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ronsonlywhore · 3 years

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❛ 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘀𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿. ❜ remus lupin x reader

summary: you hate the thunder, so remus makes it go away. (or in which remus doesn’t really make it stop, but he holds you until it does.)

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

a/n: a thunderstorm woke me up this morning.. it was like all hell was raining loose, mother nature was not having it today </3 anyways yeah i was scared, that thunder was loud asf

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

the crash of the thunder makes you bolt upright, pulling the sheets toward you frantically and interrupting the peaceful sleep you had managed to fall into. thunder booms again; you dive under the covers, but whether out of annoyance at being woken up or fear of the downpour roaring through the atmosphere, you’d rather not say.

earlier, the thunderstorm currently raging outside had been nothing more than a light drizzle with a few lightning flashes here and there. the thunder had been practically non-existent while you had gotten ready for bed, and it only started until you were half-asleep, too drawn within the tranquil oblivion you had fallen into to notice or care.

there was no way you’d be falling back asleep now, though. the rain hit the windows too heavily, the wind howled like it could knock down hogwarts’ seemingly sturdy walls, and...was it hailing, as well? great, you think, just my luck.

the thunder roars again, loudly resonating throughout the grounds, and you snuggle deeper into the blankets. in a bed a few feet away from you, you hear lily snore, clear as a bell even with the storm crashing through outside. that brings you a shred of comfort; maybe you could sleep away the downpour after all.

that reassurance is quickly snatched away when a particularly big clap of thunder manages to rattle the dormitory window, a feat that is not easily achieved thanks to the ancient magic keeping hogwarts upright.

when you were much smaller, storms like this one would have you bolting to your parents’ room in the middle of the night, your fear of the pitch-black, creaky old house after dark be damned. your mother would say you were getting too old to burrow into their bed but still let you climb onto it, while your father would just peek at you and fall right back to sleep, his snores succeeding in drowning out the horrible thunder.

the summer before your first year at hogwarts, when a particularly scary rainstorm had you running to the comfort of your parents’ room again, your mother blatantly refused to let you dive under her covers. she said you were getting too old, too big, and “whose bed would you dash to at hogwarts?” while your father snored away in sleep, your mother told you to go back to your room and be brave. so, determined to show the thunder who’s boss, you marched back to your own bed with your head held high. your confidence lasted a total of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, and you didn’t sleep a wink that night. instead, you stayed up, too afraid to sleep, and spent the rest of the early morning thinking about useless things: your dolls and what clothes you would dress them up in, the mudpies you had left to bake in the sun which were surely ruined thanks to the storm, and how you would beat the mean little boy next door to the swingset at the playground the next day.

so that’s what you did now: you thought about futile things while curled up in your dormitory bed, things like lessons and essays you hadn’t started on, chapters you were supposed to have read but could do fine without, parchment and quills and ink you needed to have replenished the next hogsmeade weekend.

in the end, it was pointless; the thunderstorm raged on, and you had never felt more awake in your life. abandoning the hope that you could fall asleep, you quietly pull back the curtains of your four-poster and tiptoe out the dormitory, careful not to wake any of the other sleeping girls in the room. reaching the staircase, you sluggishly walk down to the common room, planning on starting the fire up again and sitting in front of it until the morning, maybe even sneak down to the kitchens for food if you felt up for it.

you stop short when you see a figure sprawled on the stuffy couch, their lanky limbs hanging off of it. as you cautiously step closer, a smile tugs at your face to see it’s remus, transfiguration book abandoned and left open on his steadily rising and falling chest, used parchment strewn all over the floor. you make your way over and sit down on the armrest, contemplating whether you should wake him up or not; he looked happier when he was sleeping, as cliche as that sounded. you wonder what he’s dreaming of.

another roar of thunder; you jump, almost falling off the couch, and decide that waking remus up would only be for the best...after all, you didn’t want him to wake up with a sore neck from having to sleep in that awful position, did you?

you gently shake him, muttering, “remmy...remus.” he doesn’t stir, though, and you take to poking his arm softly, then a bit harder as you start to wonder how heavy of a sleeper he really is. “remus!”

he wakes with a start, the book tumbling down to the floor as he sits up swiftly, calming down only when he sees you standing there expectantly. he rubs his eyes, yawning, and groggily asks, “(y/n)? what are you doing?”

“what are you doing?” you ask in response, looking curiously around at the bundle of parchment and quills scattered around him. the storm is far from your mind even if you can still hear it outside; remus has become the perfect distraction.

he yawns again and looks down at his watch. you notice he’s still in his uniform...has he not gone up to bed at all?

“i was working on the transfiguration essay due tomorrow...must’ve fallen asleep, i suppose,” he answers, and you realize that he hadn’t done it because of last week’s full moon; but remus was never one to make excuses for himself, even if those excuses were credible.

lightning flashes outside bringing with it another clap of thunder; remus’s attention turns to the window. to your surprise, he smiles.

“is it raining outside?” he asks as he moves for a better view. so much for a distraction, you think as remus exclaims excitedly, “oh, it’s more than rain, it’s a storm!”

his face lights up, or maybe it’s just the lightning continuing outside. he proceeds to stare, transfixed, at the downpour. “beautiful, is it not? how the lightning can be sometimes white, or purple, or maybe even both. how the thunder rattles the earth down to its core,” he says after some time.

beautiful? if beautiful meant terrifying and too intense for your liking then, “yes, i suppose it is,” you answer.

another thunder strike, probably the loudest one that night, makes you jump. remus notices, and, with an expression of concern on his face, says more than asks, “you’re afraid of the thunder...that’s why you woke me up.”

how could one person be so intuitive?

you shrug your shoulders and nod, mumbling, “ever since i was a child.” remus smiles, that warm smile that he had when he was sleeping, as he walks over to the couch again, sitting down and getting himself comfortable. moving the quills and his book out of the way, he looks up at you expectantly. “well?” he asks.

“well what?” you inquire back, confused.

he laughs. “my lap is open for the taking,” remus says and pats his legs. realizing what he’s offering, you scramble over to the couch, laying down and resting your head on his lap, finally feeling truly at ease for the first time that night.

remus picks his book back up again, and you ask, “won’t you be sleeping, too?”

he shakes his head and smiles gently. “no, i have to finish this transfiguration essay. but don’t worry; i’ll be here with you until you fall asleep.”

a few minutes pass, and remus starts idly drawing random shapes on your arm, soothing you until you’re in that state between consciousness and sleep. just as you feel yourself slipping away, thunder booms, and you flinch, the sound startling you.

remus is quick to lean down and press gentle kisses to your forehead, murmuring all the while, “‘s alright. go to sleep, my love.” you can hear the fatigue in his voice, and know he won’t last much longer awake.

the thunder goes away for a few minutes but comes back again, although you don’t notice it much with remus’s arms wrapped around you. you glance up at him one last time before closing your eyes, and see remus dozing off again, the small smile he gets in his sleep back.

content, you snuggle in closer; this might’ve been the longest night of your life, but could proudly say the storm didn’t scare you as much anymore, not when remus held you through the crash of the thunder.

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a/n: why does this feel like the longest thing i've ever written LMFAO. anyways i love remus lupin <3

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@gwlvr @eunoniaa @skaratjung @miraclesoflove @ronbrokemyheart @inglourious-imagines @iiclarixa @drachoesimp

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

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Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and y/n.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murder, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also descriptions of injuries. Death of characters (never tom or y/n). Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs. this is a +18 story

Trigger warnings for this chapter: Smut in this chapter. Sort of dom/sub vibes but nothing extreme. female oral, male oral. unprotected sex. smoking. mention of gun. one single spank. Sort of edging.

A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn’t recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.

READ PART I HERE

READ PART II HERE

READ PART III HERE

READ PART IV HERE

READ PART V HERE

London, 1961

***

my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder

jeff buckley

***

On a hard mattress, in a dusty room in Mile End, Tom makes you honey-voiced promises in-between kisses.

“One day I’ll take you to the Ritz” he says as he’s moving his way down your body, leaving sweet wet kisses in his wake.

“I’ll have them fill the bathtub with pink champagne and we’ll swim in it until we’re loose-limbed and starry eyed.” He places himself in-between your legs. Lifting your tight he kisses you open-mouthed on the sensitive skin.

“I’ll feed you dark and ripe and sweet cherries directly from the stem. You’ll never have cherries again without thinking of me. They’ll never taste the same after.” He bites down of your soft flesh, though just teasingly so; the sensation sending bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“I’ll dress you in silk, and lace, and pearls and diamonds” he continues before blowing hot air on the tiny bite mark and involuntarily you moan, not expecting it to feel as intense as it does. He smirks up at you.

His hair is a mess. You imagine yours is as well. You’ve been at it all night, only stopping for short intervals of sleep before one of you would start grinding against the other again. You’re sore all over, in a way that makes you feel blessed.

“Like a gentleman I’ll take you to the nice hotel bed” he says as he cups your cunt, teasing you; unnecessarily so since you’re already wet and ready for him. You buck up against his hand but he just removes it.

“Then I’ll fuck you like the bastard I really am” he finishes, lightly spanking your cunt, not with a lot of force, but with an open hand.

“Tom” you whine.

“Princess?” he teases, a grin on his face.

“I want to taste you” you say and watch as his face freezes, his eyes moving down to your lips.

“Really?” he asks, somewhat stunned.

In response you shove his chest gently, until he’s laying on his back beside you. You move, so that you’re in perfect position. You peek up at him through your lashes and he looks at you with something like amazement in his dark gaze as you lower your head closer to his cock. You can see the muscles in his stomach tensing in anticipation. You place your hand around him. He’s thick. Pulling the foreskin back you lick him around the crown. A sharp intake of breath from Tom, and then you place your mouth around his tip and you suck.

Slowly you learn to take more of him down your throat. In between efforts there’s wet and playful licks around his shaft, one of your hands around his girth; moving up and down, the other hand teasing his balls. You wish you could take all of him inside you. You suck on his tip, where he’s leaking precum, and you find you love the musky taste of him. He has a hand in your hair, not forcing you down; just gently holding on to you, almost as if in support. He’s helping you find a rhythm, moving his hips in the pace you set. Broken sounds and groans falling from his lips unrestrained. He’s calling you his good fucking girl. He’s getting closer, you can tell, and he’s so hard in your fist. You suck him harder. His thrusts get wilder and the hand in your hair turns into a fist as he holds on to you for dear life. His groans and moans grow louder and louder and something like a whimper falls from his lips as you finally manage to take all of him down your throat. When you do you look up at him and meet his eyes.

“Fuck” and his voice is a broken sound “gonna fucking come” he warns, releasing his hand from your hair, giving you the option to pull away. You don’t, and he comes down your throat and you swallow every drop of him, sucking him all the way through his orgasm.

You lay down beside him on the bed. You can feel how your cheeks are flushed and you bite your lower lip, looking at him with a grin. His chest is heaving, his eyes half-closed.

“Fucking hell” he says, almost in disbelief. He turns to look at you with dark, bewildered eyes. “You know, you look so sweet and innocent. Was worried about corrupting you, you know? But now I’m starting to think you’re the one who’s corrupting me”. He reaches out a hand and cradles your face, before pulling you closer with his other arm, pressing you tight against him. His naked body is warm against yours. He strokes with his thumb over your cheek and it’s gentle and sweet and a feeling flutter like the wings of butterflies in your stomach. The exact same feeling people have been singing about since they knew how to sing. You take in his face. Freckled skin stretched over white bones, dark eyelashes framing his sleepy star-filled, caramel eyes, crinkling at the sides as his thin lips widen in a smile.

He holds his arm around you, holding you to his chest, your foreheads pressed together. Like this you fall asleep for a few hours.

It is raining outside.

Maybe it had always rained, even as he held you and fucked you against the wall in the living room. It seemed a meaningless detail to have noticed at the time. You had been to occupied with Tom, too full of him. For all you would have cared the world could have crumbled around you.

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Your lips are swollen from kisses, your eyes still heavy with sleep and you wonder if the blush will ever fade from your cheeks. Washing your hands you walk out to rejoin Tom in the bedroom.

It’s early afternoon now. He had woken you a few hours earlier. Had brought a plate and a knife and a pomegranate to bed and you had watched as he cut the fruit wide open, spread it out in front of you. He fed you the sweet seeds along with excuses for not having anything else to offer you.

It was messy and raw and delicious. Juice dripping down your chin and he’d kissed you clean.

Raindrops are crashing against the window in the bedroom as well and it’s blowing up a storm outside. The walls are of a faded green pattern, and the only furnishment in the room a wrought iron bed and beside it a wooden bedside table, on which lay an ashtray, a copy of Goethe’s Faust and a gun.

And on top of the bed is Tom, still without clothes, and smoking. He’s unashamed in his nudeness; not attempting to hide any part of himself but laid back against the white pillows, cigarette in hand. For a second you stay on the threshold, just observing him. His wide muscular shoulder and defined stomach; a happy trail leading down to his partially erect cock.

You’re lay down beside him, lean against his shoulder. You’re fucked out and exhausted; your whole body still numb from bliss. The wind blows even harder outside, the windows rattling from the force of it, and you shiver. Tom stretches out his arm and picks up the blanket from where it’s been discarded on the floor and he throws it over you, covers his own lower body with is as well. For a while you lay there in silence and listen to the storm.

“Who did you lose it to?” he asks at last and blows out smoke into the room.

“Lose what?” you respond, confused.

“Your virginity” he says. He doesn’t sound intrusive or insistent, just curios. “I mean, we went to the same school after all, did I know him?”

“Yeah” you say, hesitantly, “well, after you left school I went out with Jamie for a little bit”.

You feel his entire body tense beside you. “Jamie Easom?” he asks, disbelief clear in his voice. You don’t look up to meet his gaze, though you can tell he’s angled his face towards yours. Instead you keep your eyes on your blanket-covered feet.

“In his car” you admit “when we were seventeen”.

He huffs, and maybe you’re imagining it, but you think the arm around your shoulder tighten slightly. Otherwise he seems unfaced as he drags in another breath from his cigarette.

“Can I taste?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes.

He raises his eyebrows but looks amused. “You never tried it?”

You shake your head in response. “Daddy would have lost his mind if I came home smelling like smoke”.

His smiles widen and the corners of his caramel eyes crinkles. “You won’t like it, you know. No one does, not at first”.

“Then why do you do it?”

He shrugs. “It sticks with you”

“I just want to try it” you press him.

He sighs, “alright” he says, though there’s still a slight hint of amusement to his voice, lacing his words, “just one drag”.

Slowly he moves his hand to your lips and you see faded cuts and scars all over his knuckles, his brown eyes sparkling as he looks down at you. His other hand is cupping your face, stroking your cheek. You place your lips around the cigarette and inhale smoke. It feels dry and warm in your throat but somehow you manage not to cough as you blow the white smoke out into the air.

You wrinkle your nose and look up at him. “Taste awful” you admit.

He smile widens, “told you so” ha says and moves the cigarette away from you, placing it between his own two lips again.

You snuggle up closer to him, and his arm tightens around you.

After that first night you’d met part of you had wondered if maybe you’d made him up. Wondered if he truly excited. If a man like him really could exist; so full of opposites. It was as if he was more than mortal man. More smoke and mirror than person; more idea than human being.

You want to unwrap him, un-layer him; spread him open and make sense of him. You want to understand him and see through the smoke and facade.

You touch his chest and feel a heartbeat underneath, steady and slow.

“What did you think of me, back then, when we were in school?” you ask, because you’ve always wanted to know. With your hand on his chest you wish you could count the heartbeats it takes for him to answer, but it is an impossible feat.

“Thought you were too good for the likes of me” he says and takes a final draw from his cig, before putting it out on the ashtray. “Thought you were too good for the likes of Jamie too” he says and the smile he gives you is laced with something tender you don’t yet have a name for.

“Thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen” he says and smiles. “Used to dream about you all the time.”

“That’s not true” you say before you can stop yourself, because honestly, the idea of him having wanted you already then feels unfathomable.

“You calling me a liar?” He asks, eyebrows raised as he looks at you, mock stern written all over his face.

“Well, what did you use to dream about then?”

He’s silent for a while as he takes you in, eyes dancing over your features. Then he moves a hand down under the blanket, and cups your cunt with it. He leans down until his mouth is against your ear and he whispers, “I used to dream I could kiss you here”. Gently he presses his finger over your clit.

He pulls off the blanket guides your bodies until you lay spread out in front of him. “Used to wonder what you’d taste like, if you’d taste as sugary as you look”. He leans down and licks your slit, and you want to whimper. He licks you again and he groans.

“Fuck, you taste just like heaven”. He kisses the inside of your thighs, the slight stub on his cheeks burning your skin in the best way.

“I used to lay in bed at night and wonder how you’d like it” he confesses, before giving your other leg the same treatment, leaving kisses little love-bites all over your skin.

“I thought l’d start off slow, just kissing you here first” he continues and looks at you, spread out as you are for him, with hungry eyes. Then he does kiss you, in almost a gentle way he presses his mouth to your cunt, just dipping his tongue inside, before really going in for it, almost fucking you with his tongue. You bite your lower lip as you watch him, his mop of brown, dishevelled hair in-between your legs.

“Or maybe you’d want me to suck you right here” he says and moves his mouth to just above your clit. “Maybe you’d want me to flick it with my tongue until you’re so wet and desperate for my fingers you’ll beg me for more.”

He licks your entire cunt with wide strokes before moving his mouth back to your clit, pressing the gentlest of kisses against it. “I laid in my bed and i thought, circles” he continues, “just around, and around, and around, and around; slow and steady until you’d claw my back and your back’s arching and you are screaming for more. Until you won’t even know your own name, just mine”. He blows hot air on your aching bud and you buck up against him instinctively. Looking up at you he smiles cockily.

“Tom, please” you beg, desperate for more; for his tongue, for his fingers, for his cock, for anything.

“Please what?” he asks. Then he places his mouth around your clit and he sucks.

Your back arches and your tights tighten around him. “Please, fuck me” you beg.

“No” he says and smiles smugly. He moves up until he’s hovering over you, his face just centimeters from yours.

“You kept me awake all night, rubbing up against me and begging me to fuck you. Begging me to fuck you harder and faster. To fucking come all over you”. His voice is hoarse and low and he inserts first one finger, and then another inside you, spreading you open. He’s looking at you with hungry eyes.

“Begging me to fuck you again” he starts to pump his fingers, in and out of you, “and again” he twists them, hitting your spot and for a second everything goes white as sheer pleasure goes thunders through you, “and again”. You’re a moaning mess and he smiles down on you, mouth in a crooked grin.

“You really are a wicked fucking girl, aren’t you?” he murmurs in your ear.

He moves his long fingers faster, fucks you with them in such a speed all you can do is buck your hips against him and beg. Beg for him to please, please, please fuck you.

But the more you beg the slower he goes with his hand, all the while wearing a Cheshire cat grin. You slap your hands against his chest in frustration; buck your hips up against him even higher.

“Now, now” he says in a warning. He grabs hold of your hand, stopping it from slapping his chest again. His other hand keeps torturing you; continues to push his long fingers in and out of you. His brown locks fall over his face and there’s a glint of mischief in his warm eyes. He really does look devilish.

“You’re just like a little kitten, aren’t you?” he says huskily, pressing his fingers against the sweet spot inside you, but with nowhere near enough pressure. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm that will shake your entire world and he knows it, is intent on keeping you there, just on the brink of it. You can feel wet running down your slit and pool in-between your legs and honestly, you would have felt ashamed if you hadn’t been so turned on. You have never known desperation like this.

“You’re all big eyes and teeth and claws when you want something, aren’t you?” He adds, before he leans down to kiss you, it’s opened mouthed and wet and slow. You bite his bottom lip, hard enough to show him that yes, just like him you’re all teeth and claws when you want something badly enough.

He pulls away, still smiling down at you with that smug face. “No one ever told you princess? You catch more flies with honey than vinegar”.

“Please” you beg again because it seems to be the only word left in your brain, the need to come having destroyed everything else. Your voice is thick with want.

“Say pretty please” Tom says, kissing your jaw, continuing to massage your g-spot with his fingers.

“Pretty please” you whine as you try to buck up against him again.

You can feel him smile as he kisses your throat. “Say pretty please, Tom”.

“Pretty please, Tom”

He moves away from your neck and looks down on you again. His cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling, dark curls askew and wicked smile in place. You finally know why they call him the devil’s boy.

He moves his thumb over the outline of your lips. They are swollen and wet from his kisses. He’s examining the handiwork.

Then, in a lower voice he says, “say pretty please Tom, fuck me so hard I forget I’ve ever met Jamie Easom”.

He grinds the fingers inside you both faster and harder, wet slapping sounds filling the room as he hits just the right spot every time. He moves his thumb over your lip again, resting the rest of his hand against your throat. “Say pretty please Tom, fuck me so good I can never have sex again without thinking about you.”

It’s like there’s a live wire inside your body, sending out sparks of pure unadulterated pleasure. It’s like you’re looking up at him through a cloud of nearly painful bliss.

You repeat his words.

He removes his hands from you and in a swift movement he flips you over before grabbing you around your stomach, pulling you until your back is pressed flush up against him. He guides himself inside you a mewling sound fall from your lips and a low groan from his. With a hand around your throat, not pressing; just holding you there, and the other on the place where both your bodies meet.

“Alright?” he asks, the single word coming out breathless and rough in your ear.

You nod feverently, and honestly; had you felt more at your senses you would have laughed, for alright didn’t cut it. Alright didn’t describe the ticking bomb inside you, waiting to go off and leave you in a state of white bliss. You place your hands on his, over your throat and on your cunt and together you start moving.

Like this he fucks you. Moves you up and down his hard length until your both fighting for air, a thin layer of sweat covering your bodies. And outside the winds grow stronger and the rain fall harder, though you both ignore it. And in the living room a phone keeps ringing and there’s a banging on the dooor, though you both ignore it.

The entirety of the world has been reduced to is his body, moving in and out of yours.

Wet slapping sounds as you move against each other. His hand on your throat, his groans in your ear, as his rhythm grows wilder and thrusts grows harder. Your hand, placed over his; placed over your clit, moves in rapid pace. You’re both touching you and his groans in your ear grow louder and your whimpers more desperate.

“What’d you need?” he asks, his voice so low and gruff in your ear, his south London accent clearer than ever.

“Harder” is the only thing you manage to press out between mewls of pleasure.

He lets go of your body, pushes you forward until you’re on your hands and knees for him and with his hands on your hips he slams in to you; one time, two times, three times.

And then the whole world goes white as you come around him.

***

In the other room there are hushed voices. You stir, feeling disorientated for a few seconds as you look around.

Tom is gone, and you are alone in bed.

You look around for your clothes but then remember that your dress still lay discarded in the living room. So you pull up the sheets around you, making sure you’re completely covered, and you open the door.

Tom is standing in the hall in just his trousers, facing a blond man your age with a bandaged shoulder. They both have frustrated looks on their faces and they were clearly in the middle of a discussion, but upon hearing the bedroom door open they both turn to face you.

The blond man’s eyebrows raise as he takes you in, naked part from the sheets you’re clutching to your body, hair askew and dark hickeys all over your neck. Then he looks to Tom and the claw marks he has all over his chest and back.

“This is why you didn’t come back to give your report to Fabien?” he says to Tom. “For a fucking shag? Do you have any idea how fucking livid he is with you?”

You can’t see Tom’s face, as he’s turned to face the other man again, but it’s like the air in the room changes in the silence. Like the very atmosphere around the brown eyed boy is loaded with silent threats.

“How about you let me deal with Fabien, Haz? Yeah? Like I’ve always been able to do”. His voice is low and quiet, yet chills travel down your spine. “So how about you go down the car and wait for me and I’ll come with you in a minute, alright?”

Haz doesn’t answer, but throws you a last glance before heading out the door. He hadn’t looked annoyed or angry, but rather he’d looked at you with eyes full of curiosity. Tom closes the door behind his friend, leans his forehead against it and sighs heavily.

Then, head still pressed against the closed door he mutters “sorry, I gotta go”.

“Can I stay?” you ask, trying not to sound as hopeful as you feel.

“Your daddy will be wondering where you’ve gotten to” he says, turns around and walks right passed you and into the bedroom, where he picks up his shirt and suspenders and begin to pull them on.

“I’ll call and tell him I’m sleeping at a friend’s house” you say, though you hate how desperate it comes out. “He never asks any questions.”

Tom sighs again, sit down on the bed and begins to lace up his boots. “Sorry, but I’ll don’t know how long it’ll be until I’m back. It’s better if you leave.” You can’t help but notice that he’s avoiding your eyes. “So put on your dress and me and Haz will see you safely home, alright”.

It’s the way he says ‘alright’. He had sounded the same when he was speaking to Haz out in the hall. It wasn’t a request, it was an order. He takes the gun from the nightstand and place it in his holster, hides it under his jacket.

You clutch on tighter to the fabric around you, and bite your lower lip to keep yourself from crying. “Will I ever see you again?” you ask, voice trembling slightly.

A final sigh, and then he’s standing in front of you, fully dressed and ready to take on the world all on his own again, while you’re here clutching on to a blanket and trying not to weep. He cups your face; makes you look him in the eye. He looks sad behind his stoic façade.

“No” he says eventually. “No, not if you have any luck”.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x y/n #mob!tom holland

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kylorengarbagedump · 4 years

Text

cocky. beautiful. bastard. - chapter 2

Read on AO3. Part 1 here. Part 3 here.

Summary: It's time for you to learn the rules.

Words: 7500

Warnings: more delayed orgasm, cum eating, mando’a

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: Hello! I know I mentioned this would be expanded to three parts, but I actually decided to crank it up to five, oops. I have some shit planned for this fic--I needed a break, needed to write something fun and hot, haha.

I have been blown away by the feedback on this fic!! THANK YOU SO MUCH! I really really hope you like this installment, it's literally 7500 words and 6000 of it is porn. ToT LMAO. Let me know what you think!! I love y'all so very very much.

This morning, you’d woken up on your half-stuffed mattress, rolled onto your cracked stone floor, and bathed yourself in the kitchen basin, scrubbed your skin with the ratty sponge. You’d stuffed your face with the stale roll you’d made for your stew the previous night and shoved the bowls in the conservator before tugging on underwear and tossing your robe over it. In your tote, you’d carted your usual: a jar of lotion, mint cologne, and the little case that stored your identification and tip portions, and when you left your flat, you’d slipped on a pair of sandals and locked the door.

As you followed the Supreme Leader of the First Order onto the ramp of his sleek, knife-wing shuttle, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever cross that threshold again.

He had been silent since the moment you’d left the brothel, and when you boarded the ship, you glanced around the empty hull, discovering that the both of you were alone. Before you could question it, he was in the cockpit, the ramp was whirring, and your mind was spinning, elated and confused.

Counting the handful of seats, your mouth screwed in consideration. Your eyes crept to the front, spying a pilot’s seat--occupied--and a co-pilot’s seat, invitingly empty. With a shrug, you strode over to it and plopped down, stowing your belongings on your lap. He did not address you, did not even acknowledge the weight of your stare as he fiddled with the controls, engine roaring to life.

Kylo Ren was not only beautiful. He was huge. Of course, by now, you knew he had a massive cock, equally large hands--but the rest of him was just as proportional, just as hypnotizing. His shoulders were broad, even swathed under his cloak, his arms thick, his whole torso wide and solid with muscle. In a flash, you pictured him naked, a little thrill shooting through your spine. He’d said you were his, whatever that meant, and in comparison to what you’d woken up to this morning, the idea was more and more inviting.

He stole a glance--his gaze arrested your breath--and gripped the controls; in seconds, the ship was hovering, screaming, shooting into the sky.

You watched, speechless, as the pane of transparisteel was swallowed by white yellow blue black starlight, and then you were careening through space, hurtling out of the atmosphere and toward an unknown destination. The vastness of it mesmerized you, an echo of this man’s own engulfing perpetuity--both of them equally perplexing, equally captivating.

Maybe that was a little dramatic, but to be fair, despite the sore throb between your legs and the ache at your ass, just being this close to him buzzed your skin.

He guided the ship toward another, larger vessel--a Star Destroyer, you knew that much--and as he docked it in the hangar, the reality of your arrangement descended upon you. Hordes of Stormtroopers marched across ebony tile, cut through by officers in black uniforms, all of them with duty, all of them striding with purpose. Meanwhile, you’d just been plucked from a brothel on Nevarro, clad in your skivvies and a chemise cover-up. There was no shame in that admission, but more so the recognition that you were now far from home, in the company of a total stranger--a total stranger with the power to crush you between his palms without blinking.

Said stranger went through a sequence on the dash--the engine died, the ramp lowered to the ground. He stood, a towering dark wall, and studied the bay before turning his eyes to you. They flicked over your figure for a moment--appraising--and without a word, he turned, marching off the ship. You scrambled to your feet and followed, walking in double-time to match his pace.

When you entered the bay, dozens of faces snapped to you, and then shot to the floor, perhaps due to your attire and with whom you’d arrived. It was strange, to be important enough to not only warrant a glance, but to warrant its immediate aversion. As you walked, the masses parted for their Supreme Leader, and you trailed in his wake, feeling altogether powerful and powerless, an ember wisp to his raging inferno.

The Star Destroyer itself was repetitive and long, but while you followed your new leader, you took in every detail. To you, it might as well have been a palace, some sort of opulent, obsidian cavern, with floors clean enough to reflect your anxious face. Not anxious out of fear, of course--if the chakaar wanted to kill you, he could’ve done so when you’d mouthed off to him in the brothel--but anticipation. How this had happened to you, you weren’t sure, but a portion of you hoped the arrangement wouldn’t be temporary.

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren stopped in front of a blast door, passing a hand over a sensor--it opened for him, and he stood to the side, observing you in expectation. The intensity of his gaze rippled heat through your thighs, and you entered, shoulders squared, ignoring the irritating thump of your heart. He stalked behind you, a heavy shadow, his presence both looming and lascivious as you glanced around his quarters. The ceilings soared high, stark white floors sweeping to white walls, a set of stairs descending in front of you, spilling out into an empty, bright floorspace.

You turned to him, gripping your bag. “Welcome home?”

He sniffed. “If you learn the rules. Earn your place.”

“My place?” A hand rested on your hip, and you cocked a playful brow. “And what exactly is my place?”

“It’s simple.” He stepped toward you, scorching you in his stare--your chest tightened. “Your place is wherever I direct you. Doing whatever I’ve ordered.”

You swallowed. His. “Mm. Okay. And what might you order me to do?”

Another long stride, and he circled you, skating a leather finger down your arm as his mouth swooped to your ear. “Bid etyc, kih tracinya,” he murmured. “You know very well why I brought you here.”

Though his release was dripping down your thighs, it was difficult to resist the urge to spin around and hop on top of him. How could you possibly help yourself? He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen, and he’d made you cum hard on his enormous cock. Twice.

“Me? Dirty?” You went to lean into him, and he stepped back, making you stumble. You pouted. “Hey!”

He huffed, crossing away from you, and you turned to follow him down the steps, grumbling to yourself. His chambers were huge, at least twice or maybe three times the size of the entirety of your efficiency--so large you couldn’t identify the location of the refresher, or the food storage, or even the bedroom.

“So,” you said, still scanning your surroundings, “where do you expect me to eat and sleep? What am I supposed to wear?”

“I don’t care.”

You balked, staring at his back. “You don’t care?”

He opened a door, gazing over something, not bothering to look at you. “No.”

“Okay.” You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Chakaar.”

At this, Kylo Ren spun, cloak whirling at his ankles, stalking to you in long strides. The thump of his boots rattled your bones, his size consumed your sight. You didn’t flinch--only stuck your chin out with a smirk. He stopped inches from you, chest rising, eyes glittering under the searing light of his quarters, vestiges of a beast.

He took your chin between gloved fingers. “This nasty little mouth is going to be my first project,” he purred, and tugged you flush to his solid frame. “When you speak to me, you will address me as Supreme Leader. Do you understand?”

You didn’t reply--you were too busy trying to pull your brain from a sea of lust. Ren pinched your jaw, and you whimpered, your thighs pressing together, skin flush with heat.

“Say it.”

A slow breath left your nose, warmth washing over his hand. Despite your desire to antagonize him, there was a deeper, greater desire to please him--to earn your place.

“Yes,” you replied, “Supreme Leader.”

“Hm.” He thumbed your lower lip, his voice black smoke. “Good girl.”

Two words, but still you clenched. “I might not be good all the time, you know.”

“Don’t worry.” A tiny smirk on Ren’s pretty mouth, and he leaned to your ear again. “I’m counting on it.”

The Supreme Leader released you, your skin frosting in his absence, and he moved past you, up the steps. You tracked him, shrinking in the enormity of the strange, soulless room where he apparently meant to abandon you. Frowning, you crossed your arms.

“Where are you going?” you asked, fumbling with your belongings. “Uh, Supreme Leader.”

“I’m departing.” Ren didn’t even bother to peer over his shoulder. “Remain here until I return.” In a flourish, he disappeared through the blast door.

You sighed, deflating. Nothing to do but become more familiar with what the Supreme Fucking Leader of the First Fucking Order had determined to be your new home.

If you earned your place.

You were alone for hours. After a bit of exploring, you’d located the food storage (a bunch of military rations, which you ate anyway), the refresher (replete with a tall standing shower), and the bedroom, at the bottom of another set of stairs--the most impressive to you. The Supreme Leader of the First Order slept on a wide mattress built into a nook, its supporting wall replaced with a massive pane of transparisteel. Beyond it, the galaxy floated by, a nebulous nightlight and blanket to his slumber.

You shrugged off your robe and underwear and climbed on top of the rumpled, soft sheets, curling on your side to watch ships wink in and out of existence. Nevarro was a tiny sphere in the darkness, everything and everyone you’d known shrinking to a speckle in the sky. Despite all of this newness, nestled in the bed of Kylo Ren, you were not afraid--you were exhilarated. You’d forgotten to contact Cerra, but in the moment, you didn’t particularly care. A sunshine vibration settled in your chest. At some point, your lids fell closed.

Thwack.

A sharp thigh smack ripped you to consciousness, and you squealed, whirling to face your attacker. At the edge of the bed stood the Supreme Leader, hair caked with sweat and filth, face smattered with dark red crust. You screamed, skittering back, until you realized he’d come from battle. This was his normal. And even as the stench of rotting copper filled your nose, when his gaze skimmed your naked body, you fought the urge to shiver.

“Uh, hello,” you said. “What was that for?”

“Come.” He gave no further instruction, and spun on his heel to climb the stairs.

The rules. You didn’t need to be told twice.

Kylo Ren led you into the refresher--a spark lighting between your legs at your impending reality--and activated the shower before peeling off his gloves. This was casual, emotionless to him, as if he was not the most powerful man in the universe, as if you, a former brothel wench, were not about to see him entirely naked. You could only stare, entranced, while he moved to his tunic hook by hook before shucking it to the floor, then pulled his undershirt free, revealing to you his thick, muscled torso. Carmine mud had soaked through his clothing, a mist over his skin.

The rest of his disrobing was similar--the removal of his boots, his pants and undergarments, until he was bare, human and ethereal, a deity decorated in blood and dirt. He gazed at you, face blank, urging you into the water with a nod of his head. Hiding your joy, you obliged, and stepped under the spray.

The moment the water hit you, Ren’s grip was at your shoulder, whipping you around and shoving your back to the chilly tile. You released a breath, staring at him, and his hand drifted to your neck, thumb rising to pry open your mouth.

“You will bathe me,” he said, tracing the line of your lower lip, “get me hard, and suck me off.” His thumb slid past your teeth, depressed your tongue. “And if you can make me cum, I might reward you.”

Heat--whether it was from the shower or your mind--rushed your flesh. You liked the idea of a challenge. You nodded, and he released your tongue.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

He gave your throat a warning squeeze. “Don’t make me wait.”

Biting your lip, you sought out the shampoo, finding it within an assortment of plain, regulation-type bottles. Everything you’d come across in his quarters had been quite plain, considering he had the opportunity to access the best of everything. Shrugging, you popped the top, squirted some in your palms before returning it, and lathered it between them. Turning to face him, your jaw dropped when you took in the enormity of his form. The Supreme Leader of the First Order was a molded machine, as gorgeous as he was terrifying. And you couldn’t wait to put your hands on him.

You crossed behind him, inspecting the collection of white scars that had faded across his skin before reaching to massage the shampoo into his hair. He was so tall, you had to stand on the tips of your toes to meet the top of his head, but you managed, working your fingers through the knotted tresses, freeing it of mud and blood. The water ran an eerie crimson as you combed through his dark locks, and when your nails scritched his scalp, you felt him tense, felt him fight a shiver from his spine. Hiding a grin, you did it again, drawing lines across his head, and you heard it--a soft, satisfied moan, caught in his chest. You swallowed, cunt throbbing.

“Do you like that?” you asked. “Supreme Leader?”

He only hummed, non-committal. You were determined to make him make that noise again.

Having finished with his hair, you let the water clear the soap from his head until his locks laid flat on his face, exposing his wide, rounded ears, flushed red from the shower. A devious little thought flicked in your brain--you grabbed the soap (also plain, a boring yellow bar) and made some lather, circled to face him.

The shampoo had loosened most of the muck from his face, but you decided to clean the rest, swirling tiny circles across his forehead, his cheeks, staring into his eyes. He stared back, watching you from behind an invisible barrier--and when you rubbed the shell of his ears, his gaze broke, lids fluttering in delight before he caught himself, lip curling in a hint of irritation. You smirked, another clench between your legs.

“What about that?” you murmured, ghosting your thumbs over the helix--another groan trapped in his throat. “You like that, sir?”

Ren stiffened his jaw, but didn’t move, almost daring you to continue. But you decided to move on with your task--there would be plenty more opportunities to tease him.

You cleared his face of debris before standing back to admire his body. To your disappointment, his cock was still soft, but you knew this was through sheer effort, through a determination to make you earn it.

Starting with his shoulders, you ran your soapy hands down his strong neck, skimming across the long scar that arced over his eye, a pretty crevice in his flesh. You were close enough now that you realized he was covered in scars, marring his arms, his torso, his abdomen. Rather than repel you, they drew you closer--the evidence of his survival, the physical remnants of his conquests made your mouth water.

Stepping into him, you massaged the soap into his flesh, working it into his muscles, down his biceps, glancing at him when you did, a spark of excitement in his gaze. You kept his attention while you washed over his hands, circling each of his fingers with your fist, pumping them like you might his cock. They were thick, rigid in your palms as you cleaned them free of grime. His eye twitched.

Grinning, you gathered more soap, swirling large loops over his broad, solid chest. His firmness made you throb, made you want to step even closer--but you focused on your duty, reminded of your mystery reward. You kneaded over his pectorals, flicking his nipples with your thumbs before dropping lower, smoothing soap across his abdomen. Kylo Ren tensed when you cleansed his stomach, and you glanced at him again. His pupils dilated--your fingers followed the line of his hip bones, inching toward his thighs, and he swallowed, shifting on his feet. You were getting close.

Licking your lips, you foamed more lather and shifted behind him, caressing suds into the powerful planes of his back. Here, you could see more scars, more war-made muscle, and you cleansed it all, digging into his shoulder blades, down his spine to his ass, squeezing handfuls of it--he tensed again. Keeping a giggle to yourself, you returned to face him, still juggling suds, and finally, finally dropped to your knees.

Kylo Ren’s thighs were just as large as the rest of him, big slabs of muscle smooth to your touch. He stared down at you, observing you with restrained desire, and you coasted over his quadriceps, the backs of his knees, his calves, rubbing up and down his flesh, all the while avoiding his cock. You marveled at him, at this marble-carved man, at the ripples under his skin as you kneaded over hard ridges of strength. Around you, the water faded to a translucent pink, filtering clear--you took the bar of soap a last time between your palms, placed it on the floor, and massaged a wide circle around his dick.

His legs and stomach tightened, and you smirked, keeping his focus and beginning at his hips, mouthing open, soft kisses to the inside of his thighs, moving closer while your soapy hand slipped over his length. Ren’s lips parted, and you did it again--a gentle graze of his shaft--and kissed his pubic bone, licking a stripe to the base of his cock. When you took it in your lathered fist, he gasped--you grinned, and started pumping it long, slow strokes.

A shuddered exhale escaped him, and you were spurred on, spreading your knees and continuing to kiss around the root, reveling when you felt him swelling and pulsing against your palm. You rolled your fingers around his shaft, cupped his balls, water washing bubbles to his feet, and you tickled the underside of his dick, making it twitch. With a grin, you wrapped him in your fist again, increasing your pace, letting him grow even harder in your hand--and Ren released a shaky, blissful breath. Celebrating an internal triumph, you peppered tiny kisses around the hilt of his cock before circling your thumb around the head, smearing precum into his skin.

“Don’t be coy, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I know you like that.”

He snatched your scalp, cranked your neck back into the water. “I don’t remember asking for your commentary.”

Wincing, you obliged him with a tight, languid stroke. “You’re right.” You squeezed his fully erect cock, wet and clean. He was even bigger up close. “I have a better idea.”

In one motion, you took the head in your mouth, dropping your jaw to seal your lips around it with a lewd moan. Ren strangled a gasp--you curled your fingers around the base of his dick, eyes trained on his while you swallowed his length inch by inch. He was thick, throbbing on your tongue, and you pressed it to his shaft as you pulled back, fist following your mouth’s lead. The dry rub of water scraped your grip, so you released him for a moment, locking with his gaze and dribbling a long line of saliva onto his dick. Ren gulped again, his amber irises hazy with lust, and you slicked him in preparation before sucking on the head of his cock.

Big hands coiled in your hair, and you groaned, pleased, twisting your wrist and bobbing back and forth on his length. His breath quickened, his grip tightened, and you whimpered, the ache between your legs burning you with desperation. But you were learning the rules--you already knew he would be serious about making you earn it. So you pressed your thighs together, another hand curving to grip his ass while you drooled and gagged on his cock.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Can you handle all of me in that little mouth?”

You hummed in agreement, taking him deeper, driving him into the wet heat of your throat--you wheezed, but fought through the tears, your gaze on his own, even as the spray of the shower fuzzed your sight. Fist moving faster, slippery with spit, you suckled in another inch, jaw sore from his size. You could only imagine how obscene you looked--dripping with water, salivating down your chin, tears stinging your eyes as you swallowed his dick.

It was incredible, getting to please him like this; since the very first time he’d fucked you, before you even knew his face, you’d dreamed of making his massive dick twitch and cum in your mouth. But now with the knowledge that this dick belonged to the Supreme Leader--you were intoxicated, your clit stiff and screaming for attention, your skin crackling with need. Yes, you needed to make this bastard cum, because you just as badly needed him to return the favor.

You tightened your fist, jerking him faster, and he yanked your hair, pushing your nose against the patch of hair at his groin. Ren fucked hard into your throat, and you heaved, writhed, sobbing onto his cock, both hands burrowing into his thighs as he pistoned his hips against your face. He panted through hoarse groans, his face flush, cheeks red, cock pulsing with an impending climax. Between clenched teeth, he growled, thrusting deep, gaze black and feral.

“That’s it,” he breathed, “that’s it…” He snapped his pelvis, and you retched, slobbering around his cock, clinging to his flesh. “Take my cum down your throat, tracinya. Fuck, take it--”

Kylo Ren suppressed a groan, rocked into your face, heavy cock throbbing and spilling the hot, salty loads of his release. You moaned, sucking it down, watching his chin tremble as you drained him through his climax, humming until he started to soften. Grunting, he slid out, untangled his fingers from your hair, and ruffled the wet fringe from his face before focusing on you. He scanned you: skin soaked, jaw sore, smugly satisfied. You’d certainly earned your reward, now.

“Good girl.” He pinched your chin, thumbed your swollen lip. “Come.”

He turned off the water and exited the shower, leaving you needy and clenching in the dewy air. Frowning, you stood, seething from the ache at your knees, and peered through the fog to spy the Supreme Leader toweling himself off before exiting the refresher. You mimicked him, drying yourself too, and trailed him with a grumble as he strode through his quarters, still entirely naked. A glimmer of hope when he arrived at his bed--until he reached into one of the closets at the side and started pulling on a pair of compression garments. You paused, folded your arms over your chest.

“Uh. Excuse me. Supreme Leader?”

“Hm.”

“Aren’t you. Y’know. Gonna make me cum?”

He huffed. “No.”

You gawked. “I’m sorry, what?” You paced over to him, feet sticky on the cold white floors. “You said you’d reward me.”

“No.” Ren was impassive. “I said I might reward you.” He grabbed a pair of pants, pulled those on, too. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck in the future.”

Gaping, you blinked, laughing in disbelief. You’d played by his stupid rules, worked to earn your place. Had you seriously done all of that just to have him deny you? Whatever game he was playing, it was frying your patience. He’d had you convinced from your trysts at work that he’d want you to have a good time, too--but perhaps he was just like every other man. A whirlwind of curses flew through your mind, in Basic and Mando’a, but you settled on a language that he didn’t understand.

“Ugh! Doompa wermo nek!” you snarled, stomping past him and flopping on his bed. “Oto to crispo chuba!”

For a moment, Ren did not respond, his silence a thickening cloud in the room. For that moment--that short, foolish moment--you felt as if you’d finally gotten one over on him, and a smile snuck onto your face. But it was only a moment.

“You want to kill me, hm?”

“Oh.” He spoke Huttese, too. Your heart sank. “Fuck.”

The Supreme Leader clucked his tongue--you could feel him behind you, footsteps drawing closer. Squealing, you hid your face in his sheets, moving to crawl away, but he seized your ankle and tore you from the mattress, flipping you onto your back. A burgeoning brute, he pounced, palms on either side of your head, wet hair flinging droplets onto your face. His eyes were simmering honey, prepared to boil, igniting a clamor between your thighs.

“Look at what we have here,” he murmured. “A schutta of many talents.”

You sighed. “What language don’t you speak?” you asked. “Di’kutla chakaar.”

Ren hovered closer, placed a knee on the mattress. “Mm, don’t think I heard you, tracinya.” A warm, strong hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing into the divot under your trachea. “What was that?”

His touch stoked the fire in your belly, the greed in his gaze inciting your own. Whatever game indeed. This was a revelation--the Supreme Leader hadn’t lied to you about there being rules. You had just misunderstood them. Certainly, there was a part of him that enjoyed your obedience. But there was clearly another, greater part that craved your defiance.

“I called you,” you replied, peeling the words from your teeth, “a stupid bastard.”

Kylo Ren smirked.

In a single breath, your wrists were gathered and tacked above your head, your legs spread open. And when you tried to move, you found you couldn’t, held by invisible bondage, paralyzed by the air. You thrashed, to no avail, pulse skipping in your veins--he observed you in satisfaction, attention wandering your vulnerable body. It was the same magic he’d used to make you cum, you were sure of it.

“What is this?” You tried to wriggle again, but it was useless.

Ren leaned back, smoothing his palms over your thighs. “This,” he said, “is how I get you to do whatever I want.”

“Oh?” An eager flicker in your chest. “And what exactly do you want?”

“You.” A hand stroked up, over the roll of your belly and down your hip, painting goosebumps across your skin. “Begging for my cock.”

You snorted. “After the stunt you just pulled?” you asked. “I’ve had enough of your cock. It won’t be that easy.”

Delight flashed over his face. “You’re right, kih tracinya.” A snap of his wrist, and your knees were thrown toward your stomach. “It’ll be even easier.”

Ren bent forward, palms gliding up and down your sides, and pressed a hot, wet kiss to your throat. You shuddered, a groan escaping, head rolling onto his sheets, and he growled, nipping at the thin tissue, mouthing more nibbles along your neck. His lips were soft--softer than you remembered when they’d been at your cunt--his tongue laving at every tiny mark he left behind, his hands gripping, squeezing at your stomach, drifting to your hips and to your thighs. The heat of his bare skin inspired your own, pleasure quaking through you, a building fissure in your flesh--when he dragged his teeth across your collarbone, you whimpered in need.

A hand left your hip, curled in your hair and tugged your head back. “Poor thing. Listen to you whine.” Ren peppered heated kisses along your jaw. “When was the last time you fucked a man who wasn’t behind a screen?”

It was difficult to speak through trembling breath. But you managed. “When was the last time you fucked a woman without using magic?”

Face still buried in your neck, he huffed--a low, dark sound in his chest. “You think I can’t break you without the Force?” Kylo Ren sank his teeth into the exposed column of your throat, and you wailed in pain. He dug in, forcing a shriek before he released you, speaking into your ear. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

The Force--you’d heard it referenced before, in passing. You’d just had no idea it was a real thing. And that this man was someone who could control it. As you’d thought it, he released you from its hold, but the ache at your neck had stymied any snark in your mind for the moment. He took the opportunity to bind your wrists with his sheets before standing back, admiring his handiwork. You gazed at him--your chakaar was wild with lust.

He grappled an ankle in each hand and tossed them over his shoulders. “This should be a familiar position for you,” he muttered, before attacking your neck again.

This time, he was savage, groaning as he sucked welts into your skin, grazing his teeth over your shoulder, biting mark after mark into the muscle. Though you squealed, yelped with pain, you relished it, ecstatic at the show of possession, impatient to see the patchwork of bruises gifted to you by the Supreme Leader of the First Order. Ren hunched over you, finding your breasts, crushing them in his grip--you gasped, but he continued, punishing your tits under his palms. Voracious, he moved to your sternum in a streak of saliva, thumb and forefinger tweaking your nipples in pinching bolts of pleasure.

“Ka’ra,” you gasped. “You’re a dirty bastard, aren--mmf!”

Ren had crammed two fingers in your mouth, shoving them to the back of your tongue. “Come again?”

Before you could protest, he took a nipple in his lips, the other still battered by his thumb, and suckled, tongue swirling around it, gentle moans escaping him. You whinged, trying to buck your hips, finding yourself pinned by his weight--arousal controlled you, your core contracting in a cry for something to fill it. He must have known this, too, from the way his hand floated across your belly and between your thighs, petting your folds with a tender touch.

You moaned onto him, eyes lolling back, overwhelmed; Ren was in your mouth, at your tits, teasing your pussy--he may as well have been in your head, hijacking your mind, making you yearn for his cock. He sucked your nipple fat between his teeth, and you returned the favor, wrapping your lips around his fingers; he rewarded you with a slight spread of your pussy, earning a squeak, tempting you to crack.

“Ready to beg?” A quick bite to your nipple, and you released a muffled squeal, shaking your head. “No?” He stroked your engorged clit--you howled. “Are you sure?”

Without giving you a chance to respond, he wiggled his hand further into your throat while he stroked your clit again, and again, thumb catching on the hood, slipping to your entrance before teasing more. You writhed, lids squeezing shut as you fought his hold, but his natural strength rivaled the Force--he caged you, a warden to your orgasm. He tapped your swollen nub, testing a tiny circle around it, and you sobbed, bounced your wrists against the bed, staving the urge to bite his fucking fingers.

“Needy slut,” he muttered. “I can feel how wet you are. How badly this cunt needs to get fucked.”

He continued to glance over your clit, making you throb, making your pussy scream for more. Another swift circle, and another, flooding you with bliss--and he stopped, back to feather-light touches. You wanted to burst, you sucked hard on his hand, skating your teeth over his knuckles in complaint. Growling, he relieved your clit for a split-second, only to spank your pussy with his palm. Pain and pleasure ruptured through your thighs, and you shrieked, gagged around him.

“You can’t help yourself,” he said, and spanked your cunt again. “You’re dripping for my cock.”

Perhaps it was the delirium--the potent cocktail of your need, his torture, the extended denial--but you fractured. And you nodded, agreeing with him.

A grunt of approval. “There we go.” His voice was filthy with victory.

You loved it.

“Dush, etyc kih tracinya.” Ren shifted, pulled his fingers from your mouth to splay your legs wide with his hands, dipping between them to kiss down your belly. “Sucking me off made you want to cum. Didn’t it?”

You nodded again. “Yes…”

“Yes?”

The bloated, heavy ache between your legs took rein of your tongue. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Mm. Good girl.”

The very same Supreme Leader rose to his feet, looming over you, displaying the huge, straining erection behind his pants. His eyes glued to yours while he pulled it free, circled his hand around its massive length, and you gazed at it, still agog. You supposed you’d never get used to how big he really was. Ren pumped himself once, twice, drinking you in, before shoving you further onto the bed and climbing over you.

His lips found your throat again, sucking softly at it. “Do you remember how I had to stuff myself in that little cunt?” he murmured. “How tight you were around me?”

Mouth dry, you replied, “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

“Good girl.” He propped your calves up on his shoulders, lowering himself to your entrance, taunting you with it. “And do you remember how good it felt to cum on me?”

“Yes,” you sputtered, growing frustrated, “yes, Supreme Leader.”

“And do you remember…” another false-thrust, another anticipatory clench. “... how you begged for me like a filthy little bitch?”

It took all of your power not to crack wise. “Yes, Supreme Leader.”

Humming, he nipped your ear. “Then beg for my cock.”

“Ka’ra!” You lost it. “Shut up and fuck me, chakaar!”

He clucked his tongue. “You were doing so well.”

Kylo Ren slicked the head of his dick on your juices before pushing in just an inch, sucking in air through his teeth as he enticed you with a hint of stretch. Staring at himself throbbing inside of you, he held it, and eased out, then driving back in by centimeters--prying into your cunt, giving you only a bit of bliss before stealing it away. He shook with self-control, drawing in more oxygen, hissing in pleasure at even the slightest squeeze from your core.

Whinging, you tried to jerk your hips to take more, but found it difficult with your ankles at his ears. Hair tumbling into his face, he slipped out, slid in again, giving you an inch each time, letting your walls clamp around the length that wasn’t there. Ren leaned up, allowing the both of you watch his hips roll, watch his thick, heavy cock push you open with its head and pull back out. Frustration turned to tears--the sight alone was enough to splinter you, but his steady breath, the agony of being empty, the twitching of your clit, all of it compounded. It made you break.

“Please,” you whispered, “please, Supreme Leader, please fuck me, please give me your cock.”

It was impossible to miss the arrogant shimmer in his eyes. “No.”

Your face fell. “What?”

“You’ll take what I give you,” he said, “and if you behave, I will make you cum.”

Hundreds, thousands of thoughts raced through your mind in that moment, most of them profane, all of them capable of getting you in trouble. Yes, you were learning the rules. And you knew the only way you’d be sated is if you played by them. Steeling your jaw, you met his gaze.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Supreme Leader.”

Ren settled over you, nuzzling into your neck. “Jate, little flame,” he rasped. “Now take my cock.”

With a slow rock of his hips, he pushed in--millimeter by millimeter, digging you open, in and out, in and out, letting you feel every vein of his cock, every thump of his pulse as he drove deeper inside of you. You stilled your chest, trembling with blissful, beautiful pain, the sweet sting of being full, the addiction of being stretched. Kylo Ren seated himself, fully sheathed in your tight, slick cunt, exhaling as you clenched around him. Gritting his teeth, he dragged out, deserting you in the same, torturous fashion.

This was, you realized, your consequence. He was going to make you beg for him until the very end.

“Supreme Leader,” you said, grinding your wrists together. “Please, fuck me.”

He huffed. “No.” Another slow thrust in, stretching you again, and he caught a groan in his chest.

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, I want your cock.”

Leaning closer, smothering you with his frame, he glided out. “Too bad.”

“Please,” you said, as he stroked into you, wet and hot around his dick. “Please.”

“Beg all you want.” He shuddered when you squeezed him, his hips twisting into you. “Fuck.”

Sex with the Supreme Leader before had been incredible, sure. But the warmth, the strength, the size of his body over yours, the ability to feel his breath, his heartbeat, the rumble of his voice--incredible became inconceivable. Never had you imagined that you could ever be so aroused, so desperate. Never had you considered pleading and squirming through tears for the fill of cock. Never, through any of your antics, had you been this entranced by any single man.

But Kylo Ren truly was not just a man, you were learning.

He was also an utter bastard.

He was also still, despite it all, a corporeal god.

Ren’s rhythm continued to torment you, pumping slowly in and out of your pussy. You could only wince, inhale, and clench around his girth with each thrust--a strategy that seemed to work. Though his hips kept their pace, his breath quickened, his heart pounded, another groan stopped in his throat. Spurred on, you continued, constricting him, walls milking his dick, working him to his peak inside of your pussy.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Nasty fucking whore. You want me to cum in this cunt, don’t you?”

Lust tore through you. “Yes, Supreme Leader, yes, I want you to cum in me, please, please…”

“Fuck.” Ren slammed into you, jerked out, slammed in again. “Yes.” Another hard, brutal thrust, piercing your cervix, and you quailed. “Fuck. Watch me.” He panted, propped himself onto his palms, sliding out until just the head of his dick was buried in your core. “Watch me fill you.” A quick snap of his hips, and he choked, trapped a deep groan--and came.

His cock, swollen and flush and veiny with the promise of orgasm, jumped and twitched inside of you, a climax so intense it pulsed to his groin. He gasped, tensing with every wave of pleasure as he poured hot cum inside of you, a rapid throb of release. A few aftershock ripples, and it dissipated, his cock softening.

“That’s right.” Ren’s chin dropped to his chest, his lungs filled with satisfied air. Exhaling, he glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his gaze. “I think you’ve earned it.”

In a smooth motion, he pulled out of you and tugged your ass to the edge of the mattress while he dropped to his knees on the ground. Sweat was a second skin, your arms strained, your heart ramming against your ribs. And you gaped, a mere spectator to two large hands wrenching your knees wide before the Supreme Leader dove face-first into your abused pussy.

The words that left you were nonsense, a multilingual damnation of his soft, skilled mouth. Ren devoured your cunt, staring into your eyes while he gathered his cum and your own on his tongue, gulping it down, his lips brushing your neglected clit. A feral, anguished cry escaped you, an appeal for mercy--you were so stirred, so edged that even the slightest attention to the nub hurled you near-orgasm.

“Fuck.” No other words would come to you. “Please. Fuck.”

Finally, benevolent god he was, Ren sucked your clit between his teeth. You screeched in ecstasy, head thrown back on the bed as he licked, lapped, suckled at it, humming at your flesh. He flicked the tip with his tongue, traced tight circles around it, and when your breath picked up in expectation of orgasm, a hand left your thigh, two fingers gliding easily into your core. You moaned, writhed in delight, and Ren crooked them inside of you, the intrusion forcing his cum and your own to drip onto the sheets. Like a starved animal, he abandoned your clit for only a minute to gather the creamy globs with his mouth.

“Supreme Leader,” you groaned, “ka’ra…”

Smirking, he swallowed, sealed his plush lips around your throbbing clit, and sucked. Pleasure commandeered your brain, shutting out rationality, logic, reality itself. Thick fingers curled in your pussy, and you spasmed around him while he groaned against you. The vibration of his voice ricocheted to your thighs, and you cried out, soaring higher, higher, until you were at the peak, a witless body suspended in space. A twist of his hand, a lave of his tongue, and you ascended.

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the walls of Ren’s quarters. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunted for air while he suckled you through the receding tide of your release. You felt your cunt quivering at his face, felt the mixture of cum at his chin, and you drifted to full consciousness, lids flitting open.

Ren smacked his lips, standing and wiping his face. At some point, he’d tucked himself away. He scanned your panting, exhausted figure before reaching over you and freeing your wrists from his sheets. A groan of relief fled you, and you winced when you dragged your arms down to rub away the fatigue.

Seeing this, the Supreme Leader took your wrists in his own hands, encircling them with ease, and massaged his thumbs where you’d been bound. Your breath skipped, your eyes widened--he did not look at you, did not acknowledge this gesture was his own, even as he adjusted his grip to rub the opposite side of your joints. When he was finished, he glimpsed you for a shooting-star-second--and released you, letting all of you sink into his bed as he paced to his closet.

“You are mine.” He said this while he clothed himself. “Expect to travel with me. Expect to serve me.” His voice was empty. Dead. “Expect me to use you however I please.”

You arched your head back and gazed through the transparisteel, the galaxy appearing just as infinite and enigmatic from this angle as it did from any other. This view, a comfortable bed, a real refresher, and the attention of the Supreme Leader of the First Order? You could be fine with that.

More than fine with that.

“Tracinya.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” you said. “I understand.”

As Ren continued to dress, you hoisted yourself onto a pillow, pulled the covers over you. He still hadn’t told you if you could sleep there, but he hadn’t stopped you, either. After a moment, he crossed to you, boots striking the floor, and a gloved grip pinched your shoulder like a handle, turning you to face him. His hair was still half-dry.

“You’re learning the rules well.” He thumbed your lip.

For some strange reason, you blushed. “Only the most sincere effort for you, chakaar.”

He huffed. “Good girl,” he said. “Welcome home.”

Then he turned and left you there, climbing the steps, his footfalls disappearing into the air.

Four words this time, fizzing your blood with glee--home. You wanted to encapsulate this feeling, inject it daily, like a drug. Sighing, content, you stared into the stars, your sterling sentinels. Nevarro was as distant in your memory as it was in space. For now, you belonged to the Supreme Leader. For now, you’d never felt more pleased.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #cocky. beautiful. bastard.#fanfiction problems #just a meanie

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

FIC: Snowdrifts ch.3 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Edge is still adjusting to the new status quo

Tags: Spicyhoney, Violence, Rescued Child, Medical Experimentation, Babybones

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It wasn’t particularly late, especially for a movie night, but Edge was already in bed, lying on the same mattress on the floor that he’d slept in the night before. In the corner of the room was a dresser drawer lovingly lined with blankets, but otherwise empty. Its intended occupant was on the mattress where she was not supposed to be, carefully tucked between the wall and Edge.

Snow was lying on her back in a sprawl, her little hands lying next to her skull and fingers curled into loose fists. Her knees were drawn up, the socks sewn onto her pajama bottoms concealing and protecting her tiny feet. Her sockets were closed, her mouth working occasionally, dreaming of tomorrow’s bottle. Once, she startled, all her limbs going stretched and stiff. She settled back with a sigh when Edge reached over to lay a hand on her ribcage. Sleeping soundly, which was exactly what Edge was supposed to be doing.

Before he and Stretch took Snow upstairs to bed, they and their brothers came to a tentative agreement. For him and Stretch, if the child woke at night then only one of them would get up at a time to give the other a chance to sleep. Red would take her for a few hours in the morning, at least until he found work, and Blue would watch her in the afternoon for an hour or two after his work and training. Out of all of them, Blue had the most rigid schedule and despite his disappointment, he reluctantly agreed it was for the best.

Right now was supposed to be Edge’s chance to sleep, the next feeding would go to Stretch. Despite his exhaustion, his body didn’t seem to have gotten the message. It was far more accustomed to staying up until the wee hours of the morning, then snatching a few hours of sleep before heading out to check the trapline around Snowdin. The best he could do was resist the urge to shift restlessly to keep from waking Stretch.

At least his bed companion wasn’t having any issues, not that it was particularly surprising. Stretch had never met a nap he didn’t like, and he was out cold, sprawled out on the mattress behind Edge in a pose that was amusingly similar to Snow’s.

It was strange. He’d never really slept with Stretch simply to sleep. Always before it had been preluded by some kind of sex act and even if he felt up to indulging, which he decidedly did not, he wasn’t about to allow any shenanigans in the same bed as a sleeping child.

Stretch never said a word when Edge laid the baby on the side of the bed where she’d ended up sleeping the night before. He’d only shook his head and said, “gonna let me stay on the mattress this time? i’m still a little floored from last night’s sleeping arrangement.”

Nothing else, not even a little sly flirting. He’d crawled into the bed next to Edge, slung an arm around him, and quickly fallen asleep. Edge wasn’t sure what to think about that. That afternoon, he’d said that this wasn’t about debts or fucking, but he supposed he’d still been expecting…he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting—

(maybe let me love you, too? just a little?)

--but now was not the time to figure it out. He closed his sockets and firmly told himself that he needed to sleep. Right now.

He lay there, practically feeling the minutes ticking by and with a quiet sigh, he opened his sockets again irritably. The baby hadn’t stirred, utterly unmoved by his inner turmoil. One should admire the ability to ignore unnecessary distractions, certainly his brother would, and behind his wry jealousy came the sudden, ridiculous urge to wake her.

Not out of petty spite, never, it was his simple desire to see her awake, smiling and happy as she raised her hands to him so that he could hold her as long as he liked, something he had yet to manage.

That evening, she’d woken halfway through the movie, some ridiculous heist flick that Edge mostly ignored in favor of watching Snow breathing, a far more interesting sight in his opinion. Until she woke, that was, and then she spent her time being passed from lap to lap, only returning to him when the Tale brothers left for home and by then she’d been yawning again, ready for a hopefully longer sleep that night.

Only Sans hadn’t held her. Edge saw his expression when Papyrus offered their home if they ever wanted another universe to try. It wasn’t obvious, only a twitch of his socket, a slight tightening of his jaw. Edge didn’t ask, he wasn’t about to press Snow on anyone. He’d declined Papyrus’s offer with the excuse that he didn’t want to try bringing her through the machine portal again anytime soon, and Papyrus accepted that readily despite his obvious disappointment.

Snow had drowsed off before the door even closed behind them and Edge couldn’t help being disappointed that he’d spent so little time with her. He’d have plenty of opportunity to see her awake, he reminded himself. Tomorrow the Swap brothers would be returning to their duties and his brother would be going out to search for his version of gainful employment. He’d be spending plenty of time alone with her and the idea was both thrilling and intimidating. For all that he wanted to care for her, it would be their first time together without Red or Stretch lingering close by. What would he do if something went wrong? If she were hurt or she began to cry and refused to be soothed, what if she choked or—

“you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Edge did not flinch, but it was a close thing. He hadn’t even noticed Stretch waking. “I’m resting.”

“uh huh.” Stretch rolled over and snugged up behind Edge, dragging the blankets closer around them both. Despite the bareness of their bones, his embrace was more soothing than sexual, his thumb gently rubbing Edge’s spine between his shoulders where stress gathered. “s’ok edgelord, her new car smell will wear off eventually.”

“She doesn’t smell like a car,” Edge said, offended. She smelled like a combination of milky-sweet and clean lavender soap, as a child should.

“i didn’t…nevermind,” Stretch chuckled and pressed a light kiss against the back of Edge’s skull. "scared she's gonna disappear if you stop looking at her?"

"Yes."

It was the wrong thing to say. Stretch was teasing, the question an easy, shallow one. His answer should have been the same, not pulled from the deepest quagmire of his soul.

Behind him, Stretch went briefly still, then his arm around Edge tightened almost to the point of pain. His own version of making sure no one disappeared, perhaps, that if he held on tightly enough Edge would stay. Unnecessary, Edge had no intention of going any further than the kitchen for a warm bottle. He said nothing, only leaned back into that embrace, guiltily indulging in its warmth as he kept his gaze on the peacefully sleeping baby who knew nothing of the upheaval she’d caused.

"she's not going anywhere," Stretch said. There was an unexpected fierceness in his words, whispered low against the side of Edge’s skull, his breath gusting down lightly over Edge’s cracked socket. "you and me? we aren't letting her go, not for anything, you get me?"

Edge closed his sockets. Tried not to let the sudden surge of emotion deep in his chest work its way loose to rattle away in any of the rest of his bones. He didn’t want to wake the baby. "Yes."

"do you?" Stretch persisted, "i'm being really real here, i won't let anything happen to her, okay? i promise you."

The intensity of that promise settled a lingering uneasiness in his soul, one that had stirred to new life at Sans’s question about Underfell; Stretch was not one to break a promise and despite his lazy nature, Edge trusted him to keep his word. It wasn’t only him and Red who would stand for her, Stretch would keep her safe at any cost. That was something Edge could believe in.

“Thank you,” Edge said quietly.

“heh, told you before, you don’t have to thank me for this. you still don’t.”

Edge said nothing. Stretch was correct, but not in the way he thought. There was no gratitude that would be enough for what he’d offered, no polite social contract could compensate for what was priceless. His was a debt that would never be paid and yet, somehow, that bothered him less than it would have only a day ago.

Edge sighed and let himself relax back into Stretch’s arms, letting the dual sound of those breathing around him lull him to sleep.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #drifters

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andrew-is-foxy · 4 years

Text

Eat the Cupcake Kevin!

Domestic Andriel and team bonding. 2,976 words. Reference to sexual activity, but nothing explicit. TW: Mention of self-harm scars.

Neil and Andrew didn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen, they made coffees and reheated dinners when they needed them, and they begrudgingly did their dishes, but that was usually about it. Except, the night before, Neil had been in the girls’ room watching a pretty trash movie and there was a scene where a little boy was making cupcakes with his mom, and the girls and Matt had begun reminiscing about baking with their family. Renee had baked with her adoptive mother ever Christmas, Allison had fond memories of her nanny baking traditional Mexican desserts with her when she was really small, Dan was terrible at baking but she loved doing her best with her family whenever she was home, and even Matt had memories of spending time in the kitchen with his parents when he was little. Neil had never even seen cookie dough or cupcake icing not on a cupcake in his life. Neil had ached for his lost and shattered childhood so intensely he’d had to leave the gathering and go back to his room. Andrew could tell that there was something bothering him, but he didn’t press, and Neil didn’t share, but he had woken up the next morning with a really stupid idea.

Which is why he found himself in the small kitchen of his suite that he shared with Kevin and Andrew, surrounded by ingredients and utensils to make cupcakes and feeling incredibly out of his depth. Kevin had woken up first, while Neil had unpacked the shopping, taken one look at the stuff cluttering the countertop and shaken his head, murmuring that he was going to get coffee in Nicky and Aaron’s room and telling Neil to fuck himself. Neil had been undeterred and continued unpacking the groceries, spreading them across the counter in an absolute mess. Andrew surfaced shortly after, pillow creases on his cheek and his blonde hair tangled over his forehead. He stopped dead in the doorway of the hall and glowered at the mess on the kitchen counter. “What the fuck are you doing?” He demanded, lowering his hand from his unruly hair.

“Making cupcakes,” Neil said, sounding more confident than he felt.

“You are making a mess,” Andrew corrected him, still not moving from the doorway, but his eyes lifted to look at Neil. Andrew’s hazel eyes were annoyed and confused, but he was still rumpled from sleep and soft-looking in the pyjama pants he had stolen from Neil that Neil didn’t feel put out by his accusation.

“Most likely,” Neil agreed, “but I was hoping you would help me.”

“You what?” Andrew was still too tired to guard his expression, or maybe he just wasn’t trying because it was Neil, and his eyes went really wide and he took a step back. “What makes you think I know how to make fucking cupcakes?”

“I didn’t think you would, I thought maybe we could try together?” Neil replied easily, rattling a bottle of icing decorations in the air. Andrew looked like he was either going to storm out of the room or burst out laughing and Neil waited to see which it was.

“Why?” Andrew wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t leaving either.

“Because I’ve never done it before,” Neil replied and chewed the inside of his cheek as Andrew’s weighted look sat heavily on him, knowing there was more to it. “Because people bake shit with their families and stuff and I never got the chance, so I want to now.” Neil looked in Andrew’s eyes, feeling vulnerable and trusting Andrew with it. “I want to bake cupcakes with my family, Andrew.” There was a long pause as Andrew froze, staring at Neil like he had just punched him, before he slowly took a few steps towards the kitchen.

“Fine, I will look up a fucking recipe. You make me coffee,” Andrew said, and Neil felt warmth bloom in his chest. He nodded and when Andrew came into the kitchen, he kissed his cheek. Andrew let him and then batted at him gently to make him go away. Neil started making coffee and left Andrew to sort out the mess on the counter with his new, upgraded phone displaying a recipe for chocolate chip cupcakes. By the time Neil turned around with two cups of coffee, Andrew had measured all the ingredients and packed away the leftovers into the pantry so there was space on the counter to work with. Andrew took the coffee and drank a scalding mouthful, his brow furrowed.

“Have you made cupcakes before?” Neil asked, gesturing at the organisation. Andrew glared at him, swallowed another mouthful and shook his head.

“No, but I can’t work in the clusterfuck you had created,” Andrew said. Neil smiled at him and gestured again, but this time at the phone.

“Okay, what now?” He asked, letting Andrew be in charge of the endeavour. Andrew read the instructions to Neil, his hip propped against the cabinet, ankles crossed, nursing his coffee and Neil did what he said. The only time Andrew stepped into help was with a huff as he took the bowl from Neil to finish mixing the batter before pouring it into the bright orange with white polka dot patty cans Neil had bought. Andrew filled one cupcake tray and Neil filled the other and they put them in the oven at the same time. Neil expected Andrew to leave then, go sit on the beanbag or something, but he didn’t, he stayed and helped Neil clean up their mess and then washed their coffee mugs. They worked in silence, content to be standing side by side as their suite slowly filled with the smell of baking cupcakes, something Neil had never experienced before and even though it smelt sweet, he liked it.

“Come on, we have fifteen minutes still,” Andrew said, tugging on Neil’s waistband.

“Where are we going?” He asked, but there was heat already unfurling in the bottom of his stomach knowingly. Andrew didn’t respond and nearly dragged Neil to the bathroom.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, his hands on the bottom of Neil’s shirt. Neil nodded eagerly, but still Andrew waited.

“Yes Drew my god,” Neil said and Andrew wrenched the shirt off him. He pulled his own shirt off, peeled his armbands away and tossed them on the sink, and then pulled Neil’s pants off, all without pausing to even kiss Neil. Neil caught his wrists gently, his marred skin familiar to him now, smiling at Andrew and tugged him close.

“Yes or no?” He asked, pressing their foreheads together. Andrew tugged his wrists out of Neil’s grasp and ghosted his hands to Neil’s waist.

“Yes,” he said, voice deep and needy. Neil kissed him gently and Andrew wasn’t having any of that. He pressed forward, hungrily, his fingers tightening on Neil’s skin. Neil put his own hands on Andrew’s waist, spun them so Andrew’s back was to the sink and picked him up, propping him on the porcelain. Andrew grunted into the kiss and shoved Neil away, looking incredibly annoyed. “What the fuck Neil?” He demanded, looking down at his swinging feet as if surprised to find himself up on the basin. He went to hop down, but Neil sidled closer, situating himself between Andrew’s thighs.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it again,” he said and Andrew nodded, burying his hands in Neil’s hair and pulling him back in for kisses. Neil put his hands on Andrew’s thighs and slid them to the waistband of Andrew’s pants, drawing a soft, impatient moan from Andrew.

“Yes or no?” He whispered. Andrew pushed him back, slid from the basin and pulled his own pants down in response. Neil grinned and turned the shower on and Andrew came up behind him, aligning their bodies together and kissing the nape of Neil’s neck. Neil stepped into the shower and Andrew followed, and when Neil turned around to face Andrew, he saw the other man’s pupils blown wide with desire. Neil accepted his advances eagerly and they sank against the wall under the jets of water.

When they resurfaced, soggy and content, they dried off and dressed in loose, comfortable clothes to enjoy the rest of their Saturday. The suite smelt like baked goods and Andrew pulled the cupcakes out of the oven looking mildly surprised that they had actually worked. Neil felt on top of the world as he stared at Andrew holding a tray of cupcakes they had made together and he kissed Andrew firmly with the tray between them. Andrew put the tray down and kissed him back, but only for a moment before he pulled the second tray out. “Are we decorating them now?” Neil asked, feeling nervous that he could ruin them.

“Make the icing while they cool, I’m having a smoke,” he said, opening his phone to the recipe and handing it Neil on the section of the recipe of the icing. Neil did so, but he only got halfway through before Andrew crushed out his barely smoked cigarette and walked back over to the mess. Neil felt a bit sheepish as Andrew smacked his hands away from the bowl and the measuring cup and took over, but he was content to slide his hands around Andrew’s waist and hook his chin over his shoulder to watch. It didn’t take Andrew long to fix the mess Neil had made and when Neil asked if they could make the icing orange, Andrew had rolled his eyes but complied. When they were done icing the cupcakes and decorating them with white and silver hard candy balls, Neil felt like a king, albeit a little embarrassed that he had wanted to do it in the first place. The cupcakes looked a little amateurish, and they definitely looked like Andrew had given up halfway through and watched Neil do his best, but they were edible. Neil picked one up, knowing he probably wouldn’t like something so sweet, but wanting to eat what he had made anyway, and took a bite. It was actually pretty good, a little dry perhaps because they may have been a little distracted and left them in the oven for a little bit too long, but the icing was sweet and helped balance out the texture. He grinned at Andrew, icing on his nose, and took another bite. Andrew shook his head, picking a cupcake up of his own. He didn’t bite into it straight away though, he dipped his pinkie into the icing and reached out to smear it on Neil’s cheek. He didn’t even smile, but Andrew saw the amusement in his eyes as he bit into his own bright orange cupcake.

“Not bad Josten,” he muttered, putting the cupcake down. Andrew began washing up the last of the dishes as Neil finished his cupcake and then arranged most of the cupcakes onto two plates. Andrew scooped the icing off his cupcake when he finished washing the dishes and ate it off his fingers, finally smirking a little as Neil wiped the icing from his face. He ate his cupcake quietly and Neil waited patiently, knowing how particular he was with food. He was just relieved that Andrew was actually eating it. When he was done, Andrew threw their rubbish away and looked down at the two plates. “Are we taking these somewhere?” He asked and Neil nodded.

“Come on,” he said, picking one of the plates up and gesturing at Andrew to do the same.

“I hate you,” Andrew grumbled, picking up his plate.

“I know, I know,” Neil agreed, smiling over his shoulder as he unlocked their door. Andrew detoured to pick up a set of keys, Neil’s, and exited the room with a blank expression, already prepared to face their team. Neil took the keys, locked their door and slid them into Andrew’s back pocket, squeezing just enough to make Andrew shake his head with a hidden smile. Having succeeded, and feeling very satisfied with his morning, Neil led Andrew down the hall to Matt, Nicky and Aaron’s room and knocked loudly. Aaron answered and he looked stupefied by the sight in front of him.

“What the- Andrew are you holding cu…” Aaron swallowed his words and his face split in a rare grin. Before either Neil or Andrew could respond, his hand came up out of his pocket and he snapped a photo of them. Neil put his hand out to his side just in time to stop Andrew from barrelling forward.

“Can we come in?” Neil asked and Aaron stepped aside, still smiling.

“I’m sending this to Dan to stick up in the lounge, “Aaron said, looking down at the picture on his phone.

‘What a what?” Matt asked, not looking up from the game happening on the screen. Kevin and Nicky were playing and Matt was sitting cross legged on the floor watching them, moving with the game as if he was playing.

“Neil and Andrew have brought cupcakes and I took a photo, I’m sending it to Dan,” Aaron said. The game froze with a jab of Nicky’s finger and Kevin complained, but it was cut off by both Nicky and Matt whirling around to look.

“Did you make those?” Matt asked, sounding sceptical. Nicky started howling with laughter the second Neil nodded. Matt grinned and stood, coming over to take the plate from Neil and after a tentative, questioning gesture and nod from Andrew, he took Andrew’s plate as well. He put them down on the coffee table and beckoned them into the room from where they stood in the entrance of the room. Neil gently took Andrew’s arm-banded wrist and pulled him after him into the living room where he sat on the couch behind a still laughing Nicky. He pulled Andrew down onto his legs and his boyfriend crossed his arms across his chest but stayed seated.

“Did you actually send a picture to Dan?” Neil asked, looking at where Aaron was standing near the door. Aaron opened his mouth to answer, but the door was shoved open to reveal the girls standing there, led by Dan whose mouth fell open at the sight of Neil and Andrew on the couch with cupcakes on the table.

“No way!” She crowed, swooping into the room. Matt handed her a cupcake and then took one for himself. Renee came in next and perched on the arm of the chair next to Andrew and Neil and Andrew slid off Neil’s legs, picked up a cupcake and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said softly and licked a glob of icing off the top.

“Are they poisoned?” Allison asked, crossing the room to sit at a desk chair.

“No,” Neil told her and Renee shook her head. Aaron came around then after locking the door behind the girls and picked two off the plate. He offered one to Allison as he sat down at the desk chair next to her and she gingerly took it off him. Nicky had already eaten one and was covered in icing. Kevin stood from the floor and sat down on the couch, glowering at the mess that was Nicky.

“They’re pretty good,” Matt said, smiling at Andrew and Neil.

“The icing is the best bit,” Aaron added, licking some from his finger. Neil smiled smugly and pulled Andrew back down to his lap, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Andrew made the icing,” he said, knowing he sounded like he was tattling on Andrew. The quiet growl in his throat warned Neil to watch himself, but Neil didn’t have anything more to add.

“They’re not bad,” Allison agreed, folding back the paper to bite into her cupcake again. Dan was staring wide-eyed at Neil and Andrew, her cupcake nibbled on but forgotten.

“Whose idea was it?” She asked.

“Neil’s,” Andrew said quickly, and Neil nodded.

“Well, thank you,” she said, smiling at the two of them. “For sharing them with us,” she added. Neil grinned at her. There was a pause as everyone ate their cupcakes in somewhat stunned silence and Neil felt pride settle over him. He only ever really felt pride on the Exy court, but feeling it for something as menial as baking cupcakes for his friends with his boyfriend was nice.

“Nicky that’s your second cupcake!” Kevin snapped, “do you know how much suga-” Kevin was cut off by a cupcake getting shoved into his open mouth by Nicky. Neil burst out laughing and even Andrew’s shoulders shook with a concealed laugh. Dan and Matt were grinning and Aaron smirked as Kevin spat the cupcake into his hands, licking the icing from his mouth with a disgusted curl to his lips. Allison looked on with glee in her eyes and even Renee’s lips were curled with amusement.

“Shut your cakehole Kevin,” Nicky said, holding the last cupcake in his hand like a grenade ready to be thrown at the enemy. “Eat the cupcake Kevin,” he added, and Kevin narrowed his eyes.

“Eat the cupcake Kevin,” Matt said, his voice deep and serious as Nicky’s had been.

“Eat the cupcake Kevin,” Aaron added on. Allison looked beside herself with joy at the chaos next to him.

“Eat the cupcake Kevin,” she said smugly.

“Eat the cupcake Kevin,” Dan and Renee said at the same time. Neil squeezed Andrew’s waist and he felt Andrew squeeze his arms back.

“Eat the cupcake Kevin,” they said in unison and Kevin turned his narrowed gaze on them.

“Eat the cupcake Kevin!” They all shouted at Kevin and he stared at his team, looking pissed off. Slowly, he peeled the paper from his cupcake, opened his mouth and shoved the entire thing into his mouth until his cheeks bulged, his eyes daring the team to do something like that again.

#andriel #andriel fic #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #fan fic #domestic andriel #soft andriel #foxes #foxes bonding

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amlovelies · 3 years

Text

what desire will make foolish people do

@wayhavenmonthly Fall for Unit Bravo

Day 5: game

pairing: Mason/f!oc Serena Willis (not a detective)

warnings: not technically smut, but super suggestive also smoking and foul language

words: 2779

read on ao3

A/N: this is part of my Au and takes place before the scene I posted for day 2: Liability. I’ve posted parts of this before as “excerpts from a fic I’ll never write” guess I’m a liar. This is all pulled from different parts of the story because I liked the way I could use them to fit the theme, so there are some slightly awkward bits where I edited it to make more sense.

Round 1

The cool spring air outside the warehouse helps to clear my head. The last few weeks have been hard, and as much as I think I am adjusting to my new life and role here, there are still days when it’s harder. Days when I miss home and feel so out of my depth it’s almost a joke. I lean back against the door and close my eyes taking deep breaths.

“Are you planning on blocking the door all night?”

My eyes snap open at the growled question. Great, Mason. Of all the members of Unit Bravo I’ve been unable to really connect or understand him. He’s made it clear he thinks I’m useless and I’m surprised he bothered to waste a whole sentence on me rather than just grunting. I watch him pull out his damn near ubiquitous pack of cigarettes.

“Can I have one?” I ask almost surprising myself. I haven’t smoked in years, but maybe it’ll take the edge off.

“Sorry,” Mason says as he pulls a cigarette from the half full pack in his hands, “I’m all out”

“So you’re the only one who gets to use self-destructive behaviors to make them feel better?” I ask in what I hope isn’t a petulant tone.

“Isn’t self-destructive if I’m immortal. Besides, I’ve got something I can give you that’ll make you feel much better than a smoke would.”

I’m glad it’s getting too dark so I don’t have to see the smirk on his face. It’s too bad it doesn’t affect his vision because I’m sure he can see the blush that paints my cheeks even as I’m rolling my eyes at his much too obvious come on. I’d heard rumors about Mason’s “charms,” but this is the first time he’s ever tried to use them on me. No matter what I think of his personality, he is a dangerously handsome man and I hate how flustered the comment makes me feel even if his flirting has more in common with a battering ram.

“Or I could just go to the store and pick up my own pack. Sounds a lot more satisfying.” I say as I push off the door and make to walk past Mason. I don’t actually want a smoke that bad, but I also don’t want to back down in front of him.

“Fine, don’t say I never did anything for ya.” Mason scoffs and I yelp as I’m hit in the chest with the pack. I eagerly pull one out and pass the pack back to him. I’m a little skeptical about his sudden altruism, maybe he really is trying to get me into bed.

“Where’s your lighter?” I ask.

“Never asked for a lighter, Sweetheart, and it seems I’ve lost mine.” He says, voice smug and mocking. So much for my victory. “Maybe you should pat me down, see if you can find it.” He adds opening his arms wide to give me access.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Your loss.” He replies as he leans against the wall.

I sit for a moment tapping the cigarette against my leg trying to figure out how to regain the upper hand. Or maybe not even the upper hand so much as just to stay in the game. Because this is some sort of game to him, and the last thing I was going to do was let Mason win this round of whatever the hell this is.

A hazy memory resurfaces of younger wilder nights, and I start speaking before I lose my nerve.

“Don’t worry, Sunshine.” That gets his attention and a scowl replaces the smirk he’d had only a moment before. “I know how to take care of myself. It’s not the first time I’ve had to get creative to get what I want.” I say in what I hope is a low and teasing tone, but I worry sounds like I have a head cold. I close the space between us.

I raise my cigarette to my lips and wait until he begins to pull another drag from his. “All I need is for you to stay still.”

I move forward on my tiptoes until the unlit end is pressed firmly against the glowing ember of Mason’s cigarette. We are so close and alarm bells start ringing in my head. His presence envelopes me. My senses are overwhelmed by him. The scent of smoke and sandalwood is heady and enticing, especially combined with the heat I can feel pouring off his body. God he’s good looking. I have to remind myself to breath, to inhale or otherwise this won’t work and I’ll just be trapped under the intense gaze of his grey eyes.

To my relief, it ignites and I’m able to move away from him. I put some space between us, and take a thankful drag from the cig hoping it will ease my now rattled nerves. It doesn’t, and to be honest I’m not sure why I used to enjoy this so much. I steal a glance over to where Mason stands with a wry smile, his eyes studying me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for.

“Well thanks for the smoke.” I say with an attempt at a flippant tone. I don’t wait for a response; I turn on my heel and walk off toward the fence. I can hear the door open and I breath a sigh of relief to find myself alone once more.

Round two

I guess I earned some sort of respect in Mason’s eyes after the cigarette incident. Oh, sure it was mostly him making innuendos and propositioning me, but it was a hell of a lot more than the monosyllabic grunts that I was used to.

I tried not to read to much into the flirting. That he wanted to sleep with me I didn’t doubt. I also had heard enough rumors, and been subtly warned by Nate, that I knew it wasn’t really personal. Mason wanted to sleep with everyone. Besides I found myself enjoying our little verbal sparring matches. Considering the fact that he kept doing it he didn’t seem to mind or maybe he just viewed me as a challenge.

Mason manages to corner me in one of the warehouse’s many labyrinthine hallways. I had been avoiding him all day. The night before I had woken up from vivid dreams that definitely didn’t involve the incredible annoying vampire in front of me. As much as I try to play unaffected by his seduction attempts, I know it’s a lie, and my subconscious did not come to play last night.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Sweetheart, but our bedrooms share a wall.” Mason leans forward closing the already small gap between us a wolfish smile on his face, “and my hearing is very good.”

He pauses and I try not to be entranced by the sight of his tongue running over his top lip. I’m pretty sure I know where he is going with this and I wonder it is possible to die of embarrassment.

“Not that there was much to hear last night. I’d be glad to show you how best to use your fingers,” he raises one hand to push his hair back drawing my attention to his well-shaped and surely dexterous hands.

It takes all my self-control to hold his gaze and I’m secretly grateful for the solid wall pressed against my back. You could probably boil a pot of water with the heat pouring off my face. The thought that he had heard my clumsy fumbling last night is perhaps the most mortifying thing I could imagine. He probably couldn’t wait to use this against me. At least he doesn’t know I was thinking about him. After all everyone masturbates. The only part of this that is really getting to me it knowing that there is some part of me that wants to see exactly what those hands can do. Not the rational part obviously, but still I’d be foolish to continue to pretend it’s not there.

At least he had waited for a moment when we were alone. I could only imagine the field day Farah would have with this, or maybe he was afraid of Nate’s disappointment. He looks so pleased with himself and I would give almost anything to wipe that smirk off his stupid handsome face. I have to think of something quick.

“Listening at walls? Are you really getting that little action?” His smile drops and I know I’ve picked the right counterattack.

“You know I don’t really think I should be the one you’re concerned with,” I smile and place a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Maybe Dinah can set you up on a bind date. I’m sure she knows some nice girl who is just frothing at the mouth to reform a bad boy and teach him the meaning of love” I gaze up with what I hope is an innocent expression.

The angry growl that he response with is music to my ears. I try and keep the glee from my face, but as he stomps away, I can’t help but congratulate myself on another victory in what-ever-the-hell game it was that I somehow found myself playing with him.

Round 3:

“You suck at this.” Mason says as he once again knocks me on my ass. He isn’t even breaking a sweat while my gasping attempts to catch my breath seem to be echoing in the empty training room.

I push away the hairs that are sticking to my sweat drenched face and give him a withering glare. He just laughs. How kind of him to make sure I want to hit him, not that I’ve managed to land one yet.

“Always such a gentleman, Sunshine,” I say as I haul myself back to my feet. “Considering how charming you are it must be a miracle that I haven’t just fallen into bed with you yet.”

He quirks a brow and gives me a look that I know well enough by now to know is trouble, “yet?”

I inwardly curse my poor word choice or Freudian slip or whatever. Not that I’d found myself thinking about him late at night more and more, or appreciating the long lean lines of his body, or wondering if he actually had to skills to back up all his bravado.

“Fuck off, Mason” I say as I roll my eyes and sink into a crouch ready to continue our sparring. It’s a petulant response, not at all keeping with the game we’ve been playing. A game which mostly consists of me trying to not let him unnerve me and find new and exciting ways to drag the very dangerous vampire who is has spent the last few hours kicking my ass.

He circles me, his movements lazy and languid. When he moves it’s sudden and with a speed I can’t follow. Before I know what’s happening, he’s behind me, his breath ghosting over my neck, “I’d much rather fuck you.” He says with a laugh.

Summoning ever bit of agility I possess, I turn and swing, but there’s nothing but empty air and his laughter. I overextend myself and have to stumble forward a few steps to avoid falling over. Once I’ve regained my balance, I flip him the bird.

He just grins and lands a stinging hit to my right side. “Do you know what the problem is Sweetheart?”

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

He moves in a blur, and I find myself pressed up against him chest to chest. My arms are held secure behind my back. His face is only inches above mine, his well-shaped mouth curled in a taunting smirk. This close I can clearly see the freckles that dust his checks. He’s breathtaking, and I hope he attributed the rapid increase of my pulse to a fight or flight instinct of being trapped rather than his proximity.

“Your body gives you away.” His voice is almost a whisper. A fierce blush erupts over my cheeks. Damn his stupid vampire super senses. He’s so smug and enjoying this. I rack my brain for a way to turn this around, but it’s hard to think clearly when I can feel the lean lines of his body pressed against me, and I can’t help but wonder how far those freckles extend over his body. I have to act quick, maybe I can distract him.

I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and moisten my lips. His eyes dart towards the action and I press forward against him. I’m playing with fire. This is a stupid idea, but that has never stopped me before.

“What exactly is my body telling you now?” I ask my voice breathy, low, and inviting. Before he can answer I close the space between us and press my lips against his. I try not to think about the feel of his lips against mine.

His hands on my arms loosen in surprise. I know that it’s now or never, but I hesitate. No small part of me what’s to stay in this moment surrounded and overwhelmed by him. But that would mean he wins. So, I pull my arm back and strike a weak jab to his right side. He moves back from me with a grunt

. “Not afraid to fight dirty. Maybe there’s hope for you yet. “He says with a nod before turning and leaving me standing along in the center of the training room.

I know I should be savoring my victory, but all I can taste is Mason on my lips.

Match

It’s a little after midnight and I’m standing in front of Mason’s door. I’ve spent the last few hours tossing and turning in a vain attempt to sleep. I keep replaying what happened in the training room: the feel of his body against mine, the brief taste of his lips, the feel of his breath ghosting over my neck. All these months of trading innuendos and hot tense moments seem to have come to a head and I feel consumed by wanting. It was a line I shouldn’t have crossed, even if it did let me land a punch, but now that I have, I feel like I’m falling towards the inevitable conclusion. And would it really be the worst thing? It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with someone. Maybe it’s better to do it this way knowing that it’s just fun?

So now I’m standing in front of his door daring myself to knock. I mean he’ll probably be insufferable after this, but at least I’ll get laid? We both want this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

In the end, he saves me from having to knock. I jump a little, startled out of my deliberations, when the door swings open. His shirt is off and my eyes trace over his form. Freckles dot his skin and a patch of hair curls over his well-defined chest. Fuck he’s hot.

“Is it yet already?” He asks with a smirk his eyes tracking over my body. I’d only thrown on my bathrobe before following my libido to his door.

I take a deep breath and swallow the snarky comment I want to make. “Guess it is,” I say as I push past him into the darkened room.

He closes the door and turns to face me.

“You sure about this?” he asks taking a step closer to me.

I step closer as well only a foot or two separate us. If I wanted to, I could reach out and run my fingers over his chest tracing the line of dark hair to where it disappears under his skinny jeans. And god knows I want to.

“I am. Are you? You’ve talked a big game. Afraid you won’t perform to expectations?” I ask with a smirk.

His laugh is dark and low and confident and turns something within me molten. He closes the space between us, pulling my body flush against his. I’m intensely aware of the thin fabric of my robe as the only barrier between us.

“Not even remotely.” His voice is velvet and sends a shiver through me.

Then his lips are on mine and all I can sense is Mason: the smooth skin of his back under my hands, the wicked glint in his grey eyes, the heady scent of him-sandalwood and smoke, the taste of him on my lips, and the way he growls as nips his way down my exposed neck. He walks us backwards toward his bed and I know I am lost.

tagging: @morgans-ass-freckles @specialistagent-morgan @bionicgrapejuice and @agentnatesewell

#the wayhaven chronicles #TWC #twc mason #fallforunitbravo #liability au #mason/serena #scribblings #fanfiction #not totally in love with the last two sections #but trying to not get too in my head about this #so just post it #embrace the cringe 2020 #lovelieswrites

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years

Text

“Slytherin Vs. Ravenclaw” || YEAR 3 – Ch.24 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 9/29/2020

Word count: 3,463

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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Heather was pacing the common room, sweat dripping down her forehead. Her eyes kept darting back to her dark arts book, and at the essay flattened on top of it.

“Werewolf,” she kept muttering. “No.” She shook her head but her eyes darted back. Could Professor Lupin be a werewolf? Surely he wouldn’t have been allowed to… be around them if he was? “That’s silly,” she responded to herself. He wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t going to just bite down on the first student he saw. He hadn’t all year.

But the text rattled around her head very clearly. ‘They’re instincts took over easily…’, ‘Humanity slips from their minds…’, ‘Aggressive creatures…’, the text made it seem like Professor Lupin could just lose himself at any moment, especially near a full moon and most certainly on the nights of.

Her eyes widened and she ran into her room and opened up the moon chart they’d been given. To keep Harry safe, she’d need to memorize the moon’s cycles for the rest of the year… and the next one… and the next one. She sighed, hating having to add what seemed like a chore to her list of priorities. She hoped there wasn’t limited amount of space a brain could hold; she didn’t want to be wasting that space with what days the moon would be full. “There’s probably a potion for more headspace,” she grumbled, trying to convince herself to take on the task.

She folded up the moon chart and stuffed it in her skirt, walking back to the common room. Do the teachers know? Professor Snape seemed to know, or why else would he have acted so weird about her keeping her essay? He must have wanted her to figure it out, as a warning.

Was that why he assigned the essay to the whole class? As a warning for everyone? She picked up her essay and marched out of the common room and knocked on his office. It was very early in the morning, she remembered, and pulled her hand back.

She’d woken up in a cold sweat with the realization, so drenched she took an immediate shower and went through the chapter, going over symptoms and thinking back to Professor Lupin’s condition that seemed to get better and then worse every month so far. And he drank a potion for it… That had been a big indicator… The text had mentioned wolfsbane potion, a very difficult potion to make, but one Professor Snape was skilled enough to brew.

The door opened suddenly and Heather jumped back, surprised Professor Snape had been awake to hear her knocks. He was looking like he hadn’t heard her though, looking just as surprised to see her at his door as she was to see him awake. He was already dressed and everything. Did he wake this early every day?

“Potter.”

His cold voice forced her out of her head.

He looked down at her essay, gripped tightly in her hand and stepped back, opening the door further, as if inviting her in.

“Professor – ”

“Inside.”

She ducked under his arm and took a seat in a chair, placing the essay in her lap and pulled on her sweater, wiping her sweat from her palms. She waited for him to take a seat in his chair before starting, trying not to stumble over her words. “I-is… I mean… might there be a chance… Are w…err” She couldn’t bring herself to just say it. What if she was over-reacting? It’d be very embarrassing, and she could imagine him laugh at her or mentioning it during classes.

“What is your question, Miss Potter.” Professor Snape looked at her intensely for some reason, his eyebrows furrowed together, his whole posture looked completely attentive to her and oddly eager. His hands gripped each other with a force that made his knuckles unusually paler.

She swallowed. “Is Professor Lupin a werewolf?” It came out as a breath but loud enough for him to hear, and yet he didn’t respond. Only looked at her, his tongue running over his teeth under his closed lips as if in contemplation. She realized he might not be allowed to confirm such a thing if Professor Dumbledore was aware of Professor Lupin’s condition already and made it a rule. But then… Was it a big deal if he was a werewolf? If Professor Dumbledore already knew? Was Harry safe to have private lessons with him then?

“Is this a safety concern?” Professor Snape spoke suddenly, as if gasping at a sudden chance.

Heather thought for a moment. She didn’t want to imply she thought she was unsafe – or that anyone was unsafe – around him. “N-no…”

Professor Snape knit his brows together again and sighed. Then raised an eyebrow and sat back, finally relaxed. “Potter, who else have you told of your little theory?”

“No one!” she said instantly. He looked agitated, as if she’d just foiled another plan of his. She could tell he was trying to work different angles. She wanted to smile then, never having imagined him such a good actor before, obviously trying to work some way around a rule. Did he want her to say she had? So he could yell at her about it, accidently letting it slip to her that it was true? If anything his actions now already confirmed it for her.

He chewed on his bottom lip, staring at his quill when she burst out laughing, drawing his attention to her.

She shook her head, trying to cover her fit of giggles. “I’m sorry, Professor.” She stood up and walked towards the cauldron sitting on his back table by the fire. She calmed herself and poked her head in, breathing deeply. It smelled awful, indicating it’d taste awful too, like Wolfsbane is said to. She looked around at the ingredients and pointed at the leaves and stems piled together.

“Are these poisonous?” She looked back at him and he nodded. “Are the petals that pertain to these stems purple?” Again he nodded. She turned back and couldn’t find any more ingredients lying about. She turned and walked back to her seat. “Then that’s aconite – or wolfsbane – and in that cauldron you made Wolfsbane potion.” She decided she’d form everything as a statement, forcing him to either correct her or silently confirm she is correct.

“Well done, Potter.” There wasn’t any sarcasm in his voice. “You’ve correctly identified the potion I made.”

There was a weird elation felt in her stomach at his praise. “And you make that for Professor Lupin every month. Because he’s a werewolf.”

Professor Snape doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t correct her. “You’ve told no one else?” He seemed doubtful and a little surprised.

Heather shook her head and stood, grabbing her essay. She should leave before he was forced to tell her not to tell anyone else. “Thank you, Professor.” She headed out the door and closed it shut, smiling. She’d gotten her answer. Her smile dropped. Professor Lupin was indeed a werewolf.

Professor Snape’s office door opened again and she ran back to her common room, folding up her essay and put all her books away. She paced the common room, debating. She decided she wasn’t worried, since Professor Snape already knew about it and so must the rest of the staff, meaning Professor Lupin must be of no threat to any student. But should she still tell anyone? What if it caused unnecessary panic? Should she tell at least tell Harry?

There was a knock on the door and she went to open it. Hermione was standing there wiping tears from her eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

Hermione sniffed. “They’re not talking to us.”

She raised a brow. “‘Us’?”

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. “Well we both did tell McGonagall together.”

Heather accompanied Hermione down to the library, though she was mad at her too. There was a reason she didn’t want to be there when Harry got his broom taken. She didn’t want to be in a fight with him. She wanted to not talk to Hermione either, for dragging her into it, but she was her best friend and she couldn’t leave her all alone.

The fight continued for the rest of the break. Hermione and her went to the library every day and during every meal, Ron and Harry refused to even look at them. She understood their anger and wanted to tell them it was all Hermione’s idea, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t go along with it. She should have said no to her. At least then it wouldn’t be just Draco with a firebolt that she’d told him to buy.

Luckily she was spared the guilt, because Draco came back with a Nimbus two-thousand-and-one thinking he was going to beat Harry’s Nimbus two-thousand.

“Potter!” Draco yelled at her from across the common room.

She poked her head out from behind her book and watched him stride over to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner!”

She scoffed and set her book aside, not bothering to stand. “I told you the very hour he opened it.”

Marcus was making his way to them as well, either curious about what Draco was screaming about or ready to split up his team members, should need arise.

He avoided the fact she didn’t know Harry’d be getting a broom and continued yelling at her. “My Father had already got me this broom,” – he waved his nimbus around – “and so when I asked him for a firebolt he refused!”

It was good to know even Mr. Malfoy knew just how far he’d go to spoil Draco and how far he wouldn’t.

Marcus frowned. “A firebolt? Who has a firebolt?”

Heather stood. “Ha – ”

“Harry Potter of course!” Draco threw down his nimbus and let go of his trunk, letting it thunk loudly.

Marcus glared at her. “Why didn’t you tell him sooner?”

“Because it was sent anonymously and we didn’t know what it was until he opened it! I owled Draco as soon as I could – which Harry doesn’t know I did – and besides! He got it taken away… And I’m not sure when he’ll get it back or if he will at all.” She crossed her arms and glared back at Marcus.

Marcus shifted his gaze to the numbus two-thousand-and-one on the ground. “Don’t throw your broom. Right now that’s the fastest broom in the school – if Potter doesn’t get his broom back. We’ll just have to hope he never does… We play Ravenclaw in a week. Practices are twice daily now. Get in you uniforms, we practice now.”

Marcus stormed away, leaving Draco and Heather looking after him in disbelief. Practice twice daily? First practice is now? They headed their separate ways and met back up, uniforms on, ready to head down to the Quidditch field.

On their walk down with the team, she spotted Harry and Ron walking towards the stairs and waved at them. Having not talked to them for a week and she hoped the start of term meant they’d set the fight aside, but they ignored her waving hand and headed up. She pulled her hand back and crossed her arms.

“Looks like someone’s getting the cold shoulder,” Draco chuckled. “Who cares. Maybe now you’ll be spending time with your own people.”

Heather raised her brow. “My own people?”

“Us. Potter. Your house, or do you not consider Slytherins to be – ”

“Of course I do.” She didn’t really consider different houses to be different people, but she knew that wasn’t the correct answer. “I just thought you meant halfbloods or something.”

He nodded. “Well those too, I guess. But only from our house.”

Practice was hard that day. Although she’d kept up her exercise routine up, trying her very hardest to grow what little muscle she had, it hadn’t been enough and her whole body was sore, needing to be re-accustomed to the Quidditch drills she normally did.

By the end of the week she was just as sore as the first day, but Marcus had given them the day off the day before the Ravenclaw match and now, morning of, she was feeling a bit better. She sat next to Draco and her team, holding her shoulder and moving her arm around trying to crack it. It was breakfast and the Gryffindors were all sitting quietly in their tables, probably secretly wishing the Slytherins would lose this match. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were all very clearly rooting against Slytherins – despite Slytherins rooting for Hufflepuffs when they played Gryffindor.

She nodded at everything Marcus said over breakfast but found her gaze kept wandering to the Gryffindor table, where Harry and Ron were sitting facing her but avoiding looking in her direction, keeping their heads down low. Hermione was on the other side, alone but at least she smiled and held up thumbs of encouragement for her.

“Let’s head out.” Marcus led them outside.

It was a clear day, cold, but not raining or dark with storm clouds. In the locker room Marcus went over the plays against Ravenclaw and told them they’d win as long as they stuck to the plan.

“They’re tricky, those Ravenclaws. They’ll have numerous counter attacks ready, but we’ll be relentless and unyielding. Win at any cost, and don’t get us disqualified.” He watched everyone nod. “Malfoy. Catch that Snitch.”

Draco smirked, “I will. I’ve been practicing with an actual Snidget at home.”

Heather refrained from informing him Snitches are faster than those little golden birds and nodded at him instead. They headed out on the low cut grass and heard the stadium roar at the Ravenclaws who came out at the same time. Both teams glared at each other as they mounted their brooms and touched off the ground.

Madam Hooch walked down with the chest of balls and took out the Quaffle, flying up to their level, ready to throw it up at her whistle. The second the ball left her hand, all six Chasers charged forward, arms extended.

Heather ducked under a Ravenclaw’s arm and managed to gain distance towards the hoop, hoping Marcus or Graham had grabbed hold of it. They had.

“MONTAGUE’S IN POSSESSION!”

Graham threw it forward while Marcus cut off the Ravenclaws, making them pull back on their broom handles to avoid collision.

Heather’s cheeks flushed as she caught it, heart pounding to be the first with the chance to score for her team. She pushed it under her arm and flew forward as fast as she could manage, knowing Graham and the Ravenclaws were close behind. This wasn’t a decided play they had practiced or memorized, but she knew Marcus was too far behind to throw to, and Graham was likely at the Ravenclaw Chasers’ levels and too risky to throw to. It was all on her.

A Bludger came her way and she flipped on her broom, swinging back around just narrowly missing it, keeping on her path. She narrowed her eyes against the wind and analyzed the Ravenclaw Keeper, seeing him ready to dart to any direction she indicated. Last time they played she was able to fake the direction she threw it, and guessed it wouldn’t work a second time.

The cold wind blew her ponytail back and as she lifted her arm to throw the Quaffle, she turned her head to the hoop her broom wasn’t aimed towards but threw true, tricking the Keeper for a split second long enough for the Quaffle to bounce off his fingertips as he dove forward, letting the Quaffle through the hoop with pathetic force.

“POTTER’S MADE THE FIRST POINTS OF THE MATCH FOR SLYTHERIN!”

Ravenclaws evened it out within the next minute, matching their score. The game went on for an hour, and every time Slytherin scored, so did Ravenclaw. Their plays were clean and precise, well-rehearsed and thought through. Graham, Marcus, and her, however, didn’t let their Chasers get away with anything tricky. If Ravenclaw scored, it was due to speed and luck on their part that Graham and Marcus didn’t bump them off course.

The sun had almost reached its peak in the sky when Marcus turned to Draco, who was currently chasing the Snitch. Both teams had two-hundred points and beyond exhausted, realizing it was all up to the Seekers if the game was ever going to end.

Heather flew under Marcus and below two Ravenclaw Chasers. Marcus dropped the Quaffle and followed his motion up, pretending the ball was still in his hand and he was throwing it to Graham. Heather caught it and leaned forward, picking up speed. She pulled up as Marcus stopped in his tracks, trying to trip up the Chasers again, hoping to collide with them, but they split off like a river and came back together, chasing her down. She got close to the middle hoop, knowing she’d smack right into the Keeper and threw the Quaffle up to Graham who had kept following from above. The third Chaser came up from the side, fist extended ready to punch the Quaffle out of Graham’s hands and into the other two Chasers’, but Graham dropped it before he could, allowing Heather to catch it once more.

The crowd was growing louder, and she knew Draco must be close to capturing the Snitch. She was second from smacking into the Keeper, knowing he wasn’t moving because he was hoping she’d do just that. It was a penalty to go through the same hoops as the Quaffle and double penalty to take the opposing team’s keeper with you. She turned her broom and readied her body to smack into him shoulder first, and pushed the Quaffle with the inside of her elbow, bumping it into the right-most hoop as she crashed into the Keeper, falling through the middle one. The only distance between her and the Quaffle, had been the metal of the two hoops touching, and as she crashed into the Keeper, her broom’s handle struck the metal and bucked her off.

“POTTER SCORES AND – MALFOY’S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! SLYTHERINS WIN BY ONE-HUNDRED-SIXTY POINTS!”

She fell onto the sand with a rough splash, sending some into the air and in her open mouth as she gasped for breath. She sat up, coughing. Hermione was there in an instant, helping her up.

“I can’t believe – You could have gotten hurt – And hurt the Keeper as well! Not to mention gotten a penalty!” Hermione pulled Heather up, shaking her head. She backed away as Marcus touched down beside her.

He was smiling and slapped Heather’s back hard. “So you have some Slytherin in you after all. Good job. We’ll work on your tackling for when we play Gryffindors… If we do,” he looked at Hermione and growled at her, laughing at her jump, and walked towards Draco who was waving the Snitch around in the air.

“Will you really be tackling people now?” Hermione had a disapproving stare, but softened when she noticed Heather’s eyes.

Heather was looking at the exiting crowd, Harry and Ron among them. “I’ve just fallen fifteen feet and made a crater in the sand with my body on impact… and they don’t even care to see if I’m alright.”

Hermione crossed her arms and stared across the field at them as they exited. They only looked back at them once. Hermione walked with her to the broom shed and together walked into Hogwarts and split off for a late lunch.

Heather sat next to her team, who all still had their uniforms on, and smiled as Slytherins congratulated her, impressed with her final move. For once she felt like the center of attention that had nothing to do with being Harry’s sister, and she loved it. Pansy sat next to and helped wipe sand from her sweaty forehead with a napkin. Heather tried very hard not to laugh at her.

She looked up to the High Table by accident and spotted Professor Lupin holding a goblet up, silently toasting her victory. There weren’t many teachers at the table – there were always less during breakfast and lunch than during dinner – and so it was easy to also spot Professor Snape on the far side, looking to Professor Lupin and to her, narrowing his eyes.

She turned back and just barely missed Harry’s eyes; he had turned down to his food quickly. She felt angry inside. It wasn’t fair that Harry was mad at her. He should be grateful she even cared to look out for him with his mysterious and possibly deadly broom. She decided she wouldn’t tell him about Professor Lupin being a werewolf and got up to go shower. He could figure it out for himself.

~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~ * ~~~

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beerecordings · 4 years

Text

Three in the Morning

Part 24 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 I Previous I Next)

tws: needles, discussion of past suicide attempt, suicidal ideation, choking, blood, death threats, panic attack including self-harm

All of that aside I’ve been waiting to give you cute kid content for so long hahaha. As a reminder, I’m not tagging for this anymore unless you really really need me to cause, uh. I don’t want to :) hey thanks for reading

Reversing time to bring him back from the secret he discovered, Jameson finds himself in the forest with Chase coming after him to bring him home. There’s help to be had back at the house, and even a warm toddler or two to hug, but running away has set off a chain reaction of fear among his brothers, and not all is well. Maybe it won’t be for a long time.

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

“What were you thinking? What were you thinking? What were you thinking?”

He chants it against Jameson's ears. Waves of sound coming down on him. Crashing, smashing against the stones.

“What were you thinking? Did you think at all? You scared me to death, you scared all of us to death, Jameson, Jameson!”

He needs to stop yelling. He knows he needs to stop yelling. He knows he probably shouldn't be squeezing him so tight or refusing to let go of him or pinning him to his chest in the middle of the forest at three in the morning. Blood is trickling down Jameson's thorn-torn fingers and finding a place to stain the skin of Chase's arms. Sticks and roots prick meanly at their legs and thighs and shove against their bones. Chase does not care.

“Shit, shit,” he gasps, clutching him even tighter, and Jameson gives a weary little groan of a sigh against his chest, his fingers fluttering on Chase's arms. “It's okay, Jamie, it's okay, I got you.”

He thinks he might be comforting himself more than his little brother. Shit, Chase, keep it together. He sucks in air like it's Albuterol and he's asthmatic, forcing his chest to take it in. He has to stop freaking out. Why is he crying?

“I tried to kill myself last year,” he sobs, and he doesn't know what he's saying until he's said it, and Jameson goes still against him. “I don't know why. I didn't know what else to do. I just wanted a way out, that's all. It's not that I wanted to die. I just wanted everything to stop. It was too much change and I was afraid.”

Jameson's hands move from his arms to his back. Chase presses close, close against him. And there's a million more things that go along with the beginning of that speech – a million things he could say, a million ways to try and express this, the great crested wave of his understanding, I understand, I understand! – but he doesn't know how else to say them.

Jameson doesn't seem to need anything else. Eventually they are slumped back against the trunk of a great strong tree, their heads together, exhausted.

And Chase understands, and Jameson understands, and they're together.

“Just don't do that again,” whispers Chase, hidden against his shoulder. “Or tell me, at least, so that I can help you go and know that you're safe and going somewhere, instead of just trying to escape any way you can. I already lost Marvin. I can't lose you too.”

Two weeks ago, he had not known Jameson was real. But he had once woken up in a hospital bed surrounded by a family he didn't know he had, and before he could open his tired mouth to speak their names, already they loved him, so he supposes that sometimes, that's just the way things go.

And maybe this is something that Jameson doesn't understand yet, but he will. Chase promises. He will.

“Just tell me next time... I'll take you anywhere you want to go.”

“No,” whisper Jameson's hands in the cool light of the moon. “No.”

“You won't tell me?”

“I don't want to go anywhere.”

He looks up at Chase, his face wan with the shock of it all, dazed, even, exhausted. Chase feels the warm heat of his head and the pressure of his fingers, sighing blood into the back of his sleep-shirt, and nothing else matters.

“I made somebody a promise,” he says. “I want to try this again. If you still want me.”

“Oh,” says Chase, lamely, a shaky laugh falling out of his mouth. “I do, man. I really do.”

Jameson buries himself against his chest again.

And then, even smaller, he asks: “Can we go home now?”

Chase gives a little croak and hugs his shoulders. “That, little man, sounds really fucking good.”

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

The house that Marvin made them appears between the trees in the soft blue glow of the porchlight. Athanasius and the Queen lie side-by-side on the wooden slats of the deck, their tails swaying against each other, twitching on impact. From feet away, Chase can hear them purring.

At least someone's having a good night.

Jamie stumbles against his chest a little, rubbing at his eyes. “Just a few steps more,” Chase promises, his arm thrown protectively over his shoulder. Jameson doesn't answer, his face numb and his fingers wrapped limply around Chase's waist. Chase holds him tighter.

“Bedtime, huh?” chuckles Chase, pulling him onto the porch.

“I'm fine,” sign Jameson's tired fingers, and Chase laughs warmly at his determination, opening the door.

Jameson stiffens and his spine snaps straight, with just a little tense warning in the forward duck of his head and the black flash of his eyes. The change is so sudden Chase jolts, stepping back, and Jameson lets his arm slide away, his gaze piercing into the shadows of the house.

“What?” asks Chase, staring at him. “What's wrong?”

Jameson is frozen, teeth gritted in his mouth. Chase has never seen anyone's eyes glitter like that. The moon and the nightlight at the top of the stairs are mixing with the ferocity in his vivid eyes.

A soft cry echoes through the house, low and broken. Chase stiffens, grabbing Jameson's arm, and Jameson holds him carefully behind him, protecting his body with his own. Chase doesn't have time to be touched, though.

“What's going on?” he asks, a little squeakier than the first time.

Jameson holds up a hand.

“Breathing,” he signs.

“What?”

“Breathing. House.” He points into the living room. Everything has gone silent again. The silhouettes of the kitchen and living room stare back at them.

“Breathing?” Chase pauses, staring in. “You mean there's someone in there? You hear them breathing? Not Jackie or Schneep, I'm guessing.”

Jameson hisses air through his teeth.

“Intruder.”

Chase stares at him, caught off-guard by his intensity. “What happened to intruders with you and Anti?” he asks suddenly.

Jameson blinks and turns to look at him. His hand reaches uncertainly for the place on his side where he used to keep his knife when Anti would let him keep it. Chase nods slowly and steps in front of him. Jameson gives a little whistle of protest and reaches out to grab him and push him behind him again, but Chase keeps moving into the house, looking around, trying to calm the beating of his heart.

Jameson needs to feel safe in this place. Fear is learned. He will show him that there is nothing to be afraid of. Maybe he's imagining the breathing, or it's Jackie or Schneep after all, of even the cats, for fuck's sake. No, he won't let Jameson believe there's danger here. There are only so many things Chase is certain of in this world, but here is one of them – this universe is safe. His brother gave it to them to protect him. He steps through the kitchen and onto the soft pad of the living room and he hears Jameson give a shrill warning behind him, but Chase doesn't come back to him.

Sighing, Jameson summons his courage and creeps over to the couch, hoping to put Chase behind him again, ready to fist-fight an intruder up to three times his size if needed.

But that isn't what's waiting for him.

“Who the hell is this?” he turns to sign, almost accusingly, frowning back at Chase.

And Chase is laughing, his hands over his face, and then pulling Jamie slightly away from the couch, trying to shush him.

“Chase! Who, who!”

Her little legs are kicked into the pillows of the couch, wearing socks with clownfish on them. Her arms wrap around an extra throw pillow and her face is buried in it, so all he can see are her perfect little pigtail puffs sticking out of the back of her head.

He's laughing so much all he can do is cling to Jamie and try to keep the sound down, his chest welling up with the happiness of it. How long has it been since he saw her? Weeks, months? Eventually his eyes pick up on other new details to the room – a purse by the door, a woman's coat beside the couch, a discarded toddler-proof cup of Cheerios.

“My wife – my ex-wife is here. Jackie must have called her. Oh, shit! I'm such a mess right now, what's she going to think? Aw, shit, is she – oh! Jameson, this is my daughter, Izzy.”

“What?”

“Yeah! Don't look at me like that, I know I told you about her!”

“From the way you talked about them, I thought they lived back in America or something.”

Chase's face falls. “Sometime it feels that way,” he admits, the excitement dying down. He casts another look at his perfect little daughter splayed over the couch like she's got Slinky's for bones. He wants to wake her suddenly, but he won't, he won't, it wouldn't be fair to her. And he's trying to be a better father. Less selfish. He's let her down enough times already. “I need to sort this out.”

Jameson sinks down slightly beside him, and Chase is sorry to see that he still looks rattled by the stranger in his house, even if it is a little girl. The last time someone came into his house, Anti impaled them on the staircase. A pair of cops. After that, they left the great cold house. Jameson shivers. So close and so faraway. Like another life, but he's only just begun a new one.

“Hey,” soothes Chase, reaching out for him as he begins to sink with exhaustion of every kind, feeling heavy.

“Can I go lie down with Henrik?” he asks. “Please?”

“How about my room, okay?”

“I want... I want Doc.”

“I know, bud, but he was pretty upset when you left. I need to check that he's okay and then you can go sleep with him, alright? For now, let's go to my room, come on. Shh, let's not wake her.”

He leads Jameson gently up the stairs. There seems to be no sound at all up here, not even the movement of the air, and Jameson gives a nervous little click when he sees that Henrik's door is open and his room empty.

“He must be with Jackie,” whispers Chase, leading him into his room. “Lie down, okay? I'll handle this.”

Jameson has no more protest in him. He slips under the covers and Chase sees him curl in on himself and close his exhausted eyes. He'll come back to bandage his torn-up fingers soon, but for now, he's nervous. He needs to see Henrik and Jackie. Fuck, what a fucking night. What is he even supposed to be feeling right now? Angry that Jackie called Stace without telling him? Relieved that he did? Worried about him, scared for him? Does Jackie need him, is Jackie okay, is he freaking out? He hurries down the stairs and slips into Jackie's room.

“Okay, good news,” he calls, shutting the door behind. “I got Jameson back and everything... is going to be... Hunt?”

It's not Jackie waiting for him.

But on his bed, sitting up patiently, is another little kid.

Jackie's asleep beside him, his chest rising and falling steadily, his face nearly grey with exhaustion and beaded with sweat, one hand set on Hunter's fat toddler tummy. Chase can barely take his eyes off Hunter to look at him, stepping forward like he's afraid the floor has nails sticking out of it, emotion rising in his throat.

“Hi, Daddy,” says the boy, straightening up seriously on Jackie's pillows, a little smile gracing his round face. “You found me!”

“Hey, Hunt,” croaks Chase, warmth filling up his chest and a smile to match blooming on his mouth. “What are you doing in here with Uncle Jackie, huh, bud?”

“Oh, you know. Just waitin' for you.”

Hunter scoots forward conspiratorially, whispering. “Mommy didn't think you'd be back soon, but I knew you'd come find me.”

Chase laughs and reaches out, unsure of where they stand, but Hunter reaches back enthusiastically, and, with a kiss on his cheek, Chase has scooped him up and swept him into his arms, positioning him so he can lay his head back down on Dad's shoulder. Right where he belongs.

“Oh, buddy,” murmurs Chase, taking a deep breath of his strawberry shampoo. “My best buddy.”

Hunter stares up at his dad with intensity in deep onyx eyes, chubby kid fingers stroking at Chase's beard. Almost shaking from the weight of his love, Chase can only smile back at him and lean forward to kiss his face. Hunter responds by taking his chin between his two little hands and kissing Chase on the mouth.

“I missed you, Daddy,” he says, putting his head down on Chase's shoulder.

“I missed you, too, sweetie,” whispers Chase, putting his head against his baby's. “I missed you so much. Mommy just left you down here?”

“She went to check on Uncle Henrik. Cause she says he's not doing so hot.”

Chase frowns. “Did she? Are you sure they're upstairs?”

“Yeah, Papa. And she said, she said Uncle Jackie was going to look after me, so I didn't have to be scared of Uncle Sheep.”

“What, why were you scared?” Chase bounces him a little on his hip, backing off towards the hallway, leaving Jackie snoring thickly, his face full of mucus. He really caught the full brunt of that sickness he stole from Chase, but there's a little measuring cup with a blue Nyquil stain at the bottom, and he's grateful for Stacy amidst everything he feels about her. “You love Uncle Sheep. Was he fighting with Jackie?”

“I was scared cause – cause he was crying, Daddy, and he was yelling at Mommy.”

“He was yelling? At Mom? Schneep was?” Disturbed, Chase turns towards the door as if expecting a guilty Henrik to wander in through it. “Hunt, why was Sheep yelling?”

“He was having a really bad day, Dad.”

Chase laughs despite himself, clutching his chubby, warm little toddler closer to his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“I mean like... a really bad day, like we talked about. A bad bad day.”

Chase's heart stutters. He rocks gently back and forth and tries not to sound scared when he speaks.

“Oh – oh, like how sometimes people have really bad days, and then they can't think right?”

“Or bad weeks, Dad, you said they could have bad weeks or bad months, and then they think really bad things and they do things they don't want to do, not really. Like they forget to go to your soccer game even though they love you, or they will – they will even hurt themselves, Dad, cause their brain's like – ” Hunter throws his hands up and rolls his eyes. “Ahh! Like that, Dad. Their brain is bullying them.”

Chase bites down hard on his lip. “Y-you were listening,” he manages, swallowing guilt like a horse pill. “When I explained that.”

“Is Uncle Sheep going to hurt himself too, Daddy? Will we go see him in the hospital?”

“No, baby,” whispers Chase, immediate and almost frantic, pressing his lips into the side of Hunter's head, squishing him tight, tight, tight to his heart. “No, baby, of course not. We're not going to let him do anything. No, Hunt, nobody's going to hurt themselves. Not Schneep, not Dad, not anybody.”

“He shouted at Mommy. He said a lot of bad words. He was crying.”

“He was scared, buddy. He was having a really bad day. He was really scared. Cause we've talked about how bad things have happened to Uncle Sheep, right?”

“He said he'd die if you didn't come home. And he grabbed a lamp and went crash! And it cut his hands. And he said he'd break his neck like that too and it was easy to break things.”

“Okay, okay,” whispers Chase, by now certifiably panicked. He stares at Jackie, asleep on the bed, snuffling and turning over. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sweetie, you shouldn't have had to hear that. I don't know why Mommy brought you with her.”

Hunter's face is calm. He clings to the collar of Chase's t-shirt, breathing slow and sleepy.

Chase closes his eyes and tries to re-focus. He needs to check on Henrik, but that's okay. He'll be fine, he's sure. Everything's okay.

Isn't okay, isn't okay, isn't okay, chants the voice in his head. He's in pain, my brother, my best friend -

“Uncle Sheep's going to be okay,” whispers Chase, rubbing Hunter's back, trying not to communicate his trembling to him. “And so is Daddy and Mommy and Izzy and Uncle Jackie. Say that for me, Hunt.”

It's a game they've played many times before. “Daddy's going to be okay,” he repeats dutifully, looking up at Chase again. “And so are my uncles and Mommy and Izzy. Daddy's going to be okay.”

“Good boy. Good man. Now, listen – I need to go check on Schneep, okay?”

“Yeah, Dad. He was really scared.”

“Can I leave you here with Jackie again?”

“Okay, but then – can we watch Ponyo, Dad?”

“What? Ponyo?”

“Cause we always used to watch Ponyo.” Hunter is suddenly watery-eyed, rubbing at his face. “We always used to watch Ponyo, and Mom said we were coming to see you, and I want to watch it again with you.”

“Oh, sweetie. Soon, okay? I promise. I don't know how long Mom will stay.”

“But I can stay here with you.”

“No, Hunt. We've talked about this.”

“Your brain's still bullying you, Dad?”

Chase smiles sorrowfully, setting his child down at Jackie's side. “Yeah,” he whispers, blinking away tears. “Or at least, I haven't proven to Mom that it's stopped yet. But as soon as I'm better, we're going to be best buds again.”

“And watch Ponyo,” whispers Hunter.

“Yes. And watch Ponyo every day if we want to.”

Hunter lies back down, plucking at Jackie's sweatshirt. Jackie stirs, glances for a second up at the both of them, and falls back to a thick sleep.

“Well,” Hunter sighs. “That sounds pretty good I think.”

Serious, clever, sweet, beautiful, perfect little Hunter. “I love you, baby,” whispers Chase, and means it so much it hurts to say it, it hurts like fuck just to say it, rattling a tattoo against the inside of his chest – 'I love you, I love you, I love you.' It is the only thing he means more than the words 'I'm sorry.'

“One more kiss.”

Hunter reaches up to grab Dad's face again and Chase is pulled right to him, accepting a kiss on the forehead with closed eyes. “I love you too, too,” Hunter whispers back.

“Good night, best bud.”

“Good night, Daddy.”

Chase's hand shakes so hard he can barely close the door, but he leaves his son behind, as he has done so many times before, just hoping he'll get another chance to kiss him.

The faint cry echoes through the house again, but this time, it sounds angry.

Chase races up the stairs.

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

Still water in the bathroom sink and the smell of his bile.

Henrik gives a little groan. His fingers yank at the cord around his throat. Stacy shoves him into the counter again and pulls back harder, her fingers between his throat and the cord, silent.

A steady stream of German whispering babbles out of his throat. In the mirror before them, she can see his blue eyes rolling. Against her body, she can feel his shuddering breathing.

“Hold on, man,” she says.

She's seen him like this before. She knows. She knows to keep her voice steady. She knows to keep his body pinned. She knows not to leave him alone. Not for one second. Not for one second will she let go of the cord he's wrapped around his throat.

They've been here for forty-three minutes and eighteen seconds. Nineteen. Twenty. Her digital clock stares back at her from the mirror. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.

He gives a cry. Yank, he's tearing the cord towards his bruised throat. She shoves back against his pull. No. He pants and tries to slam his head back to collide with her nose, but she expects him now, she knows all his moves, and her head is tilted so he strikes her neck instead. She coughs but does not flinch. He throws his skull back against her once, twice. She tries to pin him down against her shoulder. The more immobile he is, the better.

He laughs.

Cold and tittering in the shadows of his bathroom.

“Hey,” she says, flicking the side of his head with a free finger while he's distracted. “Cut it out. You're not Anti, dumb-ass. Come back to me. This isn't you. Henrik, come back to me.”

His voice drips out of his mouth strained like mud and soaks into her ears, a hiss, a groan. His accent is gone. He sounds Irish.

“Stupid... whore girl... what does she know about it?”

She shoves him back against the counter, hard, and hears him give a wheezing gasp, the fury on his face snapping in half and leaving him staring at her in the mirror, terror on his face.

“St-stacy? Stacy?”

“Here I am, here I am, Doc, hey, are you with me?”

“In my head – in my head – make – make him stop, Stacy, Stacy, help – !”

“You're having a flashback, Henrik, no one's in your head. I promise, I promise. You're home, you're safe.”

Chase is in the doorway of the bathroom. She sees him out of the corner of her eye. He hasn't moved yet – just blinks at her, despair filling up his familiar face. She smells the familiar smell of him, the alcohol, the whiskey.

“You think you can get away from me!” screams Henrik suddenly, throwing himself back against her. She braces her whole body with a little shriek and takes the full brunt of his weight, her fingers struggling with the cord as he yank, yank, yanks –

“I'm going to fucking kill you!” Henrik shouts, thrashing against her, spittle flying from his mouth. “You all think you can hide from me? You think Jackie can protect you? I'll put a bullet in your skull and this time it will stick!”

“Henrik, Henrik!” she cries.

“Schneep, it's us!” Chase shoves forward to help her, grabbing Henrik in a head-lock and helping her press him back on to the counter, the both of them snatching the cord away from his throat even as his finger struggle desperately with it.

“No, I have to get him out!” Henrik screams. “He will hurt you! Make him stop! I can't take anymore, I can't do it again, no, no! Get out of my head! Kill me, don't make me go through this again, Chase, Chase, my brother!”

“Here I am, here I am!” Chase grabs his wrists and pins them down against the sink. Stacy's hands slam down over his own and she pins Henrik again, ignoring his thrashing, stern as stone, and her black eyes flash up to him. “Stace, why is he bleeding? Holy shit, why are you bleeding?”

“Go get the emergency bag,” she orders, and Chase only lets his heart shake with the fear of it for a second before he turns back into Henrik's room and goes scrambling under his bed for the med kit.

“Wh-what's it called?” he stammers out, shoving through medical supplies.

“I don't know, the little brown one!”

“Motherfuck,” hisses Chase, yanking out the all-too-familiar bottle. “And the – the little syringe, right?”

“No, give me all of it, all of it,” sobs Henrik. “He's here, he's here! Where is Jackie, why doesn't he come help me? I can't go back, I can't, I can't!”

He screams and thrusts his head suddenly down. Stacy shrieks as he collides with the cold metal faucet on the sink and she ensnares his hair in her fist, yanking him mercilessly back to his feet. Blood wells beneath his shirt from the torn stitches around his torture wounds and he begins to cry frantically, tearing at her arms, glass still embedded in his palms from the broken glass.

“I want Jameson!” he screams. “I want my puppet, he's mine, he belongs to me! You stole him away from me! I'm going to fucking kill you! I'm going to fucking kill you! I'm going to – ”

The thin blade of the needle embeds itself in his throat. For a second, Henrik's eyes dilate in the mirror and he croaks, low and confused. For a second, he is in control again, in his right mind again, and she seems him meet first Chase's gaze, and then her own, his mouth frowning, his eyes afraid.

“Chase – no?”

“Here I am, buddy, here I am.”

Henrik is going still in her arms. At last, at last, she can release him. Henrik staggers and collapses into Chase's chest, clutching at his shirt.

“No, no, no,” he pleads, a whisper, sinking to the floor as his legs give out. “Chase, Chase...”

He crumples. Chase crashes with him, cradling his body to his chest. Henrik's head lolls in his hands.

Still water in the sink. The acid smell of his bile.

“This isn't happening again,” says Chase.

She can hear him trying to convince himself. She shifts. Her arm stings where Henrik took a swing with his razor. It lies on the floor beside her, thrown into the corner, away from him. She kept him safe from himself. Forty-six minutes. Fifty-nine seconds.

“It isn't,” repeats Chase.

He is staring at Henrik. Hugging his thin frame. He reaches down and pulls glass from his palms.

“No, no. It was just one freak-out. He was just confused.”

“Chase,” she says, exhausted. “Chase.”

“He can't,” whispers Chase. “He can't go through this again.”

She buries her face in her hands.

“This whole house is falling apart.” She says it to her fingers, to her feet, to the floor. “When Jackie called me, I thought you'd run into the forest to kill yourself. Do you know that, Chase? I thought you were gone. You'd finally gone through with it. Then he tells me that apparently, your little brother is somehow alive – but Marvin is dead. Marvin.”

Marvin who loved her, Marvin who listened to her, Marvin who listened when no one else would.

“You should have told me,” she hisses, low and angry, her face getting wet. “He was my friend.”

“It's not withdrawal,” chokes Chase.

Still fixated on Henrik. Holding him like he could protect him from anything. They both know he can't.

“It's not possession withdrawal.”

But it is. It is. Possession withdrawal. Anti withdrawal. The confusion. The distress. Henrik's curse.

Took him two months to come fully back from it last time.

“It is,” she says. “Accept it now.”

She reaches out to touch Henrik's cheek, smudging away a drop of his blood. Chase looks up at her. Eyes blue and shining. He's still unfairly beautiful. An unfairly beautiful motherfucker with too much weight on his shoulders. And she knows - she knows, she understands - right now, she has to give him more, because no one else can be the person she needs Chase to be. The person Henrik needs Chase to be. Not when Jackie’s sick. Not when Marvin’s gone.

“You're going to have to keep him alive, Chase.”

She looks up and sees a shadow at the back of Henrik's room, outside of the bathroom, hiding in the darkness, silent and wary.

“You two have to keep him safe now,” she says, and Jameson's eyes, silver and blue, stare right back at her. “Or he’ll forget that he was ever anyone but Anti.”

#my brother's keeper #tw needles #tw suicidal ideation #tw panic attack #three in the morning #bee writes

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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hi can i get a joker matchup please? i’m 5’4,have brown eyes,purple hair,and i’m hispanic. i’m slim thicc😂i love to read and write,i mostly write poetry and i sometimes try at actual stories. i’m the type of girl to wake my s/o up at 3am for a random road trip or even to just go to a park. i’m very clingy and love cuddles. i have ptsd (from r***), mdd, and bpd (which makes it really hard for me to trust people and keep stable relationships). i also have self harm scars. idk what else to say lol

this is the purple haired nonny that j sent a matchup request,i just have a few things to add lol.i’m hella goth,i dress in all black and i’m overall just a dark person.i have my lip,septum,and nostril pierced(i plan on getting way more).i have glasses and i’m practically legally blind w/o them on.i have a really bad rbf,which intimidates ppl(my piercings and style aren’t any help with that lmao)&it kinda makes me sad that it does because i’m actually really friendly and sweet. okay im done lol

You asked me about this a few times and I just wanted to say thank you for being so patient with me - I’ve had your matchup since March 😭 as an extra thank you, and as an apology, I made this as long as I possibly could! I hope that it ends up being worth the wait, darling.💕 I worked on this for about a week, so I hope you enjoy it!

Total wc: 3, 387 ✨✨✨

Arthur // wc: 1, 647.

There’s a four inch height difference between yourself and Arthur and he adores it. It’s not that the fact that you’re shorter than him means that you need to be protected, but even so, he can’t stop himself fully from wanting to protect you even more. Your brown eyes are arguably Arthur’s favourite thing about you, if he had to pick just one (really, he loves all of you for exactly who you are and he wouldn’t change a single thing about you!), because they’re so different to his. When he’s in the middle of a laughing attack or when he just can’t think straight, Arthur likes to cup your face in his hands while he looks into your eyes. “Perfect,” he murmurs, so quietly that you’re not even entirely sure that you were supposed to hear him. You were stood so close to him, though, that you did hear him and it only made your face heat up in embarrassment. Your purple hair is something that Arthur cherishes. In a city of grey buildings, grey concrete, grey suits and dull colours, all too telling of a dying city, your hair is vibrant and it stands out, it makes a statement and Arthur wishes that he had that same level of confidence and bravery. He tells himself that if he spends enough time in your company, then maybe some of that confidence will become his, too. Anything which is important to you is, by default, important to Arthur, and he would soak up anything about your culture that you want to share with him like he’s a sponge. Injustice infuriates Arthur and if anyone ever said anything even slightly offensive to you or about you, then Arthur would be rightfully indignant and he can, will, and has taken a few punches to defend your honour. Arthur loves all of you and he wouldn’t have you any other way, and if ever you became insecure about any part of you, physical or otherwise, then Arthur would be right there with cuddles and all the words you need to hear the most! You’re creative and quiet evenings are spent with the two of you spending time together separately. You would be sat on the worn sofa, with a spring digging into you from somewhere, writing a story or creating poetry, and Arthur would be sat at the small coffee table. The room would be filled with a quietly playing film on the old television, and the sounds of your scribbling and Arthur’s own squeakier pen. Arthur wouldn’t ever ask you, he’s too shy and too afraid of rejection, but he’d love to read the things which you’ve written and he’d put on personal shows for you, too, so that he can practice his comedy, and he might even ask you to help him with his material!

For one reason or another, Arthur has insomnia and most often is he awake at all hours of the night, only able to grab a scant handful of hours of sleep before he’s woken up by his own body. He also likes to go on late night walks, especially after Penny dies, and your spontaneous tendencies to go to the park at 3 AM would be perfect here; because when you wake up, wanting to go on an adventure, Arthur already has his worn and faded mustard yellow jacket on, shoes by the door and a knowing but weary and exhausted smile on his face. “Let’s go, darling,” Arthur would light up a cigarette, exhaling and running a hand through his hair, “Before it starts to get light.”. Arthur adores these night time adventures and he is always, in one way or another, touching you. Whether it’s cuddling on the sofa when he’s watching The Murray Franklin Show (you’re too busy watching him to be fussed about someone who’s entire comedic theme is humiliating other people for the sake of a laugh from a bought and paid for audience), or holding Arthur close to you when he’s shivering after you found him in the fridge at three in the morning, or an arm wrapped around your waist when you’re on the way home from Pogo’s, or even just a grounding touch, you are always touching one another in one way or another. Both of you have your struggles and challenges and it’s not an easy relationship to begin with, but there is so much love between you and that’s what really keeps the two of you together. Arthur is no stranger when it comes to mental illness and if he ever had any questions, he would either ask you directly or he would bring it up during his next appointment with Doctor Kane. As far as finding it difficult to trust people Arthur always understands and he would do everything that he could, as well as you doing everything that you could, to coax and to ease each other into the connection which is so obviously there. The first time you showed him your self harm scars, he cooed softly in shared pain and in understanding and in love and he lavished kisses all over the scars, a single shaky index finger gently rubbing in his kisses, as if the love he has for you would seep into the pores of your skin and heal you from the inside out… he’s not far wrong. Again, and this is very important, Arthur loves you for all of you, and there’s nothing you could ever say or do which would make Arthur love you any less or be any less proud of you.

Arthur really admires your style. Everyone in Gotham follows the crowd. They don’t ever deviate for fear of ridicule or similar and as such, your own bravery in being who you are and putting your outside on the inside is something which Arthur deeply admires and again does he feel that if he spends lots of time with you, some of your confidence and security in who you are as a person will rub off on him. In time will he discover just how right he is in that theory, though it will be in the worst of ways. You’re a dark person and Arthur gravitates towards that; it’s cathartic, for one, but also, for Arthur, there’s safety in your darkness because it’s yours. He adores how the dark colours you wear contrast so starkly with the bright and mismatched colours which he wears. You complete each other, he thinks, and he wants to know whether your piercings hurt. Why did you get them? Why those places? Did it hurt? How did it happen, what was the process of being pierced? Whether he rattles off those questions in an excited blur or finds out the answers over time all depends on how receptive you are to his curiosity, but he’d definitely be very curious and supportive. Arthur would really admire how comfortable you are in your own skin and he hopes for that for himself, one day. It’ll be sooner than either of you think and neither of you will be ready. You have glasses and Arthur only ever touches them if they’re left somewhere which is dodgy - for example, on the edge of the sink. He lets you put them down and take them off and he’s ready and willing always to give you a hand if you drop them, but otherwise he doesn’t interfere. He wouldn’t like it if you moved his things around, after all, though of course he wouldn’t say anything. Arthur is incredibly protective of you and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you. You’re his entire world and he’s so ready and willing to love you with everything that he has and everything that he is. The fact that you feel the same way about him only makes him want to cry. Sometimes he does, and you hold him close and you comfort him and he only cries more. Mutual comfort is something which is really common in your relationship and you both adore it and each other all the more for it.

Arthur was definitely intimidated by you when he first saw you, but it wasn’t because of your resting face, your style or your piercings. It was just because that’s how Arthur is, so shy and so unsure of social interactions is he. He kept looking at you, intensely curious about you and wanting to talk to you, but in the end were you the one to approach him; you’re friendly and sweet and after that first awkward interaction, Arthur was very taken with you and he wanted to dive straight in to the oceans of your mind and to never resurface. Months later, that is still very much what he wishes to do with you, just as much as you want to dive into him! Arthur really does admire the way that you’re not afraid to be yourself, and he would tell you as such on your first meeting. “I… I re-really like your - your clothes. They look good on you.”. As the days turn to weeks and the weeks bleed into months, Arthur is no longer intimidated by you. He knows you, he sees you, he loves you. He loves all of you just as deeply as you love all of him and when you get sad by the way people assume about you, Arthur hums softly. “I know what that’s like. It hurts but… so long as the people who love you, like me,” He would smile sweetly, “Know who you are, then, that’s okay. You’re the best person in Gotham and you make everything worth it.”. Arthur loves you for all of you, and there’s nothing which you could ever say or do which would make him love you any less or be any less proud of you.

Joker // wc: 1, 740.

If you thought that Arthur used to be protective of you, then you’re in for a wild ride when he saunters home one night and, “it’s Joker now, darling!”. You don’t know what this is all about and you’re not sure how to take it, but there’s something familiar in those green oceans which you know and love so well. You stop and you look at Arthur and you realise that he’s the same man he’s always been. There’s just something about him which has always been so magnetic, so hypnotic and so specifically Arthur that you know you would recognise him anywhere. You’re not entirely supportive of who he is as Joker, because you want for him to still get the help and support which he so obviously needs, but you also know that you love him and that you will weather every storm with him, every storm for him, just as he always will for you. Your brown eyes bring Joker home to you every single day, just as they always have, and you come to sync up your hair dying routines: when you dye your hair purple, Joker dyes his green. You help each other out with this, bonding over your vivid colours, and as the green and the purple flecks merge and blend together in the ceramic sink, tinged yellow with age, Joker realises that he’s finally home; body, mind, heart and soul. You are his home. Joker is extremely protective of you, and where he used to take punches to defend you, now he gives them out, too, not giving people a chance to retract anything they say or do to you. You get what you fucking deserve, as he once so famously said, and it’s not unusual for you to have to tend to his injuries, just like you had to tend to his bruises when he used to take beatings, the poor man. You’re creative and so much of how you used to spend your days together remains to be the same; Joker wants to show you that he’s still the same man he’s always been, even after his mental break, but he just no longer cares about what the world may think of him. You still spend quiet evenings together, with you writing and Joker either reading his old battered brown journal or watching the news quietly. He does everything he can to show you that he’s still himself and you only love him deeper for who he is. In truth does Joker love you just as deeply. You’re his entire world and he makes sure that you know that.

Your spontaneous nature works perfectly with Joker; by now is he used to being up all hours of the night, to doing things just because he can, so when you wake up at 3 AM wanting to go for a walk somewhere, Joker’s probably coming in through the front door after a night of doing who knows what (you’ll find out in the morning, you’re sure, when you finally watch the news), and he’s ready to go out again when you are! You’re very clingy and you love to cuddle and Joker adores all the ways you love on him, just like you used to. Really, nothing much has changed in your relationship, apart from the fact that Arthur no longer cares. He’s so cuddly with you and even when he’s busy, he always has time for you. If he doesn’t, then he makes time for you; you’re always his number one priority. You always have been and you always will be. You’re his one and only and no matter what kind of mood he’s in, he welcomes your touches and he always wants more of them and of you. Sometimes Joker’s too pent up to be touched but he learns over the days and weeks to let you in, to let you help him, and really, he loves you too much to ever fully push you away. Even when everything in him is screaming at him to get up, to run, to get out, because his various mental illnesses are now untreated and who knows how that will show itself within him, Joker will remain still. He may be stiff in your hold but after a few moments, he’ll relax into you just like he always will. You have PTSD, as does Arthur, and he understands. By this stage in your relationship, Arthur knows exactly how to help you, how to support you and how to be there for you, and there’s still nothing that he wouldn’t do for you. It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, nothing ever is, and if it’s ever too good to be true, that’s because it is and you should run, dearheart, but time and again do the two of you fall back together because there is so much love between you. No matter how rough it gets, no matter how difficult things are for either of you, there is always love and that’s what matters most of all! You are almost always touching in one way or another, that is another thing which has never changed, and when you’re cuddling, Joker likes to press kisses to your self-harm scars; just like he always used to. To replace your marks of pain and suffering with marks of love and understanding is something which he still loves to do, and again and again do you look at Joker and you see him, just as you always have. You love each other so deeply and it is the saving grace when times are so rough that you wonder what the point of everything is. The point is each other and you remind each other of that fact every single day, so in love are the two of you that you don’t even have to try; you just are. The best things in life defy explanation.

Joker adores your style. You are so you and when he is out and about in the city he likes to look for things which he thinks you would like; he usually grabs them quickly and tucks them under his blazer. He can run fast and he is never worried about getting caught. One day that will catch up to him, but for now will he present you with gifts with a flourish fitting the clown he is and a proud smirk. He knows you so well. Even to this day, months later from the day he first met you, he really admires you and your courage to dress the way you most like to. And now, with Arthur out of his old high school clothes and into a brightly coloured, highly recognised suit, the two of you dress like stark opposites to each other if Joker goes out in public. When he goes out bare faced and in his older clothes, though, the two of you are still contrasted, especially because Arthur wears his bright yellow hoodie. This contrast only makes Joker stay close to you; you are different in some ways but for every difference is there a similarity and he clings to those as surely as he clings to your hand. Your hair means that you stand out in a crowd, but Joker loves that - he knows that you’re real and actually with him when people double take when you walk past them. Most of the souls in Gotham are apathetic to the things which go on around them so people barely notice your hair colour, but Joker cherishes the small reminders that you do exist. It makes him hold your hand a little tighter, his fingers interlocked with yours even as he smirks over at you. On Hallowe’en, he likes to ask you to do his makeup and you match on those nights and Joker loves to dance around in the streets with you, your piercings glinting in the soft orange glow given off by the street lights, people staring but the two of you uncaring… You have glasses and Joker still doesn’t touch them unless you have left them somewhere which could be dangerous, like the edge of the sink, but he also likes to tap upon one of the arms of your glasses by way of asking you to remove them so that he can see you. This is especially true if you’re crying, so he can wipe your tears away directly from the source, a soft smirk on his lips. Oh, how he loves you. There is nothing that he won’t do for you and that’s always been true and it will always be true.

When you’re out and about in the streets with Arthur and someone turns their shoulder so that you don’t walk into them, they’re either being polite or they’re intimidated by you. Sometimes you can shrug it off, always assuming the best in people, but when Joker can see that you have been upset by it, so intuitive is he and so well does he know you, he only grips your hand tighter and he says something like, “it’s okay, I know who you are. That’s all that matters. People think they know me too, and,” He shrugs, smirking, but you can see the pain in his beautiful sea green eyes, “They don’t. But you do. And that’s enough for me.” the it has to be goes unspoken but you hear it anyway and you squeeze his hand by way of silent understanding. So much of what passes between the two of you is unspoken because you just know each other so well that you don’t even need to speak - you can see it in each other’s eyes. No matter what happens, no matter where you go or who you become, Joker loves you. You’re his everything; your love for him is the weapon against the world which he keeps locked and loaded, his finger on the trigger even though he knows that you’ll protect him so well that he doesn’t even need to bother to defend himself. He loves all of you for exactly who you are, just as you love all of him, and there’s nothing which the two of you wouldn’t do for each other. The best things defy explanation and, oh, not even Shakespeare himself could adequately describe the love which exists between the two of you. You’re written into the very fabric of the universe.

#nonnie #arthur fleck #arthur fleck matchup #joker #joker matchup #joker 2019 #joker 2019 matchup

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starline148 · 4 years

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[KDFD FF] New Chance

Title: New Chance Couple: Kidou Yuuto x Fudou Akio, from Inazuma Eleven Words: 4112 One-shot Summary: Fudou moved to Italy with his family and lost touch with his friends, his life became grey, but who know what the destiny has for him in the end? Warnings: It can be a bit sad at first. Fudou focused. Long distance is hard. Author’s note: I wrote it a lot of time ago, it was going to be a gift for @inazumafocus‘ birthday, but well, I submit it now because I’m ill at home and I have the little time I haven’t had to do it before. I dedicate it to all KDFD lovers. If anyone wants to comment, it’s apreciated, I love reading the comments as it gives sense to the work. If not it’s fine too. Also, I don’t know where else I could submit fanfics, can someone tell me which sites are good to submit them? Thanks.

New Chance

-Don’t leave me!

Those words echoed in the crushing silence of the night like a gunshot. A frightened boy sat up suddenly in his bed, his chest ached and he sweated despite a cold breeze coming through the open window making the curtains move. It was his own scream that had woken him up.

He put his hand to his face and discovered that there was a tear in his eyes, wiped it with fury and remained stiff.

His dark brown hair fell on his forehead and his eyes narrowed in a grimace of agony. It had been a while since he had dreamed of him.

His heart took a lot to stop hurting in that rapid throbbing, when he calmed down a little he lay down again, although he could not fall asleep until much later.

When the young man woke up he still felt a strong pain in his chest, the sun was entering the room with wooden floor lighting the dust suspended in the air with some magic. The white and worn over time curtains continued to move at the mercy of the sea breeze.

He got up slowly, trying not to remember the dream, from the window it could be heard the lullaby of the sea and the screams of the seagulls.

He dressed in a sports outfit: white cotton T-shirt, sweatpants and running shoes. He put on his headphone and left his room, he went down the stairs that creaked at every step and went to the kitchen where the smell of toast and orange juice came from.

"Good morning, Akio” an adult woman smiled, turning with a tray. “I was going to go upstairs with your breakfast.”

The young man shrugged, took the tray and sat down on a wooden table that had lived a long time, for breakfast.

The woman sighed and sat next to him, looking out the window at a blue sky that reflected in her eyes.

Eyes like the sea, hers were a calm sea and his, a stormy sea.

“Soon you’ll start college again, are you happy to go back to classes, Akio?

He looked up from his breakfast and again just shrugged.

“Surely you’ll make friends this year.”

The young brunette did not bother to answer that. If he had not made friends in the previous two years he doubted that year was going to be different, but he just didn't have them in class, on the football team it was different.

After breakfast he got up, washed what he had used, kissed his mother's forehead and left without saying anything.

She was left with a sigh and a haze of sadness, watching her son go down to the beach and run away, she knew that it would take him even longer to return from his morning training.

....

The suitcase as black as the thoughts that overwhelmed both of their minds was open in the middle of the room, half done.

“Do you want me to help you, Akio?”

He shook his head, his mother kept coming in to see if he needed help and that took away the little mood he had to finish packing. The woman had interrupted him again when he observed a peculiar object with which he was ashamed to be found.

“What do you know about him ... about them?”

The boy looked down, forcing himself to show no weakness and simply said nothing. The woman said nothing either, everytime she asked about her son's Japanese friends, she didn't find an answer, like so many things. Since they had left the country her son had barely spoken.

The woman could remember perfectly the times she had heard her son speak more than three words since they had arrived in that Mediterranean country six years ago, that the University where he was studying was in the capital when they lived on the outskirts of a city by the sea didn't help their communication either.

She looked at him sadly dotted with regrets and left the young man's room. That place could have healed her wounds, that place could have been a new opportunity for her, that place could have been the beginning of a life together with a new love full of pink; but there was a dark spot in the bottom of his son's heart she felt guilty about.

Once again she had proved not to be a good mother by not realizing that the bonds that linked her son with her Inazuma companions were as important as her relationship with her current husband.

Sometimes she tried to console herself thinking that Akio never said anything about not wanting to leave Japan; and when that thought reached her, she only felt worse, how could she blame a teenager who had difficulty expressing his emotions that she didn't know him enough because of her own bad decisions? How could she let the weight fall on him when she hadn't been able to get him out of the abyss he had fallen to before playing football and again she couldn't do anything for him? As she descended the stairs to prepare dinner for the family a tear of rage and frustration slipped down her cheek.

He put the object in his suitcase in his suitcase, after six years he still couldn't look at it without being tormented by a surge of intense emotions that shook him like a hurricane; but he could not separate from it yet knowing that that time would not return, even knowing that maintaining it did not allow him to close that chapter of his life, even knowing that he could only get harder.

But how could he do it? That object, that object reminded him that he could not fall back into darkness. That object reminded him that he had to get ahead and be a person that someday someone, perhaps himself, could be proud of.

He leaned back on the open window frame, watching the sun set by the sea, with a delicate thread of pearly thought that simply begged the sky that wherever he was, he would be fine.

........

The rattle of the train had a sedative effect on him, his elbow was leaning against the window, his head resting on his hand and his legs stretched out on the other seat where fortunately no one had appeared. He preferred it that way, he preferred to be alone while watching the landscape change leaving the coast behind, leaving his family behind, leaving the summer behind.

He arrived at the capital late at night and yawned when he left the station, stretching without worrying that he might seem uneducated. He started dragging the suitcase to the exit where he would take a taxi to reach the University Residence where he lived during the school year. The night air of late summer was cold, but instead of bothering him he managed to at least relax the grimace on his face, a frayed memory of years ago had passed through his mind like a cottony cloud through a spring sky.

The lights of the residence welcomed him from the beginning of the street, he got out of the vehicle tiredly from the long journey from his house and directed his eyes towards the end of the road. He felt at the same time how his heart was comforting and writhing. That bittersweet feeling of familiarity.

He entered the building and the first thing he saw was several young people talking animatedly, with their large suitcases next to them. Yes, the meetings were exciting, but he would not meet who he longed for.

“Akio!”

“Hey!”

“Akio!”

Several voices called him when those boys saw him enter through the glass doors. He shook his head and approached them.

“How was your summer, Akio?”

The boy shrugged and the others laughed, as they continued talking including the newcomer in their conversation, although he barely intervened more than making a gesture.

After a long time they heard an adult voice hurry them to go to dinner, and all the boys ran to their respective rooms to leave their bags before going to the dining room and get together again.

The brunette’s eyes traveled with reassuring monotony the food options presented to them, while his noisiest friends kept talking and laughing for anything.

They were a not very large group, five boys. All of them from the university soccer team, although he knew them before, he knew them from the same time he was trying to leave behind.

But it was difficult, especially when one of them continually revived his past with his mere presence. A bistre-colored boy combed in dreadlocks that fell on his shoulders and gray eyes, a boy who once tried to be a copy of him.

He snorted as he moved the food from side to side noticing that he was really inappetent, it was a problem that had haunted him for a few years. He forced himself to eat, mentally telling himself the reasons why he could not refuse to do so.

.......

That night he could barely sleep, every time his unconscious took over in his mind it presented the image of that boy, that red-eyed boy who grabbed his hand in a desperate attempt to hold him. Why did he have to dream that again and again when in reality that had never happened? Why did he still feel so betrayed because they had let him go without doing anything? Why hadn't he been able to verbalize how much he cared before he disappeared from his life? Why couldn't he close that chapter of his story?

He covered his eyes with his forearm suppressing the tears that flowed from them, while the memory of his farewell shook him like a small boat in the middle of a storm. That day in his sea-colored eyes was hidden the plea that was never made, a plea that perhaps they never managed to decipher. Although when he grew up, he faced the reality that they could never do anything. They were only 15 years old then.

He took off the blue rubber glasses he always wore, always except on rare and intimate occasions that they shared throughout that year together. The only and last year. The brunette sometimes wondered how it was possible that a person who was so short in his life would have had such a strong impact. He himself responded to tell himself that what they lived together was very intense from the beginning.

They started hating each other, though perhaps it was more accurate to say that the red eyed boy was the one who hated him, the sea eyed boy had never hated him, never. Not even under the effects of that stone that strengthened the darkness in him, despite not remembering with great accuracy those moments; Or rather, not wanting to remember. He had done a lot of harm to innocent people and still did not forgive him completely, no matter how much his most rational side told him again and again that he was the first to be manipulated and hurt. But even then, all he experienced was a fatal attraction to the boy, a feeling of wanting to show himself better, that he looked at him, that he saw him, that he recognized his place in the World.

How stupid of him.

Then they met in the nomination for the national team, after that time the boy kept hating him, and he, even without the stone that altered his behavior, felt that fatality. They went from hatred to distrust, to cooperation in the game, to personal confidence, to friendship. And then the brunette took the last step, discovering that at some point during that long process he had fallen in love.

He kept that feeling to himself, a bomb in his heart that he had, without him knowing, the countdown activated. It exploded that same day that her mother gave him the news that they were going to live in Italy, since she was going to marry an Italian man she had met years before and with whom she had been dating without the brunette knowing until shortly before that announcement.

The rain fell on him while he wanted to drown when that boy found him. He noticed that an umbrella protected him from the inclement rattling of the drops and raised his eyes as wet as the ground around him. He lowered his glasses and opened his mouth to ask, but he was speechless when he hugged him crying loudly, desperate. The same despair that led him to put his lips together, the same despair that made him run after putting his lips together, the same despair that consumed his soul from that moment.

The other boy never said anything about that kiss, said nothing when he followed him to his house holding him by the hand just in time and preventing him from being hit by a car without ever knowing if it would have been an accident or not, he said nothing when all the friends from the football gave him a farewell party, said nothing when he went to say goodbye to the airport with tears in his eyes with the other three boys closest to him. He said nothing, nor would he, since those two boys did not cross their paths again.

The brunette received many goodbye gifts; but none as shocking as those glasses of dark googles at the airport, like a forget-me-not flower, like a petition that was still bleeding, like a painful memory of what it could have been but never was.

Sometimes the brunette regretted having lost touch with the Japanese boys, should he have resisted the fate that separated them? Should he have sent that letter he wrote so many times but never sealed? Should he have made an account on a social network and looked for someone he knew?

And then he wondered, for what? What would have helped to see how they continued their lives without him? What would have helped to see him grow and become a young adult? What would have helped him to cry bitterly to see that he was no longer part of them? Of him.

The presentation of the course was the next day, and that boy with wild brown hair and eyes like the sea came with the relief of knowing that he was returning to a routine that removed the most turbulent thoughts from his mind.

Although it was not until a week afterwards he began the activity he liked most, the activity that somehow embraced his suffered being with invisible hands of calm.

.....

“This year do you have the dorsal number fourteen again, Akio?”

The boy raised his eyes to the person speaking to him, a boy with dark skin and black eyes who shared nationality with him and raised his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

It was one of those rare occasions when the boy spoke outside the matches, and the other, Hidetoshi Nakata smiled.

“Have you heard the rumors, guys?”

All the young men who tried on their new uniforms turned their heads towards the person speaking. A boy with pale skin, light hair and freckled who was eating a candy.

“What rumors?”

“My father told me that a player who is going to play in the Professional League will enter the team too.”

There was a fuss, Luca's father was the team coach so they could ensure that the information was right.

“It is not as if we did not have level to play in a Professional League.”

The brunette grunted surprising everyone, he had not said something so long for a long while.

"But Akio is right," said a short boy with blond hair and an androgynous appearance. “Especially Fidio, Demonio, Hide and Akio. Surely you will end up entering a Professional League.”

They shrugged, the one with the most interest in that was the black-eyed Japanese.

"We're going to fill ourselves with Japanese in the Italian team," Luca murmured suddenly.

“What do you mean?” asked the one called Demonio Strada.

“The new one is also Japanese, and although my father has not told me who he is, he has said that he was Akio's teammate.”

The boy narrowed his eyes, feeling his heart soar with panic, while the other companions wondered who that boy would be.

“I hope it's Mamoru!” exclaimed the captain, that blue-eyed boy.

The others seconded it.

"We haven't heard from Mamoru for a long time," a boy with blue eyes, though lighter and dark brown hair, murmured.

"I think he is in a professional team but in Japan, Gian," said another boy with burgundy hair and olive green eyes.

"But I'm already a good goalkeeper," protested a large boy with long brown hair.

Demonio turned to the brunette Japanese to ask him something, but discovered that the boy was gone. They did not see him again until several days later.

.....

He realized how much he was disturbed and the immense discomfort generated by thinking that someone from his past would return to his life. He couldn't stand it, the news burned him inside, not letting him sleep. His short sleep time was splashed more than ever by memories he rejected. If only he had sent that letter.

That day he went for a walk in the Historic Center of the city, full of tourists with cameras and sandals with socks up to mid-leg. He sat on a bench watching the traffic of people. Who would it be? Who among them would be crazy enough to go to Italy to play football? Maybe it was Endou. He lowered his head, what if it was him? He shook his head as a poison spread from his stomach.

His eyes widened, was that the reason? He looked up and saw a couple kissing with the Colosseum in the background. He ruffled his hair and laughed bitterly. The reason he was tortured so much by the possibility that the new team member was one of his old friends was because he wanted it to be him? He wiped the tears that flowed down his cheeks and rose.

He was never going to be able to close that chapter.

.........

The day, the important day, he woke up discouraged, that day the new player was finally going to enter the team and they would finally know his identity. The coach kept it a secret and the Professional League had not announced his name since it was scheduled to start at the beginning of the following month.

The classes that day were especially dense, his mind was not where it should, to his disgust. Memories surfaced without compassion. One time and another. One time and another. His eyes, his lips, his hair, his neck, his smile, his teasing. One time and another. One time and another.

He walked to the training camp with steps of melancholy and despair. With mind in black and the eyes absorbed. When he arrived and saw his hand on the door handle to enter he felt his guts twist. The next thing he was aware of was that he had run away. Looking up, he found himself in one of his favorite places in the city, a tree-lined hill from which there was a beautiful view of the ruins that in another era had been majestic pride buildings of his Empire.

The cold air blowing in that place eased the burning that consumed his head, dropped on a bench and buried his face in his hands. His heart ached.

Suddenly he felt a strange nervousness in the stomach, the wind had brought him a smell as peculiar as painful. He felt his emotions overflowing like blood from a wound he had not managed to close.

-Fudou ... Akio ...

The boy's fingers twitched and he felt his own nails dig into his face. A hand landed on his shoulder and he fell apart.

Tired of running away, tired of resisting, tired of getting up every day, tired of people saying him to smile, tired of living.

He was not able to move, he was not able to say anything. The hand was still on his shoulder, burning. The wind shook his hair, grown since they had last seen each other, so many years ago. He felt the tears slip between his fingers, losing themselves in his body. He noticed his red eyes glaring at him. He felt a strong pain in his heart.

The boy sat next to him while the brunette lowered his hands slowly and left them with his fist clenched above his knees. He was not yet able to look at him, but something in his desperate expression implied that he could run again, because he was not able to cope with that turn of destiny.

And he noticed, that boy with red eyes reddened by tears trying to surface, noticed. His hands closed around the brunette, with force, with pain, with regret and he buried his head in the chest of him. His heart ached so badly that it seemed like it was going to break, and somehow when he heard the beating of the sea-eyed boy, he knew that his was also struggling not to go out.

-Kidou ... Yuuto ... -kun ...

Saying that name was strange, hearing the name in his own voice was strange. He never thought to hear it again. He never thought to see him again. He never thought that perhaps his life could regain a meaning.

Until that moment, that moment in which he hugged him and with his head sunk in his cinnamon hair in dreadlocks came the same citrus smell of the shampoo that he remembered with the clearness of the stars on a dark night in which going hand in hand dreamed a future that for years they believed stolen.

And then their eyes met, finally Fudou Akio had the courage to look at his red eyes, his body shuddered with a feeling of agony and at the same time peace flooded his soul. They were dark eyes, in which time had left traces of bitterness and loneliness. The boy's whitish hands held that face, while his eyes still connected. Kidou Yuuto barely breathed lost in those eyes like the sea, filled with such a long time of helplessness and resentment, as a swirling wave brought to the surface a new glow of hope.

His hands, of a more vivid color, grabbed his face at the same time, thus remaining indifferent to the passage of people, indifferent of the time swirling like autumn leaves around them.

The brunette’s lips moved trying a gesture that had not been seen on his face for so many years that it only became a try; but for Kidou it was enough. The small gesture of those lips made the boy's tired face shine.

Kidou moved forward, towards Fudou. His face anxious over his, his eyes still in that unperturbed connection.

Kidou lowered his eyebrows in anticipation of apology and then to the surprise of the brunette he finally responded to that request that the boy had made years ago.

His lips felt warm, rough and remembered the taste of a "cappuccino". And his, softer and finer, of the salty tears that had traveled his cheeks for so many years.

When they separated and despite the fact that both had closed their eyes, immortalizing that moment in their memories, Fudou's eyes were wide open. Showing in them a profound impact.

That made Kidou burst out laughing, a laugh of relief, a laugh of engagement.

“I think we have to talk about many things, Fudou.”

The boy felt a slight blush on his cheeks, looked at him. His face reminded him of when he was planning a mischief as a teenager. A mocking smile, a roguish glow, colored cheeks. Kidou contemplated that expression with absolute enthusiasm, feared for a long time being late to see it again.

“My residence is not far. My room is a quiet place.”

Their eyes met again and they laughed. Stretching among the trees that waved their branches to the sound of a wind of change.

Their hands entwined on the way to that place. There they cried about the grey like ashes years that were reaching their end and held really close the other with fear of fading. With a blooming of light in their hearts. With a new story full of love. They could finally close that bitter chapter of their lives.

Months had passed, bells sounded far from them while were walking to the training field, they both, hands entwined, smiled with the consolidation of a promise of love for eternity glowing in their ring fingers.

#inazuma eleven #inazuma eleven ares #inazuma eleven orion #kdfd #fdkd #kidou yuuto #fudou akio #kidou #kido #fudou #fudo #kidoxfudo #kidouxfudou #fudouxkidou #fudoxkido

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sunflowerstrays · 5 years

Text

lost

choi san x reader x jeong yunho.

words: 2.5k.

genre: angst/fluff.

summary: feelings hurt, especially when your best friends are involved.

warnings? none.

---

San loved to watch you dance. As a dancer himself, he understood the thrill of performing on stage, showcasing your talents. And you were so talented at dancing. The fluidity that you had when you danced left San breathless. That was exactly how he felt right in that moment, seeing you twirl in front of him.

He was sitting comfortably on the couch in the dance room, his best friends Wooyoung and Yeosang either side of him. Both of them were also watching you, but neither of them felt as entranced by you as San did. There was just something about you that left him feeling light headed.

You finish the song with a powerful move that leaves you staring at your own reflection in the mirror very intensely. In that moment you looked like a warrior emerging from battle, victorious and powerful. Half a second later you jumped up, bringing your feet together before running over to the couch, looking like an excited puppy.

You bounce from foot to foot in front of the three boys as Mingi pauses the music in the corner of the room. Wooyoung doesn’t hesitate in giving feedback, running his hands through his hair as he comments on every single step in your performance. Yeosang interjects with a comment every so often as well, and San could see you taking mental notes on every single word they’d say.

“I think you looked really cool,” Mingi even chimes in whilst messing around on the stereo system. “Like, I’ve never seen someone end a dance so well before. You put San to shame!”

The compliment makes you blush, and you look so cute in an oversized sweater and shorts with your cheeks turning pink. San just wants to wrap his arms around you, bring you on to his lap and squeeze you against his chest. Instead he just smiles at you, painfully knowing that his dreams won’t become a reality.

“What did you think San?” You ask innocently, drawing the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands in the way he loves. Distracted, San has to clear his throat and struggles to form a coherent sentence.

“Incredible, as always,” San smiles at you, making you grin brightly. You spin on the spot, stretching your arms above your head as you mumble to yourself about the improvements. San’s heart is lifted as you step lightly, practising some of the steps again.

Wooyoung receives a phone call, and darts out of the training room as you ask Mingi to press play on the song again. You only focus on the parts of the song that you were told you needed to improve - that was no surprise, because you were the biggest perfectionist that San had ever met. It isn’t until Wooyoung returns with a cold looking Yunho that San has his attention drawn away from you, and his heart crushed.

Yunho runs straight over to you and wraps you in a hug, making you squeal because of the cold coming from his coat. He kisses your cheek once, twice, and with each kiss San feels like it’s a bullet wound straight to his heart.

It wasn’t fair. You were San’s friend first and foremost. You’d been his best friend the whole way through school, joined the same entertainment company as him when you were both young and excited to have the world at your feet. He had been your shoulder to cry on, and you had been the one that had dealt with all the emotion of him debuting with ATEEZ.

He had slowly fallen in love with you over the years, but you had fallen in love with someone else.

That was why you were now glowing as you sat in a corner with Yunho, gazing at him with complete adoration as you listened to whatever he had to say. You hung off of every word that he said, which honestly San found ridiculous. Half the things Yunho said never made much sense, yet you still held them as gospel. Yunho was the same though; he was absolutely whipped for you, and would move mountains if you asked him to.

Only one person knew about San’s unrequited love for you, and he was looking at you with pity in his eyes. Mingi had paused the music now and was waving San over, trying not to drag the attention of Wooyoung or Yeosang, both who were chatting over San’s head about last night’s variety show.

“So I’ve been working on this rap recently, and I was wondering if you could read through it for me?” Mingi asks, and San is grateful for the distraction. Because Yunho was trying to wriggle his hands under your jumper to wind you up as you were complaining about his hands being cold against your warm skin. And San felt sick watching the pair of you.

So he focuses hard on the words in front of Mingi, but they swim in front of his eyes. He rubs them, knowing that he wasn’t crying, and they blur back into focus. In the mirror he can see you follow Yunho out of the practice room, and Yeosang makes a whooping sound that makes the pair of you blush hard. San has to swallow the foul taste in his mouth afterwards.

Later that evening, Yunho finally returns to the dorm. He is looking somewhat disheveled, but still has this glow on his face that falling in love does to someone. Yeosang and Seonghwa pause their competitive game of Mario Kart and start teasing the boy, making him blush as he slumps into the sofa beside San. No matter what he does, he just can’t seem to escape Yunho these days. It was almost as if the world wanted to rub it in that Yunho had one, and San hadn’t.

“Fun evening?” Hongjoong asks as he wanders into the main living space, headphones around his neck. He had been burrowed away in his room all evening, working on new music as usual. San had tried joining him to block out the thoughts that were bothering him so bad, but nothing creative was coming from him.

Eventually he could sense Hongjoong growing annoyed of his short temper, and left to read somewhere quiet. Only quiet wasn’t a word that the rest of his group were familiar with, and as a result had to read a page three times before processing what the words meant.

“Wasn’t too bad,” Yunho giggles like a schoolboy, shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets and resting his head against the wall. “Up to much?”

“We can imagine you were,” Wooyoung snickers, making Yunho roll his eyes. Jongho covers his ears, clearly bothered at the thought. San felt the exact same, but wasn’t going to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He just keeps his eyes focused on the book in his hands and pray that everyone else left him alone.

But naturally that wish would not be answered.

“San, everything okay?” Yunho asks innocently, “you’ve been really quiet today. I haven’t annoyed you, have I?” Mingi looks up from the game on his phone to raise an eyebrow.

“Of course you haven’t,” San says as enthusiastically as he can. “I’m just not feeling one hundred percent. I think y/n might have given me the bug they were suffering from last week.” Yunho seems to believe you because he relaxes again, shutting his eyes as he rests.

“Yeah, they are feeling much better now,” he replies, this dreamy tone in his voice that makes San feel sick.

“I’m sure they are after this evening,” Wooyoung remarks, making all the boys laugh again. San forces himself to laugh along to the crude jokes, but all he wanted to do was cover his head with a pillow and scream.

You were asleep in Yunho’s bed when San returns to his room later that evening. The worst thing about his roommate dating his best friend is that he was sometimes subject to hearing the two of you talking late at night, or worse. For the most part though Yunho gives him a heads up on when you’ll be staying over, or they will sleep at yours instead.

Yunho was still in the shower after practice, and you were exhausted from your own training all day. It was why you were passed out on the sheets like a hibernating bear, shivering slightly from the cold. San lets out a defeated groan before walking over to you, and covering you with Yunho’s blanket.

“Yunho?” You whisper quietly, reaching for San’s arms as he tries to step away. “I thought you said you’d be showering?”

“He is. It’s me, idiot,” San says, feeling a pain in his chest as you open one eye to inspect. The sleepy look on your face transforms into a smile as you recognise your childhood best friend, completely oblivious of his painful feelings for you.

“Oh, hi idiot,” you pipe back, making him roll his eyes. San stands up and tries to leave you to sleep some more, sensing the exhaustion in your body. But you grip his wrist and pulled him back down. “No, don’t leave. Yunho takes so long in the shower, and you’ve woken me up now. The least you can do is keep me company.”

“I was just trying to be a gentleman, Y/N! Stop being so hostile,” San chuckles, but takes a seat on the cold floor beside you anyway. You choose to ignore his words, and continue rattling on in a tired state.

“We don’t spend as much time together anymore, San,” you sigh, rolling on to your side and facing him. He was so close to your face, your lips, that his heart beat speed up and his cheeks would flush a lovely blossom pink. You don’t notice, or at least don’t point it out to him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” San sighs, bringing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them as he stares at you. What he would give to have you looking so loved up and warm on his bed, underneath his blanket, instead of Yunho’s. His voice could be faintly heard down the corridor, and in the silence that follows, you smile at it.

“Then why don’t we hang out as much?” You ask innocently, and it’s then that San truly realises that you have no idea what you are doing to him. That you don’t understand the pain that hits him whenever you begin to glow when Yunho is mentioned. That you wouldn’t know how much it affected him when you would sit next to Yunho instead of him now.

“Busy,” San mutters, dropping his head to his arms and staring at the door. Yunho had stopped singing now; he would be climbing out of the shower and getting ready to join you again. Time was running thin, and San was losing his opportunity to be entirely honest with you.

“But the other boys are never as busy as you are. I’m starting to think you are avoiding me, San,” you complain, sitting up and letting the blanket slip off of your shoulders. The adorable pout on your face makes San’s palms sweat; he was so hopeless when it came to you, it hurt.

“I’m not avoiding you, Y/N,” San sighs tiredly, running a hand through his hair. You watch his every move, searching for an answer as to why your best friend was growing so distant. He wanted to scream at you sometimes; why couldn’t you realise that you were slowly killing him like this.

“Then why-”

“I don’t know,” he says with a huff, “Maybe it’s because I don’t feel you’ve got any time for me anymore. You spend all your time with Yunho now, or with the other boys. You haven’t got any time for just me.”

Once the words are out there, San regrets them immediately. That was far from how he wanted to tell you how he felt, and as you sat on Yunho’s bed with your features looking crushed, he wanted to slap himself. Eat his words. Learn magic just so he could make you forget them.

“You’re jealous,” you say, not sounding remotely bitter or angry at him. Just sad and disappointed. San had no problem handling you when you were angry - you had spent most of your teenage years wanting to start a fight with him, after all - but this would break him. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner, San?”

“I couldn’t,” San chokes out, his throat closing in on him. “You were too happy. You hadn’t noticed. I-”

Yunho bursts into the room, his hair damp and messy and searching for you eagerly. He sees you sat up, raises an eyebrow at San who is sat beside you on the floor, before joining you on his bed.

“Everything okay San?” Yunho asks curiously, evidently noticing the change in atmosphere in the room. San nods, lifting himself from the floor gracefully and dragging himself to his drawers. He picks out some clothes to change to before darting down the hall to the shower. “Y/N?”

“San just said something that confused me, but it’s all okay,” you smile, moving over to make room for him. “Feeling better now?”

Yunho snuggles into your side happily, tracing your body with his fingers and teasing you into that sleepy state you were in fifteen minutes ago. But although you feel sleepy and loved by the boy, what San had said is still bothering you. You couldn’t believe that you had let yourself ignore how he was feeling for so long, and want to apologise to him immediately. You wanted your dorky best friend back.

Yunho falls asleep instantly, hands wrapped tightly around your waist whilst he snoozes, hot breath fanning your shoulders. The door opens quietly, letting in a beam of light and the shouts of Yeosang losing at Mario. A figure slips inside the room, and you can tell by the silhouette that it is San.

“Hey, San?” Your whisper makes him shoot into the air, clutching his chest as he stares at your lying figure. He traces Yunho’s body beside you, sighs, and climbs into his own bed across the room.

“Goodness, Y/N, don’t make me jump like that,” he whispers back, curling up alone in his sheets immediately. “Why are you still awake?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I really am. I’ll try and be better from now on.”

Your words cut San down, because he knew that you were going to take the whole blame for yourself. It wasn’t your fault he had a massive crush on you, and it wasn’t your fault for being happy in a new and healthy relationship. But before San could convince you otherwise, you had rolled over and faced Yunho again, attempting to fall asleep.

And just like he did everytime, San had lost you again.

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slamncram · 5 years

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thor (Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel) Characters: Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - College/University, Step-siblings, Step-Sibling Incest, Summer, Sex, Summer Vacation, First Time, Fluff and Smut Summary:

It's been a long time since Christmas. With things that came to light in the dead of night then, Thor's only too eager to visit Loki for the summer. Even if his student apartment doesn't have air conditioning.

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Read on AO3 or Continue Below

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It was far too hot to be doing this. Loki’s little apartment was hardly air conditioned, and opening the window above the bed to let in the breeze was a bad idea. Not with the way Loki was moaning.

“Oh, Thor... you feel so good inside me...”

It didn’t really matter how hot it was, though, Thor thought through the haze in his mind. He would be burning up either way, and the fan that was idly oscillating on the top of Loki’s dresser wouldn’t have helped.

He’d come down here to visit. To spend some time with his step-brother and best friend, catch up after their first year in college. They’d been apart since the holidays, both at different schools, and when Loki had texted him to stay he was staying in his college town for the summer, because he had his own apartment, Thor hadn’t hesitated. He’d thrown everything he would need into his cherry red coupe and flown down the highway.

He’d gotten in late last night, too late for them to really talk or do anything but crawl into Loki’s double bed. They’d woken up this morning, wrapped around each other, and Loki had slipped out of his grasp, complaining that he was too hot. Thor hadn’t let him go that easily, following out to the kitchen and slipping his hands under Loki’s sleep shirt.

This, Thor supposed, was why his father had always said he wasn’t sure how he felt about Frigga’s son. Never mind that Frigga and Odin had only met because Thor and Loki had been best friends in middle school, Loki was ‘weird’, didn’t have a mind for the sports and pastimes that Odin did. He tolerated him. He liked him enough. But Odin had never really seemed keen on calling Loki his son.

Maybe he’d seen how close Loki and Thor were, as friends. Maybe he’d wondered, when Loki had come out, about how much time Thor and Loki spent, physically close. It wouldn’t have been outside the realm of possibility that Thor could fall for Frigga’s son just as completely as Odin himself had fallen for his mother.

Maybe that was what had made it so hard for Odin to accept Loki.

Thor, however, had never had that problem.

Even after months apart, he hadn’t known hesitation, palming Loki’s cock while the other had valiantly tried to put on coffee for them.

“It’s too hot for coffee,” Thor had murmured, burying his face in Loki’s sleep-waved hair.

“It’s too – too hot for what you’re after, too,” had been Loki’s counter, but Thor had seen the way his fingers curled around the coffee bag, and there had been no mistaking the way he pressed back against him.

The coffee was long forgotten. It had been from the moment Loki had turned in his grasp and pulled Thor into a wet, hungry kiss. He’d gotten lifted up onto the counter for that, Thor’s hands sliding over his narrow hips, pulling him in so his cock was pressed against Thor’s stomach. Loki’s legs had found their way around his waist, one thing led to another, and...

“Mm, stop.”

Loki leaned back, his pretty cock straining for attention that Thor wasn’t going to give yet, rolling his hips slow. His hands pressed into Thor’s thighs, fingers gripping tight, and he bit his lip, smiling down at Thor while he held him still and fucked himself slow.

This had happened for the first time at Christmas. They’d both had a bit too much wine, and instead of sleeping it off, the moment Loki had been certain Frigga and Odin were asleep, he’d crept into Thor’s room, climbed under his covers, and given him a blowjob that, while sloppy, had made it hard for Thor to keep from waking up the whole house.

It had been a long time coming, but they’d gone back to their respective schools just two days later. There hadn’t been time for all this.

Now, they had all the time in the world, and Thor intended to enjoy that.

Loki was making the most delicious little noises, those black-painted nails biting into Thor’s skin, and as much as he wanted to enjoy this, they did have the whole summer, and it had been a very long spring.

In one swift motion, Thor sat up and swung Loki onto his back. To say he was surprised was one thing, but in an instant that was gone, replaced with a scowl. In the shuffle, Thor had slipped out of him.

“I was enjoying myself-- ah!”

“I know,” Thor replied, snapping his hips, burying himself deep inside Loki and relishing in the way his step-brother moaned. “Aren’t – aren’t you still?”

For a few seconds, it didn’t seem like Loki was going to reply, lost in the way Thor was fucking him. His eyes focused, though, and through a feral smile, he answered, “shut up and fuck me.”

That was enough for Thor. They had all summer to take things slow, but now he took Loki’s demand to heart, burying his cock inside him hard and fast, Loki’s whimpers hardly covering the sound of skin on skin, nor the sound of the cheap headboard rattling against the wall on each drive of Thor’s hips.

It had been since Christmas, and Thor knew they weren’t going to last long on this round. He was sweaty, sticking to Loki everywhere they touched, and Loki’s nails were slipping over his skin while he fought to hold on.

“Let go, Loki,” Thor urged, brushing his lips over Loki’s ear.

He wasn’t sure where the impulse came from, but he didn’t have a second to think before he was speaking.

“Come for me, brother.”

The result of that word on Loki was immediate. His eyes went wide, and an instant later he was groaning, wrapping his arms around Thor’s shoulders and pulling him in tighter, rocking down onto his cock, meeting every desperate drive of Thor’s hips. There was no rhythm, no sense to it, just Loki whimpering ‘yes’ in a broken little whimper, tense under him, so close...

“Oh, Thor!”

When Loki came, he shuddered apart in Thor’s arms. Everything about him tightened up – his legs against Thor’s sides, his arms around his shoulders, his muscles around Thor’s cock – and then exploded in shivers so intense Loki’s moans were nonsense, gasps echoing off the walls while his cock shot a hot, white mess over both of them.

“That’s it, yes, Loki,” Thor kissed along his damp hairline, chasing his own climax. Loki was so wonderfully tight, still whimpering, and it wasn’t going to take long --

“Brother.”

The word was hardly more than a whine, Loki’s mind spinning through a chorus of ‘yes’, and ‘Thor’, but it was new, and Thor understood, immediately, the impact it had taken on Loki. Heat raced through him, scorching, wiping out everything else, drawing everything to a head.

And then the lights were exploding behind Thor’s eyes and he was biting down on Loki’s shoulder, making broken noises of his own while he emptied inside him.

Through it all, Loki’s hands were on him, in his hair, running over his shoulders, clutching him tight. Greedy, with his slim legs wrapped around Thor, like he didn’t want to waste a drop of his come on the bed sheets.

It felt like an hour before Thor was able to find his senses. By then, Loki had let him go, only for Thor to have collapsed atop him, every inch of his skin buzzing like there was electricity dancing over it.

“So.” He started.

“So.” Loki breathed, and Thor was pleased to find he sounded a little hoarse. “You’re staying for the rest of the summer?”

Thor laughed, burying his face in Loki’s shoulder. He smelled good; like himself and sex. The room was going to stink of it, but Thor couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn. “On one condition.”

Reaching up, above the headboard, Loki caught his fingertips on the very edge of the plastic window lip, sliding it open. A warm breeze swept in, blowing the sheer white curtains out above their heads while he dropped his arm back to the mattress.

“What’s that?”

“We buy at least two more fans. We’re going to get heatstroke without them, because I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you.” Thor lifted himself up on shaky arms, smirking down at Loki. “Especially now that I know what a freak you are, brother.”

Under him, Loki had the presence of mind to look embarrassed, at least for a second. After that, he was smirking back, looking Thor over like someone might look at a luxury car.

“I’m not the only freak here, darling. Now, come on.” Pulling himself up on his arms, he leaned in, kissing Thor in a way that was far too sweet for the way he’d just taken his cock. “I need a shower.”

Laughing softly, Thor stood up, offering a hand to help Loki out of the bed, admiring his unsteady legs, and the pearly sheen running down the inside of the back of his thigh as he headed for the bathroom. His long fingers reached out to flick on the light, and he glanced back at Thor.

“Don’t just stand there. You’re joining me.”

Oh, yes. It was going to be a wonderful, wonderful summer.

#Thorki #Thunderfrost #thorkiedit #fic by me #it's filthy dirty but it's what my lizard brain wanted to write

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salamanderskin · 5 years

Text

Winter Returning parts 5 and 6

Very soft lesbian pining, injury and illness.

PART 5- Thea

“Wake me if you need me,” I told her. Kay nodded fractionally, eyes closed.

I took a moment to look over at her, reluctant to snuff the candle and loose her to the dark. The blankets were pulled to her chin in tightly clenched hands. Her knuckles were laced with scars, nails bitten almost to nothing. The white trails of old scars carried on up her arms, I knew, decorating every part of her in the tracery of a decade of sword-training. Kay's hair spread out on the pillow behind her, scarcely darker than the bandage at her brow. A rosebud of fresh blood showed through the dressing and the only other colour to her was the pinkish, irritated colour of her nose and chapped lips, open to allow her to breathe.

After a long, indulgent moment I lay down beside her. I did not mean to draw her to me but the movement was so natural it was done before I could think. Then her head was turned inward on my breast, an arm draped heavily around my waist. I made a sound of surprise but my heart was soaring in my chest. Hadn't a small part of me been hoping for, dreaming of this?

Kay took a long time to settle into a fevered sleep. She pushed me away a few times to sneeze harshly, then settled back again with a snuffling breath against my neck.

It was an uneasy night. I was so conscious of her next to me, wanting her close, not wanting to knock her wounds and hurt her. I found sleep suddenly, like a blanket being pulled out from under me and dropping me into the dark.

When I woke, it was pitch black and my bed was empty.

No question to what had woken me- the woman in my arms climbing over me and bolting from the room, elbowing me in the ribs in the process. It took me a moment to piece together who she was, where I was, why she was here, then I was after her like a shot.

“Kay?” I called after her.

She stumbled through the cottage, tripping on the uneven floors and unfamiliar corners. I caught up with her in the hallway near the front door where was rifling through her cloak and the clothes I had taken off her last night.

“What are you-?”

“Hssh!” Her eyes were wild and unfocused, glinting like steel.

“You're fevered- it's alright-” I tried.

Kay actually grabbed me and put a hand over my mouth. I yelped through it but she only squeezed tighter and hissed in my ear “Hush! There's someone there. I know it. I know it, Thea! Where is my bow?”

She managed to lay a hand on her bow and quiver in the dark and dropped me to notch an arrow to the string. She slung the quiver over her nightdress. I kept silent, not wanting to startle her. Clearly she was wandering. I could feel the fever heat of her without touching. Bow raised, Kay crept back through the room to the side door which opened out to the garden. I followed her a few paces behind, ready to catch her if she bolted out into the woods. She would truly catch her death out there in her bare feet if I let her.

Then I heard it- the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path the other side of the wall. A stealthy scrabbling sound, the clink of metal. My blood sang in my ears as though I'd been struck.

Kay Winter's reactions were far quicker and surer than mine. While I gaped like a fish she lifted the latch of the door, muffling the bar with her other hand so that it would not rattle when her fingers shook.

What happened next happened too fast to follow. The door opened. Kay darted out, her bow raised. I heard the arrow as it was loosed and then a cry. There was a barely a pause between them- her target must have been incredibly close. There was a confusion of running feet and I managed to get out of the door in time to see a figure limping off into the woods at the back of the house. Kay came after him in her nightdress and sent another arrow flying, then a third. I heard the first one clatter off a tree but the next found it's mark, evidenced by another yell of pain.

Kay ran a few more paces and then stopped, winded and clutching at her injured side. I caught up with her and we stood together as the man she had shot limped out of sight into the dark.

Silence descended. The wind dropped and the landscape was utterly still, wrapped like a frame around the woman in the white nightdress with her bow dropped to one side and staring out at the night. Kay breathed heavily, swaying slightly, and turned her head to me.

“The last one got him.” Her voice was hoarse, absent.

“I don't understand! Who was he? How did you know he was there?”

“Thought I heard someone following yesterday. One of the ones who got away, who gave me this.” She touched her bloody head- the bandage has slipped off. “Wouldn't last long as a scout without good senses.”

“Do you think he's dead?”

She shrugged. “Close to. The first one went straight through him and the last got his leg. I don't fancy he'll come back...”

Her voice tailed off as she started to shiver again. She looked down at her own naked feet in the wet grass, suddenly noticing the cold and her lack of shoes. My own toes were already numb.

“Damn.” Kay said faintly. She was staring at me as though I was all she could see. All the colour had dropped from her face as though some internal reserve of strength had just run out, allowing the pain and fever to break over her.

Her breath shivered and her eyes drifted closed.

“hehTSSNnch!”

The sneeze sounded painful, damp and wrenching. Reflexively I put an arm around her waist to brace her through it. She leaned into me gratefully as the urge passed, unable to fully raise her head.

Finally she said, in a suppressed shudder of breath “...I don't feel well.”

I thought my already pounding heart would split out of my chest. My other hand rubbed her back in a helpless, soothing circles.

“I know. I know.”

It took her a long time to limp back to the house. Once there I made straight for the fire, built it up again and sat Kay in front of the blaze with a blanket around her shoulders. From the hand clasped at her middle her wound was clearly paining her now, though her nose was giving her more trouble still. Thick congestion had settled in her head and set her sniffing fretfully every few minutes. Despite the sickness she sat straight as a soldier will, staring out into nothing.

I had to say her name twice to get her attention. I circled around to the side of her chair and put a hand on her shoulder, trying to rub away the shivers. It didn't make any difference but I felt better for doing it.

“Kay- do you think he will come back? Do you think he was alone?”

She shrugged, shook her head. “He was the last. I didn't hear anyone else. But if someone came, I'd take them too.”

“Not in this state.”

“Try and stop me. I-” She was looking at me fiercely. There was something odd and tender in her vehemence. Her hand reached up to find mine and clasp it, a little too tightly. “It's what I'm for. What I joined to scouts for. To protect- I- people like you- deserve- hhih- htzSscH!” She sneezed cringingly into the loose cup of one hand, grasping the other around her injured side as the motion tore through her.

“Gods bless you.”

“Thag you-” She murmured hazily before collapsing again, “-htzSschUe!”

I winced with her, sliding my fingers soothingly through hers. “I can give you something for the pain and the fever, but you do need to sleep.”

She nodded. “I think I could sleep.”

I gave her a measure of medicine in a cup and water to wash it down with when she spluttered through her raw throat. Then she let me dress her forehead again and followed me to bed as tame as a lamb. When she lay down her head was burning hotter than before, but I hoped the herbs would see to that. In the mean time I sat down beside her.

“Do you want me to go and sleep in the other room, so you can have more space?”

“Stay.”

I had so many questions to ask her, but she was clearly in no state to talk. I read her meaning from the way her warm body curled against mine, the grateful nuzzle of her cheek into my shoulder. Whether she would feel the same way in the morning was anyone's guess, but for that moment she was all mine again and I had never felt anything so wonderful.

.............................

PART 6- Kay

What followed was an uncomfortable blur of sleep and waking. I was caught between slow burning pain through my core that kept tugging me to consciousness and fever dragging me back into sleep. The dreams were intense and broken- fire, snow and fighting for my life back on the front line. Throughout all this surfaced Thea’s face over me. Her hands lifting my head and tipping water for me to drink, putting something cool on my hot forehead, trying to feed me something that I pushed away, nauseated.

I woke at last from a deep dream to some clarity of mind. I opened my eyes to hazy sunlight through a crack in the curtains. There was a moment of peace as I looked around the room, Thea’s familiar room. There were the tapestried drapes over the bed, the wood panels and her dresser in the corner littered with jugs, glasses and dirty cloths and handkerchiefs. There was a wooden chair with arms and a high, carved back. On this sat Thea, her head tilted back and clearly asleep. Her hair had mostly escaped from her braid, spilling out from her shoulders. Her eyes were circled underneath and one hand hung slack by her side, hovering over a book that had fallen spine-up on the floorboards. Let her sleep. By look of her, and the state of me, she needed it.

With this in mind I moved as slowly as I could. Not that my injuries let me do more than roll over and then prop myself laboriously up on one elbow. I was perhaps less sore than yesterday- yesterday? -what day was it? My head was clearer now, the fever faded out. I didn't want to pull the wrappings off and look at my wounds but they felt tight in a good way, like they’d been healing.

The rest of me was another matter. The next thing that I noticed was that my throat felt brutally hot and dry. I swallowed nervously with the distinct feeling that if I were to start coughing I would be unable to stop until Thea was wide awake. I cast around for something to blow my nose on. Damn Thea and my own foolishness. There was no denying now that I had a chill on top of everything else and that it was almost the worst of my problems. The thick congestion in my nose was somehow harder to ignore than a battle wound. The sensation of it was constant, vexing.

The moment I sat up it flared to a tingling that set me sneezing fittishly against one wrist.

“IDgsh! -Idgsh!-IGHschuh! hk--” My breath hovered. “hehTSSNnch!”

That was uniquely painful. A searing pain shot through my stomach as I doubled over, my bruised head throbbed hot and my throat felt like someone had taken a file to it. No sooner had I blinked hazily than Thea was rising from her chair, giving me the big concerned eyes again.

“So you're awake.” She said, pleased.

“So are you.” I replied, foolishly. Was that hoarse shadow of a thing my voice?

“Aye.” Thea smiled. “Move up, I want to check your dressing. How are you feeling?”

She sat next to me on the bed, parted the covers and raised my nightdress so that she could unpeel the bandages.

“I'm alright.” I told her. Then I stopped because her fingers on my bare flesh made me shiver. Her hands looked very brown on my white skin, long and capable as she parted the wrappings, probed my injury, tutted and replaced them.

“As well as can be expected. I think I'll leave them a little. Besides, you're-”

Damn my nose again. The tingling rose to a desperate need and I shuddered with sneezes into my cupped hands.

““IDgsh! -Idgshue-! ”

Thea leaned in to me and ran a hand over my cheek, sweeping an errant lock of hair back behind my ear. That was no necessary, healer's touch but heavy with affection, as her voice was when she spoke;

“-and you're full of cold too, poor love. Did you know you were asleep for a whole day and a night?”

“I'b sorry.” I said.

The woman beside me curled closer, offering her warmth and a hand on my back as I blew my nose and subsequently coughed hard into the handkerchief she'd found for me.

“You'll be well soon, I'll see to it. I suppose I ought to send a message to the scouts, tell them you're here, but I expect they'll find you soon enough. Will you stay until they do?”

I nodded. Thea gave me a radiant, relieved smile.

“What?”

“Nothing. It's just the first time I've had you to myself in a long time.”

“I didn't want it to be like this. I don't mean-”

“Hush.” She sighed, shaking her head. Her brown eyes hardened just a little, stones rather than chestnuts. “I don't know what to say. Let me just enjoy having you here for a little while at least.”

I lost the thread of the conversation then and lay back down on the bed. I was much better but a fever will do that to a woman and I was grateful for the chance to close my eyes- I didn't know what I'd meant to say to her either. I was just glad to be there. My head pounded, my sinuses felt thick and my throat welled with pain at every swallow.

“Sleep if you can, Kay.” Thea said at last. “I need to go out around the village. I've patients to see but I've arranged that noone will come here and disturb you. I'll see you before sunset.”

She leaned and smoothed a hand through my hair again. I was almost asleep by the time I heard the front door close.

* * * * * *

When I awoke again the sun was lower in the sky. By my reckoning it was late afternoon. This time my head was clearer still and my back ached from lying so long. With Thea gone, this would be an excellent time to try rising from bed without her watchful, wincing gaze.

I took it slowly, but the pain as I moved was worst at the moment of going from prone to sitting. After that it was better. Whatever Thea had been putting on the wound at my stomach, it no longer felt hot, merely sore.

I took a few shaky steps across the room. As soon as my head stopped spinning I set out to explore the once-familiar territory of Thea's cottage.

It was very still. The low sun spilled orange light in long beams across the wooden floor, playing on the dark furniture and picking out threads in the tapestries that hung over one wall. When I opened the door to the living room I jumped as a slim tabby cat streaked past my legs and into the back, as startled by me as I was by her. Thea had always loved animals, but hadn't kept any when we first met. Perhaps she had grown lonely...

When Thea returned she found me sitting by a freshly set fire where I had put a pot of water to boil and cleaned away some of the mess of previous days. She came in with a gust of cold air that made me shiver. Her green shawl was wrapped over her head and her hands were holding a basket of vegetables which she set on the floor before coming over to me. There was a flush in her cheeks that became her.

“What happened to resting?” She said, by way of greeting.

“I am.” I defended myself. “But I'm not completely useless.”

“Far from it.” She smiled though, and embraced me warmly before giving my an appraising look.

“How are the injuries?”

“Better.”

“And the cold?” She asked shrewdly.

I considered a lie, then sighed. “About the same.”

“There's a lot of it about. Even in people who don't chase down attackers in their nightdresses.” She said. “Does you throat hurt? And your head?”

They did, and she set about making some kind of draught for me. I accepted it without comment- I was getting better at being a patient. It taxed me but I did want the thick head and blocked nose to be gone as soon as they could. While I drank, Thea sat opposite with her own tea. We talked for a while about small things, moving only to add wood to the fire or more hot water to our cups. The world seemed to shrink down to us two women, the sound of the logs crackling, the purr of the cat from its place by the hearth.

The steam loosened some of the congestion from my nose and the more I sniffed it back the more it itched me until I was sneezing again.

“huh... huhTSSNch!” I hovered itchily, coaxing the sensation with delicate, hiccuping breaths until I was able to get some relief. ““ISSChue! -IDSH!!”

“Gods bless,” Thea murmured. “Perhaps we ought to go to bed.”

This time there was less awkwardness. Without speaking we both made our way to her bedchamber and undressed as before. When I lifted off the tunic I'd been wearing, Thea halted me to look at my wounds. I sat on the edge of the bed and let her dress them. Just for a moment as I sat there bare-breasted, I felt her gaze rake over me in a way that was not professional at all. It passed and we lay beside each other. I found the movement clumsy and had to steady myself on the wall while the room moved minutely. I couldn't quite find my hands.

“Kay?”

“I feel a little strange.”

She nodded. “Your fever's up again, then. Colds are always worse at night. Do you want more medicine?”

“I'd rather sleep it off.” I admitted. I felt muzzy enough without a draught to make me sleep and the idea of raising my head and drinking, of her absence while she prepared it, was unappealing.

“Fair.”

Thea parted the blankets for me to lie down. I settled on my back with head on the pillow, trying to get more air through my blocked nose so that my lips might have to chance to be less chapped and sore. Thea lay down beside me and I turned to my side so that she did not have to stare at my twitching nostrils all night. I tried to sleep but every ten minutes or so I had to sneeze, hard enough to send a throb of pain through my head, tearing at my injured stomach no matter how I tried not to move.

After a particularly harsh “-IGHschuh!” that may have ended with an unintentional whimper, Thea moved toward me and curled a comforting hand up to rub at my back. Her sluggish movement suggested she was all but asleep.

“hk'TSHt!” - I tucked my fist under my nose in an attempt not to wake her and was rewarded by a spasm of wrenching coughs. Thea startled awake and rubbed my back again, resting her head against my shoulder.

“Poor love.” She said, very softly. I don't think she meant me to hear it but I did. Some sweetness in it was exactly what I needed to send me into sleep at last

#sickfic #original sickfic #original f/f #sneeze #sneeze kink #female sneeze #whump #female whump #f/f romance #lesbian #historical lesbians #historical sickfic

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your-iron-lung · 5 years

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 12

aka ‘Stonethrower’; available to read on AO3 HERE

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 8213

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Suspense/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Next Chapter: 13

Notes: i am very slow writer i am apolgesek it took so long for this part to come out

~idk how to do linebreaks since tumblr took them away beep boop~

Johnathan woke up slowly, tangled in his bedding and hardly able to open his eyes. He stared out into the dark corner of his room, trying to pinpoint what exactly had woken him up before turning his head slightly to glance at the digital display of his bedside clock. The bright red numbers glared at him, displaying an hour that was far too early for his liking. He sighed deeply to himself and tried to go back to sleep, closing his eyes and rolling over onto his side.

As he shrugged his blankets back up tightly around his shoulders, trying to find that comfortable sweet spot, he realized from the pressure on his bladder that he’d woken up because he had to piss. Johnathan groaned in frustration and lay there for one stubborn, uncomfortable moment before resigning himself to getting up.

His coordination suffered with how tired he was as he got up out of bed and stumbled out of his room, tripping over his shoes when he got to the hall. Rubbing his eyes as he passed by Will’s room, he didn’t notice that the door to his brother’s bedroom was open and continued towards the bathroom unawares.

He relieved himself without turning the bathroom light on, unwilling to chase away what remained of his sleepiness by turning it on. Once finished, he flushed and tucked himself back into his underwear hastily, scratching at his stomach as he shuffled back into the hall, more awake now than he’d have liked to have been. There was nothing more he wanted in that moment than to get back in bed and wrap himself into a warm cocoon, but as he approached Will’s bedroom it became impossible for him to miss the fact that his door was open, and that a cold wind was steadily blowing through it.

It was the cold that had Johnathan’s stomach curling uneasily as he hesitated by the open door, looking into Will’s room uncertainly.

The window along the back wall of his room was open wide, allowing the cold, hard-blowing wind to sweep in snow as it passed by. An empty howling noise accompanied the wind as it scraped along the sides of the house and flew in through the opening. Will was standing in front of it, his comforter wrapped around his shoulders tightly as he turned from where he’d been staring out the open window to look at his brother, a desperately frightened look in his eye that glimmered even in the dark.

“Will?” Johnathan asked hesitantly, crossing his arms across his chest to keep himself warm as he wandered closer towards the open window. His heart was pounding hard and fast, already afraid of what Will was going to say. “What’re you doing? Why is the window open?”

Will didn’t say anything at first. He turned sharply away from where Johnathan was carefully watching him, his breath coming in quick bursts that skirted the edges of hyperventilation as he tried to summon the courage he needed to speak.

“Nothing,” Will said after one long moment. He freed one of his arms from his blanket robe and closed the window abruptly, snapping it shut quickly before stepping back to his bedside, still bundled tightly in the warmth of his comforter. “I thought I heard something outside, is all.”

Johnathan looked towards the window as Will climbed back into bed, as though he’d be able to see what his brother had thought he’d seen. “Heard something like what?” Johnathan asked eventually, speaking slowly in an effort to be mindful, artfully dodging the questions he really wanted to ask: is it him? Is he back?

In bed, Will shrugged easily, but something about the way he held his blankets tightly around him made him look small and insecure; even his eyes still looked wary and afraid. “I dunno. It sounded like some dogs fighting, I think. They were coming close, but it’s quiet now and I couldn’t see anything when I looked.”

“Some dogs?” It wasn’t that he mistrusted Will, but Johnathan was well aware of his brother’s penchant for withholding information when he thought it might put his family at risk. “Are you sure that was all it was? You’d tell me if there was more to it, right?”

“Yeah,” Will said softly. His attention had been focused on his window, but he turned it towards Johnathan with a reassuring smile. “Yeah, of course I would; the noises just reminded me of Chester, is all. I miss him.”

A bitter smile graced Johnathan’s lips at the mention of their late dog.

“Yeah, me too,” he said after a quiet moment of reflection. “He was a good dog, but if you hear them out there again, let me know and I’ll take a look, alright?”

“Okay,” Will said, letting his gaze drift back to the window. Johnathan followed it uncertainly before remembering how tired he was and how cold his bed was getting without him in it.

“Goodnight, Will,” he said as he turned away, closing the bedroom door quietly behind him as he left.

“Night, Johnathan,” Will replied with a whisper.

\\\

The ringing of the telephone mounted on the kitchen wall sounded more like an angry alarm clock than it did a phone as it rattled insistently in its cradle. The loud, abrupt noise it made carried strongly into the living room, blaring its alarm as loudly and determinedly as it could, unheeding of whomever might’ve been trying to sleep through it. And Steve did manage to sleep through it, exhausted as he was, paying it no attention as he sighed and ignored the ringing tones that began to seep into the dream he was having. The kitchen phone rung dutifully regardless, announcing the call as loudly as it could before it eventually tapered off unanswered, and a welcoming silence took hold for one strong minute before it began to ring again, and this time it was strong enough to wake Steve with a start.

His body jerked in surprise as he was unceremoniously brought into wakefulness, the shock of the phone’s persistent ringing causing him to draw in a deep breath of air as he lifted his head up from out of the deep, cushioned crevice of the sofa he’d fallen asleep on. The lingering remnants of his dream mixed with his waking memory, muddying it to the point where he couldn’t immediately recognize where he was as he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The thought that he was late for school and had somehow slept through his alarm worried itself into his mind as the phone continued to ring unanswered. If he got written up for showing up late to first period again, then his dad was gonna really have his ass for it this time.

Steve quickly moved into a sitting position and winced as the injury on his arm protested painfully against his sudden movements. He ignored the intense throbbing, unaware of how misplaced his concerns were, as, in a manner that could be likened to Alice’s white rabbit, he stood up and hurried into the kitchen on curiously sore feet, slipping in too-small borrowed socks across the linoleum tile and worried only about the time. The little creature’s mantra of ‘I’m late, I’m late, I’m late’ circulated through his thoughts relentlessly as he stupidly went to answer the phone in a misguided attempt to turn off the alarm.

He slapped the receiver off the arms of its cradle, ending its terrible noisemaking mid-ring. Relieved, he stood staring at the curved piece of plastic as it dangled limply by its cord, swaying against the backdrop of unfamiliar wallpaper like the pendulum of some grandfather clock.

“Hello? Anyone home? Hel-loooo?”

A voice, tinny and hardly audible started speaking through the receiver. The voice registered as being somewhat familiar to him, perforating the sleepy haze clouding his mind as he tried to bring his thoughts into focus; God knew he’d never been a morning person. Hesitantly, Steve reached out to take hold of the phone receiver and put it to his ear, looking around himself doubtfully as he did so to orient himself, when, as he caught sight of the kitchen table he’d stayed up all night sitting at, it all came back to him rather suddenly.

He hadn’t stayed overnight in some stranger’s house, and he certainly wasn’t late for school: he was standing in the Henderson’s kitchen, wearing two pairs of Dustin’s socks he’d had to stretch out to fit over his feet, which had somehow, miraculously, not given themselves over to frostbite in the night. Bright, early morning sunshine was flooding in through the kitchen windows, reflecting too harshly over the freshly fallen snow outside for him to look out at for too long. He squinted and turned away from the glare, unsure of what to do now that he’d actually answered the call.

“Uh,” he said into the phone smartly as he continued to stare around himself, still mildly caught in the throes of sleepy bewilderment. A small part of his brain was still trying to convince him that he was late for school and he ought to be hurrying on. “Uh, Hen- Henderson household?”

“There you are! Finally, geeze, Mike, did you plan on sleeping all day?”

Dustin’s voice, clear but confusing in its purpose, came in from the other end of the line.

“Whoa, bud, I think you have the wrong number; this is your house, not Mike’s,” Steve replied after a moment, fixing the receiver between the crook of his neck and shoulder. He balanced it there precariously as he went to roll up the sleeve of his shirt tenderly, trying to get a good look at the wound that was painfully making itself remembered.

He had to cock his head at an awkward angle to get a good look at it. The long, not-yet-healed gash that had had its stitches popped was coated in dried, flakey blood, but didn’t look as bad as it felt in Steve’s opinion. There were a few busted stitches he could see that would have to be tended to, but they didn’t look like they were in need of urgent care, and although he’d promised Hopper he’d go to the hospital first thing after the night was over, he felt it could probably wait a while longer. He rolled his sleeve back down and took the receiver in hand.

“Haha, yeah, I know man,” Dustin’s voice continued, his cheery tone sounding fake despite his words. “Look, Mike, I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be back in time for DnD today after all-”

“Dustin, dude, are you even listening to me? I’m not Mike, you called your own house-” Steve said, sighing in frustration.

“Yeah, trust me, I know.” The tone of Dustin’s voice became sterner and more pointed amidst the voices Steve could hear casually conversing in the background. Sudden understanding dawned on Steve’s sleepy face when he realized Dustin wasn’t being an idiot, but was attempting to speak to him in code. “SO, yeah, don’t worry about trying to incorporate my character without me, I’ll be home by eleven.”

“Eleven?” Steve turned around in place, trying to find a clock to give him the current time, forgetting that he had a watch currently strapped to his wrist. He found one mounted on the far wall that marked the hour at being just a little past 9:45. “Shit,” he breathed out lowly to himself, turning back to the wall the phone was mounted on. He leaned up against it, trying to think of what to do and how to respond.

The cellar was a mess; from the poor, dimly lit glimpses he’d gotten of it the previous night he’d recognized it to be effectively trashed. The gore that had come from Billy’s transformation was splattered all over the walls and floor. With the knowledge that he could barely keep his own room clean, Steve knew that there was no way in hell he’d be able to clean it all out in an hour, on his own, while also trying to figure out where Billy had gone.

He brought the inside of his lip between his teeth and chewed on it lightly, tugging at a piece chapped skin that had cracked and was peeling up, his gaze wandering about the room and to the windows again as he tried to come up with a suitable plan of action. His eyes lingered on the snow outside, adjusting to the refracting light as he weighed out his options.

“So are we still on to play?” Dustin asked, his voice interrupting Steve’s concentration. “Should I call the rest of the party and let them know?”

“What?” Steve blinked and turned his focus away from the window, but as he turned away he noticed something he hadn’t before. Squinting, he turned to look back outside and frowned, trying to figure out what it was that had stood out to him. “Uh, no?”

“Why not? You said earlier this week that the next session was going to be an important one!”

“Oh my god, your code language is confusing the hell out of me, Henderson. Look, I know you can’t speak frankly wherever you are, but if you’re asking to get something done today I- I can’t yet,” Steve said, and sighed heavily again. He knew he owed Dustin an explanation- had promised him one, in fact- but he couldn’t find the words to do it currently. He was hurt, sore, tired, and still had so much left to do that he couldn’t allocate enough energy into trying to formulate the response he owed. “Listen, not today, man, but tomorrow, alright? ‘Call the party’ and assemble the rest of the nerds to set up a meeting for tomorrow or something.”

The silence on the other end of the line was welcoming. The voices that had been talking in the background were still hardly audible as Dustin took his time thinking over Steve’s request, granting him the time to focus on the snow.

It was fresh and thick and spread across the ground tantalizingly, practically begging for some kid to come along and roll a snowman out of it. But despite how serene it appeared, there was something off about it; something so subtle Steve couldn’t quite perceive what it was, but still he could tell that there was something there he was missing. He wiped away whatever sleep was left in his eyes and squinted harder, despite the way the sunshine that glimmered across the surface negatively impacted his vision.

“Okay, fine, but I’d like to remind whoever else may be listening that we are proud of our interests and refuse to wear the moniker of ‘nerd’ with shame,” Dustin said testily in response.

“Yeah, okay, whatever; that’s cool, man,” Steve mumbled. “I’m glad you’re proud of your little nerd interests.” He was starting to develop a headache as he stared, watching the way the natural lighting changed as the cloud coverage shifted and moved. The snow became less bright, and the shadows deepened as the clouds traveled slowly by, and suddenly Steve realized what it was that had stood out as peculiar to him.

It was disturbed. What should have been a fresh, even coating of snow was disturbed. He hadn’t been able to see it properly until the shadows had been emphasized, but there was a clear path there that he could see now that indicated something had come through the backyard, leading straight to the cellar opening. Any remnants of exhaustion that lingered still in Steve’s body was replaced with a sharp spike in adrenaline.

“Okay, okay cool yeah, look, I gotta go,” Steve said hurriedly, unsure of when exactly he’d tangled himself in the phone’s curly cord. “Just, radio me later, or something, uh, we’ll get this all sorted out, and listen seriously for a minute here: do not, I repeat, do not let your mom go anywhere near your basement alright? It’s fucked up, but I’ll take care of it later; I gotta go now, we’ll debate the politics of what being a nerd does to your street cred later.”

“Wait, wait!” Dustin exclaimed, and Steve only obliged him because he had yet to unwind himself completely from the phone’s deceptively long cord. “At least give me a hint for the session; is it- is it a ‘code red’ kind of thing we’re going to be dealing with here? I wanna know what spells I ought to prepare, you owe me that much of a hint at least!”

Steve paused as he finally unwound himself completely, his arm already postured to hang up the phone. He looked out at the snow, where something had clearly come through while he’d been sleeping.

Was it a code red? He thought of Billy’s screams and of the smatterings of gore he hadn’t wanted to see that had caused them when he’d delved into the cellar last night; thought of how he’d wandered alone like an idiot into a tunnel where no one had known he’d gone and where no one could help him if he’d needed it, and wondered how much longer he could survive trying to handle this all on his own.

Was it a code red?

“Yeah,” he said quietly into the phone, closing his eyes against the horrific memories he’d forced himself to recall, hating that he was dragging his children into this with him, “yeah, man, I’d say it’s a code red.”

“Fuck,” he heard Dustin whisper, and smirked a little when he overheard his mom begin to call him away from the phone. “Alright, alright, I’m coming! This has been great Mike, but now I gotta go.”

“Right, yeah, so just radio me later. I’ll tell you more about the ‘session’ then,” Steve said, and hung up without waiting to hear Dustin’s confirmation.

Steve floundered for a moment after the phone clicked into place, flexing his toes against the tight, cottony double-binding that held them. He needed to go outside, but his sneakers were still soggy and unwearable, if the puddle they were laying in under the kitchen table was any indication.

When his feet had returned to a normal coloration after being soaked, he hadn’t thought about doing anything to his shoes to get them to dry properly. He’d scrounged awkwardly through Dustin’s dresser for something warm to cover his feet with after he’d drained the bath, and had spent the night trudging about in too-small socks and Mrs. Henderson’s bedroom slippers, worrying about Billy and Hopper in intermittent bursts; drying his shoes hadn’t even crossed his mind at all.

Pulling on the coat he’d left hanging on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, he hustled back into the living room to retrieve the slippers he’d borrowed. Much like Dustin’s socks, they were unfortunately too small to fully cover his feet and stopped just short of supporting his heel, but he was resolute in the fact that they would have to do. He shuffled over to the backdoor and unlocked the deadbolt with a heavy click to investigate the disturbance he’d spied from the kitchen.

He shivered against the cold and left the door open behind him as he awkwardly made his way closer to the trail, noticing with no small hint of relief that the tracks appeared to have been manmade and were recognizably human. Whatever comforts he took in that fact were unfortunately short lived when, as he finally came up close to the tracks, he noticed that there was blood mixed into the compacted snow where someone had come walking. It pooled primarily in the deep divot a heel leaves behind in a footprint, and it was no small amount.

Barefoot, Steve thought wearily. He was walking barefoot.

The bloody set of prints led straight to the doors of the cellar that had been left open wide, and there Steve hesitated, ignoring the fact that the slippers he was wearing were quickly growing cold and soggy.

He stopped by one of the open doors and stepped down onto the first step, taking care to not slip in the snow that had accumulated overnight. Steve squinted into the gloom, not blind to the fact that the tracks led in, but none had yet come back up. The morning sun was casting its light down the narrow cellar corridor brightly, but in the places where its illumination couldn’t reach, Steve thought he could barely make out the hint of a form submerged in the darkness. He took another cautious step down but stalled when he heard the sounds of something coughing hard, struggling to hack something up.

“Hargrove?” he called out unsurely, slowly descending further down the stairwell with one hand kept pressed to the cold, stone wall for support. “Hargrove, please say that’s you down there.”

A low groan, sounding miserably familiar and rough amidst the sounds of heaving was all the confirmation he needed. He hastened in his descent, nearly slipping on a few frozen steps when the traction-less rubber soles of the slippers he was wearing failed to grip anything, throwing all the caution he’d thus far been exercising to the wind to reach the bottom as quickly as he could. His mind and heart were racing when he finally got to the bottom, and there he found Billy, naked and heaving and hunched over in the dark.

“Oh, shit,” Steve breathed out as he slowly drew nearer, his eyes roving over the pale expanse of Billy’s exposed back. His legs were awkwardly tucked up underneath him, revealing the raw and bloodied bottoms of his feet. Across his back and trailing around to the front of his torso were multiple pink, raised marks that looked like freshly healed scars, but even as Steve studied them he could see that some of them were still glistening and open. The gashes were long and vicious, holding Steve’s focus as Billy made another gross, wet retching noise. His body trembled as it heaved, prompting Steve into action.

“Fuck, are you alright?” he asked, but immediately chided himself for even asking; he could see quite clearly that he wasn’t alright at all.

He awkwardly bent to kneel down beside him, unsure of what he could really do for him as Billy clutched his stomach and shook. Steve hesitantly reached out to rub his back in comfort as Billy struggled and heaved again, choking on the vomit that was finally beginning to bubble up in the back of his throat. Steve looked away in disgust as it dribbled out of his mouth, but continued to rub his back dutifully in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

His fingers bumped over the raised marks, subconsciously tracing them as he felt Billy’s skin, noting how amazingly smooth and soft it felt, strongly reminding him of the way Nancy’s skin got after she’d finished the exfoliating part of her beauty routine, leaving him to wonder if that wasn’t due in part to Billy’s skin being new.

The bile Billy was choking up was viscous in nature as he spit it out weakly. It was thick and red and clung to his lips before he began vomiting in earnest, his body curling forward as chunks of furred meat and splintered pieces of bone spewed from his mouth in a gruesome torrent, splashing messily on the floor before him. He coughed and spit raggedly, his body shivering all over as the muscles in his stomach clenched and drew loose repeatedly, tightening again and relaxing over and over in an attempt to finish purging everything he had in him. A seemingly endless amount of the unsavory mix of fur and bone spilled out of him, mixing with the red, bloodied juices that had coagulated onto the floor. Hearing Billy vomiting had Steve close to puking himself, an uncomfortable nausea settling in his gut as listened to the continued heaves until the delicate equilibrium of Billy’s stomach was restored.

“What the fuck is this?” Billy eventually asked hoarsely, unable to keep the full-body tremble he was experiencing from shaking his voice when he spoke. “What the hell did I eat?”

Steve shook his head uncertainly, chancing a glance at the mess on the floor before quickly looking away again.

“When I found you, I think… I think it was a deer,” Steve said, unsure if Billy would find that information to be comforting or not. Billy shuddered in response, shivering beneath Steve’s touch.

It was hard having to witness Billy in such a vulnerable state; he was so pale and hairless and weakened that, if Steve hadn’t known it was Billy beneath his hand, then he might not have been able to recognize him at all.

The change, at some point, had robbed Billy’s skin of its remarkable tan, leaving his complexion woefully pale that bordered something almost ghostly. Steve recognized the theft as a tragedy, but it was made worse seeing that Billy had lost all of his hair as well- not even his eyebrows had survived the shedding, and the curly, golden-brown hair that would’ve looked trashy on anyone else was scattered tragically around the room in a display almost as gruesome as the remnants of his discarded, ruined flesh.

Billy groaned again, low and deep as he tried to straighten out, bumping Steve’s hand away. Long strands of saliva linked his lips to the muck on the floor, drawing Steve’s attention back to the thrown up remains of whatever raw thing monster-Billy had feasted upon. He could feel the nausea rising in him again as the acidic smell of the vomit crept up his nostrils, and knew he had to move before he became as incapacitated as Billy, lest they both end up wasting the morning by wallowing in the cellar, incapable of taking care of each other.

He tore his gaze away from the fresh vomit and stood up, wiping his hands off on his jeans. He offered a hand down to help Billy up, but he didn’t take it. Billy remained where he was, dazedly staring down into the mess that had come out of his stomach, shivering violently, though whether it was because of the cold or from the ruin and subsequent rebuilding of his body, Steve wasn’t sure.

With nothing else to do, Steve stood by idly and watched as Billy spit whatever foul tasting saliva had gathered in his mouth onto the floor. When he realized he wasn’t doing anything except staring, Steve wondered if Dustin’s home could offer up anything for Billy to wear. The clothes he’d worn the night before lay in tatters at the bottom of the cellar stairs, his tight blue jeans ripped at the seams and the shirt he’d worn shredded into strips of fabric that not even all the kings horses nor all the kings men could hope to put together again.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve said, determined to at least try to find something for Billy to take cover in. It didn’t seem as though Billy was ready to try moving yet anyway.

Billy didn’t say anything as Steve turned away and left, walking up the stairs and into the morning light alone. He stared down into the muck of his sickness and tentatively reached up to feel his hairless head self-consciously, his hand shaking as he felt the smoothness of his scalp. A whimper escaped him as he attempted to restrict his grief, silently mourning the loss of one of his greatest points of pride.

\\\

In the end, Steve ended up giving Billy his own shirt, awkwardly stripping it off in a way that didn’t aggravate his injury as he swapped it out for his coat. The long-sleeved tee fit tightly across Billy’s chest when he finally resigned to putting it on, defining his musculature well through the fabric in a way Steve’s body couldn’t. Steve tried to crack a joke about it being too small for him, but Billy didn’t appear to be much in the mood to joke as he stood still and wearily took the rest of clothes that were handed to him, only ever making an apparent noise of disgust when Steve handed him Dustin’s mother’s bathrobe.

“It’s all I could find that’d fit, probably,” Steve explained, hoping that Mrs. Henderson wouldn’t notice that the ugly pink thing he’d found hanging on her bathroom door had gone missing. Billy held it at arm’s length distastefully before begrudgingly wrapping it around himself, wearing it like a makeshift skirt as he tied it into place, pulling the soft pink belt that came with it into a tight knot on his hip.

There was nothing else Steve could offer him; Dustin was still only a kid whose clothes stood no chance at all of fitting Billy, and he didn’t feel comfortable rooting through Mrs. Henderson’s wardrobe to try and find anything better. It was ridiculous. Billy looked ridiculous, dressed in a bloodied shirt and pink skirt as he pulled his boots on over his healing feet, and under any other circumstances Steve would’ve made a point to laugh and make fun of the fact that he looked like a combat-ready Barbie, but as it was, Steve found that he was still having a hard time looking at him long enough to properly mock him.

He looked miserable and exhausted; ugly and humorous; the butt of a joke he’d spent his whole life avoiding by building his ego up until he’d become impervious to it all, but now his shell was cracked, and vulnerability seeped out of the fractures like a slow flood leaking out of a broken dam.

If Billy took notice of how strongly Steve was averting his gaze, he didn’t comment on it. In Steve’s mind, he thought Billy was probably thankful for it as he wordlessly put on the black knit beanie Steve had scavenged out of Dustin’s room to hide his bald head.

“You good?” Steve asked him quietly, watching as Billy adjusted the brim of the hat to cover as much as it could. Steve recognized the frailty Billy was trying to contain as it was quietly broadcast across the features of his face: it was in the way he kept blinking to prevent his eyes from watering up too much, and in the way his mouth twitched as he ran his tongue ran over his teeth repeatedly. It was in the way he couldn’t even manage to hold himself upright, his body hunched over and weighted in the shoulders with weariness and fatigue.

Billy didn’t answer, and Steve thought he could understand what his silence meant.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said after a moment, and let Billy lead the way out of the cellar and back into the house.

He appeared to have been recovering well enough, walking slowly but steadily with purpose until a severe wave of exhaustion struck him down almost as soon as they stepped through the door. He came close to collapsing after they stepped through the threshold and into the kitchen, but Steve was quick and intervened before he fell, taking hold of him as soon as he’d started to go down.

“Jesus fuck- Are you alright?” He asked in alarm, holding Billy awkwardly in his arms as he tried to regain his footing. He stumbled and nearly fell again as he jerked out of Steve’s grip and eventually let himself be guided to the couch.

“Peachy,” Billy muttered in delayed response, his vision blurring as he sat down. He sat still holding his head for a moment before leaning over onto his side, spreading out atop the cushions Steve had spent the night on and closing his eyes, desperate for rest.

“Wait, don’t- you can’t sleep here,” Steve said pleadingly, hyper-aware of what time it was and how long they had until Dustin and his mom came home. “Look, we have to be out of here before eleven; I have to make a quick call first and then we have to haul ass outta here, alright? Hargrove? Are you getting any of that?”

Billy didn’t reply, already fast asleep.

Steve groaned miserably, feeling the weighted responsibility of what it might be like to be a single parent trying to raise a belligerent, lazy teenage son. All the same, Steve left him alone; he’d been through a lot, and if he needed a little bit of rest to recover, then he could spare him the five minutes it would take to leave a message for Hopper.

He was rubbing his forehead as he made his way back into the kitchen, kicking off the wet slippers that were no longer of any real use to him. Steve grabbed the phone’s receiver from where it sat crookedly in its cradle and plugged in the number for the Hawkins police department, rehearsing what he planned to say in his head as he waited for the call to go through.

“Florence speaking for Hawkins P.D., is this an emergency?”

“Uh, hi, no, not an emergency; this is Steve Harrington, and I was just calling to leave a message for Hopper about-”

“About the dog he’s been out all night trying to chase down, yes,” she said, cutting him off curtly. “I recognize your name. Your mom’s show dog, is it?”

“Yeah, yeah, real prized. Expensive breed, and all that. She was just- just so worried about him,” Steve stammered, trying to fold himself naturally into the lie Hopper must have fabricated for the rest of the department to explain why it was so important that this dog be found. “But he came back about an hour ago, a little worse for wear but doing alright besides, so if you could just radio him or whatever that we found him-”

“What breed is it?”

“Uh, sorry, what?” Steve asked, eyes flitting to where Billy was effectively passed out on the couch. Mutt? Mongrel? Bully? What did Billy qualify as?

“I was just curious. It must be something really exotic if Jim decided to put himself on it instead of delegating it.”

“Oh, well, you know,” Steve said, mentally combing through the sparse list of dog breeds he knew, but nothing came up exotic enough to match the worth Florence had pinned on the imaginary dog. “It’s just- it’s just, uh, you know. A… a Dingo.”

There was a long moment of silence from Florence’s end that Steve used to mentally berate himself, slapping his palm to his forehead stupidly.

“A Dingo,” Florence repeated dubiously. “Your mother’s prized show dog is an Australian Dingo?”

“Ah, yep, that’s right. We had him imported only a few months ago, actually. So if you could just pass that on to the chief for me, I’d be really grateful,” Steve explained quickly, hating himself for not being able to quickly think up something more believable than a wild dog he’d learned about through Nancy coincidentally for some kind of a school report.

“Hold on kid, before you go, Jim left me a message to relay to you in the event you found your mom’s ‘Dingo’ first.”

Steve hesitated, feeling the warm flush of embarrassment colouring his face as he considered hanging up and ending the call prematurely to avoid any further humiliating remarks. He prayed that he’d never have to meet Florence in person. “Oh. Uh, okay. What’d he say?”

“He wanted me to let you know that in the event you found it first, he’s going to want to drop in on you to see it and make sure it’s alright. Asked me to take down your address for him, if that’s okay by you.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem,” Steve said, eyeing the ticking clock on the wall worriedly; it was already almost half-past ten. The day had just begun, and already he was beginning to feel the uncomfortable dregs of exhaustion flowing thickly through his veins.

Even so, he maintained politeness as he gave Florence his address and asked that his gratitude for all the hours Hopper had put in towards finding his ‘dog’ be forwarded to him via radio. He hung up quickly afterwards so she didn’t have the chance to make another smart remark about his mother’s alleged Dingo and sighed deeply, wishing he could just go back to sleep and let matters handle themselves. He gathered up his shoes and prepared to leave.

\\\

It was tough getting Billy up after that; he was so bone-weary that Steve probably could’ve rolled him off the couch and dropped him onto the floor without waking him up. Seeing him like that reminded him of a time when he’d still been crowned ‘King of Hakwins’, when the only time he’d seen someone in a similar state of unconsciousness was when Tommy H. had gotten so shitfaced at one of his ragers that he’d passed out in the bathroom and wouldn’t wake up for anything. As his body blocked access to the toilet, other partygoers had resorted to messily pissing over him before Carol had begged him to roll Tommy’s prone form out of the way so he wouldn’t be humiliated any further, and even then he hadn’t woken up as he was effectively tucked up against the hard porcelain of the bathtub.

Looking down at Billy, Steve puzzled over how he was going to get him out of the house and into the car if he was truly as comatose as he feared he was. He could drag him out by the arms, probably, if he wasn’t worried about up keeping a respectable appearance; he knew some of Dustin’s neighbors, and wanted to keep in as good graces as he could manage with them, especially if it turned out they’d have need of the cellar again, but Billy was so dense that there might not be any other way.

Steve groaned loudly and looked around himself impatiently, wondering if there was some way he could rig together a possible sled or something to tow Billy out to the car with. Nothing in the living room jumped out to him as being particularly useful in that regard, though.

...What if he hit him? The thought came to him as he recalled some of the strategies his parents had employed on himself when he was younger. Sometimes, when he’d been hard to wake as a child, his dad would lightly (and sometimes not-so-lightly) slap at his face until he woke up. It was a startling technique, but maybe that was all Billy needed, and wouldn’t it be fair, anyway? For all the times he’d hit Steve, one wake-up slap wouldn’t be the worst he had coming to him. Steve raised his hand, aligned it with Billy’s prone form, and stared down at him morosely.

He twisted his arm back, mentally readying himself for the shitstorm that would erupt if hitting him did end up working, but paused when his attention was captured in the same subtle way it’d been when he’d noticed something odd about the snow earlier. Steve blinked, frowned, and then lowered his hand, mesmerized by what he saw.

There was a darkness that had been forming in the skin above Billy’s eyes while Steve had stood there pondering, slowly growing denser even as he continued to stare. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was at first, but realization struck him harder than he’d wanted to strike Billy when he understood with some dull amazement that he was watching Billy’s eyebrows slowly growing back in. It was very subtle, almost completely imperceptible, but the space above Billy’s eyes was slowly filling out- with the exception of one small slant that curiously remained blank. Without thinking, Steve reached out to run a finger along the small bare patch of skin, unaware that Billy had had a scar there until now. He wondered how he got it as he let his finger continue along the ridge of his brow, slipping from the smooth groove of the scar to feel the slight prickle of the short growing hairs as they naturally followed the curve along the shape of his eyebrow arch.

This is good, Steve thought; it meant Billy’s hair would grow back, given enough time, and for some reason he found that thought comforting. He’d be able to look at him again without feeling guilty, like Billy was suffering for some grave mistake Steve had caused.

Without really realizing what he was doing, Steve’s gentle touch roamed away from his eyebrows, trailing down the length of Billy’s soft face, rubbing over his cheek bone and down to his chin, feeling the smooth expanse of skin in an unwitting caress. He held his touch there for a moment before suddenly becoming aware of what he was doing, jerking his hand away as Billy began to wake, his startlingly blue eyes blinking rapidly up at him in exhausted confusion.

“We gotta go,” Steve said, turning away in embarrassment and speaking far too gently. He cleared his throat awkwardly and repeated himself a little more insistently, a little more urgently. “Get up. We gotta go, Hargrove.”

\\\

“Should I, like, drop you off somewhere?”

Upon leaving the Henderson’s house, Steve realized a little ways down the road that he didn’t actually know where he should be going. He’d only been to Billy’s house once, and didn’t know the way to it from Dustin’s, or if that was even where Billy wanted to go. With the immediate threat of being caught by Dustin’s mother averted, Steve had no preset destination in mind. Almost automatically, he began to navigate them in the direction of his own home with nowhere else to go.

“Like where,” Billy snarled, eyes closed and forehead pressed firmly against the cold windowpane.

His condition hadn’t improved since they’d left, and in some ways he actually looked worse. He was sweating hard, obviously riddled with nausea and trying not to bring attention to it. Every once in a while Billy’s stomach emitted a terrible growl that would in turn make Billy groan. It made Steve nervous, afraid that he was going to start throwing up again at any moment.

He’d become remarkably tight-lipped again, as it seemed that talking was causing Billy discomfort. Whenever he did speak, he’d reach up to tentatively press his fingers along the sides of his jaw, slowly making his way to the underside of his chin, wincing slightly as though he had a bad toothache. Occasionally he’d open his mouth and stretch it in an awkward grimace, reaching in once or twice to feel something that must’ve been bothering him, but would stop quickly whenever he caught Steve watching him. Part of Steve had hoped that whatever weird behaviors being a werewolf had on him would stop now that the full moon had come and gone, but it seemed he’d been mistaken. There was no shortage of mysteries when it came to Billy Hargrove.

“I don’t know, somewhere like your house?” Steve asked eventually, sighing heavily.

Billy mimicked his sigh as his stomach growled loudly again, rumbling insistently like a slow clap of thunder. It sounded uncomfortable. “Sure, Harrington, ‘cause my dad would just love it if I rolled up with you looking like this,” he bit out, leaning back in his seat and gesturing to the pink thing tied around his waist. The slit of the gown exposed much more of his leg than Steve would’ve liked, running up the length of his thigh to frame it between the hem that laid squashed between the car seat and his leg. “Fuck it, maybe you should; he might actually pay you for getting my hair cut.”

“It’ll grow back,” Steve said quickly, hearing the obvious melancholic tones of self-pity in his voice. Billy frowned and snorted, rubbing his jaw tenderly. “It will,” he insisted, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to send a look Billy’s way. “I mean, look: your eyebrows already have.”

Once again, Steve thought he was being encouraging, but Billy didn’t even check to see if Steve was being truthful. He opened his eyes and stared out at the passing scenery somberly, taking his hand away from his jaw and letting it fall flat in his lap.

“I want a shower,” he said eventually, wrinkling his nose as though he could smell himself. “Fuck, and some mouthwash.”

Having said this, Billy smacked his lips distastefully, drawing Steve’s attention to his mouth as he tried to cleanse his pallet of the acidic remnants of his sickness.

“You can use mine,” Steve offered, pulling his gaze away to re-focus on the road. “My shower. I have one.”

“Gee, do you really?” Billy drawled quietly, his innate nature to be sardonic unhindered by his nausea or whatever pains he was experiencing. “Guess you know where you can drop me off, then, Harrington.”

Steve clicked his tongue at the snide remark and rolled his eyes. “Smartass,” he muttered, to which Billy cracked a small grin.

“Smartest one I know.”

They didn’t talk anymore after that, despite the many questions Steve wanted to ask now that Billy was conscious and capable of speaking. Could he remember anything that had happened after he’d transformed and escaped? Where had he gone after he’d dragged the other one away? How far had they gone, and how had he known where to go when he’d turned back?

His questions sat on his tongue like an aftertaste that was too rich to swallow down, but he was too tired to ask them, and doubted if he currently had the mental fortitude to comprehend the answers if Billy chose to give him any. More so than trying to figure out what had happened over the course of the night, they needed to discuss what to do going forward now that they’d survived it. Back in the stifling comforts of Billy’s living room, Billy himself had said he’d remain unconvinced of anything until something concrete happened, and it had- so what did they do with that information? What did Billy want to do now that he knew, for certain, what he was? Who did they get involved to help them, and what sort of help could they expect, exactly? What could anyone do for them that they couldn’t do for themselves? Steve sighed heavily; he was far too young to be feeling this old.

They passed by Billy’s Camaro on the way to his house, parked on the side of the road two streets away even though Steve had told him it was fine to park in the driveway because his parents wouldn’t be home. But Billy had insisted, and had off-handedly thrown the conversation away from his weird parking habits to make fun of Steve’s shirt that he was now wearing.

“Is that cop following us?”

Stirred from his thoughts, Steve glanced into his rearview mirror to see what Billy was talking about. Lo and behold, trailing a few hundred feet behind them, Steve recognized the bulky shape of Hopper’s police truck trundling after them.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, running a hand through his hair; he hadn’t expected Hopper to come so soon. He was tired, goddammit; why couldn’t the universe just give him five minutes to catch his breath before it set up the next hurdle? “Uh, yeah, kind of.”

“’Kind of’,” Billy repeated, turning his attention away from the side view mirror to glance at Steve mistrustfully. “What does ‘kind of’ mean?”

Steve took a deep breath as he let the BMW coast up his driveway, putting it in park and letting his head rest against the steering wheel to give himself a chance to just breathe for a minute. “It means he caught us- me, whatever- in the woods last night, and now he knows; he knows about everything and I think he wants to help,” Steve explained, turning his head to the side to gauge Billy’s reaction. For the most part he just sat there looking surprised, but Steve had expected him to look angry. “I think we need his help.”

Billy frowned deeply and knit his eyebrows together. He looked like he had something he wanted to say, but his stomach let out another startlingly loud growl before he was able to say anything. He shut his eyes and groaned, slouching down into his seat as he gripped his stomach tightly.

“What is that, man?” Steve asked, addressing the concerning noises his gut was making as Hopper pulled up behind them. “Like, tell me honestly, are you hurt or about to shit yourself?”

“Shut the hell up Harrington, I’m fucking hungry,” Billy moaned, and under all the stresses that Steve had accumulated, he hadn’t expected that feeding Billy would be added to his pile of responsibilities. Steve’s brows rose up as he stared and began to laugh, unable to help himself as he heard the door to Hopper’s truck open and close.

He was laughing still in his seat when Hopper walked up to them, leaning down to look in at them through the window as Steve laughed loudly and uncontrollably, tears beginning to leak out of the corners of his eyes.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy x steve #Billy/Steve #steve harrington #billy hargrove #werewolf!billy #slow burn #long fic #canon compliant au #stranger things #stranger things fic

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guns-n-fucking-roses · 5 years

Text

Misc endless AUs. I have created an abomination

@colson-sixx @javiersdick @sweet-mother-love

This isn’t even all I just got bored of typing them out.

Weird sleezy 80s AU Nikki/Axl

“Don’t mind Axl, he’s really just here to make sure I make it back to the hell house.”

Nikki does the opposite and spends most of the night trying to flirt with Axl. Nikki decides either Axl is pretending to not notice it, or Axl is really really oblivious.

If slash wasn’t there he’d just be blunt and ask for a blow job. Because there’s no way Axl is straight ( probably bisexual ) because leather pants and a leather vest just scream assertive bottom.

Axl nurses one rum & coke the whole time “watching slash get drunk is hilarious, that’s really why I’m here. He’s woken up in an alley before and still made it to the hell house in one piece” so Nikki drinks a ⅓ of the booze he normally would, because he’d like to remember the pretty ginger.

Nikki agrees, Slash had wrapped his arms around Axl, more than once, and demanded they get a snake like a child demands candy. “No slash, we can’t afford that.” “Izzy would get a snake” “he’d call you crazy and walk away”

Later Slash had come back to the booth drenched, apparently he’d hit on a girl who didn’t take it well. Axl didn’t hold back his smile as slash complained about the chick, Nikki decided at that point that Axl had a great smile.

Slash ends up getting so shit faced to the point where he can’t stand by himself and Axl has to help him home. Axl turns down Nikki’s offer of paying for a cab for them “come on Axl, I’m a rockstar money ain’t a thing.” But accepts Nikki’s help in carrying slash home though.

So they put slashes arms over their shoulders and practically walk him to the hell house. Nikki laughs and remarks that Motley Crue might as well be pros at this. ‘Oh yeah?’ ‘Yeah, once Mick and Vince had to get me back to the hotel like this. But they were both absolutely out of their minds. I’m pretty sure at least one of them had just done four lines of coke. Getting back to the hotel in once piece was a miracle.’

as it turns out is a ten minute walk back to the hell house, and Nikki wishes it had been longer. If it had been longer he totally could’ve gotten with Axl.

They say goodbye at the door and Nikki feels like a stupid kid in middle school saying an awkward goodbye to a crush. Vince probably had a point when Vince talks about his attachment issues.

Nikki ends up going back to the bar and drinking till the bartender cuts him off, and if he brings a pretty ginger lady home that doesn’t mean anything.

The fact that all the people he has sex for months later are pretty gingers doesn’t mean a thing. No matter how much people tell him that yeah it means he’s got a problem.

Vague AU: Axl Rose/DJ Ashba

Ashba had seen his fair share of fucked up people, musicians high on their own egos, women who only found self worth in shallow adventures having been led astray in their youth, men who never have bonds with their kids, those kids hurting themselves with rebellion, and that’s just the standouts. Ashba counted himself among the fucked up people, there’s no doubt he’s stuffed his feelings with drugs. All people with flaws that outweighed their strengths. Most would count the ever elusive Axl Rose, forever followed by drama and anger outburst, as the best example of that. The man who held the rock scene in the palm of his hand had blown it all. But Ashba knows that if they had ever had the chance to properly get to know Axl, they would understand he’s well worth the chaos. Axl makes his life better. Axl would go to the end of the world for those he cares about. Ashba feels blessed to be one of those. Ashba first met Axl through Nikki Sixx, who was ‘friends’ with Slash and Izzy Stradlin. He was the closest to a sober person at the party, and awkwardly agreed to get Crüe safely to their homes. Years later the two of them fondly looked back on the whole bizzare night. But at the time Axl was very uncomfortable over at it the time, the only part Ashba clearly remembers is waking up curled around him. The world outside would never understand, and he quite enjoys that.Life is easier with Axl.

Patience Modern supernatural AU: Axl, the local eccentric kitsune, and his best friend Izzy, a Romani known for dealing exoctic herbs, on their quest to form a kick ass band.

Pairings: Axl Rose/Slash(one sided), Axl Rose/Nikki Sixx “a star is born” type of plot

Chapter one: introduce gnr. All crashing in one apartment together

Izzy = gypsy Vampire that knows how to get what you need, Axl’s longest friend & best friend. Slash= young warlock, spells intermediate spells often backfire. Makes potions with Izzy.

Duff= werewolf shifter, way way too much stamina. Very hands on. Cuddles with all of them.

Steven= only one with a normal name. Can't sit still. Has a heart of GOLD. Also a werewolf, just wants axl to play with him.

Axl= kitsune! Is a purebred so he does have both the human with ears & tail form and the completely fox form. Cunning & sly, emotion issues.

Chapter two:

Intro Motley Crue band meets up at nikki/Tommy/Vince ‘s place. Nikki has connections with slash because they met at a bar.

Nikki Sixx: Vampire. Prefers live blood. Snarky but overall friendly

Tommy Lee: vampire. almost always with nikki, constantly pushing the limits in order to have fun

Vince Neil: Werewolf, sex focused, vain but fiercely defensive of Crüe

Wild Side

Modern Supernatural AU:

As Motley Crue faces drug issues endangering their band, Guns n’ Roses is just now getting off the ground.

However Nikki and Vince are only focused on getting into Axl Rose’s pants.

Buurn’s Vampire Special!

Sex, Drugs, Rock N’ Roll

Exclusive interview with Motley Crue’s Terror Twins Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee. The boys talk the tour lifestyle.

Slash laughs as he tosses the magazine at Izzy, “This could be you one day. All over magazines covers reading ‘Exclusive Interview with Guns n’ Roses’ Secretive Vampire Izzy Stradlin’’. Izzy hums dismissively, but he flips through the magazine anyways.

Dave mustaine/ Axl Rose Trans AU

Axl is trans ( female to male ), Dave finds out and at first holds it over Axl’s head in order for favors but eventually develops feelings for him and apologizes. Axl - unfortunately - has feelings for Dave through the whole thing and is stuck in a horrible situation.

Tommy lee/ Mick Mars College teacher / Student AU

Tommy takes a history class for common core and has a super grouchy teacher that he finds terribly attractive. Cue him doing his best to be super sexy to catch Mick’s attention. He starts wearing cut off tank tops and leather pants and giving mick his best bedroom eyes. It’s not until he sees Mick in a guitar store absolutely killing it that he really gets a chance to get close to Mick.

Axl Rose/Bucket Head

Bucket head accidentally falls head over heels for Axl, and finds himself trying to fill the void left by the constant changes to the band’s line up.

Nikki Sixx/Axl Rose/Vince Neil Modern Semi Band College AU: featuring trans Axl ( female to male )

Axl Transfers to LA from Indiana and meets a wide cast of crazy people. And gets targeted by the intense duo of Nikki Sixx and Vince Neil all while trying to hide that he’s trans. ( prepare for a massive dump)

It’ll open on Axl’s first day at university in California, meets his roommate Slash who spooks him with Slash’s snake.

“So,” Axl pauses, “why do they call you slash.”

Slash scoffs and fires back, “what kind of name is Axl?”

“Fair enough.” Axl audibly gulps, defending his name is always horrible, it makes him wish he picked a different name but he likes it too much to change it. The tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife, until slash laughs and smiles.

“I’m just playing around man, I’ll tell you one day. “

Axl goes about his day constantly being surprised by how different things are in California compared to tiny Indiana. The plot really picks up in his music theory class where he meets Duff they get deemed partners for all future projects - who can’t read sheet music - so Axl desperate for friends offers to teach him.

In his song writing class (or maybe something vocal based, it’s not firm yet) he meets two people, Vince Neil and Tracii Gunn ( yes I’ve decided to use him ). Tracii saves him from an awkward encounter with Vince.

“Oh we got a country boy? Let me show you the wild side, it’s guaranteed to blow your mind.” He’s so attractive it almost melts Axl’s mind, part of him wants to go with the blond but the logical side reminds him that there’s no way him being transgender will go over well.

Tracii sits with Axl and the two really hit it off, and Axl gets invited to his show later that night. Needless to say, Axl is thrilled.

After his last class of the day he meets a short man, with extremely fluffy blond hair, (Steven Adler) who’s handing out flyers for a club. He practically shoves one in Axl’s hands and beams up at him, “Absolutely everyone is welcome!” And scampers off. Axl’s good day is ruined upon seeing it’s a flyer for a lgbt+ group, thinking oh damn am I that easy to clock?. But against his better judgement he still decides to go.

At tracii’s show he meets the really fucking weird duo of Mick mars and Tommy Lee. Tommy appears out of no where and shoves a drink in Axl’s hand, “you look like you need to unwound a little dude. Oh yeah, What hair dye do you use?” Tommy rattles on with little input by Axl, who is quite overwhelmed by him, until a short grumpy looking dude pulls tommy away. “I’m sorry about that, tommy ain’t good with boundaries.” And pulls tommy away.

Tracii’s set blows Axl’s mind and he knows then and there he wants to make music with Tracii. Then another band sets up, containing the short guy and Tommy, and to Axl’s displeasure Vince Neil. He’s upset at how good they are, despite being unpolished and messy it’s just so good.

After the show Tracii walks him back to the dorms, and happily finds out they’re only one floor apart and says Axl’s welcome anytime. Axl collapses on his bed, and falls asleep thankful he came to LA.

the idea for Nikki is for him to be a vague character for a couple of chapters, Axl hears wild stories of Nikki Sixx getting drunk and picking fights, also how good his music is. And all Axl knows is that he’s the bassist for Vince’s band. Then one day he finds a add for models, it pays okay and Axl needs the money. There he finally meets Nikki, who insists Axl is the closest to perfect he’s seen and flirts with him like crazy.

Nikki makes it clear he swings both ways, and Axl feels legitimate hope that he has a chance with Nikki. Nikki scrawls his number on Axl’s arm and with a wink tells him to call anytime.

Axl finds out later that Nikki and Vince are in a relationship and there’s no way he’s getting between that, then as if fate he goes to a gig the next week and all of Crüe whisper and point at him. Duff overhears their whole conversation, it’s hushed whispers of “I can’t believe he turned /both/ of us down. What the fucks his type?” Vince huffs and Tommy responds “it’d be nuts if he’s into guys like Mick.”

Finally Mick gets drunk enough to go confront Axl about it.

“My friends need to know what your type is, because it’s blowing their minds that you aren’t into them.” So Axl goes over to them and explains that he didn’t want to get in the middle of a relationship and he doesn’t put out easily. And assures them they’re very much his type.

“What, want us to wine and dine you? ‘Cause we’ve been watching you for months, and you’re the hottest thing on campus.” Nikki says, wrapping his arms around Axl’s waist. Nikki ducks his head down and licks along Axl’s neck and the grip on his hips is tight enough to be both hot and frightening. Then Vince steps forward, placing one hand on Axl’s face and running the other through his hair, Axl’s turned on but also terrified. If they find out he’s trans, they could kick his ass. Especially with the huge tommy behind them. Vince practically coos “how many dates till we get a taste of you?” Axl doesn’t answer, as Duff and Steven mercifully comes and saves him. The next day, after thinking about the two has kept him up most of the night, he shoves a piece of paper at Vince and puts his head down on his desk in embarrassment. The paper reads “Three dates to get in my pants asshole. I’m not a cheap date either” and his phone number. Vince laughs far too loud for Axl’s comfort. When class ends he’s got three messages from an unknown number. “Wine and dine it is then. We’re free this weekend, we could go see a movie? Unless that’s too cheap for a beauty like you.” Axl feels like his heart might burst from his fast it’s beating. Most of the movie is them trying to feel Axl up and he’s just constantly trying to keep their hands away from his crotch, he wants the attention to last as long as possible, because two extremely hot guys want /him/ it’s fucking nuts. They insist on walking him back to his dorm room, outside of his door they box him in. Vince kisses him first, it’s fierce yet sweet and Axl’s world melts away, it’s just Nikki pressed against his back and Vince’s sweet kiss. He’s legit pissed off when Vince pulls away, he pouts a little and Vince smirks. Before he can even think of an insult, he’s spun around and Nikki’s pulling him up for a kiss. Nikki kisses aggressively, biting Axl’s lip and forcing his tongue in Axl’s mouth. Nikki’s in Control and Axl can do nothing but just let it happen, thankfully it’s hot as hell. When Vince starts feeling him up and kissing his neck, he gasps, trying to figure a way out of this. Nikki starts trying to lift Axl up but Vince protests. “I can’t reach him like that, put him the fuck down.” Axl takes the opportunity to open his room’s door and flee from the two. He locks the door as they bang on the wall. “Come on! We weren’t going all the way, just wanted a little fun.” It takes Slash opening the door and threatening to call security on them for them to finally leave.

#axl rose #slash #Vince Neil #nikki sixx #tommy lee #mine

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