book. It was red, very dusty and clearly very, very old. His eyes brightened.

“Ah, The Complete Guide to Troll Cultures by Rogney-Ragney Wisepants!” he breathed, delighted. “So that’s where I had put it. I was wondering where it was.”

“There was so much weird info in the book”. Toby patted the book’s cover. “Show him, Claire.”

Claire carried Rogney-Ragney Wisepant’s book to Blinky’s table, pushing it further from her. The front cover was so heavy she had to open it with both hands. Jim was next to her going through the pages to help her out.

“Here!” Jim said, tapping the brownish yellow page with his index finger. “It says here that trolls purr.”

Blinky at the other side of the table looked baffled. “Oh, but yes, they do. Rogney-Ragney wrote that book centuries ago so some of the troll customs have changed – the same happens in all cultures – but all trolls are capable of purring.”

The kids looked at one another. Toby’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Then why haven't we heard it?” he asked.

“Young Tobias, trolls purr only on special occasions. Either, when they are very happy and content, or when they are hunting for cats,” Blinky explained, smiling.

Toby’s frown just grew deeper.

“Oh,” he sighed, “I have not heard Aaaaargh purr so does it mean he’s not been happy around me?”

“Aaaaargh is… different,” Blinky said, rubbing his four palms. His eyes were concerned. “What he was put through when he was a small whelp… It changed him. Unfortunately, Aaaaargh never learned to purr.”

“So purring is not a natural behavior?” Claire looked at Blinky.

“No, not at all. It needs to be learned, just like any language or a form of communication. Nevertheless, all trolls are able to purr and will do that when they are extremely happy and content. Aaaargh is just a rare exception. But please, do not bring it up when he is around. This is a sensitive subject to our beloved friend Aaaaargh.”

“Would you say that trolls purr with their partners?” Jim asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

Blinky nodded.

“Yes, though it depends a bit on a troll culture when purring with a partner is accepted and when not. There are regulations, different courting methods, some waiting times and---”

“I got it!” Jim hastily stopped Blinky, before he would start a twenty-minute lecture of troll purring. “Thanks, Blinky.”

Walter could hear footsteps behind his back. He recognized them immediately and looked over his shoulder to see Jim approaching him during his dishwashing turn.

“Strickler, can I ask something?” Jim leaned against the kitchen counter next to Walter.

A faint smile appeared in Walter's corner of his mouth. His eyes returned to the delicate wine glass he was cleaning.

“Of course. Shoot me, Jim.”

“It’s kinda like… man to man?” Jim circled, searching for his words.

“Trust me: I have heard many man to man talks during my very, very long life,” Walter said, giving a quick soft look at Jim. “You can talk to me about anything and ask about anything.”

“Well,” Jim took a deep breath. “I spoke with Blinky earlier today. Turns out trolls purr.”

“Yes, they do.”

“They purr when they are very happy and content, especially with partners.”

“Uh-huh, and when they hunt cats for a dinner”, Walter added, finishing cleaning the wine glass and reaching out for a new one from the debts of the foaming water.

“It’s just, that you and mom look really happy---”

“---But I don’t purr?” Walter finished Jim’s sentence. Jim nodded.

“That’s because I’m a changeling, not a troll. We can’t purr. Did Blinky tell you that purring needs to be learned?”

Jim inspected Walter’s face and thought he saw a hint of melancholic sadness in his eyes. Jim straightened his posture.

“Yeah, he said that. Makes sense. You grew up with humans.”

“As one of them. Humans do not purr, so I have not learned it.”

“Can you learn as an adult?” Jim asked and got a shake of a head from Walter as an answer.

“It needs to be learned when you are small. I’m afraid my chances for that are long gone,” Walter chuckled, but the small hint of sadness didn’t leave his eyes. Jim cleared his throat and reached to pat Walter on his upper arm.

“Thanks. I needed to hear that. It means you and mom are genuinely happy.” He did his best to give Walter a reassuring smile. “And I think mom likes you, whether you purr or not.”

Walter smiled softly back at Jim.

“To be honest, I don’t think I’d be that comfortable with such trollish behavior. I’m happy to show my affection to my loved ones in other ways – like doing dishes and looking after the house while Barbara is at work.” Walter gestured to the full sink.

Jim rolled his sleeves up.

“Want help?”

“Please. I’d be delighted.”

“Mom. Did you know that trolls purr?” Jim asked when Barbara was leaving his room.

“Purr?” Barbara asked, turning back to Jim at the door frame.

“Yeah. I heard about it from Blinky. Though Strickler doesn’t purr because he is not a full blood troll.”

“No. I didn’t know. Interesting. It makes them sound a bit like cats, doesn’t it?” Barbara mulled the thought over. “Very, very big and stony cats!”

“Oh yeah and Aaaaargh doesn’t purr either, as he never learned to purr,” Jim continued.

“They need to learn that?”

“Yes, like any other language,” Jim nodded at Barbara.

Barbara rubbed her chin, humming. Her arms crossed over her chest as her chin pressed down. Then her chin rose up as she pushed her head backwards, letting out a long, thoughtful hum.

“I have never heard a troll purr, but perhaps someday I can hear that. I want to hear if it sounds like a cat's purring or if it’s different”, she said, sounding so serious it made Jim chuckle.

“I’m sure you will hear it someday, mom,” Jim said. Barbara smiled at him.

“I look forward to that. But now, bedtime, young man. You have a school day tomorrow.”

“Friday!” Jim rejoiced. “Just one more day and then it's the weekend!”

“The more reasons to go to bed. The sooner you fall asleep, the faster tomorrow arrives”, Barbara said, pointing her finger playfully at Jim. Jim groaned, but couldn’t hide his grin.

“Mom, I’m not a first grader anymore.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Barbara said, slowly closing Jim’s room’s door.

“Goodnight, mom.”

Jim crawled under his duvet, snuggling his body into a comfortable position. He closed his eyes and thought about what he should do on the weekend. Perhaps a movie evening at Claire’s home. Or a game evening with Toby. Or perhaps he could learn more how to use knives at fights with Angor Rot.

Suddenly, Jim’s eyes shot open.

Angor Rot!

Angor Rot was sitting in the backyard of Lakes’ house, carving something with great detail and care. Jim padded next to him, wrapping a blanket tighter around his body to shield himself against the too crispy fall night.

“Boy, it is a night. You should be in bed,” Angor Rot said, never lifting his case from his craft.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he lied.

“If you think I will cast a spell on you so that you fall asleep, forget it. My spells aren’t really that kind and good for peoples’ bodies.”

“No, I just wanted to ask something. I think I’ll be able to sleep after that.”

That seemed to get Angor’s attention. His head rose up and he turned slowly to look at Jim; his hands still frozen halfway into a cut through the carved figure. He waited.

“Ah well,” Jim began, shifting his weight from one leg to another. “Now that you live here together with Strickler, mom and me, I take that… you are happy here?” Jim asked hesitantly.

Angor’s lips parted in a surprise. He composed himself quickly.

“Yes. This is a good house. You are a good son. Strickler and Barbara are good mates and I do my best to be worthy of being their mate,” Angor replied.

“Well, uh… Mom said that she has never heard a troll purr…” Jim said quietly, looking at his feet.

Angor’s yellow eyes widened. He turned his head away from Jim with a stern expression. He grunted.

“Yes, I’m aware of that. Your point?”

“…My—My point? No point really,” Jim stammered, sensing it was not a good idea to ask more about the subject. “Just… purr for mom once. Someday. If you are happy. And if you want to do that, that is!” he quickly added.

Angor didn’t say anything. Just returned back to his craft. Jim rubbed his neck, feeling awkward.

“So, uh. Goodnight?” he tried, feeling how his cheeks were getting red from the awkwardness.

“Like I said, I will do my best to be worthy of Barbara,” Angor said, keeping his head turned away from Jim.

Something in the way Angor said that made Jim think that maybe purring was hard for him. Perhaps Angor was like Aaaargh who never learned to purr, or perhaps his culture was like Strickler’s changeling culture where purring had no role in. Jim had a sense it was perhaps to let the subject go, so he gave Angor a small smile and a positive nod.

“OK. Speaking of mom, I have to slip back inside before she spots me out here. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, son.”

“Blinky, can trolls stop purring?” Jim asked. His eyebrows had knitted deeply together and drawn a line over his forehead. Blinky stopped on his tracks to a sock snack bar and turned to face Jim.

“It is possible, Master Jim. Purring is semi-autonomous behavior and trolls can control it on some levels. Like if you get hungry, Master Jim, you can stand your hunger until it is the best time to eat. Trolls can do that with purring. Just like with food, some trolls are better at controlling themselves than others when it comes to purring.”

Jim looked up at Blinky’s face, concerned.

“But what if the troll doesn’t purr at all? Like Aaaargh but with an ability to purr?”

“You mean that if the troll chooses not to purr?”

“Yeah, even when there was no reason for that, let’s say, the troll culture norms”, Jim replied, pushing his hands down to his jeans’ pockets. “It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

Blinky’s all eight eyes had a worried expression in them.

“Well, it is possible with a traumatic event, Master Jim. I know that humans can lose the ability to speak after a traumatic life event. Trolls can lose an ability both to speak and purr in a similar situation. Usually speaking returns first, if both are lost, but even if the troll keeps their ability to speak after being badly hurt, they often lose their ability to purr. Purr is heavily related to relaxation and peace, so it is natural for a troll with a trauma disorder or other trauma related problems not to purr in any circumstances,” Blinky explained, watching how Jim’s face darkened the longer he spoke.

“Can a troll with a trauma get their purring back?” Jim inquired.

“Positively, but every troll has their own healing time based on the severity of the trauma and their natural resilience.”

Jim nodded, smiling a bit too weakly to cover his worry from Blinky.

“Thanks for the answer. I suspected something like that.”

A few months later from the day Jim had spoken with Barbara about the troll purr, Barbara and Strickler thought they heard Angor Rot purr faintly while he laid on his side in the bed between them. First, it sounded like soft snoring, but when the sound didn’t have a steady rhythm like a snore – instead, it ran as a one long line – they knew it was a purr.

Small, faint, barely audible, but a purr, nevertheless.

They took a look at one another over Angor’s relaxed body. Barbara couldn’t hide a small giggle and Strickler had to compose his face back to a poker look when Angor’s eyes shot open and he glared at Strickler.

“What?” he barked, his face towards Strickler and back to Barbara.

“No-nothing. I just think this bed is still a bit too tiny for us three. Isn’t it, dear?” He stretched his neck to look at Barbara, who was clearly enjoying the tiny purr with a warm smile on her face.

“Definitely!” Barbara agreed, patting Angor’s shoulder. “I think we should add one more extension to the bed for us all to lay here comfortably.”

Angor shifted a bit. “I can do that tomorrow,” he said, still purring underneath his breath.

“No, not you. We all. Let’s do it together,” Barbara said.

“Absolutely! Troll nest building is a job for all the mates, isn’t it?” Strickler was nodding. His eyes directed at Angor’s face. “You don’t have to do everything alone. Not anymore. Ok?”

Angor averted his eyes and nodded.

Barbara was sure she could pick up Angor’s purring getting slightly louder.

#angor rot #stricklakerot #trollhunters #strickler #blinky #niu fics #barbara #jim #fanfic #fictober19

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starscheme · 4 years

Text

With All My Heart

Chapter Five: Good intentions gone wrong

In the last couple of days, Spinel had been trying to keep herself busy. Her space in the temple was pink of course. The room used to be like a playground, but after Rose vanished to give birth to Steven and Spinel changed, she smashed most everything and Pearl had long since cleared the mangled things from her room. Now, her space was mostly empty save for a large wooden chest. Spinel never felt the need to add much to her room. After all, she preferred to spend her time in the main house with Steven now.

The empty room didn't really matter to her until now. For the past two days, she was left alone there, having nothing but time to think about what happened. Spinel was simply sitting on the floor, her back against the wooden chest as she stared up at the ceiling. How long was this going to go on? Surely Garnet wouldn't punish her for too long, right?

Still, even if it had only been a couple of days, it felt like torture. All she could think about was how much she missed Steven. She was stuck in here while he was out there and able to have fun without her. With Connie.

Spinel shook her head, trying to get the image of the two out of her head. Nothing could make this punishment worse than thinking of Connie taking her place. It made her think of that terrible dream. The longer she was in here, maybe the more Steven would realize he didn't need her.

"He wouldn't do that..." spinel whispered into the empty room, trying to convince herself that her fears wouldn't come to pass.

As Spinel sat in thought, a door appeared at the far end of her room and Pearl stepped in. With a smile, Spinel leapt to her feet to greet her friend.

"Pearl," she exclaimed, rushing over to her. "I didn't think I was allowed to see anyone."

Pearl had stopped by just as she told Steven she would, but it wasn't just for his sake. Besides, Pearl was the only one that could enter Spinels room without permission since their spaces were connected. Something Pearl had made sure of when the temple was created. Mostly to keep an eye on Spinel and to make sure she had a way to come and get Rose if they had lost track of time playing around. Pink said it was Pearls job to keep Spinel responsible after all.

"I wanted to talk...and see how you're doing," Pearl greeted, glancing around at the empty space.

"You still haven't done anything in here? ...what happened to all the furniture I brought you?"

Spinel thought for a moment, "oh, you mean the tea table and stuff? I put them in the closet."

"That's not a closet," Pearl groaned, walking to the wall and pressing her hand to it. A door appeared and slid open, revealing a room packed with loose furniture, armor and weapons.

"...why do you keep everything from the war as if it were junk?" Sighed Pearl as she began to pull some rather elegant looking wooden chairs from the pile.

"...I don't like remembering the war." Spinel answered, sitting down on the wooden chest now, her smile gone.

Pearl had already taken out a table and two chairs, solid wood and carved meticulously with roses and vines around the legs. No doubt something Pearl had picked out for Spinel.

"Well...be that as it may, those weapons and your old things are a part of history and should be kept in better shape. Certainly not treated like a mere closet," lectured Pearl as she sat down in one of the chairs and gesturing for Spinel to take the other.

"...then why don't you just keep them...?" Muttered Spinel irately before she sat down across from her guest.

Pearl didn't reply, but instead her gem began to glow and out came the bag of marshmallows that Steven was hoping to give Spinel.

The pinks Gems eyes brightened and she leaned up in her seat. "Ah! Did Steven tell you to—"

Pearl looked a bit nervous now, but she smiled and shook her head.

"N-no, no," she insisted, cutting Spinel off before she got any further.

"I just thought you would like a snack. As a...reward for taking your punishment so well," Pearl lied.

Sinking back into her seat, Spinel held out her hand for a treat. She had hoped that Steven was thinking about her. It would have made her feel better.

"...so...what is Steven up to?"

"Spinel..." Pearl began, almost as if to warn her about the topic. "...you and Steven are not supposed to see one another. I think it's better we don't talk about him either."

"That's not fair!" Snapped Spinel. "I've been in here all alone! I haven't tried to escape or anything!"

"Calm down," said Pearl sternly. "This is exactly why we're doing this."

"...what do you mean?"

Pearl took a breath and placed the bag of sweets on the table.

"Spinel...when Rose...gave up her form for Steven...you changed. Not just your appearance...but your personality. It alarmed all of us. I'd never heard of anything like that happening to a Spinel. Or any Gem for that matter."

"...yeah. So...?" This was not a topic that Spinel liked. She was rather self conscious about her transformation. The only reason she didn't worry about it where Steven was concerned, was because he hadn't known her any other way. Still, she knew that Pearl saw her as...broken somehow. "We waited all that time to see if something was wrong with my gem...and it wasn't cracked or noth'n."

"I know, but Spinel...after talking with Garnet yesterday...I think we have more reason to be concerned. ...I blame myself mostly...for not noticing all this sooner."

"Noticing what? I haven't hurt humans before. Well...unless you count that time on Halloween when Steven was little, but how was I supposed to know that humans dressed as monsters for candy at the time?"

"...I mean, I didn't notice how attached you had become to Steven. I was so lost in my own grief and regret, that I didn't see how losing Rose affected you. I'm sorry."

Spinel was getting confused. Why was it a bad thing to be attached to Steven. Weren't they all attached to him? Didn't that just mean that they loved him? "I don't get it. Is there a problem with me being around Steven?"

"When he was little...it was fine, but I think something has changed. Garnet noticed it of course...but I guess I just wasn't paying close enough attention. You've become overly possessive and with how emotional you can be...it may lead to more problems like this. ...mostly with Connie."

The mention of Connie soured Spinels mood once again. "I'm gonna apologize when I see her..."

"But what about next time?" Insisted Pearl, reaching over to place her hand over Spinels. "You have never liked it when she is around Steven and it's gotten so much worse. This time, you just pushed her, but what happens if next time you do something you cant take back? We are so much stronger than humans, you could end up really hurting her."

"I won't. I promise. She's important to Steven and I'm Stevens friend. It's my job to keep him happy and be happy for him. I-I don't know what happened before, but I'll do better next time. I'll be better."

"...that's the problem Spinel. You keep saying it's your job. After everything that's changed here...I think you're the only one that's stuck. ...you still think your only purpose is to be Stevens friend and I think...that's what's going to make trouble later on. I mean, what are you going to do when if you see Steven hold Connie or kiss h—mph!"

Spinel had covered pearls mouth with her hand, staring down at the table to hide her face. "Y-you don't have to say that stuff..."

Pearl steeled herself and pulled Spinels hand away. "Yes I do. You need to understand that even though you're his friend, you might not be the most important person to him. You have to learn to accept that Connie might be that person. After all, Steven is most likely going to be with a human and no matter how you feel about it, it's better if he lives a normal life with a human."

"You don't know how I feel!" Spinel shouted now, slamming her fist against the table.

"Yes I do! I know exactly how you feel because I've felt it too!" Pearl shouted back, rising from her seat.

Spinel stopped and stared up at Pearl, surprised by her outburst. What was she trying to say?

"You may not even really see it yourself yet, but I know you feel exactly what I felt back then! It's better for you to let this go now, before you get hurt! I don't want you to break even further! Please Spinel, we've been together for more than six thousand years. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too. If you keep acting like this...if you don't realize it...or even if you do and try to pursue it...you'll only get hurt. Steven is going to choose Connie in the end. She's human. Isn't that the natural way of things here on earth? We have to accept that. ...I don't want you to go through something painful again! Who knows what it will do to you this time! What if...what if it really breaks you...to where I won't be able to help you anymore?"

As Pearl ranted, tears began to pool at the edge of her eyes. "...this is my fault! I should have noticed how things were going and stopped it sooner. So now...please Spinel...I can help you fix things. Everything can go back to the way it was and I'm sure you'll get along with Connie after that. ...I'll be there for you every step of the way."

Spinel stared in stunned silence, taking in every word Pearl was saying. The more she listened, the more she thought on what Pearl was trying to convey, the dots began to connect and Spinel felt the walls close in around her. Was Pearl trying to say that Spinels feelings for Steven had changed beyond friendship? Is that why they think she attacked Connie? That couldn't be possible.

"N...no," Spinel started quietly, standing from her seat as well, staring at the floor as she desperately tried to find an argument for what Pearl was saying. "Y-you're wrong! I can't...be in love with Steven," Spinel demanded, meeting Pearls gaze now. "I'm his friend! I'm supposed to be his friend! ...loving him...like that...that's not what I was made for. If he finds out that I—-if I really—-it would would ruin everything!" Spinel cried, tears flowing down her cheeks as she shook her head, unsure how to process all this.

Pearl could tell that Spinel didn't really understand and she was still talking about her purpose as if that was all that was important. However, Pearls goal was to get Spinel to let go of her feelings for Steven. It was probably the wrong way to go about this, but she was so desperate to keep Spinel from anything else that might change her again, she would do anything to make sure it didn't get that far.

"It's okay," Pearl started, wiping her own eyes before she stepped towards Spinel and grabbed her shoulders to get her attention.

"We are going to get through this. This...maybe this is just because of the change you went through when your Gem turned around. You can easily go back to being just friends with Steven. ...but this is why I think some time apart is the best option right now. I'll visit you everyday and we can talk this out. We'll sort out your feelings so that we can make everything go back to normal. You'll go back to being Stevens best friend...and You'll finally get along with Connie. That will make Steven happy...and everything will be okay again."

Being away from Steven even longer? Spinel hated the thought, but if it meant that she could fix this, maybe it was a good idea. She trusted Pearl. Besides, if she really was feeling something more than friendship for Steven, there must have been something wrong with her. She was made to be a friend, nothing more. All she wanted was to see Steven again. To be his friend again. She had to fix herself.

"...okay Pearl. ...I'll do whatever you think is best..." agreed Spinel with a forced smile. There was a terrible pain in her chest, but once this was over, all that aching would go away, right?

#steven universe #su #su fanfic #stevinel #stevinel fanfic #with all my heart #chapter five #steven and spinel #pearl #spinel #cg spinel #my story #fanfiction

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certifiedskywalker · 5 years

Text

Temptation - Nikki Sixx

You and Nikki have always shared one world. Now that he’s a rockstar, that connection had fallen flat. Can you both rekindle that lost spark?

Warnings: Cursing, drinking, drug mention, the normal warnings when it comes to these boys, ya know?

At this point, the tension nestled between you and Nikki Sixx, while one sided, was beginning to bubble over. It was clear in the way you readily accepted his invitation to attend Mötley Crüe’s newest show at the Whiskey-A-Go-Go and painfully obvious in your eyes as you watched them preform. Never once during the set list did your gaze stray from Nikki as he plucked at the strings of his bass and hopped about the stage. Your affection for the rockstar did not go unfounded. Being his friend, you were able to see past the sharp exterior and catch glimpses of the true man beneath. You were one of the few people that Nikki shared things with; everything but lifestyles it seemed.

No matter what you did, Nikki’s ‘rock-n-roll’ way of life never stuck with you. On rare occasions you would stick around for after show parties at the Crüe’s apartment. Even then, you were consistently by yourself, fawning over Nikki from afar as he flirted with the band’s gathering groupies. The scene made you feel isolated, alone, and cut off from the one person you carved to be connected to the most. You came to the conclusion that your inability to ‘let loose’ and give into temptations meant something wasn’t right within you. Something was messed up and muddled in your mind, making you savor the quiet corners of Nikki’s loudest parties. More often than not, you’d sit yourself beside Mick in the hopes of having some semblance of a solid conversation. This midnight, after the show party was no different.

“What are we even doing here?” Mick asks suddenly, his monotone voice tinged with a foreign curiosity. You turned your head to face him, figuring he was referencing the bustling bodies and the booming music surrounding your both.

“Honestly, I don’t know, Mick,” you admit in a breath, “that’s a grand mystery. We’re so out of place, even you. The more parties I go to the more of a nuisance I feel. I don’t belong here.”

“I was talking about the planet, Y/N,” Mick reveals, meeting your eyes with a sense of shock. You had never seen him more expressive. “You really don’t like parties, huh?”

You sigh, averting your gaze from Mick only to land on Nikki. He looked good leaning against the bar in the confines of the kitchen. Tight black pants and a loose fitting tank top clung to his frame, his typical post-show outfit. It was only further decorated by a girl’s lipstick coated mouth latching onto his neck. It was appalling and filled you with unbridled jealousy. Your face burned as you tried to tear your eyes away, but then Nikki’s eyes caught yours. He sent you a wink before turning to the girl feeling him up. Unable to bear the sight any longer, you stood up.

“I hate parties, Mick,” you corrected before stomping off to one of the apartments adjoining bedrooms. It was still early in the night so no canoodling couple had claimed Nikki’s bed. You flung yourself down on the mattress after locking the door behind you. As soon as your head hits the pillow you’re welcomed by the smell of Nikki’s cologne. It wasn’t the cheap one he used to wear when he was performing with London. No, like everything else in Nikki’s life, his favorite cologne changed too. Now he smelled like nicotine, masked by aged whiskey and cedar wood.

A groan rumbled in your throat and the urge to cry gripped your heart like a vice. Having been Nikki’s longest lasting friend, seeing his world shift around him was awe-inspiring. He had told you once before that music was his world and to see him shape it was like witnessing an painter make a landscape come to life on canvas. However with the music, the parties, the tours, and the the girls, there was little room left for you in Nikki’s life. You were wrong, you didn’t fit with him as you once did and that was something you would simply have to get used to.

Your thoughts are disrupted by a laugh behind the door, followed by an eager knock. Rolling your eyes you sit up on the edge of the bed. The giggling persists and you shout at the noise. After telling them to get lost, the laughing dies and leaves only the booming bass of whatever music is being played. You’re too busy studying Nikki’s room to place the name of the band or to even care. The walls are almost barren, save a few dents and red paint splatters on the walls. He small desk is cramped and littered with note sheets full of lyrics yet to be put to song. You stood from your spot and picked up one of the papers that had fallen on the floor. The door to the bedroom opened when your eyes had begun to read the words.

“Y/N? What the Hell?” You spin on your heel, eyes meeting Nikki’s and those of the couple you presumed had been the one knocking on the door moments ago. Nikki sees how your eyes drift to them and he slams the door shut on their faces, much to their vocalized dismay. “Are you alright? Vince didn’t try anything did he?”

“No, Nikki, he didn’t. I just needed a break.” Nikki’s mouth turned into an ‘o’ of realization. His fingers combed through his long black locks of hair, knocking loose a few stray specks of glitter from it.

“I get that,” he said before falling back on his bed so his legs rested well off of the mattress, “I could use one too.” You couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Comfy?” You asked, only to be answered by a very content hum.

“You’d make it better though,” Nikki joked, patting the still exposed section of his bed.

You laugh to make light of his sincerity and find yourself on his bed again, you back pressed to the mattress with your arm against Nikki’s. A sigh of relief passes from your lips as it feels so natural, just falling into place at his side. You can’t imagine anywhere else you would rather be, but you feel that Nikki wishes for the rocking mass of people hidden behind the door of his bedroom. Daring to seek a glance, you turn your head to the side. Nikki is still staring up his ceiling, giving you the perfect view of his sharp jawline. His full, pink lips are parted as if he is going to speak, but when he does you’re too distracted by the lipstick stains on his neck to truly hear him.

“Y/N?” He turns his head to meet your eyes when you remain quiet after his question. The moment his eyes find yours, your gaze finds the ceiling once more. Now Nikki is studying you as you did with him and you can’t help but try to swallow the nerves climbing up your throat.

“Sorry, what?” You ask, still not meeting Nikki’s eyes.

“I said,” Nikki leaned up on one side, resting his weight on his arm so he could look down and into your face, “I said that you looked good tonight. You still do, but you were dancing at the show. It was cute.”

“Oh,” you murmured, staring into his bright eyes, “I uh, well it was a good show. You guys did great.”

“Take the compliment, Y/N, don’t be an asshole.” Nikki groaned teasingly before leaning down to rest his head on your chest. His hair tickled sections of exposed skin, making you squirm slightly beneath him.

“I’m not being an asshole, fuckface,” you fire back, coaxing a chuckle from Nikki. You feel his laugh in his chest as it rests against your torso. It’s a sensation you hope you remember for a long time to come. You also hope you remember the momentary courage that rose up within you as your fingers began to brush through his hair. Some of the stubble growing from his chin prickled your skin as he lifted his head to peer into your eyes.

“I’ve missed you,” he said suddenly, a glint in his eyes telling you he meant his words. “You don’t come around anymore, to our practices. I was surprised you even came here tonight.” You let out a sigh and gently comb your fingers through the ends of his long locks.

“This...it isn’t really my scene, Nik. I only came here...because of you, really. I miss you too.” Your confusion pulls a half-smile to his lips as he leans up towards you. Nikki’s chest is nearly resting entirely on your own now and you feel that a line of traditional friendship has been crossed. Although, you don’t necessarily mind it.

“We don’t have to miss each other,” he hums and you want, so desperately, to give into temptation. You long to melt and meld with Nikki. If he stares at you any longer you fear you just might but, as you stare at him, all you can see are the prints of another person’s lips on his skin.

“But you’ll miss this, the parties, the girls,” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from saying more. You don’t need to add to the list of vices that Nikki is already too well aware of.

“I’ll miss you more.” The sentiment falls from his lips as if it is the only truth he had ever known. “Those are all perks, Y/N, but you...you’re like music. You’re forever for me.”

“Nikki, I don’t want to hold you back.” Despite the tone of your voice and how it drips with the bitterness saved in your soul, Nikki smiles at you. A gentle smile he reserves only for your viewing. A show no one else has a ticket to but you. His lips turn up with a soft smugness that could be mistaken for lust but you can sense the underlying sense of familiarity.

“You won’t hold be back,” he says, his eyes darkening as he stares at you. Heat floods your face under his intense gaze and only burns further when he adds, “you’ll just be holding me. Don’t you want that?” You can’t tell if you concede to his question because the tenderness in his eyes is true or if the alcohol on his breath is slowly intoxicating you. Either way, you nod quickly in response.

“Yeah, I do,” you whisper when Nikki leans in closer. His nose brushes softly against yours, lips skirting atop your own. The scent of cigarette smoke clings to him, wafting into your nostrils and enticing you to tilt your body against his.

“Good,” Nikki whispers, finally pressing his lips to yours. You can taste the Jack Daniels on his tongue as he invades your senses wholly. His hands work their ways up to your neck, holding your face in his hands as if it were his life’s purpose. Your own hands are grasping at his tank top, one trailing up his hair and tracing lines through his inky tresses.

It feels like you are sinking and you can’t help but wonder if it’s the same feeling the boys get with they hit a line or step on stage for that first song. You feel that it must be because Nikki is sensing it too, moving his lips against yours with an indescribable rhythm. His touch weaves a song of temptation in your heart and you wonder if he’ll find it in himself to finish the lyrics you had found because, for Nikki, you are music. He can’t be himself without you. No room full of people and boozes could fill his emptiness like you.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx imagine #nikkie sixx imagines #nikki sixx x you #motley crue #motley crue imagine #motley crue imagines #motley crue fanfiction #nikki sixx fanfiction #the dirt #the dirt imagine #the dirt imagines #the dirt fanfiction #vince neil #tommy lee #mick mars

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vkelleyart · 5 years

Photo

For Carry On Countdown: Day 9 - Sunset/Sunrise

I’m going to level with you guys. This all started with just the bottom panel. Then I got inspired to do a short strip based on the idea for a post-canon scene in which Simon wakes Baz up in the morning. Then, on impulse, I drew the ring on Simon’s hand.

Which spawned an entire one-shot fanfic that I wrote in the middle of the night on Saturday. (Good grief, what is WRONG with me.) So... a strip-with-a-fic.

The art is above, of course, but if you want to know how that ring got on Simon’s finger, read on. :)

Title: Beginnings

Word Count: 3815

Rating: Teen+

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

BAZ

“I’m not sure I understand you, Father,” I interject. “What exactly do you find objectionable about Simon Snow?”

My father is standing at the bookshelf of our family library in the exact spot Penelope Bunce and I had once stood five years ago, consulting one another over the known and unknown details surrounding my mother’s murder. Today, I am across the room, sitting on the sofa where Simon emphatically declared no one was “seducing a vampire” within 24 hours of seducing me.

My, how times do change.

My father, on the other hand, manages to stay exactly the same.

I know the answer to my question already, but I want to force Father to stare his own bigotry in the face. His problem isn’t that I’m queer; he’s known about that long enough to have made a stink by now. I can’t imagine that the Old Families care much about that anyway.

What bothers him about my relationship with Simon is Simon himself. Nameless, Normal Simon who was raised in homes and groomed for battle against the Old Families. Giving up his only credit to a world that never quite accepted him--his magic--only stained Snow’s reputation further in the eyes of the Grimms.

My father is too sharp to be cornered by my question. Like me.

“You’re not giving this the consideration it deserves, Basilton.”

“I beg to differ,” I protest. “You made certain I thought of nothing else for nearly a decade and a half.”

Father shakes his head, ignoring me. “The Families follow our lead,” he states in his best paternal-sounding voice. “The world of mages takes its cues from us, and with that influence comes an obligation to maintain a degree of… magical integrity.”

Magical integrity?

So Bunce is right about my family after all. Bigoted purists.

He goes on, and rage surges up my throat like bile with every word. “I won’t be around forever, Basil, and your mother doesn’t have the expertise to do what I do. Maintaining the operation of our estate is no small burden. It demands an even hand, a focused approach... and a respect for the reputation bound to our name.”

Our reputation. It always seems to come back to this. Though I’m so furious I could set the room ablaze, my voice remains passive as I say the words I know will cut through all this bullshit like a knife.

“I love Simon Snow, Father.”

His stone expression cracks. (Good.)

Something about saying these words out loud to my father feels like a dam is breaking. Like stepping into the light. So I keep going. “When I think of my future, he’s in it. He is it. Whatever plans you’ve assigned me, Simon’s partnership will be part of them, and if that’s a problem, I might advise you to rethink my role in the future of the estate altogether.”

His eyes narrow as he sits across from me, lips curling in a scowl. The cool veil over his face is gone.

“He’s a Normal. He’s not a part of our world anymore - he hasn’t been for five years - and you haven’t come to terms with it yet. When it comes to ‘the future of the estate’ as you put it, I think you know that there are certain expectations that must be met, and they do not include diluting our influence by associating with the likes of Snow.”

I can’t stop my face from contorting in disgust at his words, but I refuse to raise my voice. “I do know. I’m 23 and I’m prepared to meet my obligations, but they don’t include sacrificing my one prospect for happiness just because the Old Families think Simon is beneath them. He lost - no - sacrificed his magic to save the world of mages,” I say, my voice losing some of its steadiness. “That they haven’t fallen down on their knees to thank him is a despicable show of their arrogance. If being with Simon diminishes our family’s influence, well, frankly…”

I lean back and cross my arms.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

My father sets his jaw. He knows who my every reference to the Old Families is really talking about, and he’s ready to deliver his kill shot.

Well, that’s just fine. I’m ready, too.

“Basilton, I will not stand by while the heir to the House of Pitch throws away generations of effort building our standing in the magical world. This name for which you have so little regard is what has made your life possible,” he snaps, rising to his feet so he can talk down to me like I’m a teenager again. Like I’m still the lynchpin in the master plan to take down the Mage and I’d better not fuck it up for everyone.

“If you choose to remain with Snow, you forfeit your name. Your influence. Your inheritance. Everything.”

For a moment, I stare at him. There it is. His ultimate threat. He disapproves of Simon so much, he’d toss me out of the Pitch line of succession altogether, and I’m surprised to realize that I’m not shocked by how far he is willing to go to exert his control over me. I’m far more astonished by the ferocity of his blind hate.

I pause to think.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Father,” I say at last, casually standing and straightening my suit jacket. “If that is the case, then the House of Pitch has no heir.”

They are the last words I say to him before I stride out the front door of Pitch Manor, carrying nothing but a box of my mother’s photos, jewelry, and books in my arms, my spare violin case slung over my shoulder. I can hear Daphne shouting at my father to stop me from leaving, and while the sound makes everything inside my ribs constrict, my legs keep walking.

My other belongings, the clothes, the furniture - my bloody inheritance - they can keep all of it. If denouncing everything they’ve given me is what it takes for me to earn a sliver of happiness in this world, I’ll do it with a fucking smile on my face.

Simon is waiting for me at the car, and he’s looking at me, eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and worry.

It’s all right, love, I think. I have everything I need.

I have you.

*****

Earlier, Simon and I had gone up to my room to inspect how my family had kept up the place since the magic returned to Hampshire. I’m the only one who never moved back to Pitch Manor; by then, Bunce had gotten engaged and ventured to America to marry Micah, so I took over her part of the lease and moved in with Simon. Scanning my old bedroom, I appeared my things remained exactly as I’d left them. Meticulously organized. Spotless.

Less like home, and more like a hotel room.

Father had called me to visit because he had “something of critical importance to discuss.” I agreed on the prerequisite that I would take Simon with me and pilfer some of my mother’s things. No one would miss them. I’m the only one who thinks about her anymore, it seems.

I’m the only one who thinks about anything. I can’t help it. Being a vampire, it’s a necessity to think and plan and carry out my daily life with scalpel-like precision lest I accidentally find myself in a compromised position with a mouth full of fangs.

Not like Simon. As I poured over boxes in my closet, I glanced over at him as he idly ran a hand over the carved bed frame where he sat beside me and first asked to be my “terrible boyfriend” - only a day after he first kissed me and only two days after he insisted I creeped him out.

That about-face happened so fast, I’m shocked we both didn’t get whiplash.

But that’s just Snow. Heart over head. Always.

I envy him. I’m so... cerebral compared to Simon. When your senses are constantly bombarded with the sights and smells of a blood meal, even when you’re used to it, you still need your wits about you to stave off the impulse to sink your fangs into some poor unsuspecting creature and drain them dry. (Though I’d light myself with a match before I’d ever hurt him, sometimes, that creature is Simon himself.)

Simon, on the other hand, is all intuition. He practically stumbles into brilliance because he goes with the flow and feels his steps before he thinks them through. It’s insufferable how easy he makes it look. Granted, he thinks about things a lot more now than he did before that fated night in the white chapel five years ago, but in general, he’s still unencumbered by the small anxieties and questions that plague me about pretty much everything.

Routines help. So does planning ahead.

I’m still plotting, even when I have no one to plot against.

All this mental exertion ever seems to do is delay the inevitable. The first time Simon and I made love happened two years after we’d started dating. I’d say it was because Simon was still working through trauma after losing his magic and watching the Mage die or that we were simply waiting it out because we weren’t ready - which was true for a while, I guess. But it’s more accurate to say it was my fault, and mine alone. Given the depth of my affection for Snow, it felt absurd to wait that long.

He wanted it. I wanted it. (So badly.) It came up during kisses and naps and homework and dinners, and it very nearly happened several times before I inevitably derailed us, using my “condition” as a scapegoat. But the truth was that I was terrified to traverse a line into the ultimate unknown. I tortured myself with questions. What if everything I’d waited so long for was going to change? What if my emotional failings are laid bare and he realizes I’m not worthy of the devastating sacrifices he’d made to be with me?

(Not to mention, his wings and tail practically sent me into a fucking panic attack every time I tried to factor them into the logistics.)

But when it did finally happen, it was because Snow told me to shut up and trust him and, for once, I listened. My freckled fallen angel - who will still eat butter out of the dish when he thinks I’m not looking, loves sour cherry scones with his tea, and constructs his sentences like he’s part Numpty when I fluster him - took me into his arms one night, and, in the middle of a kiss, whispered into my mouth to stop thinking.

So I did.

(Granted, he was also undressing me in torturously slow motion. The state I was in, he could have asked me to walk blindfolded into a blazing inferno and I would have agreed.)

As it turns out, I’d worked myself up for nothing. Making love to Simon felt like discovering I could breathe underwater. Like unlocking a superpower I’d always had, the way it felt when Simon first shared his magic with me, only this time, the universe was in my own pocket to give to Snow.

I look back on it now and then, and I think, even after giving it all up to the Humdrum, Simon Snow is still made of magic.

*****

We are exiting Hampshire when I catch Simon looking out the window, his eyebrows forming a straight line over his eyes.

“Should I call someone for help, Snow? You look so lost in thought, you’re going to need a map to find your way back out,” I quip, but my attempt at levity falls flat now that Simon knows the details of my meeting with Father.

“I don’t want to come between you and your family, Baz.”

“Crowley, why do you care? These are the same people who spent the whole of our time together at Watford commanding me to plot your demise,” I say.

He shrugs. “They’re still your family.”

“Well, I’m not the one who needs reminding,” I mutter petulantly, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn even whiter. “All of this rubbish because they don’t want me to smear the family name. You’re the greatest mage who’s ever lived and it’s still not good enough for one Malcolm Grimm-Pitch.”

“Baz, you’re speeding.”

“Shit. Yes. I know.”

I ease my foot off the accelerator as Simon takes my hand off the wheel and presses it. “He’ll come around.”

“He won’t. He’s too much like me.”

“That’s precisely why he will. He loves you.”

I scoff. “One would think.”

Tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes, but letting them fall feels like giving in, and I don’t want to give my father the satisfaction of hurting me, even if there’s no way for him to know.

“Fuck, Snow, I don’t need his approval. I don’t want it even if he had it to give me. What has being a Pitch ever done for me but complicate my life and put me in the crosshairs of power hungry ingrates and monsters?”

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“I do,” I snap back. “Anyway, I still have Fiona. I still have friends. I have you. Father has always treated me more like a political pawn than a son. I’ve fared well enough without my mother. I don’t need a father.”

Simon squeezes my hand before he lets go and returns his gaze to the scenery passing by the window. “I think you’d feel differently if you’d grown up without one.”

He’s right, but I don’t say it. He already knows.

I look at Simon, then. He’s older now, but there are traces left of the boy he was when we shared a room in Mummer’s House. It’s still there: the face I fell in love with when I was twelve and too young to realize I was already done for when it came to ever loving anyone else. He still has a mop of bronze curls I get to touch now, and those are still his eyes--ordinary but for the extraordinary way they look at me.

My Simon Snow. Brave, blundering, and chosen by something to turn my villainous life upside down and make a hero out of me. The kind of man who would be mistreated and rejected by an ignorant, snobby prat like my father and still find it in his heart--and mine--to forgive him.

Merlin, I love him. I love him so much, I ache thinking about it. If I’m only half dead, the part that’s living is alive because of him.

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

“Marry me. Today. I’m done waiting,” I insist. “I’m tired of thinking everything has to be just right and storybook perfect if I’m going promise you everything I am and will ever be. I’m not holding out for my family’s approval anymore. Everyone who counts loves you already. Let’s just go.”

“But-”

“We could go to town to the register’s office. Bunce is in town with Micah visiting her mum at Watford - she can bloody officiate for all I care.”

“You want to elope? Baz, do you hear yourself?”

“I admit this is one of the more half-baked schemes I’ve ever come up with. And I know everything’s shit and I’m a walking disaster and you could do far better than an arsehole vampire with an arsehole father who doesn’t accept you--and I know I’m not stopping time or whatever the bloody hell Bunce did for Micah--but none of it matters because I just want you with me always, on paper, signed, witnessed, and fucking notarized, and anything that delays it isn’t worth the trouble,” I ramble, stopping only for breath before I continue pouring my heart out over my steering wheel.

I swallow hard, and my voice softens to a whisper. “I want to spend every day forward endeavoring to deserve you. I don’t care if I’m never welcome at Pitch Manor for the rest of my cursed, immortal life as long as I get to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of yours.”

His mouth keeps opening and closing, like he can’t comprehend what I’m suggesting. So I keep going because there’s no taking back what I’ve just done, and I can’t seem to stop the torrent of words falling out of my mouth. I don’t want to.

I take Simon’s hands.

“Crowley, I love you. You only need to look at me to make me feel like I’m back in Watford being set ablaze with your magic for the first time. You kiss me and it’s like the universe is expanding in all directions inside my chest. You make me feel alive, Simon. All I ever want to do is make you happy and protect you and yes, take the mickey out of you, and I feel... I feel like this is the one thing I can’t overthink. And in my defense, I’ve had all the time in the world to contemplate this considering I’ve been obsessed with you since the day we met.”

I’m starting to tremble, so I grip Simon’s hands tighter until he’s wincing and staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. But his hands are warm and I’m losing my nerve, and he still hasn’t answered.

“There’s no one else I will ever feel this way about. If we wait for my family to accept you, we’ll be waiting forever, and now that I know there’s nothing to wait for, I just want us to belong to each other already so I don’t have to bloody think about it anymore, and Simon Snow.... do you want to marry me?”

There. I’ve done it. I’ve finally gotten my head out of the way and let my heart lead for once. Simon is slack-jawed and staring unblinkingly at me. I wonder if he’s breathing. I know I’m not.

I’m not sure he understood me.

Or maybe he did, and this is just what rejection looks like.

Oh, Merlin...

Simon’s breath comes out in a ragged gust as he pulls me into a crushing embrace. His face is pressed into my neck, and I feel his voice resonate through me as he speaks the two words I’ll remember for the rest of my days.

“I do.”

*****

The sun will be rising soon. I haven’t slept, and soon enough I’ll lose the chance to do so. I’ve been married to Simon for ten hours and it seems like such a waste to miss out on it by sleeping.

Yesterday afternoon, Bunce and Micah met Simon and me at a local register office in London after that disastrous morning spent in Hampshire. I thought Bunce might balk at the rashness of my proposal, but I rather think she relished seeing me plan something that didn’t necessitate the use of a whiteboard for once. “You smitten, sentimental berk,” she said, smiling at me as she handed Simon her father’s ring - a temporary one since we needed a ring in a pinch and Simon insists on picking one out for me himself.

I only ever had one ring in mind. I gave Simon my mother’s ring and spelled it to fit him. (“Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger.” It’s a complicated spell, and one I’d practiced and perfected in private knowing how and when I’d use it.) She was the one who had brought us together, after all.

It was only the four of us at the register office, so we agreed to make a decent celebration of our marriage eventually and invite our friends and loved ones once we had time to plan something properly. Bunce immediately volunteered herself. (“I’ll eat pixie dust before I let you plan a wedding party without my help.”)

She cried during the vows. I very nearly did myself. They were simple - a script read to us by the deputy registrar for us to repeat back - but any mage in the room could feel the magic dripping from those words. I think even Snow himself felt it.

And thus, Simon Snow married me. Afterward, we all went back to our flat in Sutton with an enormous order of biryani and samosas to go with the champagne Micah and Bunce had brought to celebrate, and we toasted the future. I waited for them to leave before pulling SImon into my arms to dance with me. He dances so poorly, he nearly twisted my ankle.

I didn’t care.

I felt light. Free. Simon may have the wings, but last night... I was flying.

*****

SIMON

The last 24 hours happened so quickly, I feel like I’ve imagined them.

I got married yesterday. To Baz.

And somehow, like waking from a dream, we’re back in our flat and I’m up with the sun, watching him sleep like I always do. On the surface, the only thing that seems to have changed is that we’re both wearing rings now. And yet, I feel different. Everything is different. New.

I think I understand now what Baz meant when he said my instant change of heart during our last year at Watford left him both disoriented and elated at the same time.

It’s bittersweet for him, I know. Baz believes he’s orphaned now. There’s also that.

He’s not.

His dad will come around. The ones who love us almost always do. Not even Baz and I could hold our grudge, and we were meant to kill each other. But, Merlin, if that’s what it took for Baz to make a husband of me sooner than later, I’m grateful that his father is, for the moment, such a colossal fucking knob.

The sun is rising, casting long shadows in the room, and the glow off the horizon makes Baz’s skin shine gold. He looks so peaceful this way - with strands of his black hair falling into his face and one hand draped over his pillow beside his cheek, his chest rising and falling with every long breath. He often has his heart in a vice over something or other, even when he’s playing insufferably cool, calm, and collected all the livelong day. I’ve learned to read the signs that tell me Baz’s mind is in overdrive. Seems like his thoughts are always churning.

Not so just now, though. I can’t help myself; my fingers reach out to gently brush away the strands of hair on his face, and he stirs.

Baz sighs deeply and opens one eye in my direction. He grins, and the sight overwhelms me. He’s in my arms, right where I want him, and he always will be. He’s looking at me like I’m his, and that’s because I am. (Legally.) I always thought I’d be the one to propose first, but I might have guessed Baz would beat me to the punch, the competitive git. I’m fine with that.

We’ve got the rest of our lives to take turns leading.

So many of the important things we say to each other anymore are said without words, so I don’t need to say anything for Baz to reach for me. He pulls me down to kiss him, and as our lips meet, I get a fleeting glimpse at the future we’ve just embarked on together. Hundreds of moments yet to be shared rush through my mind and my breath is catching because I feel it all at once...

Joy. Sorrow. Pleasure. Pain. Ecstasy. Hope.

Love.

And then I stop thinking.

#fanart #fanfic #comic #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #malcolm pitch #first time #wedding #strip with a fic #vkelleyart gallery

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yandere-daydreams · 5 years

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A little Yandere!Viktor (Yuri!!! on Ice) for the lovely @k-doodles-stuffs . I’m not terribly familiar with this character, but I hope that y’all will find this as fun as I do.

Word Count: ~1000

You’d always liked interviews.

With someone as flashy as you, a camera an over-enthusiastic host was an excuse to tease, and brag, and avoid serious questions in exchange for flirting with whatever audience member you found cute that day. It was fun, and you never had to give too much away. Privacy was something you held close, after all.

Well, privacy was something you used to hold close. Before Viktor came along and tore it away from you. Just like he’d torn your family away from you, and your friends, and your career. Your personality would’ve been done-for too, but Viktor had to leave something behind. Just the thought filled you with contempt, and seeing him smile, draping an arm over your shoulders and leaning into the loveseat behind you, only strengthen your desire to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze. But, you could barely muster anything but a few shy waves and a hesitant smile.

Despite your obvious anxiety, the host just smiled, falling into a single seat and propping her feet up on the table between you. Her hair was trapped in a ponytail so high, your scalp hurt just from looking at it. You only noticed her jacket once she turned to face you, a mass-produced version of the one you would’ve worn a year ago. A fan, obviously. Maybe that was why Viktor choose her.

“So, the lovebirds…” She trailed off, smirking in your direction. With a dismissive nod, her normal grin returned, only scaring you further. “Go ahead, I know you two don’t like to be that far apart.”

You opened your mouth, ready to tell her that you were already as close as you could be, but Viktor didn’t give you the opportunity. You could feel his arms wrapping around your waist. By the time you realized what he was doing, you were already in his lap, Viktor’s chin propped on your shoulder with an unearned familiarity. In a more private scenario, you would’ve just made some excuse or pushed him away, but you didn’t want to know what he’d do if you embarrassed him like that in public. Playing along, you kicked off your shoes, melting into his chest. You could hear Viktor purr, choking down a compliment you were sure would make your skin crawl.

“Sorry about this,” He chuckled, nuzzling further into your neck. You flinched, but it couldn’t have been visible. You were being held too tightly for that. “I just love my little angel so much… Did you know we’re getting married, soon? I can’t wait for you to see how lovely she is in a wedding dress, and more importantly, how beautiful I’ll be in a suit.”

The host rolled her eyes, like the very topic of something so gushy disgusted her. You were tempted to join her, honestly. “Believe me, I know. Who do you think is planning to crash the party?” Cue a laugh from the audience, and a worryingly dark glare from Viktor. She gestured vaguely to the sickening display of affection in front of her, regarding you more fondly than she had Viktor. “How’d he manage… this, anyway? I’d never pinned (Y/n) as the sentimental type. I’d thought she was going to focus on recovery, considering your last press-conference.”

“I’m not,” You mumbled, letting the statement slip-out before Viktor could answer for you. Still, you corrected the mistake quickly, letting out a light laugh and swinging your legs happily. “But, this guy managed to pry his way into my life. He refused to leave me alone until I agreed to let him coach me, and eventually, he managed to seduce me with all his training regiments and diet plans.” You shuddered at the things Viktor made you do, pulling you in with promises of improvement only to break you down, until your confidence replied on his approval. Most days, you worked yourself to exhaustion just so he’d do something besides eating away at your skills. “Didn’t make him go easier on the sprinting, though.”

“As for her leg,” Viktor continued, gesturing towards the injured limb. The bandage wasn’t visible beneath your jumpsuit, but you could still feel hundreds of eyes burning into your skin. “I’m afraid recovery isn’t a possibility, anymore. Her Achilles tendon was completely severed.” He paused, his tone too apologetic to be innocent. But, you were long past caring about who’d actually cause the ‘accident’. It didn’t matter who dropped that skate, or who sharpened it so jaggedly, there was still a scar stretching from your ankle to your knee. One that Viktor assured you wouldn’t heal, if you were lucky. “It’s a tragedy. On the bright side, you’ll never have to jog again, dear.”

The host laughed, along with the majority of the audience. But, her hyper, high-pitched voice managed to catch you off-guard. “And I’m sure this whirlwind romance isn’t popular with your fans. You two were rivals a few months ago, I mean. And didn’t (Y/n) call you a ‘delusional, goddamn stalker’ many, many times before you got together, Viktor?”

You cringed, already regretting being so… open with your feelings. That clip was one of Viktor’s favorites, the one he’d play as he held you in his lap, telling you that he’s so glad you changed your mind. During his ‘private training sessions’ (a more romantic name for the times his words weren’t enough to keep you in place), he’d have you recite those three little words until your throat was sore, if only to give him the resolve to carry-out whatever he had planned out. Even at the small reminder, you could feel Viktor growl against your skin, pressing a quick, toothy kiss into your jugular. When he spoke, his voice was lower than it had been. More serious. “People change their minds. It’s human nature. Someone was just a little scared of me, at first. Did you know she used to be one of my biggest fans?”

Used to be. But, you shrugged, trying to brush this off as casually as you could. “I guess I was intimidated, and I might’ve said a few things I didn’t mean.”

“Then you seem to have a type, Mr. Nikiforov,” She chuckled, pausing to lean forward. “Tell me, do you always date your students? Between (Y/n) and your last partner, Yuuri, your only pick-up line seems to be ‘Hey, wanna win gold?’.”

“If it works,” Viktor replied, pulling you closer. You didn’t have time to object before his lips met yours, forcing a drawn-out (albeit soft) kiss onto you. By the time he pulled away, your fists were clenched at your sides, the imprints of your nails carved into your palm. But, you smiled, resting your forehead against his and stringing your arms around his neck. “But, we’re going to be together for a lot longer than Yuuri and I were. And with that injury, I think I’ll be taking very good care of my fiancée, for a very long time.”

You frowned as his grin widened, fingertips trailing delicately over your scar. But, you took his hand regardless, the coldness of his engagement ring burning your skin. “Til death do us part, right?”

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losingmymindtonight · 5 years

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I used Amazon credit to buy an eBook on the effects of psychological trauma and it mentioned that people who've been routinely abandoned/neglected/betrayed tend to think that every will leave them eventually. This happened. (This was supposed to be under 1k words, and look where we are now. Bask in my lack of control.)

WARNINGS: very brief mention of dementia, Tony has a MAJOR lack of self-worth going on

When Tony Stark first meets Peter Parker, the kid is 14.

Within the first five minutes, everything about Peter makes Tony wish he’d never met him at all.

“When you can do the things that I can, but you don't... and then the bad things happen... they happen because of you.”

The words ring in his ears. The kid is just too… too good. There’s a contradiction to him that Tony can’t quite wrap his head around. Somehow, Peter manages to exude the innocence of a child and a deeply ingrained sense of justice all at once.

Even worse, Tony feels an instant connection to the kid. He likes him, wants to look after him.

He doesn’t know if he’ll survive the day that the spark of hero worship in the kid’s eyes fades away.

(And it will fade. Tony knows it will. Peter’s looking at a veneer, staring at him through the goggles of a preconstructed hero. It won’t take long for him to spot the monster underneath. The man who shatters anything he dares to touch.)

When Tony Stark watches Peter Parker die, the kid is 16.

Somewhere along the line, Tony had started to care for the teenager. Sure, it was in the same way he started to care for anybody at this point: gradual, grudging, and with a bone-deep hesitancy that he just couldn’t shake, but it was affection all the same.

He had never wanted Peter to step foot on Titan. He would’ve done anything to spare him, to cocoon him away from reality and shield him from just how cruel the universe could be.

Peter wasn’t meant to be a soldier. He wasn’t meant to fight a war.

Tony had just… he had just wanted to protect him.

But he couldn’t.

He failed.

He’d never forget the way the kid slammed into him, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders and chest shuddering with fear. He’d never forget the way he sobbed, choked, begged.

“You're alright,” he lied.

Peter begs him to save him. Begs him to help.

“I don’t wanna go. Sir, please.”

Tony does absolutely nothing.

He offers no comfort, no gentle parting words. All he does is soften the kid’s fall when his legs disappear.

“I’m sorry.”

It feels like it’s over as soon as it begins. One second, Tony’s holding a warm, breathing, living kid. The next, he’s staring at dirt and dust.

He holds an ash-coated hand to his face and lets himself cry.

When Tony Stark watches Peter Parker come back to life, the kid is still 16.

The rush to Titan is a blur in Tony’s mind, a drawn-out streak of please let him be alright, please let him be there.

They land. He stumbles down the loading ramp, catches sight of Strange, of the Guardians, and then, of…

Oh, god. Peter.

Tony stands there, just a handful of feet away from the person he had been willing to sacrifice everything for, and prepares himself for the hatred. The disgust.

Peter had begged him. In the face of death, Peter had looked to Tony and asked to be saved.

And Tony had just stood there.

If there was anything that would shatter Peter’s expectations, his determination that Tony was a hero, it was that.

He prepares himself to watch the kid learn to hate him.

But Peter’s face doesn’t show even the tiniest hint of the anger Tony expects. Instead, it floods with relief, joy, love. He runs forward, flings himself into Tony’s arms, burrows his face into his shirt.

And then he laughs.

“You did it, Mister Stark.” Peter’s voice is reverent. “You saved us. You did it.”

(Tony realizes that he got lucky. That Peter may have overlooked this failure, but that the veneer must be chipping. The kid was still so young, still so determined to see the good in everyone and everything. Once the world beat that innocence out of him, he’d take one look at Tony and run.)

When Tony Stark teaches Peter Parker how to cradle his newborn daughter, the kid is 17.

Morgan Stark has bright blue eyes and the tiniest hands Tony’s ever seen. She’s swaddled in a blanket (Tony has no idea where it came from, he’s never seen it before in his life) and staring at the world around her with more interest than he could imagine a hospital room in birthing ward could really warrant.

Tony transfers Morgan into Peter’s arms slowly, maneuvering the kid with gentle hands and ruffling his curls once before stepping away.

Peter looks like he could cry as he stares down at the infant, brown eyes glassy and smile wobbly with emotion.

Tony looks at the two of them. Looks at the image that is just so perfect, just so utopian that he wants to have it carved into his skin, and then he waits for it to shatter.

Any minute, Peter will shove the bundle back into his arms and stumble away. He’ll reaffirm Tony’s own suspicions that this will never work, that fatherhood will suit him even worse than it did Howard. The kid’ll slam the door behind him in a fit of betrayal, a betrayal that will be well deserved, and Tony will never get the chance to apologize, get the chance to voice the I love you that’s pumping in his chest.

But Peter… doesn’t.

The teenager just stares down at Morgan for what feels like an eternity, then looks up at him with a smile so wide that it looks like his face might split underneath it.

“What’s her name?” he whispers.

“Morgan.”

“She’s so… so…”

Tony understands. He’s at a loss for words, too. “Yeah, she is.”

“You’re… you’re gonna be an awesome dad, Mister Stark.”

He blinks back tears before Peter can catch a glimpse of them.

“Thank you, Pete.”

(He lets himself be grateful that he can enjoy another day with the wool still firmly over Peter’s eyes. He pushes away the ever-present reminder that this happiness is built on the teenager’s ignorance.

He just lets himself smile at the kid. The kids. His kids.)

When Tony Stark drops Peter Parker off at MIT, the kid is 18.

He parks his car, helps the kid carry a few bags worth of clothes and supplies up a too-tight staircase and into his box-sized dorm room. Together, they unpack. Tony watches him try not to cry when May calls them for an update.

He glances at his watch once they’re done. The room is filled with an awkwardness that’s almost suffocating. Peter’s sitting silently at his desk, gripping one of his new pens so tightly that Tony wonders if it’ll snap.

Tony shifts. “Do you need anything else?”

“No.”

“Alright. You want me to stay?”

Peter shakes his head violently. “No. Just… just go.”

Tony nods, heart constricting. This is finally it. He’s overstepped his role for the last time, played through the last chapter of this far-fetched fantasy.

Peter’s 18, now. A legal adult. The childhood blinders are gone. Peter must see college as his first real chance to extract himself from Tony’s hold. He’s pushing him out. He’s moving on.

And now it’s Tony’s turn to let him.

“Alright. Bye, Pete.”

Good luck, buddy.

He steps into the hallway, walks towards the stairs.

He makes it about seven steps before Peter come bolting after him.

His first knee-jerk instinct is to expect a blow, even though he knows that Peter would never, ever resort to violence like that. Then, he decides that it must be the kid coming out to tell him to never come back. That he doesn’t want him in his life anymore, he’s seen who he really is, it’s better for everyone if Tony just-

The thoughts stop the moment that Peter throws himself into his arms.

He rocks back at the impact, but then he’s hugging the kid back without really thinking about it.

“I’m sorry.” He can hear that Peter’s crying without having to see his face. “I’m sorry. I thought if I didn’t say goodbye then it’d be easier but that was stupid. Don’t go yet. Please.”

He… he wants me to stay.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” He rubs the kid’s back, brain struggling to process the idea that Peter doesn’t want me to leave. “I don’t have to set off quite yet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop that. I’m not upset and I don’t need an apology.”

“No, you do. That was selfish. I didn’t even think about the fact that this is probably super hard for you, too.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls out of the hug and grips Peter by the shoulders. “Hey, how about we go find all your classrooms before I leave? That’ll give us something to do, and it’ll help you out on the first day.”

“Yeah.” Peter wipes at his wet cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Tony wraps an arm around him as they start to walk and feels his heart twinge when the kid leans into the touch.

(He doesn’t understand why Peter hasn’t seen the truth yet. Doesn’t understand why he would want Tony to drop him off at college, why he would ever want Tony to play such a pivotal role in this milestone of his life.

He selfishly hopes that he can be a part of just a few more moments like this before Peter finally pushes him away.)

When Tony Stark hands Peter Parker his first beer, the kid is 21.

They’re on the roof. It’s dark. Peter’s curled into one of the lawn chairs he’d helped Tony haul up the stairs, hoodie unzipped and posture loose. Tony can’t understand how Peter looks so at ease when he’s close enough to touch him. Close enough to hurt him, to break him.

He pops the cap off of one of the bottles and offers it to Peter without a word. The kid takes it with a lazy grin.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Tony says, dropping into his own chair and staring out at the city. “Just so you know, I’m only giving you a beer because it’s a tradition and because Pepper told me that giving you hard liquor would be considered irresponsible.”

Peter smirks. “What? She doesn’t want you to get me black-out drunk on a weekday? That’s just irrational.”

“Oi. I wasn’t gonna get you drunk. A glass of bourbon wouldn’t’ve killed you.”

“Mhm.”

He watches Peter’s eyes trace the skyline with dread pulling at his stomach. The kid looks like he’s contemplating something, brow furrowed and breath deliberate.

Peter opens his mouth to speak, and the dread turns into barely contained panic.

“Hey, Mister Stark?”

He knows that this is the moment Peter leaves. He really is an adult now. He can drink, smoke, drive, die for his country. He’s about to go to grad school and take up a paid research position. How much longer did Tony expect for Peter to cling to his childhood hero?

“Yeah, Pete?”

Just say it, kiddo. It’s alright.

“I, uh, I just…” Peter’s gaze dances to meet Tony’s, drops down to his knees, and then finally resettles on his mentor’s face. “Thank you. For… for doing this.” He jostles the beer in explanation. “For, y’know, for being here with me. Especially today.”

The panic settles. The kid’s still looking at him with that stupid, trusting look in his eyes. He’s still here. He’s still smiling.

Tony feels so fucking guilty and so fucking lucky all at once.

“Of course, Pete. Where else would I be?”

(He feels like he just dodged a bullet, but he also knows that the sniper’s still there.

And Tony’s full aware that one day, he’ll finally stop missing.)

When Tony Stark sits in a crowded auditorium to watch Peter Parker’s hooding ceremony, the kid is 25.

They call Peter’s name. Beside him, May and Morgan cheer loudly. Tony doesn’t even try to hide his proud grin as he claps. On his way off the stage, Peter turns in their direction and waves to Morgan. She waves back like her life depended on it.

They find him outside afterwards. He’s making small talk with a small group of professors. When he spots them, however, he quickly makes his excuses and bolts over.

He hugs May first. She’s got tears in her eyes as she comments on how grown-up he looks. Morgan demands his attention next, and Peter’s obviously more than happy to oblige her. She’s still small enough that Peter can lift her up without making people suspicious. He takes off his cap and drops it on Morgan head with a flourish. She laughs, hands already picking at the tassel.

It’s Tony’s turn next. Peter’s taller than him, now, but the kid still ducks his head underneath his chin despite the extra height.

They pull back, but Tony keeps a firm hold on the kid’s forearms. He looks him up and down, takes in the colorful hood and the sharp confidence in his eyes.

“Look at you.” He grins, tucks a lock of messy hair behind Peter’s ear. “How’s it feel, Pete? Or do I have to call you Doctor Parker now?”

Peter cringes. “I think I still prefer Pete.”

“Oh, thank god. Doctor Parker has too many syllables.”

The kid laughs. “Even longer than Mister Stark.”

“You know what’s even shorter than both? Tony.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. How about this: I call you Tony, and you stop calling me kid.”

“Never.”

“Then I dub you Mister Stark for all eternity.”

Tony snorts. “You’ll get tired of me long before then.”

The look of horror on Peter’s face catches him off guard. “Of course I won’t. Why would you say that?”

He stops. Watches the turmoil crawling over the kid’s face. He feels guilty, all of a sudden. He never wants to make Peter look like that ever again.

“Joking, kiddo. Stop looking like I kicked your puppy.”

“Oh, good.” Peter smiles. “Cause you’re stuck with me forever. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Peter is a genius. Tony had read his thesis, had helped him edit it. The entire paper is coated with the kid’s brilliance.

So why hasn’t he figured it out yet? Why is he still here? Surely, he can see who I am. Why hasn’t he ran for the hills? Why does he still look at me like I built the Earth with my own two hands?

(It’ll have to change, one day. Tony can’t imagine that someone as smart as Peter can stay blind forever. He’ll come to his senses. He will. He has to.

Almost everyone else has.)

When Tony Stark fastens Peter Parker’s cufflinks on his wedding day, the kid is 28.

He’s known Peter long enough to sense his nervousness. The kid had been stuttering earlier, which was a telltale sign. Now, he just couldn’t seem to sit still.

Tony, on the other hand, felt like he was brimming with quiet affection. He was proud. He felt… fulfilled. Despite the kid’s nerves, he knew that he was happy. Happier than he’d ever been, maybe. And somewhere along the line, Peter’s happiness had become a deciding factor in Tony’s own.

They’re the only ones in the room. Peter is pacing, gaze distant. Tony stands, grabs a small box, and intercepts him with a soft hand on his chest.

“Hey.” Peter’s eyes lock onto his face at the greeting. Tony holds up the box. “Gimme your wrists.”

Peter does. Tony silently pops open the box and fastens the left cufflink, then the right.

As soon as he’s finished, Peter yanks away.

The veil of contentment rips. Tony flinches backwards, forces his hands not to twitch with anxiety as Peter restarts his pacing.

He stands stock-still, ready for the axe to fall.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware that he doesn’t deserve to be here, really. He doesn't deserve to share in these moments of joy. He feels like an intruder in Peter’s life, an infestation that the kid’s grown blind to.

Why, of everyone else in the world, would Peter want him here?

“Mister Stark?” Peter wheels around to stare at him, freezing in his tracks. “What if I screw this up?”

Tony blinks. “You won’t.”

The kid strides right up to him. There’s something imploring in his eyes. He needs Tony to say the right thing.

Suddenly, he’s terrified that he won’t be able to.

“How do you know?”

“Because… because you’re a good kid.” He swallows as the sentimentality builds in his throat. “You won’t screw it up. Hell, I don’t think you could screw this up if you tried. Just… just trust me.”

He doesn’t understand why Peter always seem to accept anything he says as gospel, but he finds himself grateful for it when the kid’s shoulders relax just slightly.

“Okay.” A deep breath. “I can… I can do this.”

He nods in agreement. “You can.”

Peter smiles at him. “I’m glad you’re here, Tony.”

“Me too, Pete.”

(He shouldn’t be glad. He shouldn’t be profiting off of his ability to trick this kid. But he is glad. He’s glad that of all the kids that could’ve come stumbling into his life, he got the one that seems incapable of seeing through the facade.

Nothing lasts forever, though. And Tony still feels like the love in Peter’s gaze is a time bomb just waiting to explode.)

When Tony Stark holds Peter Parker’s firstborn child, the kid is 32.

Peter’s face lights up when he walks into the room. He’s cradling a bundle of blankets, and Tony can’t help but think back to the night Morgan came into the world.

Except this time, it’s Peter’s life that is about to be irrevocably changed.

His kid has his own kid.

He feels old.

“Tony.” Peter’s voice is soft. “You’re here.”

“Came as fast as I could. Sorry, bud. Traffic was a nightmare.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now.” Peter raises the bundle ever-so-slightly. “Do you wanna meet him?”

Tony feels something warm explode in his chest. “Him?”

Peter nods, eyes glimmering. “Him.”

Tony doesn’t need any help holding the infant. Peter doesn’t have to guide him, but the kid does linger, just for a minute, before stepping back.

There’s a beat of silence. Then,

“Well?” Peter sounds nervous. “What do you think?”

Tony snorts. The baby’s fast asleep, eyes closed and mouth open. In all honesty, he looks like any other newborn Tony’s ever seen.

But those newborns didn’t share half of Peter’s DNA.

“He’s perfect, Pete.” He keeps his gaze trained on the child’s face. “Does he have a name?”

“We, uh, we decided on Benjamin.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Of course.”

“Benjamin Anthony.”

His eyes snap up. Peter is fidgeting a few feet away from him, obviously unsure.

“Kid…”

“I hope… I hope that’s okay.”

Okay? Tony felt like his heart was going to explode.

But then...

“You… You don’t want to make him bear that legacy.”

Peter is shaking his head before Tony can even finish. “You’re always saying stuff like that, but it’s not true. It’s… it’s a good name.”

It’s not. You’ve just made yourself blind to who I am. I don’t know why, I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but you’re only here because you’ve convinced yourself not to glance behind the curtain.

He doesn’t say any of that. He couldn't bear to, not when Peter’s expression was practically begging him for validation.

Instead, he takes a deep, steadying breath.

It’s just a name. It’s not a curse.

“Thank you, Pete.” He looks back down at the baby in his arms, at Peter’s baby, and feels a wave of love rush down his spine. “Hello, Benjamin. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tony.”

He feels rather than sees Peter’s presence at his side. “He’s gonna love you.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

(Peter was blind enough to name his child after him.

Some desperate, long-suppressed part of him wanted to believe that it was proof of some kind of salvation. That he had done enough to outweigh his sins. That he had changed.

That this was proof that somewhere deep down, he was a good man.

For just a few moments, he let himself believe it.)

When Tony Stark takes his last breath, the kid is 48.

Peter Parker is holding his hand.

Frankly, Tony thinks that he’s lucky to have made it to 80, after everything he’s put his body through. He also thinks he’s lucky that his heart decided to go before the dementia could really start to settle in.

He definitely thinks he’s lucky that he can die tucked comfortably in his own bed, surrounded by his family.

Pepper’s laying with him, head on his shoulder. Morgan’s sitting on the bed beside her, clutching to his hand like she can keep him alive through sheer force of will.

Peter’s hold on his other hand is less desperate, more secure. He’d dragged a wooden chair into the bedroom days ago and, as far as Tony can tell, he’s barely moved from his post since.

They both knows that his time is running out.

“Peter,” he whispers, turning his head to look at him, “buddy.”

The kid’s voice trips on tears. “Mister Stark.”

Call me Tony, he wants to say. Don’t cry, he wants to say. You’re one of the best thing that’s ever happened to me, he wants to say.

But none of those things are what actually comes out when he opens his mouth.

“You stayed.”

There are tears dripping down Peter’s cheeks now. He sniffs hard. “Of-Of course I did. I’m gonna stay right here the whole time. I won’t leave, I swear.”

And for the very first time, Tony believes him.

He lets the certainty fall over him like a blanket. He feels warm, and safe, and more secure than he’d ever felt before.

Peter isn’t going to leave him.

“You’re such a good kid.”

Peter laughs a little, shoulders shaking as he cries. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

“Look out for Morgan, yeah? Promise me you’ll look after her.”

“Of course I will. And Pepper, too. I’ll take care of everything. You can trust me.”

“I know I can.”

He squeezes Peter’s hand, ignores the fatigue tugging at every inch of his body. He’s not ready yet. It’s not quite time. He’s got more to say.

“You’re my kid.”

Peter doesn’t look surprised at the admission. He just nods, voice cracking. “I know.”

This is the moment when he’s supposed to say I love you, when he’s supposed to gush about how proud he is of the person Peter’s become. How he never could’ve asked for a better son.

He doesn’t.

Peter knows.

Instead, he winks. “You know the drill, kid. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…”

Tony catalogs the laugh that Peter releases at the inside joke as something to cling to as he drifts off. Pepper’s kiss, Morgan’s smile, Peter’s laugh.

“And don’t do anything you would do. Little gray area. I know, don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

He closes his eyes, squeezes the kid’s hand once before relaxing.

“Good boy.”

Morgan clutches his hand tighter. Peter’s grip doesn’t waver.

Pepper’s kiss. Morgan’s smile. Peter’s laugh.

He lets himself drift.

(Tony Stark spends a lifetime waiting for Peter Parker to leave.

But the kid stays. He always stays.)

#tony stark #peter parker #irondad #tony & peter #losingmymindtonight writes #lol wtf is this #the author does not know #tw: self deprecation

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dat-town · 4 years

Text

CODE Z3RO | CODE 05

characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: none other than grief, guilt tripping and not so nice words thrown at each other’s heads summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 5K tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms

➼ Chapter Index

A heart-wrecking, loud cry came from the distance.

Yerim couldn't tell whom it belonged to, it could have been her for all she knew. Around her there was nothing but deafening silence and bright white stars in her vision. She had become cold and numb to the call of her own name. She barely registered when someone grabbed her firmly by the arm to pull her farther from the bloody handprint on the glass door. But even when a lithe body covered her eyes, she couldn't unsee it. She would never be able to forget the horrific sight that carved itself deep into her mind, leaving behind such an unerasable imprint that she could never get rid of. This was what nightmares were made of after all.

Jungkook just stood there deadly still, watching as Wendy sneaked a comforting arm around Yerim, pulled her up to her feet and walked away with her. She acted as collected and professional as one could be while all of them were confused and shaken up by the recent events. Merely 5 minutes earlier Seokjin had been yelling at them to leave but now he laid there in the pool of his own blood. His handsome face was ruined by the burgundy liquid flowing from his ears, eyes and nose. Jungkook had seen things like this in movies but it was happening right in front of him felt even more unreal than stupid B-category horror movies from Hollywood. It was almost too much to process that it really had happened but he certainly wasn't the only one feeling that way. Hoseok was vomiting somewhere in the corner at the first sight of seeing blood. Joohyun was so pale she looked like a ghost on the verge of fainting and quiet sobs were ripped off Seulgi too as she turned her gaze away.

“What the hell happened? How could he…” The words died on Namjoon's tongue as many eyes, including Jungkook's, shot up at him. He couldn't finish the sentence, there was no way he would say the words out loud. It would have made it too real, it would have meant he accepted it while without fail everybody was confused and shocked. They just saw someone, a rival, an ally, a brother die right in front of their eyes. How could they have gone on like nothing happened?

Jungkook gulped and glanced down again, foolishly hoping to see the slight stir of the immobile body. It was in vain though, hopes couldn't bring anyone back to life. The bloody strikes, those unnatural tears had left behind on Jin's cheeks were still vivid red under the artificial light and Seokjin's glassy eyes bore into distance in a more morbid manner than Jungkook could have ever imagined, it was truly a sight that would haunt them all for sure.

It was the sound of a door slammed open, metal colliding with brick as the handle hit the wall that startled them all enough to finally move when Yoongi's robust voice echoed in the basement.

“Get out of there! The lab is dangerous!” he yelled not even suspecting that it was already too late. But how could he know? How could he be so sure that it wasn't safe? Where were he until now to get that information?

Questions flooded the young engineer student's mind and his legs moved by themselves following the crowd out of there on instinct. It was the same bandwagon effect that made everyone follow him downstairs. Sticking together had never been such a bad idea before. But playing with what ifs based on the tons of variables of the situation only made his head hurt and was useless like crying over spilled milk.

He was the last one who reached the top of the stairs and he flinched when Yoongi shut the door behind him with a loud thud. The IT guy and the chaebol one who had disappeared a while ago now were both eyeing them suspiciously but it was Jimin who spoke up.

“Why the hell do you all look like someone just died?” he snorted not grasping the seriousness of the moment and not even understanding the rudeness of his own words.

It was the elder guy beside him who let the quiet question fall from his lips.

“Where is her brother?” Yoongi asked, pointing at Yerim who was wailing oh so heartbreakingly into the crook of Wendy's delicate neck.

Each gaze avoided meeting the interrogator's, they rather turned away, glances shifting to their own shoes.

“He...” Namjoon found his voice but was quickly cut off by the lilac hair Marketing major who seemed the least affected out of them.

“He died,” he blurted out straightforward, not sugarcoating his words at all. There was no humour in his voice and one dark look was enough to freeze that nasty, cunning smile on Jimin's face. “Smartypants here thought it's a good idea to check the labs and that other idiot tried to open a door when it obviously closed for a reason.”

Taehyung pointed his finger at them, first at Jungkook and then Hoseok. While the former looked away guiltily, the latter raised his voice at the accusation.

“What the hell did I do wrong? I tried to save him when nobody did anything!” he argued but the truth was nobody knew what was right or wrong anymore. The bracelet should have opened the door like it had done for the first time, they should have been able to pull him out and whatever had killed him could have dissolved in open air before infecting their bloodstreams too.

“And kill us all with whatever made Mr. Team Leader bleed everywhere?” Taehyung shot back a question, the raw sarcasm bringing the worst out of him.

“It's not his fault, nobody knew,” Namjoon tried to reason as calmly as he could but Hoseok wasn't that self-controlled and was on the younger already, grabbing him by the collars of his shirt, gritting his teeth.

“It's a freaking hospital, who would have thought there are poisonous gases in the basement?” he spit into his face, mouth turning into an ugly grimace not caring about the audience. Nobody has seen this side of the Sociology major before. He seemed a rather peaceful kind of guy but he and Taehyung clashed way too hard since the beginning and it turned out one remark was already enough to trigger this aggressive reaction in him.

Though, the Marketing student didn't even budge. He looked like he expected something like this to happen with that annoying smug grin on his face. There was a devilish glint in his coal dark eyes and only then Jungkook realized that he might have known just as much about people's reactions as a Psychology major because of his studies and maybe he knew manipulation techniques the best out of all of them.

“I have been saying from the beginning that it's an everybody for themselves kind of show. Teamwork, my ass!” he scoffed, rolling his eyes not even making a move to peel Hoseok's hands from himself, it was the other guy who gave up with a sigh and the look of disgust on his face.

Around them the others were whispering and yelling over each other about poisonous gas, someone accidentally spilling or opening something they shouldn't have but they weren't closer to the truth. They couldn't be sure what triggered the shutdown of the room and why there were no warning signs about it. Even though unlike Taehyung everyone else was more invested in figuring out the reason rather than finding someone to blame, Jungkook couldn't help but feel targeted. He was the one who had suggested to go downstairs, he was the one who hadn’t paid attention to Yerim thus Jin had had to go back for her. Was it his fault? Since when was it his task to take care of stupid teenage girls? Or was it rather the generosity of Seokjin that killed him?

Kill… such an absurd verb, it indicates purpose and active behaviour on the subject's part. But weren't they all killers one way or another driven by their own selfish ambitions?

“So you are saying Mr. Know-It-All just… died?” Jimin gaped at the group still processing the new information. It was almost painfully funny, he still smugly called others by mocking names instead of the real ones while they were talking about life and death.

However, in the silence there was another, weak voice that came to the surface. It was almost too quiet to be heard but everybody shut up at the girl's first words since what happened.

“No, that can't be. This is all part of the simulation, right? He didn't die, he's too smart for that. It must have been planned,” Yerim mumbled with voice wrecked and eyes still watery from tears, face red and bloated from crying so much. She straightened her back looking around seeking reassurance in empty eyes.

Denial, Joohyun noted as she watched over her, the first phase of grief. During her internship at a Family Help Center she has met a lot of clients who suffered after losing a loved one. She knew very well that each person reacted differently to loss and not everybody could be boxed into a textbook-like model. Some overcame it easier and faster, maybe even skipped stages while others lingered on each step longer than they should have for the sake of their own sanity. Context and circumstances mattered a lot and Joohyun couldn't tell yet whether Yerim would be able to handle the loss and accept the truth within a reasonable time frame. From what she had seen so far the youngest girl had had a very strong and close relationship with her brother, so a mental breakdown was more likely than anything else. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let her think it was just the simulation. At least it wouldn't have messed with the team dynamics.

Joohyun let out a shaky breath and walked to the weeping girl. She should have done that long ago, if she was more selfless and empathic she would have but she wanted to rank well in this simulation and she had already made a stupid mistake when she forgot about her insulin. It was Wendy who had helped her with that and now the Med student took care of the grieving girl too, so Joohyun felt like she owed her this, to offer a helping hand when needed.

“Let's take her back to the canteen, so she could sit down and drink something,” she suggested barely audible. But Wendy heard her just right and nodded. She turned around to tell her boyfriend about it. Namjoon didn't look happy about being separated but since all their staff was also in the canteen they had to go back eventually either way.

Having an arm around her shoulder and waist from two sides the elder girls started leading Yerim through the hallway following the signs back to where they had come from.

“It's all my fault,” Yerim whimpered body shaking even more fracticly now that she moved and vivid flashbacks kept disturbing her mind. “If... if I moved quicker... he wouldn't have to come back for me… I–”

Guilt, another stage of dealing with loss, Joohyun noted and didn't look back at the boys playing Sherlock.

“Our bracelet holds information about our health status, they might send an ambulance,” Namjoon spoke up in a helplessly hopeful voice and it stirred up unwanted feelings in the others. A few unconsciously touched the metal object stuck onto their waist like second skin, a grape vine curling around its branch.

“What for? It's not like they can do anything about it.”

Of course it was Taehyung who voiced out what everyone knew. It didn't look like anyone could save him at this point.

“They might think it's broken or that he took it off,” Hoseok wasn't that hopeful either. As a sociology student who had participated in his fair share of researches he doubted the leaders would give up after the first bump in the road. A project like this took too much time and effort to just give up on like that.

“But they are watching us with cameras,” Jimin reminded them and pointed at the flashing red point on the ceiling. “They must know about it. They should stop the simulation.”

It would have been too good to be true. Too easy to end it like this after months of preparations for making this simulation work but Hoseok didn't want to ruin their hopes, he didn't want to stand on one side with the Marketing major.

“What if they don't?” Namjoon wondered out loud. With his engineering background he could imagine countless scenarios of things going wrong. “I mean we can't be sure how much the electricity shutdowns could affect the camera network.”

“It would be a pretty shitty system if it fell apart just because of that,” Yoongi commented drily and well, he was right.

Choego was supposed to have one of the most advanced technologies in the world. If the short circuit in certain zone's electricity supply was really a part of the simulation, then it shouldn't have affected the other zones or even the cameras no matter where they were. In any case, there should have been an extra generator to make sure it didn't cause too much trouble. A smart city couldn't function without electricity, so if it was him, Yoongi would have planted a rebooting system in each zone. So either it wasn't well-made or they switched it off for the sake of the simulation. Maybe it was their job to switch them back? At least this was his wild guess.

“It's working within the building for sure. We just saw. That's how we knew you were in the basement,” Jimin butted in but bit into his lower lip. Even though he didn't see the group's eldest taking his last breath and a part of him was skeptical as he doubted he really had died, the others' reaction seemed genuine, so he didn't comment on it. They must have really believed that what they had seen was real but it wasn't impossible to trick our brains. Optical illusion existed for a reason. Not to mention that the labs had a glass door, a key item for magic tricks. What if the researchers really wanted to make them believe it was a life and death simulations? What if they just wanted to shake them up?

“Speaking of which, where were you?” Namjoon turned to them curiously. As a vanguard of the belief that it was better to stay together he didn't get why the other two had to disappear.

“In the offices, trying to find some cue about the sector blackouts,” Yoongi shrugged explaining. He almost told them about the conversation he’d had with the artificial intelligence but wasn't sure how the others would have reacted, so he played safe. Jimin didn't correct him either. “According to the computer the city really shuts off the sectors one by one. The brain of the city, the main computer will be the last one standing.”

“So you think we need to get there.”

It was an easily drawn conclusion, so the IT guy just nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Cool and how? It's not like we can use a GPS or Naver Maps. This city basically doesn't even exist yet,” Taehyung snorted and Hoseok wondered whether he was ever satisfied because all he heard from him for either offences or complaint. But it shouldn't have been that surprising. After all, those who are not useful at all are usually the ones whining.

“I have a picture of a city map but it's not detailed enough,” Yoongi pulled out his phone and showed them the picture he had taken in the office earlier. It really wasn't helping much but it was still better than coming back empty-handed. “But at least the evacuation plan's arrows on it show that we have to go East to get to the bridge. That can be Plan B.”

They all knew going to the bridge, the only exit of the city, was the same as giving up because it was impossible the researchers wanted them to leave. It wasn't like one of those stupid escape games they used to play on old computers. There must have been some obvious purpose, a goal they had to achieve but they had to figure that out first. Because without it they were tapping around in pitch black darkness looking for clues.

Maybe the main computer had all the answers they needed but how they were supposed to find it?

“Hey wasn't that journalist girl taking pictures all the time? Maybe she shot something actually useful,” Jimin managed to come up with a decent suggestion. He remembered seeing the young girl looking around as if it was a school trip while he himself was busy taking selfies and updating his social media about his whereabouts just to show off how important he was.

“Her camera must be in the canteen with our other stuff if she brought it with herself.”

They all agreed it would be better to check in case it turns out to help them. They had nothing to lose with it, just a bit of their time. The group of seven started walking towards the canteen not saying any other word. Funnily it seemed like they were even fewer than that because neither Jungkook nor the quiet girl, Seulgi, didn't say a thing this whole time. Maybe they both were too shocked by what happened. To be honest, Yoongi wouldn't have even noticed the girl if it wasn't for her mumbled apology to the sulky Taehyung while in fact he was the one who bumped into her and not the other way around. She was like a ghost, letting silence envelope her and Yoongi wasn't sure whether it made her weak or smart.

When they arrived to the buffett area where the three girls sat by a table, two of them comforting the still quietly sobbing Yerim. She was far too out of it to comprehend the question when they asked about her camera, so Jimin decided to fuck it and took it without permission. Nobody scolded him for acting impolitely as they all anxiously waited for the pictures to load. When they actually did it was like reading a travel magazine except the unreasonable amount of pictures of the silhouette, side- or back profile of one certain boy.

“See? I told you how lovesick she is!” Taehyung scoffed while Jungkook stepped back. Seeing himself on those pictures that had been taken without his consent felt like invading someone's personal space and not just his. Even though a part of him was flattered by the attention, he never really liked to stand out like this, he wanted the glory for his accomplishments and not for his looks.

“Well that was totally useless,” Hoseok sighed but Yoongi beside him rolled his eyes. What did he accept? A huge sign saying main computer room on one building or what? He believed the pictures could be useful still, just maybe later.

“In the main research building there must be some clues about where we should go,” Namjoon brought up another idea and if Miss Han worked there with her people then most likely he was right. Even if they wouldn't get clear clues, even something small could have helped them at this point where they were more lost than anything.

“Probably, but first we should check if it's safe or not. We can't be sure of the sectors' order, maybe it's already shut down,” Yoongi said quietly and started pulling out something from the laptop bag resting on his shoulder.

“And how do we do that genius?” the Marketing major grimaced.

“I can connect to the network and check the cameras,” Yoongi challengingly raised an eyebrow at the arrogant guy waiting for further heckling remarks. When he didn't get any he put his notebook down on a table and with a circle of curious people around him he turned it on.

Except maybe Jungkook, Namjoon and Jimin, none of them really got this technical stuff, so when a black terminal popped up and Yoongi started typing long green codes, they didn't even try to understand what was going on. At one point the computer demanded a password and the IT student typed in the series of numbers engraved into his bracelet without thinking. Taehyung was actually surprised it worked but he didn't voice that out. They all gaped at the computer screen when suddenly sixteen small camera view appeared on it under the label Sector 1.

“Whoa, that's so cool,” Hoseok exclaimed finally getting a little of the delicious taste of victory and watched closely as Yoongi switched between sectors by typing out short commands. However it was tricky to tell which ones were down because the morning sun has already lit up the entire city.

“Can we go back? To the 4th sector?” Jungkook spoke up for the first time in a long while and his voice held so much fear in its trembles that everyone was taken aback. Yoongi fulfilled his request without a world and zoomed in on the camera Jungkook pointed at.

It was a snippet of the researchers’ dorm which resembled their own very much but on contrary of the emptiness of sector 3’s dorm this one was full of people… people with pained, puffy and purple faces on the floor.

“Wendy…” Namjoon breathed quiet and scared.

“What?” the med student looked up and walked over to the bunch when nobody answered. Not knowing what to expect her gaze darted down to the screen.

“Oh my god,” she shrieked averting her eyes and clasping a hand over her mouth in horror.

“Is this what I think it is?” her boyfriend turned to her, offering a comforting hand, stroking her back but Wendy didn't even flinch like she didn't even feel his touch. The sight of dozen strangers lying dead on the dorm's floor when they most likely woke up in the middle of the night to not be able to breathe properly was like the haunting image of war victims scattered over streets in their on blood with disfigured limbs.

“This is how people die from insufficient oxygen,” she said remembering her studies but it didn't make it easier to accept the tragedy. Or the realization that it could have been them if Yerim didn't wake them up.

“Do you still think it's just a simulation? Because I don't,” Yoongi muttered under his breath, staring at the screen of his computer dreadfully. It was a loaded question, a gun to their heads and some realized what it meant sooner than others.

“Does this mean Sooyoung is also...” dead. Jimin didn't even have to finish. Everybody knew what he meant.

Behind him Jungkook felt like dying too, his own cropper blood tasted like metal in his mouth. He didn't know but a lot could kill a soul. Like guilt.

In a way they were all already dying. And what for? A dream job and dream life in a city based on artificial intelligence?

“I think I know why the sectors are shutting off,” the IT guy blurted out suddenly, voice strained and low. Nobody dared to ask why even though they all anticipated the answer which he gave to them after swallowing back his own curses. How could they not realize it earlier? “Remember what Han Raina said about the Louvre move?”

The sectors would be switched off the electrical grid one by one… to trap the attacker...

“But… but didn't she say it happens due to a hacking attempt?” Wendy furrowed her brows recollecting her memories from yesterday. Gosh, was it really just the previous day? It had already seemed decades away, so much happened since then.

“Or maybe someone started the process manually,” the IT major mused out loud and the possibility he mentioned pissed Taehyung off again.

“Are they trying to lock us in?”

“I guess so. They probably wanted to test us to see if we can find a way out, to see if their security system works accordingly but something must have gone wrong,” Namjoon nodded as the simulation started to make sense to him. However, there was no way the researchers were ready to sacrifice lives, especially their own for a social experiment like this.

“What do they think we are? Lab rats?” Jimin made a disgusted face, his voice clearly giving away his offendedness.

“In a way we are, you could say that,” Yoongi agreed and a lot of them envied the neutrality and stoic way he approached this topic. Or was he just rational enough to understand the difference between what they could change and what they couldn't.

“You know what? I don't care. I had enough of this stupid game. I'll call father to get me out of here. It's ridiculous. Locking us in,” the chaebol scoffed, quieting down word by word until they were muttered under his breath, barely audible. He didn't hesitate to turn his back on them to grab his own stuff and stride towards the exit.

Taehyung spat coward his way disguising it as a cough but little did he know it wasn't cowardice that made the Genetic Engineer student leave. He simply had too much to lose. Back in Seoul he had everything a young adult could have wanted, he had a future set in stone, the promise of a high manager position and the heritage of the CEO chair and millions on his bank account. He didn't want to risk all that for a badly planned simulation.

Maybe it was the same for Hoseok too, his girlfriend waiting from him back home was a more convincing argument than staying here for a possible job. But he justified his choice with something very different.

“There's no way I'm going where that jerk goes,” he exclaimed, gaze shooting daggers at Taehyung's figure and he threw his bag on one shoulder before rushing after Jimin.

Everyone else sat or stood in complete silence and watched them go. This time, nobody tried to stop them, to prove it was so much better to stay together. They said nothing but knew well there was nowhere else to go. They were all in this murderer cage together.

#series: code zero #bts fanfic #bts thriller #btsvelvet #red velvet fanfic #bts x red velvet #stories

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reeree1500 · 5 years

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The Return-Part 4

Okay y'all here's Part 4. OMG I cannot believe the amount of love that this story has gotten😍 it truly warms my heart, that an idea I had a while ago and have now just started writing has been loved by so many of you:) And with that lets get on to the storyyyy

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @laketaj24 @camatsuru @amy8220 @cutegyrl927 @cindy-exo @cainismyname @affection-rabbit @ragnarssonsbitch @mel0nch0ly @wuxiesalt

Disclaimer: My sucky ass writing as always:) Some slight insinuation of incest; Fluff (an attempt anyway); And bad grammar and spelling (sorryyyy); Heart palpitations according to @yanii-the-hippie 😂 Hope you all enjoy☺️

Your POV

My head hurts so much that I feel as if I've just been hit by a carriage. The sounds of arguing around me do not help the situation at all. So I try to not focus on the pain or the voices around me that won't subside and remember what happened. Images of Mira surface in my mind. Her corpse on the floor and the death rune carved into her back. My best friend and most trusted subject was killed because of me. I can't help but wince at the realization that I will never be rid of the death and chaos that I bring everywhere with me.

Fluttering my eyes open, my eyes wander looking for the source of those voices. As I begin to stand up from the very comfortable bed, I scan the room trying to find any trace of the people who were in here earlier. My eyes land on a pile of shirts neatly placed on the table. Walking towards them I come to notice that Im not in my dress anymore, but in what's seems to be a mans shirt. “Nice pair of legs you got there (y/n), wanna trade with me for a while?” At the sound of Ivars voice, I shriek and turn around whilst trying to pull down the shirt that is covering my body. “Ivar what the hell!” At the sound of my screaming Ivar just walks closer to me with a smirk gracing his perfect face. “W..what are you doing?!?!” His hands grasp onto mine and all I can do at that moment is stare back at him with my eyes and mouth open wide in shock. “You're gonna ruin my shirt if you continue to pull it down. Plus, you don't want me to see your breasts now do you?” At that, all the blood from my body rushes to my face. Turning me as red as an apple.

Ivar grabs my face in his hands and his eyes scan over it. “I know we’ve just met. And its probably really wrong for me to feel what I‘m feeling, considering you're my sister. But, when you were unconscious it was probably the hardest thing I have gone through so far in my life. Not knowing if you would wake up was a nightmare that I could not wake up from.” Ivar says with an exasperated sigh. “Ivar....” I begin to say, but am soon interrupted by his lips placed on mine. I know I shouldn't reciprocate his feelings towards me or his kiss for that matter. But, the fact of the matter is that even in this short amount of time, this man has made feel things that I have not felt in my whole life. This man however is my brother and that is something that will not change. Soon the warmth of his soft and plump lips leave mine. Before I can say something about how inappropriate that was, Ivar is already walking towards the door. You know for a cripple he’s fairly fast.

“You know (y/n) I’m so excited for what's in store in our future.” He says as he reaches the door. Rearing his head to where I still stand in utter shock of what just transpired seconds ago. “Especially, since we now share a room.” At that Ivar winks at me and leaves the room, with that smirk on his face. Once the door is closed my legs give out from underneath me. “Lord what have I just gotten myself into. It is wrong for me to have these sort of thoughts and feelings for my brother. Please give me the strength necessary in order to get through this.” As I look up and close my eyes I can only beg that he hears my prayer and somehow gives me the power to get through this. But knowing the almighty, something will happen.

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As the weeks went on by, we had buried Mira the Christian way. Although nearly no one shared my beliefs, it felt nice to be able to have Mira been given the respect she deserved. People had brought flowers and different types of gifts to me in order show me their condolences. On the outside I had to be strong and show them that whoever did this had not gotten to me. However, my family knew all too well the toll it took on me. Especially Ivar, who would hold me at night and whisper sweet nothings into my ear when I had the recurring nightmare of that night. The raid that was supposed to occur after the festival was cancelled. I had expected many people to be upset at the fact that it was. But what I saw was a community come together for someone they did not know. And that is what I missed the most about Kattegat. The people. My people.

Ragnar, Bjorn, and Ubbe had decided to lead an investigation into who had murdered Mira. So far they had gotten a couple of leads, but nothing that would certainly pinpoint who the culprit was. In his worry my father had decided to teach me how to fight, so that I would be able to defend myself if it came down to it. He knew that this was a personal attack on me. And a personal attack on a son or daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok was an attack on him too. “Come on my beautiful sister, we have some more training to do.” I can hear Hvitserk say as he comes up from behind me. “Is that really necessary Hvitty? We trained yesterday!” On the weeks that went by I could say that Hvitty and I got really close. Closer than probably me and Ivar are. After the kiss with Ivar, I had tried to put as much distance between myself and him. What we had done was wrong and a sin. And I could not allow myself to give in to such temptations.

However, that doesn't mean that Ivar still didn’t try to get closer to me. Every chance he got I var would hold my hand or hug me from behind. I knew that people where beginning to get the wrong idea, as I had caught Margrethe talking about how “close” we were for siblings. As soon as I heard that I began to make sure to only talk or look at Ivar if necessary. Waking me up from my thoughts Hvitserk takes my hand and leads me out of the hall. “Im coming. Im coming. Calm down!” I cannot help but contain my laugh at Hvitserk’s desire to want to train with me. Its probably the cutest thing I have ever seen. “You look like a child anxious to play with a brand new toy, Hvitty.” At that Hvitserk lets out a chuckle. “Only of you're the brand new toy and I get to play with you everyday.” he winks at me as he says this. “Come on you're distracting me, let’s get to work. Legs shoulder width apart and make sure you have good balance...”

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Bjorn POV

“We must have gotten somewhere by now! I want whoever is responsible dead!” my father screams at Ubbe and I. “Father, we've searched through and through, but there are no certain leads! Its a he said she said situation thus far!” Ubbe yells back at him. “Do not tell me what I already know, boy! I just cannot help but feel useless and like I am not able to protect my own. We all know that that was supposed to be your sister dead, not that poor girl.” at that he trails off. My father has lost way too much over the years. Many friends have come and gone. But the way we buried Mira, could only remind him of his best friend Athelstan. The Christian priest that changed his life (and mine believe it or not) for the better. He was murdered too, and that has always been a constant reminder to him of someone he could not save.

“What I think that we should be doing instead of arguing is perhaps, finding someone who is good at unmasking people. Since none of us can seem to find who it could be.” I tell them both, getting tired of their back and forth arguing. “And who would you suggest Bjorn. No one can know that (y/n) is here, besides the people of Kattegat. Our enemies will know how to get us. Hell one of them probably was behind this!” my father reciprocates. “I think we all know who I’m talking about. Im just wondering if you'll be able to reel in and control that bitch of yours, when she gets here. Since I’ve already sent word to her.” I bark back at my father. I don't know if its because im sick of him treating me as if ill never be good enough. Or because (y/n)’s life is on the line, but I had never found the courage to stand up to my father, until now. At my words my father becomes silent. It might the loads of ale Ive had today, but I swear that I can see what seems to be pride in his eyes. “How long?” “One day’s ride” It is then that my father shouts to the thralls...

“Prepare the great Hall! The Queen is coming home!”

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

Your POV

As the hours went by and my training had somewhat gotten better, I pleaded with Hvitserk to do something else. “Okay!Okay! We’ll stop training! But what else do you want to do?” Hvitserk's says shielding his sword. “I don't know, back in Frankia Uncle Rollo used to take me to the lake and taught me how to swim. Is there a lake nearby?” At that Hvitserk looks at me like I‘ve grown horns and a huge smile breaks out. “Come on, let’s eat quickly and then I have somewhere I wanna take you!” Rushing towards me Hvitserk grabs my hand and we quickly run off towards the great hall. Once we both quickly swallow our food, we head to the stables. There we find non other than Ivar in what seems to be him being pleasured by a thrall.

“Oh, Im so sorry. We didn't mean to intrude.” I say whilst quickly turning around. “Awww you're so cute (y/n), you’ve never seen or been pleasured before?!?!? Is that why you're as red as a tomato right now?” Hvitserk chuckles at me while trying to pry my hands away from my face. “Shut upppp!! Hvitty, get the horse and lets goooo!!” I chuckle nervously at him. “Its ok (y/n), you should take notes from Margrethe here. Who knows you might have to use them some day.” Ivar manages to say through his... compromising position. “Well Ivar, (y/n) and I are gonna go on a little adventure. Don't wait up...” At that Hvitserk grabs the reins on the horse and passes them on to me. “You know how to ride (y/n)?.” “Of course, Hvitty. Its literally my favourite thing to do.” “I’m glad to hear that. Now lets go!” And with that Hvitserk and I were off to God knows where. But one thing I knew for sure was that if Hvitserk was involved, we were sure to have a good time.

Bjorn POV

Soon the day had gone by and it was just a matter of time before my mother was here. You could hear a pin drop in the great hall. The anxiousness that lingered in the air was so thick that you could probably cut it with a knife. My father could not stop bouncing his leg, some thing he did when he too was nervous or didn't know the outcome of certain events. My head quickly towards the doors when I heard the neighing and hooves of the horses. At that we all stood up and thats when both Ubbe and I noticed we were missing certain people. “Ivar, where's (y/n) and Hvitserk? They're supposed to be here or did you not tell them that we would have company tonight?” I whisper at him trying to not get noticed by father or Aslaug. “Probably fucking somewhere. You know they've gotten pretty close these past few weeks I wouldn't put it past them.” At that I just look at him shocked. “Are you sure it’s just him Ivar? Don't act like I haven’t caught you staring at our sister when she's taking bath or when she's walking around the market.” Sigurd chimes in. “Whatever we will resume this conversation after this. But send someone to get those two here. NOW!”

When I turn back I am able to see my father already walking towards the door with the family behind him. Making my way outside I catch a glimpse of my mother on horseback. The most beautiful woman to grace the earth and the most skilled in combat. She taught me everything I know and for that I could never thank her enough. Behind me came up my wife Torvi, I smile down at her and hold her hand. She knows that I will do anything for my family, especially my mother and sister. And I will protect them at any cost. As my mother gets down from her horse I immediately go towards her and give her a hug. “You know that surprise I told you about in the letter. Well, I have an even better one now.” I say whilst chuckling in her ear. “My son, how many times do I need to tell you that Im not so easily surprised.” She laughs back at me. You don’t know what's in store mother...

After much due catching up with my mother. It’s time to get down to business. Father fills mother in about the fact that there has been a murder the night go the spring festival. My mother begins to ask questions on how we've conducted the investigation, to which Ubbe fills her in. I cant seem to pry my eyes away from the doors. Hoping that my sister and brother walk into the hall safely. It’s been hours and no one has heard or seen of them. “Bjorn, are you okay? You're not really focused on the matter at hand?” Torvi says while placing her hand on my knee. “Yeah...Yeah, Im fine just a little anxious thats all.” At that she leaves it alone. It is then that we hear some jugs fall over and loads of laughter. “Hvitty get upppp. Everyone is gonna knowwww....” I can hear the slurs of my younger sister. “Pfttt.. Like they careeee, were just having some funnnn....” Great these two are drunk of their asses and dropping shit everywhere. It is then that they both enter the hall. (Y/n) is carrying Hvitserk, in what seems to be a futile attempt to act normal. But when her eyes land on the blonde graying hair of our mother she drops Hvitserk and immediately you can see that she sobers up.

“Mama...”

At that my mother stops talking. And her eyes begin to well up with tears. “No. it cannot be. It’s the gods playing tricks on me.” My mother says whilst looking down, refusing to turn around. My father gets up from his chair and kneels beside my mother. “It is true. She is here, come with me. I promise you she will not be taken from you again.” My father’s voice cracks at the end. As I truant where my sister stands I can see the pan and suffering coursing through her body. Her eyes show a small child that was ripped from her safe place and placed in an evil and hungry world, that only wanted to make her suffer. As my mother and father stand up I catch a glimpse of Aslaug and her stone cold face. That is filled with rage and what seems to be a predatory glare towards my sister. Trying to put it to rest and not say anything, I turn towards my parents. My father holds may mother in his arms as to keep her from falling over. “ My baby girl. Tell me that this was not dream that Ive had for the past 6 years and that you're actually here with me.” My mother manages to say through her tears. But,(y/n) is barely able to get anything out through her sobs. All she does is run to where my mother and father stand and embraces them. At that they all fall to the floor in their embrace. Hvitserk is now standing beside me. Watching, with the rest of us the reunion of a mother with her child. In my daze of being focused on my parents and sister reuniting I fail to realize that both Torvi and Aslaug are missing......

Aslaug POV

“She should have been dead!!! What part of kill the insolent bastard child do you not understand!” I scream at Torvi. “You did not tell me that she was the daughter of Ragnar and Lagertha. Much less Bjorn's sister!” I had ordered Torvi to kill (y/n) so that what I had done that night many years ago, would not come back to haunt me or my family. I did this in order to protect them. That insolent child will only bring death with her. The death of our gods. And that is something I will not allow. I had faked to not have known about her existence all that time ago, but I cannot put past me the prophecy that was foretold by the volva. I will do anything in my power to make sure that she gets nowhere near my sons. For I rather die then see an era were Vikings and Christians alike are one people.... “When Helga and Floki get to the dock. Report back to me immediately and tell Floki that he has an unfinished job from 6 years ago.” As I stare at my husband and his so called “family” I cannot help, but get a bad feeling about this.

That Christian child will pay for coming between my family....

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years

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CSUAPR prt 50 start? Not sure on my chapter numbers anymore, but yay for sex!

The world outside their bedroom was dark when Lance woke. Shuffling off to the bathroom, he returned to find Keith still snoring softly. He’d really fucked up. He’d let everything get too much for him, then broken down. Considering the bathroom light was the only one on in the cabin, other than their bedside lamp, he’d missed decorating Keith’s cake too. He’d missed the whole afternoon. Climbing back into bed, he wriggled in an attempt to get comfortable as he lay facing his husband. Keith was so beautiful. His soft silky hair mussed by his pillow, drool dried in the corner of his mouth. He wished he could hold him. Have Keith’s back up against his chest. His face buried against Keith’s nape, as his husband burrowed into his hold. He missed the way Keith would roll over in his hold, the sheer amount of affection in his eyes as he smiled up at him. He missed him. And showering. Quiznak, he missed showering where he could wash Keith’s hair. He missed watching the suds running down his husband’s toned back. The way Keith would melt as he massaged his scalp... He loved him so fucking much. Keith had lost muscle mass while in his coma, a tiny bit more fat sat on his stomach. If you hadn’t spent hours simply tracing Keith’s form with your eyes, you wouldn’t know. You also wouldn’t see the small hesitations Keith made now as he tried to figure out his own strength. Keith’s eyelashes fluttered, a puffy sigh escaping his lips as his hand moved. Blinking half a dozen times rapidly, Keith scrunched his eyes tightly, then proceeded to wrap his arm around him as tried to get closer than Lance’s stomach allowed “Mmm, babe?” Reaching out, Lance brushed Keith’s fringe from his face. His husband was so handsome. Keith could have had his choice if anyone in the universe. Opening his eyes, Keith blinked those gorgeous purple eyes at him, Lance’s face was full of love “I’m here. You go back to sleep” “Nooo. Not until you tell me why you’re awake...” “I was watching you sleep. Thinkin’ ‘bout how pretty you are” Keith ducked his head, yawning through his nose as he slid his hand up to Lance’s hip “You’re the pretty one. Very pretty” “No, babe. You are. I love you” Keith frowned at him, his hand moving from Lance’s hip to his shoulder “What’s wrong? You don’t smell very happy” Lance hummed. The only thing unhappy about the situation was that he couldn’t cuddle his husband “I’m fine. Scouts honour” “Then why do you seem so sad?” He wasn’t so much sad as he was missing how things used to be “I’m not. I was thinking about how much I love you. I miss holding you” “That just means I get to hold you” “I know. I miss it though. I miss washing your hair and holding you when you wake up” “Babe...” Lance sniffled softly. There might have been times he wanted to shoot Keith in the foot, but he was so incredibly fortunate to have the man for his partner “You’re so beautiful, Keith... I love you so quiznakking much” “Hey, you’re the beautiful one. What’s going on here?” “I just... I love you and I’m so grateful. I don’t know how I could made it through any of this without you. I’m... I’m really... I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want by my side for this” Keith’s smile sent happiness flooding through his veins “You don’t need to look so sad. You’re my pride and joy, Lance. You’re my husband... and that... that makes me so fucking happy” Lance felt himself blush, wishing his stomach wasn’t in the way. He really wanted to kiss his husband. Keith’s pouty lips were so damn kissable. Trying to settle his racing heart, Keith whispered his slight nudge “Babe?” Lance swallowed, he wanted to kiss him. He really wanted to kiss him “I want to kiss you” “Then kiss me” He would if they weren’t in such an awkward position “You’ll have to come to me... because I can’t reach you” “Oh, babe... here, come here” Rolling onto his back, Keith moved to kiss him. The kiss was deep, full of meaning. Lance’s eager to return it, to show his husband how important and irreplaceable he was. Between his legs grew wet, as the kiss morphed into a desperate need to feel some much more. To feel the heat of Keith’s skin, to watching his face as he fell apart. As the kiss broke, Lance let out a shaky breath “Wow” “Wow” Keith echoed his breathy statement, hair falling down to frame his face as nuzzled at Lance’s cheek. The sensation tickled his skin, the Cuban smiling as he tucked Keith’s hair back behind his ear “I want to have sex” Keith snorted softly “You do?” “I want my husband. I want to feel you... I feel like my heart’s going to explode if I don’t...” “We can’t have that” Why didn’t Keith get it? Why didn’t he acknowledge how strong he was? How wonderful he was... He wanted to forget the pain of Keith leaving that night. He wanted to wash away the pain he’d carved onto Keith’s heart “I’m serious, Keith. I’m so in love with you that I don’t know what to do anymore. You’re my everything. You’re my partner. My partner in crime. My accidental husband that was tricked into a union with me. You keep me sane and you pull me back from the edge like it’s as natural as breathing. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring myself back. I couldn’t fix me...” “You don’t need fixing. I love you. You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re allowed to have bad days” “But today’s your birthday. I want you to have the happiest birthday ever. You’re my world, Keith. My lover and my husband. I want to feel you... I want to spend this now having sex with the man I treasure. Happy Birthday, babe” Slowly and sweetly Lance fell apart under Keith’s hands. His husband’s lips upon his body like a ravenous wolf upon a bone. His hands never seemed to stop moving, a kiss or touch, neither here nor there, but both “and” and “and not” at the same time as tried to catch the fleeting feelings of fingertips or lips only for it slip away before he could catch it. The unique sensations only Keith could strum to life stripped away his bullheadedness. Long caramel legs wide as he lay exposed, Keith teasing him to the point he felt he was going to crumble if his husband didn’t let him come. With a shallow thrust, he was drowning, gasping for air as his hands clenched the blanket beneath them. Rolling his hips slowly, the muscles in his legs undulated, body clenching around his husband, drawing him deeper into his sopping wet heat, only Keith... Keith knew how to play him. His thrusts kept shallow, he reduced him into a babbling mess, words of love slurred into words of need. Keith would oblige, thrusts hard and deep until his toes started too curl and all language lost form, then would edge off, remaining only ever so slightly buried inside, teasing him into this trembling sweaty mess. Reaching for his husband’s hand, Keith stared down at him with hooded eyes, his hand taking his as he slid from inside of him. Crying out in loss, Keith kissed his palm, nuzzling softly as if they weren’t lost in the heat of sex. Forming words with his kiss swollen lips, Lance couldn’t comprehend them. Their position changing as Keith moved from between his legs, an arm finding its way between his back and the blankets, Lance left dizzy as he went from being beneath his husband to straddling his lap in the space of a few moments. Now the one gazing down, Keith kissed his hand again, a hand on his hip the support offered as Lance rose to sink back down. Whimpering his husband’s name, Keith rolled up, the position finally giving him everything he needed. Trying to ride Keith, he could barely lift his body to find his rhythm, hand torn from Keith’s to balance himself as he rode his husband unashamedly. With curved back and bared throat, his vision mister red. Orgasm finally tearing through him as came in hard jolted bursts between them, cum dripping from the bottom of his swell, soaking his crutch and pooling on Keith’s stomach. Keith stretching him wide as he swelled inside, flooding him as his chanted his praises. He loved this man. He loved him... Legless and unable to stand, keith fetched a cloth to clean him down with. Wiping him clean, his husband pressed kisses to the places the cloth passed over. All Lance wanted was to cuddle with him now, but Keith was too good to him. His husband cleaned him down, helped him back into his sweats then to the bathroom. Hunched from the fire running through his back and legs, Keith sat him on the toilet, fetching paracetamol and heat pads for him. That had meant his husband had to wake Curtis to ask for the paracetamol. Measuring the dose, his husband apologised, Lance didn’t want apologies. He loved him. He loved being close to him. He didn’t regret having sex with him, the sex it’s self wasn’t the problem. It was sitting in his husband’s lap for as long as he did. Making sure he was comfortable, clean and heat padded in the right places, his husband supported him back to their room. Keith stripping off the top sheet then fussing him under the covers before spooning around him. It was a nightmare free night for them. Lance waking after Keith. His husband’s hand against his belly as their twins slept. Wriggling against him, Keith kissed his shoulder. His husband’s dick was poking against his arse, Lance mentally snorting as how eager Keith was despite the night before “Good morning, sleeping beauty” “Mmm... morning... seems like I’m late to wake up” “Nah, you’re fine. How are you feeling?” “Happy” Placing his hand on Keith’s, Keith nuzzled into the spot he’d been kissing “Good. I was worried you’d be sore from last night” “‘m ok. Are you ok?” “Yeah. Yeah, I think I am” Sliding Keith’s hand down, his husband took the silent invitation, rutting up against his arse as they reached the band of his sweats “Babe?” “I want it... like this...” “You sure?” “Yes, birthday boy...” Keith was slow and gentle. Aroused before he woke, neither of them lasted long. Laying in a tangle of limbs, and a very protruding stomach, their twins seemed to think it was time to make their presence known given their parents were awake. Handsy and cuddly, Keith was going a little crazy as he nuzzled and kissed him. Tickled by his husband’s fringe, Lance’s giggled “What’s so funny?” “If I told you, you wouldn’t show me mercy” “I might. It’s my birthday... I can be generous” “Your hair’s tickly” Leaning further over him, his husband’s hair draped across his face. Laughing, he shoved Keith back “What happened to being generous?!” “What did I do?” Playfully teasing him, Keith knew damn well what he did “You know what you did... It’s assault with a long dead mullet!” “That’s nice... it’s my birthday and you’re picking on me” “I will when you’re tickling me!” There was a pause before Keith poked his belly “Hey, babe...” “Yesss?” “I love you” “I love you, too. You’re such a dork” “Again, it’s my birthday. What happened to the Lance who was telling me how much he loved me?” “I slept it off...?” “And you’re really alright? Last night was... it was pretty full on. We haven’t done edging like that...” They hadn’t done edging that like since he’d turned into this... with an over active pair of watermelons in his stomach “Babe, you’re worrying too much... I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to feel bad for us enjoying... that... I love you” “I know you do. That’s why I don’t want you to feel like you can’t say no” “You have no idea what my libido is like... seriously, I could go again right now” “You wouldn’t be able to walk” “At least I wouldn’t be a horny wreck... seriously, please. I love you. I... I like... this. This... us. I didn’t think... I didn’t think I’d ever want something like this after what happened. But when I’m with you, I feel like I can do almost anything. I might have been a bit emotional last night, but I swear I’m ok” “A bit? You looked ready to cry before we started” “That’s because...!” Keith nipped at his shoulder, Lance knowing he’d have to explain, but it wasn’t always easy to find the words to explain emotions and feelings. Sometimes the right word simply didn’t exist “Because?” “Because... I love you. It hit me last night, all over again. All the support you give me. How alive you make me feel... how beautiful you are. I mean, like, neither of us are perfect, and this is probably the longest we’ve gone without fighting, but like... I couldn’t ask for a better husband and sometimes I feel like I can’t say that, even when I do... like... I mean... I just love you” No one had ever called him “Eloquent” and meant it... He’d said “like” far too many times for his liking. He couldn’t help the rush of love or the rush of affection he felt when Keith would smile at him. That private little smile that seemed to say far more than his words could. Nuzzling into him, Keith sighed “You say it everyday, babe. Don’t forget that” “Sometimes I don’t...” “You don’t always have to do the actual say. The three of you make me so quiznakking proud” “Even with sweats half down and your dick up my arse?” “Yep. Especially with your sweats half down and my dick up your arse. It’s going down now” “I wasn’t sure that was a setting...” Keith slid back slightly before thrusting forward, the drag felt too damn good. Squeaking, Lance blushed. Kissing his below his ear, his husband was a shit “What was that?” If this kept up they’d never end up getting out of bed for the day. His husband had to detach and stop his “pervy octopus” ways “I have to pee” “Then I guess we’ll have to finish in the shower” * Keith was a the happiest he could possibly be as they walked into the living area. Sitting on the kitchen counter were a small pile of wrapped gifts, Krolia stood in front of something blue she seemed quite proud of, with Korra on her shoulder. Curtis was at the oven, a small stack of pancakes on the plate to the left of him. Beside him, Lance came to a stop. Nudging him softly with his shoulder, his husband smiled at him “Sorry, hard kick. I’m ok. They’re super active now” Lance’s scent was tinged with sadness, his eyes misty “You sure?” “My ribs are being bashed. Let’s get you your birthday breakfast” “Ok. Do you want to cuddle on the sofa with me while we eat?” “Yeah. That sounds good” Lance took the lead, leading him into the kitchen to stand by Curtis “You’ve gotten better. Minimal burning around the edges... and look at those bubbles!” Curtis rolled his eyes at him, Keith wrapping his arms around his husband as he rested his chin on Lance’s shoulder “You’re not funny. Yes, you can take what’s there. The butter’s already on the table. Happy Birthday, Keith” “Thanks, Curtis. Those look great” Curtis waved his egg-flip “At least someone appreciates my pancakes. Keith, you forgot to return my paracetamol last night. You’re forgiven because it’s your birthday, but next time can you try to remember please?” Keith’s “No problem...” overlapped Lance’s “Aw, babe. Everyone wants to pick on you today”. Curtis shook his head, he probably didn’t want to know “Take your pancakes and sit down already. I’ll bring more over when I’m done” “Thanks, Curtis. You’re the best” Trying not to let Lance go as he shuffled along behind him, the slipped past Curtis and into range of Krolia. Grabbing his arm, they were both jolted back as his mother leaned in to kiss his cheek “Happy Birthday, Keith” “Thanks, mum. And thank you, Korra” His little sister’s eyes were open, staring at him as he kissed her forehead. She looked happy. Happy and chubby... and maybe a bit confused “We weren’t sure that you were getting out of bed today, were we Korra? Your big brother certainly kept us both waiting” “It’s my birthday, I’m allowed to sleep in” Krolia side-eyed him, then lifted Korra off her shoulder, nuzzling and kissing her chubby cheek she seemed so happy to have her. Keith felt a stab of jealousy. Happiness and jealousy... “Don’t you listen to your big brother. He wasn’t sleeping at all... but he did give us time to decorate his cake, didn’t he, baby girl. Luckily Curtis baked it yesterday. It gave us time this morning, yes it did my darling” The blue thing he’d noticed on the counter turned out to be a dark blue frosted cake. His mother had whipped up some cream to pipe along the top, the bowl and bag sitting next to the cake. Keith’s brain ticked over. The previous days walk where they’d been allowed out for over an hour. Lance covering his moment of sadness with that little white lie he knew he was telling. Lance and Curtis had talked about his birthday. They’d planned the cake together. Seeing it assembled, Lance must have realised whatever he’d had planned was no longer possible. Having talked to Shiro the previous afternoon, Shiro has agreed that too many people face to face would most probably be bad for Lance’s mental health. Pidge was still making the trek to see them in person, bringing with her their presents to him and setting up the TV for a face call. Coran had wanted to come see them in person too, but understood that Lance might not be up for visitors. Shiro wasn’t completely sure if he was coming to visit or not, meaning it’d be a surprise for all of them to see what he decided to do. Miriam had been right, and having forgotten that his birthday was coming up, he’d also forgotten that Lance always wanted everything to be perfect for the people around him. In a way it was good that he’d forgotten or he would have been stressing over his husband’s mental state further the closer they got to today. Kissing Korea’s cheek, Krolia held her out to him. Letting go of his husband, Keith took Korra into his hold. His little sisters hand tightening around the bunched fabric of his shirt with her tiny fingers “I’ll be done in a couple of ticks. I must say, I’m quite proud. I know I didn’t bake it, but I haven’t turned it a complete mess yet. Curtis got photos of Korra helping. They’ll look great in the album Lance got for you” “Mum! It’s supposed to be a surprise” “Oops. I’m out of sync with your Earth customs. Last time I was doing this, you were just a small babe. Now eat your pancakes and relax” Lance cut their pancakes for them. His husband feeding him bites as his sister slept on his shoulder. Keith wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about his mother making him a birthday cake. On Daibazaal it never would have happened. Here she was acting like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then there was Lance and Curtis to consider. He didn’t know if they’d planned to decorate his cake while they slept or if the three of them were going to attempt to decorate it together. Teleporting back from wherever he’d been, Kosmo’s whole body started wagging at the sight of pancakes. Sitting beside Lance, he whined until Lance finally looked at him, then used his biggest, widest, puppy-dog eyes on him. Sighing, Lance plucked the top pancake off the pile, rolling it up before passing it over to their fur son “I don’t know if you deserve it. You haven’t wished your father a happy birthday yet” Kosmo didn’t care. His tail only thumped harder as he got up to place both paws on Lance’s leg and nudge at his arm “These are for you father. You’re going to get fat” Yipping as if insulted, Kosmo turned his face away. Picking up the knife to tackle the next pancake, Kosmo broke his false huff lunged in under Lance’s arm, tonguing up the side of the stack as he closed his jaws around the edge and teleported over to munch down on his stolen treat in front of the unlit fireplace. Sighing, Lance threw the knife down on the plate. The clattering sound startling Korra who started to cry. Patting his sister’s back, Keith didn’t know what to do. Shooting a pleading look to Lance, his husband was quick to hold out his hands “You should be able to handle one crying baby, Keith” Ignoring his mother, Keith passed Korra to Lance who took the little girl up in his arms. Placing her on his shoulder, he patted her back softly as he bounced her while hushing her softly. His husband melted his heart all over again. He wasn’t sure how to soothe his sister, yet Lance wasn’t shying away from her cries. Rubbing his cheek against her head, he kissed her beanie as she continued to cry, though not as loud as it had been “That’s a good girl. Yes, it is. I know. That big bad knife scared you, baby girl. Yes, it did. Don’t worry, that knife isn’t going to scare you anymore... shhh... there’s a good girl... I know... I know. It’s your big brother’s birthday today. You can’t even talk yet and you sound just like him. All bark and no bite... you’re probably exhausted my little princess. It’s barely breakfast and you’ve had to serenade us, as well as be completely adorable” Calming Korra down, she drifted off to sleep on Lance’s shoulder. Keith simply staring at the pair of them, wondering if Lance knew what he was doing to his heart. He was so good with children. He didn’t get angry or annoyed with her, instead he was all gentle smiles and love with his little sister. Catching him staring, his husband scrunched his brow “What?” “You look good like that” “Holding Korra? She’s doing all the hard work when it comes to looking good, but you make it look so easy baby girl. What your brother doesn’t know is that having a baby in the house involves a lot more screaming than one short song. When you have a baby you can’t return them to their parents because you are their parents” “You’re still better at this than me” “Keith, babe. You saw the size of my family at Christmas. If you’re not good with babies, then you’re screwed because there’s always some kid around” Keith felt a momentary stab of pain. Yeah. He’d seen Lance’s dozens of relatives... and while he’d in care he’d come across a small child or two, but he didn’t know how to “Dad”... Reaching out, Lance placed his hand on his knee “You’ll get there. You got me through withdrawal. You got me through peopling. You got me through losing Allura and losing everything else. You’ll get through being a dad, because we’re a team, right?” There was a huge difference between a screaming Lance and a screaming baby. Smiling sincerely at him, Keith wasn’t able to stop himself as he surged forward to steal a kiss “I fucking love you” Lance snorted, both of them casting a quick glance to Krolia who seemed lost in the world of cream piping, then back to each other. Lance ducking his head slightly “I love you, too. Do you want to take her back? I need to change” Why did Lance need to change? His husband was better dressed than he was “Are you...?” Lance gave him a sigh, careful to lift Korra off his shoulder and settle her down on Keith’s “I’m leaking. I didn’t think to put nursing pads in my bra” Sliding his chair back, Keith got a good look at Lance’s wet chest. Arousal rushed to pool in his belly, his husband detecting the change in his scent “And this is why we can’t have nice things. I’ll be right back” Lance coming back drew out to 20 minutes where his husband hadn’t returned. Enough time had passed for Curtis to be bringing more pancakes over to the table “I’ll take her, you go check on him” He hadn’t needed to say anything, they both were worried over Lance not coming right back. Not confident in passing Korra, Curtis took her off his shoulder, Keith giving him a nod before heading off to find Lance. Finding Lance wasn’t all that hard. Their bedroom door was open, and sticking his head in he found Lance sitting on their bed, staring down at a small blue onesie that had been part of the pair gifted by Lance’s grandmother “Everything ok, babe?” “Yeah. It fell out when I went to grab my pads out. I was thinking about how small babies are” Walking over to their bed, Keith sat himself down next to his husband. Resting his head on his shoulder, the onesie seemed tiny “Do they come that small?” Lance snorted “Yeah, babe. What happened to Korra?” “Curtis is having cuddles. You’ve been gone a little while” “Had to clean up, then I had to pee, then I to grab my nursing pads out and change my shirt... it’s so much effort” Keith laughed softly, as long as Lance was alright that was the main thing “You’ve gotten so lazy” “I’ve gotten huge. I’m nearly out of clothes you know. If I get any bigger this stomach isn’t going to fit my shirts” “I don’t mind you being shirtless” “In front of Curtis?” “Maybe not” “I had the feeling you’d say that... I prefer wearing shirts, especially now” “Bad body day?” Lance nodded “It’s harder to have a good one. Sorry, it’s your birthday...” Nope. He wasn’t having Lance beating himself over this “It’s fine. I want to understand. Did you and Curtis plan that cake for me?” Lance started folding up the onesie so the small lamb on left breast of the tiny garment was upright “You really notice everything, don’t you?” “If mum...” “Your mum wanted to. I kind of figured that it’d happen with how long I slept for last night... We were going to surprise you in the morning. But it’s fine, she’s your mum and Korra helped too. It’s a nice memory” “You’re not sad?” “A bit, but today is about you. I want you to have a really good birthday. I mean, it’s better than last years...” “Yeah, well, no ones trying to kill us now. Plus, we’re going to be dads soon...” Trying to inject enthusiasm in his tone failed when Lance turned to him, his husband placing the onesie in his lap “You are going to be an amazing father. I know you’re scared, I’m scared too. I’m terrified something will go wrong at the last moment. That I’m going to drop a baby. Or that I’m just going... that I’m not going to be able to cope after giving birth. But you. I know you’re going to smash it out of the park. Because everything you put your heart and soul into doing, you always smash it out. You’ve always been a fighter, babe. You’ve got this” “Do I?” “You do. It’s like when you became Black Paladin. You didn’t think you could do it, but I did. Until Blade work got in the way...” Hadn’t Lance given him enough shit for it at the time? “I remember missing a certain Razzle-Dazzle routine...” “And I remember missing my only friend... I’m going to get depressed if we keep talking about it. My point is, you’re stronger than you let yourself believe. I love you. They’re going to love you” Cutting himself off to take a breath, Lance pushed that smile he disliked to his lips. Keith letting him get away with it simply because his husband realised he’d stepped on one of his own triggers so had promptly tried to move past it before he became stuck on it. Lifting the onesie, Keith traced over the embroidered sheep with his thumb “I’m scared of how small they’re going to be” “Me too... I hope they look like you” “No. I hope they look like you” “Are you kidding me? You’re the whole package. With your stupidly perfect hair and those eyes... I can’t say no to those eyes. Plus, you’ve got a nicer nose than I do” “What’s wrong with your nose?” “I like yours better?” “I think you’re cuter” Lance rolled his eyes at him “We’re going to get stuck here with you not admitting you’re gorgeous as you call me beautiful, and then, before we know it, your birthday is going to be over. Come on, Daddy Keith...” Plucking the onesie from his hand, Lance sat it down in the bedside table. Keith taking his hand as he stood “Alright, Daddy Lance. You’re still beautiful” “You’re an idiot. A soppy loved up idiot” “Mhmm... your idiot though” “Yep. And I’ll shoot anyone who says otherwise in the foot” “Babe, you can’t shoot everyone you don’t like” “We’ll have to agree to disagree” Keith knew he shouldn’t encourage Lance when it came to shooting people. His husband may act like he had no problem with it, especially with the number of people he’d killed, but he knew that the weight of what he’d done weighed on him heavily. If Lance did shoot someone else, then part of him would break beyond repair... Still, it was nice to know his husband was as possessive of him as he was of Lance. Lance loving and wanting him was the best present he could ever ask for. “There you two are. We thought you might have gone back to bed!” In their short absence Krolia had finished decorating the cake. The pile of pancakes were half gone. A broke plate lay on the floor, and Kosmo was nowhere to be seen. Having moved his presents to the kitchen table, Keith supposed it was a subtle hint to open them. Trying to pull Lance into his lap, his husband smacked his grabby hands away “Nope. You need to unwrap your presents, not me” “Can’t I do both?” Lance pouted, hands on his as he stared down at him “Aren’t you two worn out from last night and this morning?” Lance immediately blushed deep red, trapping his bottom lip in his teeth in embarrassment. Keith shot his mother a glare that Krolia shrugged off. Curtis hadn’t told them that they were being too loud... so why must he suffer the embarrassment of his mother doing so “Muuuum. Not cool” “You were up quite late...” Pointing at her with his right pointer finger, he grabbed Lance’s hand with his left hand. His threat deadly serious “If you say one more thing about our sex life, I’ll be taking my presents and my husband, and we’ll be spending my birthday in our bedroom” “Relax, I’m only teasing you both” “It’s ok, Keith. Open your presents. Krolia already told you mine, so save that one for last” He’d wanted to open his husband’s first, purely because it was from his husband. He was annoyed his mother had ruined the surprise, but he’d be lying if it hadn’t spiked his curiosity over what could possibly be in the album. Having all this attention on him wasn’t unpleasant, yet it also wasn’t all that pleasant. He didn’t know what facial expression he was supposed to make, or what he was supposed to say “Fine, move your chair and sit next to me” “You’re such a big baby” “Yep. Now sit down next to me” “Only because it’s your birthday, and I’m feeling generous” Keith laughed lightly at the way Lance threw his words back at him “Oh, merciful husband of mine, won’t you sit beside me” Wrinkling his nose, Lance poked out his tongue “Too far. You ruined it. Scooch over so I can fit?” “Deal” From Curtis he received a mug. Curtis looked slightly apologetic, but it did have Red on it, so it was instantly elevated above a normal mug. He’d also brought him a new black leather jacket with red trimming on the inside pocket. The choice screamed Lance more than Curtis’s shopping style. Lance had probably been going to gift it to him, then told Curtis to do so. Curtis didn’t know his sense of taste with clothing... which was pretty much “if it was clean and it fitted, it’d do”. His mother had a new Luxite blade for him, three colours woven into the design. Purple for Krolia, pink for Korra, and aqua for Kolivan, to remind him of his family on Daibazaal. Korra had gifted him what looked like a Kosmo plushy, and a “best big brother shirt”. Krolia insisted that he wear the shirt, while holding his sister on his shoulder and his new blade in his hand so she could send a picture to Kolivan. Keith was already in position before he thought to object to being bossed around. Lance found it all funny, his objections died in his throat as the sight of his husband’s smile. Knowing he was biased, his best presents came from his boys and his husband... and Curtis. Confined to the cabin, Keith had no idea when Lance and Curtis had had time to plan their presents... even when the third one taking Lance by surprise. Sliding what he knew to the album from Lance towards him, when he’d picked the present up, there’d been a second beneath it with Curtis’s neat handwriting across the tag. Drawing his brow, Curtis laughed at his facial expression “It’s for both of you. It’s also from Shiro. I may have also added to your present Lance...” Lance leaned past him to reply to Curtis “Should we be worried?” “Not really. You don’t have to open it right now, if you don’t want to” “Is it dirty? Or wrestling related?” “Lance, not everything I touch is wrestling related” “No... sometimes you touch Shiro” Curtis spluttered, the poor man covering his face with his both hands as he leaned heavily on the table “Babe, I think you broke him” “I think I broke him too. Open it already, I want to know what’s inside” “I want to open yours first” “Spoil sport” From Lance it was a beautiful album, a little clumsy where he’d decorated the from by hand in diamanté’s spelling out “Our Twins”. Inside was photos of Lance at various stages of his pregnancy. His baby bump as it grew, as well as the ultrasound photos, and a small pocket for the drive containing the videos. Flicking through, he could tell the last few photos were taken by Curtis. There were photos of Lance’s growing bump, Lance napping, Lance sleeping with his belly showing, and naturally photos of Kosmo and Lance. Some were of the pair of them both sleeping, some where of Kosmo resting with his head on Lance’s swollen stomach as Lance rubbed the spot between his ears. In one he had his paws on the bump with his tongue lolling out as he gazed up at Lance “I hope you don’t mind. I know you weren’t in the mood for photos when I picked you up. Some of them came from Marco, that lifted off the security feed in the outpost. Most of the selfies I lifted from your comms when you were sleeping after you told me you wanted to make Keith an album. In the album I’m gifting you, it’s got photos from the tour. So it’s not just of you. Shiro helped by providing the coordinates to match where they were taken. Miriam also sent through copies of photos from Christmas” Unlike his husband, he wasn’t quite so quick to cry, but he felt incredibly overwhelmed seeing Lance’s pregnancy progression carefully displayed with love and care. They’d received so much support from their friends. Keith had no way of ever paying them back for what they’d done for them. Pulled into a tight hug by his husband, Keith buried his face against Lance’s neck. On the night of the explosion, he could have lost all of this and he’d never have seen his boys born. He’d never been able to hold Lance again. See him smile or laugh. He never wanted to be in a situation like that again. He didn’t want his husband worrying that he’d never come home. That he’d widow him with two young boys to raise. He wouldn’t be going on another mission. Not when he had the future with Lance that he’d always wanted right in front of him. He didn’t know what he’d do as he transitioned, only that it’d be something low key and something that wouldn’t take him from his husband’s side. He wanted to give Lance everything he could “Keith?” “Let’s do it... let’s get married again... When we’re here, back on Earth with them... I want to do it. I want everyone to see you...” “Babe, we don’t have to get married again. I’m happy with you. I liked our first marriage” “I’m happy with you too... but we can... with everyone. With Mami and Jorge... and all your family... That big white wedding you always wanted. It might take a while, but I want it. I want you” “You’re an idiot. You’ve already got me” “I love you... I love them...” “I know you do. I know, babe. You ready to open your presents from our boys?” “I want to stay like this a little longer” “Ok, whatever you need. I’ve got you” From his boys he was gifted cheesy gifts that were so Lance. A tiny shirt that said “I asked my dad, but he told me to ask my father”, another saying “stuck in an infinite loop of dad jokes”. Lance had also found him a pretty blade made of metal he couldn’t recognise, tilting it small dots appeared. He wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist in intelligence, so didn’t realise the whole blade was decorated with small galaxies and stars. Curtis was quick to scold him as all weapons were supposed to be kept in a safe, where as Lance had to have had that in his possession since his arrival. His husband shrugged it off, entirely unapologetic for his gift. It seemed to Keith that most of the weaponry he had been collecting now came from his husband rather his own desire to seek it out. Lance paid ridiculously close attention to everything he said. He’d mentioned liking a pendant he’d seen at a market stall on one of the planets they’d toured. Sure enough, it was carefully and loving wrapped in the small pile, though now from their boys instead of his husband. It was thoughtful and completely Lance’s style to spoil him, despite his husband being the one who deserved to be spoilt rotten.

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