#I used wire for the legs and it got all fucked up in the glaze firing

[camtot]

A friendly little crow. They can’t quite stand on their own, but that’s ok

#I used wire for the legs and it got all fucked up in the glaze firing #I was kinda expecting that tho so I don’t mind #ceramics #pottery #handbuilt #creature #clay animal #crow #clay creature #birdy

[sanghyukstattoos]

SF9: sexual expressions

Genres: multiple au's [warnings: brief mentions of death, trauma, anxiety]; fluff-fluff-fluff; smut-smut-smut [contains mention/description of somnophilia kink (gentler than it's description), semi-public sex, baby-making, oral, mutual masturbation]

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, refer to here for more; For more SF9, read here, for iKON, read here and for optional bias writings, read here

Youngbin:

There's something in his expression, that rolls off his tongue when crass bursts of arousal coarse through him, rushing everywhere in such a natural manner, whether he's found something nice or in joy, his breathy moans and gasp-less breaths are something that awaken arousal, specifically yours. At first his moans may be muffled but as he relaxes, he opens up in the comfort an safety of being with you, you whose presence allows him to lower his tense state. To watch you would be his first thought but as your head bobs and you use your hand in a way that makes his back arch and moans fervently spill, he gets distracted, closing his eyes and losing himself in everything that floats around him. At the end, his thighs may quiver but he's already reaching for you, pulling you into his arms. Onto the bed or tent or the sheet that is rumpled in the back of his truck, he slips into you, groaning, sighing an settling into you. He takes his time to start moving, kissing your cheeks as he does. With every rush of arousal, he lightly bites your shoulder, enough for you to feel his teeth but not enough to hurt you. He caresses your backside the most, squeezing the flesh, especially as he releases. But even when you are on all fours, he makes sure to admire your backside, responding to your moans when he softly hits the flesh or uses your waist as a guide along his cock. He'll describe how feels, ''You're so warm'' or something like that, something that wrecks you and also him to pound into you, picking up the pace. When it's the end of a long day and you want to make love, he'll settle with you under the covers and gently rock himself against you, allowing you to vent or just speak to him then, killing two birds with one stone. This is because he knows that both of you will fall asleep immediately. In line with this, there is also something I want to try: Youngbin with somnophilia kink. This won't be as intense as it's description. Two to three hours after the both of you have fallen asleep, he wakes up, with a small desire already in his mind but it's when he sees you that his desires grow and he wakes you, kissing your tired self out of the haziness of falling back asleep. He feels a little guilty yes, but his thoughts are hay-wired at the moment towards you. If you respond to his desires with your vocal agreement, he won't hesitate to slip into your heat, groaning in relief at the way your core swallows every inch of his cock and soon, he'll pound you into the mattress. ''Binnie'', you ask as he slows down to see your sex taking in his cock, he hums, placing his head in between your breasts or on your chest, listening, ''Go faster please.'', which he chuckles and immediately agrees too. When you release and neither of you are ready to fall back asleep, he tugs you towards the window- one of your favourite places to have sex, it was where he took you when you had sex for the first time. Your chest against the glass, he takes you from behind, quietening himself to hear your moans and whimpers and well-demands. Demands which when came from you, he would easily comply too.

Inseong:

His sounds? Beautiful.

I'll try out this idea as well, since you asked about expression during sex: speaking. Perhaps out of excitement, he'll tell you stuff from the top of his head. Sweet words like, ''You're so beautiful'', ''so pretty, my love'', or whisper to you, ''I'm so excited'' always eliciting a a beautiful laugh from you, ''heh, cutie'', you may reply with this nickname which soothes his ears and tickles his sides with excitement. The first couple of time you have sex, he may be serious, furrowing his brows in concentration on how he is feeling. Accordingly, his sounds may alert you to his status, breathy moans are his main type of vocalisation he would let out, maybe when you suck him off or you have sex. He may even struggle on sounds the first couple of time but it's something that he doesn't dwell on too much after speaking to you about it, ''Don't worry, just let out how you feel about it.'' you said and he did exactly that. His type of sex with you is to make every moment last, each significant piece of memory stamped with your intimacy on it. When he eases himself into the comfort of having sex with you, he'll start to tell you jokes, inciting a bright atmosphere between you two. Armed with his jokes, he'll make you laugh and it'll always be something between you two, leading to or being inside jokes, never something from outside your intimate space. He's also the type to make a haven out of you bedroom space, together, you would attach a cover above your bed and leave the lights on, glazing your naked bodies like sleeping in a tent under the stars, except that it is in your bedroom. The space is safe, free to speak each other about anything and everything. During discussions, he would love to hold you, your waist or lean on his elbows and listen to you, about your day and how you are feeling. It's there that you'll make love to one another, setting each other's minds free from the ongoing troubles and/or enjoying your peace. He's got a nickname for you, maybe something from your name that he'll tell you really sweetly when he starts his conversation with you as he enters you. He'll pay attention to your sounds, ''You feel good baby?'' is his question, filled with his innocence behind them. You nod. ''Fuck- I feel so good baby'' is one of them, he'd whimper it out, followed by his stuttering moans, open and filling your ears. He sounds absolutely beautiful. ''Seongie, let me take care of you'', ''You don't have to baby'' he'll say and if you do continue, he'll go on to then lose himself in the pleasure you give, you curiously peeking eyes at his state that once your eyes connect, he doesn't leave your gaze.

Jaeyoon:

Regal Jaeyoon

He's got it out for you in the most playful way possible. He could've met you just yesterday, last week, two months ago or you've been childhood friends, regardless he sees the beauty in you. He's got many sides to him as does everyone, but unlike being around them, he understands that he can freely show them to you for example, his anger which would not be a suitable look on the king-to-be. When he's angry, he paces around in the study room before thinking that he should ask you for your opinion. So he comes to your room in the palace or picks you up outside your house, sitting side by side on the stone sculptures that are topped with granite to make for a seat or just to hang by when looking outside, swinging his legs. His hand on the cool granite and yours are not far from one another, he wishes to hold your hand and to hold you in his arms but he's not sure, he would want you to be okay with it first. But how does he get there? You can bet that he'll chase you around the market, his heart beating extra fast when he catches you. Having just recently figured out his feelings for you, he hesitates to tickle you as he usually does, instead he feels the need, the desire to connect your lips. His lips are soft and warm and he tastes of a fruit he just ate, apple or mango slices and to him, your response is everything. Your hands wander up his coat lapels, reaching his shirt collar and tugging him closer, lovingly. He giggles when you break away and he can't stop the smile that lights his whole expression, looking at you with possibly all the love in in his eyes and he doesn't notice that this occurs whenever he looks at you. ''Jaeyoon...'' you start, chuckling when he's just about to kiss you but then he pulls away to hear what you have to say, nodding to tell you that he's listening. You laugh at his adorable movement, bringing him closer for another kiss, ''I have so many questions'', ''shoot!'' he adorably says but you shake your head instead, wrapping your hands around him and the two of you bring yourselves together, under the bright summer lights and muffled screeching of seagulls arguing over who gets the last bread crumb.

I'm not sure if Jaeyoon's one for semi-public sex or not, I've been quite conflicted in my thoughts about this. He may not be or he may be, especially if he's horny for you, more often that not, in places he shouldn't do. Imagine that you are moving to a new place, your sofa is strapped at the back of the moving truck. He's going to drive you but he's not ready to move the truck all morning. He'd let you know that he's in the mood by having you in his arms and well grabbing your ass, dipping his hand in between your thighs, ''y/n, I want you.'', he'd say, plain and simple. You'd kiss and kiss till he's settle you down on the sofa, the truck parked in between two tall structures on a sun-out, non-traffic studded cobble road. ''Really?'', you shouldn't be surprised as you look at your boyfriend rolling on the condom and entering you, ''Really?'', ''yes'', he says laughing, ''Yes baby, god I love you so much.'', he's overcome with emotions. He loves when you grab his ass during sex, especially when he has you under him, filling you up with his cock till he's released and is looking around, tugging his trousers up. He gives you his hand, leading you into the front seats. For whatever reason, he doesn't let go of your hand, ''So you going to drive or?'', ''I'm not sure that we should leave right now.'', ''We need to be there by noon, it's already oh!- five thirty. We have to leave now.'', ''Okay'' he nods, picking up the pace to your new house. You unload all your stuff into the house and then, it's the cardboard boxes. He's looking around, trying to make this work. At the back his mind, he knows that he's going to help you unpack and maybe even move in with you but for now, he's a little distracted. You can't help but ask, ''Babe'', ''Huh?'', ''What's going on? You are just staring at the boxes'', you say smiling when you spell it out. ''I'm just uh- come here?'', you go over, going to look at something. He sits on one of the boxes and pulls you onto his lap, placing soft kisses along your neck. The ache in his groin stirs and he groans into your neck. The image of you having sex moments ago is still engrained into his head, your sweaty skin and visual expressions, sounds are still on his mind. He gently slips your open shirt over your shoulders and your bra strap along with it, placing a kiss on your breast, hands wandering up and down your waist all the time. ''Don't stress over the move, you've got a lot of time.''. The moment is forever in your mind, fresh or not, it's a significant period of time, the time in between a few moments ago and getting accustomed to your new house. You manage to find a place outside, on the lawn with it's fresh grass, your clothes off and him making love to you. All the energy he had before comes back, as the sounds of hips snapping against yours can be heard as compared to his words, ''You're so beautiful'' and other random mumblings about you. It's too sweet. The scene I imagine now is that you are riding him in your new background, his back on the grass and you circle your hips, steadying yourself on his toned tummy. His moans sound sweet, just like when he whines softly, muffled, stuttering ever so often. When he's close and the snapping of your hips grow quicker, his moans get more breathy and the look on his face is one as a result of his closeness to releasing. The look of his as he releases could best describe the phrase, 'like the crashing of waves on a summer day'.

Dawon | Lee Sanghyuk:

Oh, what a cutie! His part in Fanatic!

I have an inkling that he sounds pretty when he's in his element of safety and comfort around you and especially, with you. Let's take our imaginations somewhere, possibly fun!: With his regal stage outfit, the one of blue and white, imagine that you meet him in Narnia, transported via the painting. The room that was once filled with water from the Sea on High Waters painting leaves you and washes you onto a beach of an island, dry. You are surprised but also pleasantly happy to be back, it's been some time since you've seen your relatives. Forward, there's nothing for miles except for water, happily splashing around in the midst of a summer day where breeze gently blows past your ears. Behind are walls of rock of an impossible feat, at least to climb. Further on top, you have to squint to see, there are the unmistakable green flashes of leaves and trees with sways a result of stronger breeze. On this beach is where you meet Sanghyuk. He's dressed in a way that a royal would, if not, that's how he walks, along with his soldiers. The buttons to his sleeveless blue coat are open and his crew look tired, as if it's been a long journey here. ''Excuse me, who are you?'' he asks customarily, not sensing any danger. His soldiers hang back but not too far. ''I'm...'' but you are lost for words. How do you explain it? Crowned by Aslan? You have no idea who they are. ''Come with me" he says, looking here and there, urgency in his tone. It's funny how he disarms your cautiousness, with his honesty and personality- humour that goes straight to your heart. ''Give me a minute'', he mentions to one of his crew members and with that, he shows you past the railing of the huge boat. It has it's name engraved in white right below you but you can't make out it's name. ''See, after we crash landed- the storms'' he clarifies, ''we've been stuck here''. He smiles even as he says it and then you realise, even in such a terrifying situation, how beautiful his smile is. He's optimistic, it should help with the rest of your journey, you think. And it does. You begin. Just before you make your first stop, you encounter magic in the form of gold, so much gold just scattered all over the valley. A trap. Anybody who came here died. You found skeletons under all of it. ''We need to get out of here'', at that moment, dust swarms your vision in a regulated dance, as if it has had time to practice on all the people that came before. You collectively shudder at the thought but at the end, you live. It is your bravery and ever longing passion to fight for what is right that impresses him. Along the way, you tell him the truth, one secret for the other except that it's not a secret and neither of you have anything to hide. Because it's something to be hidden either. You get to know one another after that, introduced properly after your revelations. You find somewhere inside the forest to rest, on a thin sheet, here to rest for the night. You are anxious. He hovers over you, running his hands up and down your arms. Soothing you, that is the feeling, with him it feels safer, almost as if your anxiety about the previous fight has been sucked away, into the lost abyss of any voice in this forest. His crew members are searching. ''Look at me'', he says, softly, like a command but sincerely, ''Does it work on your crew, when you speak to them like that?'' you tease softly from under him, curiously committing his features to memory. Out of all your adventures, this one was going to be your favourite, you could tell. ''If they knew..'' he trails off sweetly kissing your neck, ''They would never leave me alone.'', he ends with a chuckle. You chuckle at it too. You take in a breath and it occurs to you that as much as you are relaxed, you haven't taken a breath in a while. He eyes you, keenly, wondering if you should be okay with this. Your secrets are out in the open and he has no reason to worry, the last thought along calms him. ''Less talking Hyukie'', you murmur, grappling at his coat lapels. He perks up, it is because of the name. That name, he thinks, uttered

so softly, containing so much love. It is as if you read his mind that you murmur once again, ''Hyukie'', ever so softly now, drawing him upwards and connecting your lips to his. The world is silenced, it's noise drowned out as well your tension, long forgotten now. He loves the nickname. It stirs him up, the way you say it, how you say it, he wants to keep hearing it. Then is the other concern that he will never see you after this, that you will be transported back to the world beyond the painting you came from.

He pushes it away as he reveals your top, exposing the curve of your breast ever so beautifully. And then he makes the brave move of uncovering your breasts, lingering his lips over the supple skin. Your stretch marks or not, your tattoos or not, or not, he kisses the skin, taking your perky bud into his mouth. He makes you gasp, swallowing the bud into his mouth and flickering his tongue around it. It's so arousing. There's a fire in your belly, of all the things he does to you, he cares for you. There's enough room for that. The most poignant is his voice, his groan when he's entering you, holding you and gasping at the unholy loving expression on your face. There are some things about you like your moans as he makes your toes curl and his face when you release for the nth time throughout that would make him release, immediately, on the spot, if he were to ever witness it if the two of you were not under such circumstances. He wants to hold you close to him, to relish in these moments he has with you because he doesn't know when it's going to finish, the expedition or- what the two of you have. So he does exactly that, gasping so prettily when you straddle him, ''You're so pretty you know?'' you can't help but say. Everything about the way he sees you right now, through hooded eyes that struggle to stay open because he wants to see, to commit, your waist that he holds as he guides you up and down on his cock, the way your breasts bounce, your expression and how you can't hold in your moans. From this position, you feel him in deeper, he moves his hands from your waist to holding your own, gently coaxing another release out of you. He takes in everything and moves in tandem with you, like two people on opposite sides of a street, instinctively walking when they see the signal turn green. Visually, he absorbs everything which is why, he couldn't be finished, not now. You lay in his arms, awake at almost six in the morning when the sun is barely peeking out from behind the mountains. You have a conversation about moments before when he awoke to you rustling your trousers on. He has his arms wrapped around you, like he doesn't want you to leave and from you confessing that you like him moments earlier, you suspect that you won't go now. His insatiability comes back when confesses that he likes you to, swathing you in his kisses, making you moan and grab him everywhere as you ask him of all the things he would gladly do for you.

Rowoon | Kim Seokwoo:

Possible au?, I'm in love with au's these days: I suspect that Seokwoo would introduce you to his cabin that is not to far away from civilisation. He could have met you as a new neighbour who recently moved into town and someone you grew close to very quickly or more towards the angel/demon au trope, he rescues you from a little accident which explain why he lives where he lives, there is nobody to bother him but is close enough for him to gather supplies. Truthfully, you could think of anything but the main principle applies: he is someone that you can trust and a person who lives in a balance of ambience and peacefulness whilst having fun. Every resident is excited since winter usually prolongs the days, making it seem as if its been cold for very long which some people enjoy and some people don't. Either way, summer dwindles the ice on the tree leaves, reducing it to puddles but it also brings out the playful sounds of birds and children and adults playing in the parks. If you are the new resident, he makes it a point to show you around, the parks, the offices, the restaurants, places to shop and relax. He also catches feelings for you, much more in a slow burn kind of way than fast falling and right from the start. Little touches or closeness makes him pause a beat and think about what he felt but sometimes he doesn't get that chance of thinking. It just occurs-when he's flustered. Say for example that you touch his hand or stand close to him, the proximity rises pink onto his cheeks, a prominent colour on him. You definitely go on a trip together, maybe a picnic on a day that is not particularly windy. This is different from meeting up outside of work or going on little adventures to the restaurants to try out a new cuisine or the pub or for shopping groceries. It's possible that he may not be shopping for himself but he'll accompany you where you go. All the times you go on a picnic are special to him, especially if you make some food for it, he'll appreciate it gladly but if you don't, he'll make it a point to make something. If you feed him, be assured that at first he may pull back but will like it very much, like the type that you love on second tries and continue loving it. It's then at the picnics that he'll gravitate towards what you like, he's curious in your tastes for example cotton candy or sweets or what games you like to play and your life before you came to this place. At pubs, you know what you like but he's not afraid to try out something new. It may be something that he'll want to share with you. Going to the pub becomes a thing when you want to speak to the other, tell each other about your day and eat and drink but most of all, to see the other person. Grocery shopping is well, the domestic side of him that makes you melt with his recommendations after staying in the place for so long that he knows what's good and what's not. It's only after you acknowledge your feelings for one another that he dwells on his sexual feelings for you, growing them one by one.

His voice is husky and it feels weird for me to describe it in this way but very naturally, it's a part of him. A part that you love. When he sees you from the back and surprises you, his voice makes it never sound like a surprise. Instead it soothes the tense posture you immediately assumed when you felt a figure come from behind you. His hugs are bear hugs, that he showers you with constantly, when he sees you, to hold you when you are upset and even when he is. When he nestles into your neck on a gloomy day, he can feel his stress seep away and bring something better- calm. It only goes to say then that when you make love, he loves to hold you in his arms, thrusting into your core. His moans make your feverish with delight, with a reflection of the icy weather melting into little puddles. It also become something that the two of you do, mutual masturbation, when you make out and as if on cue, you giggle and pull part. You lay on your back and he hovers above you, stroking his cock, small, breathy moans falling from his lips at the wonderous sight in front of him. At first if you are shy, he'll coax you softly with his voice, whispering, ''You can do this'', that little edge that it takes to soothe your mind and give it a go. In his eyes, you are a beauty and to see you fill yourself with your fingers makes him have to hold onto something, like grip the end of the bed or it's sheets tightly. After you release, he may take you to some other part of his cabin, maybe the kitchen to eat something but distracted by your naked body will he rub his cock in between your ass cheeks, putting you onto the counter and taking you from behind. In the way that makes your mouth fall open.

Zuho | Baek Juho:

Frustrated typing at his keyboards fills the room drawing a raise of your eyebrows half way up your forehead at the absolute demolition you hear. He leans back in his chair, sighing, ''You know, when was it?'', ''hm?'' he turns to you. The same chair he uses for producing, you are currently in his studio. ''Jaeyoon said that you couldn't game because you would... destroy the keyboard.'' and you have to laugh at this. He pretends to be unimpressed but a small smile peaks up in automatic response to seeing you smile. After seeing his expression, you laugh even more, his arms are crossed and he's staring at you as if to say, ironic but he won't say it out of a false hope at retaliation. You were pretty good, alright but to him, it was wonders! How could you do such stuff?! Moments later, he quits the game and opens a file, the studio grows peaceful as the keys of the keyboard are tapped in near silence, a huge contrast to the clickety-boom!-clackety of before. You grow bored. Feet shuffle from behind him and onto his lap, distracting him from his hold on his mouse and screen, your figure covers it. He smiles, innocently, very cutely in fact as you play with the material of his jumper, feeling his embrace bring him in-line with your chest which he nuzzles into. He sighs, asking, ''do you want to take a break?'', eliciting a yes! in thought and sound, tugging him to the sofa. The sofa is... comfy. You lay on it, extending your arms. He settles into them, hugging your waist and resting on your tummy. ''Ju?'', you ask, waiting a beat, ''How is it going?'', another way of asking his progress on the song, further leading to when you can listen to it. It's as if he knows your true questions because he says, ''Soon'', voice muffled by his hiding in your tummy. He pulls your top up, staring for a beat with a look that takes your breath away. His eyes... they marvel in deep thought that you think you know what he's about to ask you for your ''talk'' later. Your breath is taken away. You know what he wants to say, it's on the tip of your tongue but you can't voice it. Surely, you want to hear it from him even more. You would marvel even more then. ''Let's have that talk now?'', your breath hitches, pauses in your throat. He's got more reasons to come inside of your now and the thoughts makes your core ache. You squeeze your thighs together out of reflex. You sit up and so does he, his hands rests on your thigh. You can feel the heat from his legs that are so close to yours, suddenly becoming aware of his cologne that invades your senses. He reaches for your hand, eyes wide, looking around before he starts, ''Babe, I-'' but stops short. You hum, realising that it's importance made him pause. You give him an encouraging look, ''Go on, just say it, blurt it out, anything baby'', squeezing his hand in comfort. He sees your eyes, the love they have in them and he just says it, without a pause or hesitation. ''I want to have a baby, with you of course.'', he says and the last part provokes laughter. ''A baby?'', you ask, he nods, ''With me?'', now he sees that you are teasing and pulls back, ''But why? Why with me?''. Your laughter and playful teasing ease the tension he feels. At least you aren't averse to the idea. When you stop laughing, you reach to cusp his cheeks, ''Baby, I'd like that idea.''. Those words are enough for him to lose his mind. He thought that this decision would take time, weeks if not for just one day but his questions have been answered. Just like that, his shock wears off. It takes him less than a second to pull you up and start jumping around, out of pure joy. He sobers up pretty quickly though, must faster than you anticipate, he's pulling his stuff off the table, switching off the lights. ''Home?'' you ask, taking the lead. When you get into the car, you say, ''This is kinda funny, we couldn't possibly be running home for this.'', ''Why not?'', ''There's no expiry, at least not for now. We've got... time.'', ''Yes?'', ''Yes'' you confirm, nodding your head, heading home. ''Also, why are we going home?'' you ask,

''What do you mean?'' he replies, not believing why you have no idea that you're leaving his studio early. ''It feels weird to leave early.'', you want to stop over somewhere. He sees your anxiousness, ''Lets stop over the station and buy something to eat.'', pointing at the turn. When you get out of the car, you can finally breathe, leaving the anxiety accompanied by your decision earlier. He takes your hand, holding your cheek and pulling you closer. He needed to do this. To give you a kiss which he first places very delicately on your cheek and then on the corner of your lips, finally on your lips. The moment is everlasting. He cups both your cheeks, gently, kissing you lovingly as if to say a multitude of unspoken things.

*sigh*, dear anon, I did it again: I strayed off-topic. I should be ashamed but the above writing is gold so I will include the little titbits after this: Ju's voice colours everything he feels, even if it's just a little bit, his hands may twitch or he'll sound a low sound that will alert you of what he's feeling. His best sound is when he gasps, it's not too much neither too little. He throws his head back and his back arches, it takes a small breath for him to resume. The scene I imagine as I write this is him receiving a blowjob. Otherwise, he would love to try out having sex in new places with you. Against the counter? Having you lean against it as his cock fills you up? Slowly, lovingly? He's all for it, whatever or wherever you imagine yourself to be, with him.

Yoo Taeyang:

We'll start from the end: when he releases, his soft pants are capturing, distracting you even a little from your agenda of releasing your juices around his cock. His favourite position to have you ride his cock with your hands clutching his waist, circling your hips on his, he can't control the haziness that cloud his expression. His hands wander a lot though, to your nipples, pinching them but ever so often, he feels like tasting you. Having you in his mouth, to swirl his tongue around and relish in the beauty of how you taste. He brings you down, close to his chest so that he can take your bud in his mouth, ''I neglected this didn't I?'' and at your whines, he nods, chuckling, ''I'm sorry about that...'', trailing off to add extra vibration of pleasure that travel straight south. He's charismatic, without even trying.

Imagine another set of scenarios: Taeyang punishing. It's at a party, in a house containing lots of rooms save for the fact that the party is only on the first floor, you know that it's progress to the upper floors throughout the night. He takes you somewhere remote, messily clashing his lips against yours, tugging at your clothes. You've moved past the need for words. On your knees, you take his cock, bobbing your head and for the god lack of co-ordination, you stumble at first but he's quick to reassure you that you can do whatever for the first couple of times because he'll teach you well. His yelp is disappointingly loud when you playfully run your teeth along his cock and you peer up, to see his heated eyes, out of annoyance. ''On purpose?'' is the question that his expression seeks to answer but to which there is no answer. His moans are concealed when his hands land harshly on your ass, his cock red and hard no doubt. But instead, you pant and so does he, his breathing heavy and he struggles to stop just to fill you up. There's a hint of body worship that peeks out there, running his hands up and down your body, even into the dip in between your legs, coating his fingers in your juices. He loses control for a bit there, turning you around and kissing you with such high energy. His feelings for you- all over the place. In surprise, to contrast his previous energy, he gets down on his knees. He wants to. One leg over his shoulder, he dives in to taste your juices, placing kitten licks everywhere before pumping you with his digits, sucking greedily and only after he's wrecked you with one release or more as seen by your quivering thighs and shaking body but heated for more does he come back on top. If you don't think that you could release one more time, he's completely okay with it, equally loving your mouth on his cock that pushes him over the edge, once again with sheer force.

How about a best friends to lovers au now?: The suspect of loving you in this long-winded game is Taeyang, long-winded as in the past couple of months you've gotten to know one another. He's straightforward, to tell you that he likes you when the chance is there, an electric energy present, just before the two of you are about to kiss. He tells you how he feels about you. From there, your words satiate his nervous composure with relaxation. He kisses you, somewhat compose, majorly giddy from your confessions. He kisses you till your back hits the covers, passionately. Kissing your breasts (or chest), he loves to uncover you, to take his time, rocking his hips against yours in a pace that is just in between making love and fucking, he'll take your hot skin into his mouth, nipping and sucking and then hold your hands above your head, when a release rips through you. His groans beautifully grace your ears when he releases, kissing you once again. He would settle in beside you, giggling about what just occurred with a smile so shiningly bright or go to sleep and then wake up later to explore your attractions to one another, once again.

Hwiyoung | Kim Youngkyun:

Kyun has attitude

I'm sure that it may be not what you asked for but what is this blog without my ramblings??: When you first have sex together, he reaches for you. To touch you, to feel you and to remember every intimate moment he has with you. He'll feel your body, every part of you, your cheeks, chest, waist, tummy, inner thighs, backside and even places where stretch marks and/ or tattoos lie because those are personal to you. He'll show you and perhaps even tell you that your body is beautiful, multiple times. A beautiful session of making love follows. Where every moment is spent in each others arms as he fills you again and again, revelling in the sounds you make, Your cries, moans, whimpers incite him to hold you and continue his love-making.

His sounds vary but the majority are audible: his grunts when he enters you, his moans when he holds the headboard as he fucks into you or his cries that he let's out into the crook of your neck as you ride him. When he receives a blowjob, he doesn't hide his moans but it's not about hiding, he wants you to know. All in all, his sounds are low in tone, very pretty and arousing.

A little story for you, dear anon: It's summer! Unlike the others, this one is comparatively cooler. The breeze blows past your cheeks. You return home to find Youngkyun with an apron tied around his waist, delicately chopping the food and placing them into the utensil. The apron is an adorable sight that crinkles your eyes. For your boyfriend that regularly throws gang signs, it adds to the overall clarity of his cute demeanour. "Babe" you start your greetings but upon seeing you, he immediately throws off his apron and comes towards you, eliciting peels of laughter from you. He picks you up and places kisses all over your cheeks, ''I missed you'', he says, pouting. At your smile, he takes you to the bedroom, placing you on the bed. You wait, smiling, he's changing, ''Right now?'', ''Right now'', he nods, energy on full blast. He straddles you, placing smooth kisses everywhere, ''You are so pretty, you know that?'' he whispers, taking off your top and bottom. "Babe, really, how was your day?" you ask, the both of you laugh at the question as you switch positions, straddling him instead. Filling yourself up with his cock, you hear his little grunt upon entering and a sigh of relief comes from the both of you when he's completely in. The sounds he makes is beautiful in every tone. His hands on your backside guide your hips along his cock and ever so often, he let's out these pretty high-pitched moans, throwing his head back and swallowing all the arousal flooding through his body. You chuckle, moaning in his mouth as you give him a soft kiss. After you release, droplets of sweat can be seen on both of you and pink clouds his face, heated. Panic sets in his features. "What's going on-?" you ask, he doesn't move but points to the door, "the food". "We have to go save it", you say, little, displaced confessionals occurring now. You go to the kitchen and while he assesses for damage, you lean on your elbow, peeking at him in his naked form. It would very hard to argue with him if he was naked, you think. He nods, picking you and placing you on the counter, cuddling you. The moment could last forever. In between your legs, he doesn't bother with anything but laying peacefully in the crook of your neck, "Baby, I love you, I also feel like this was overdue", you chuckle, "of course not peach, I love you too" you say. A beat later, he kisses your neck, not hesitating to take a little bite that draws a laugh from you, ''Kyun!'', ''huh, babe?'' is his honest reply as he continues, till his mouth has reached your core.

Chani:

He grasps the back of your head, gently easing you along his cock. Eagerly, he watches your mouth swallow his cock, his own growing dry at the sight. A slight twitching to be expected, you chuckle at the expression on his face, ''Chani'', you take yourself off his cock, snapping his attention to you. Truthfully, he was so aroused by the sight, he lost himself in it. You chuckle, brushing away strands of hair from his face. ''What is it?'', you ask to which he responds by taking you hands in his and squeezing ever so subtly to let you know that nothing is wrong, ''I was just staring, I'm sorry-'' he goes to apologise but you shake your head, already knowing that he was absorbing the visuals. He is surprised that his mouth works, could he even speak after watching something so heavenly? He's not sure that words could be formed. He leans on one hand, sitting on the bed with you in between his legs, taking him into your mouth once more, eliciting a groan from him, soft to begin with, accompanied by the scrunch of his nose at the feeling of warmth. He looses him hand on the back of your head when he feels like he's about to fall on his back. Your hands slowly trail up his inner thighs, squeezing the flesh along the way, pumping his shaft to kitten lick his tip, a trail of saliva coating your mouth and connecting to his tip. His eyes, although occasionally close out of pure arousal, he makes sure that they are open. By the time he's about to release, a layer of sweat lines his pink-dusted, heated temples. When he's close, his moans grow louder and he pants, making unconfigurable noises. The words that he wants to tell you, how he's feeling, how good you are for him and to him get strangled in his throat, instead coming out as muffled noises and quivering thighs. If you let him release into your mouth, he collapses on his back after as you straddle him. After a few moments, he would be in the mood to eat you out and have sex with you after. If you take him out of your mouth and pump him, he would prefer to release all over your backside, your butt that he'll repeatedly squeeze and even take a bite out off when he eats you out before he fills you up. He's ready to make love with you, surprising you and himself with his energy, pent-up, ''I'm surprised'', ''About what? This?'', ''Yes, very much.'', ''Babe, look at me.'', ''Huh?'', ''After sleeping for half your life, you have accumulated these reserves of energy...'', ''Babe please'' he says, stifling his laughter at your teasing.

For his sounds, he could also be non audible. For whatever it is that the two of you are doing, he could be exploring what he is feeling, especially the first couple of times that he has sex or receives a blowjob or mutually masturbates, a new situation.

How about a detective Chani au?: He's a rough character, particularly because of his past experiences in his job, naming more death than life, he once found it hard to stay afloat all the floating bodies in his nightmares. He's been there and he's not willing to go back, he's struggling and he knows. In this au, you are a random stranger, cross-pairing from a different department to hunt down a very articular group of organised crime. Around you, his control on his behaviour slips, like his physical affection and how much he speaks, he guards himself on a daily basis, stubborn to keep it that way. He fights with you, demeaning you and when he hears your words, they ring in his ears and also bring about a familiar, painful feeling in his chest. Even when he kisses you. He's rough, pushing you on your hands and knees, taking you from behind. Then, unconsciously, he brings you to his chest when he realises that you must be close and praises you, ''You're doing so well''. He also realises that he wants you by his side. You don't pretend to know who he is, despite his true horror stories of dead backlogging teams and ruined missions, unlike the people he works with. Guilt long suppressed clouds his chest, it's a weird feeling, even when the two of you are done and you take him into your arms. He's crying. You give him some space. He looks up when you come back into the room with water and some tissues, ''Here, tell me why you've been such a dick.''.

#sf9 #youngbin #inseong #jaeyoon #dawon #lee sanghyuk #rowoon #kim seokwoo #zuho #baek juho #yoo taeyang #hwiyoung #kim youngkyun #chani #sf9 x reader #sf9 requests #sf9 reactions #sf9 fanfic #sf9 fluff #sf9 scenarios #sf9 writings #sf9 imagines #sf9 angst #sf9 au #sf9 smut #sf9 fantasy

[spunkpunx]

Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery - Graham Coxon

Plot: Reader is dating Alex James, and finds herself miserable, but finds comfort in a tumultuous affair with his friend, and guitarist, Graham Coxon.

I will probably do a part 2.

Word count: 5153!

Warnings: Drugs, Alcoholism, Smut, Angst, Smoking

April 1996

Alex loved France. Not only that, but the French loved him, specifically the women. I didn't need to understand his words to recognise the flirty tone in his voice when he spoke to the waitresses, the bar staff, in fact, basically any attractive woman who fluttered her eyelashes at him. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Of course, I knew Alex well, so I was never under the impression that he would be a devout, faithful partner, but I also never expected him to be so explicit in his relationships with other women. We both considered the relationship open, but Alex was the only one who seemed to take advantage of that situation.

I found solace in hanging around with Graham. The tour was stressful. We both struggled. We all drank, but for Graham it was a necessity. I spent more time with Graham than with Alex, but of course he didn’t care. The words “jealous” and “possessive” were not in his vocabulary, but then again, neither was “monogamous”.

I was tired and miserable. The venues where the band played could be stubborn about sound-checking themselves. This resulted in a lot of arguments, as I was strictly instructed that the band were only to have their own sound technician (me). Alex and Damon could be rude. Since I’d been dating Alex, nobody took my work seriously. I stopped being a technician with almost seven years experience on tour, and became “Alex’s girlfriend helping out”. The crew could be horribly sexist at times. Even Ivan dismissed me when I brought him a problem.

“Get one of the other technicians to look at it,” he said, after I told him that one of the venue’s sound guys had wired the bass into a guitar amp and not the subwoofer. He must have turned up the volume to compensate for the sound and blown the speaker.

“I know what I’m doing! I’ve worked with this band for years!” I ended up snapping. I heard one of the roadies mumble something about a period and it sent me over the edge. Sometimes I got so angry it was like I didn’t have control over my impulses anymore. I told them all to fuck off and stormed out the room, kicking the door with a tremendous thud as I left. After I’d cooled down and returned, the crew tiptoed around me like I’d overreacted. After the gig, Ivan came over to speak to me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to undermine you. You’re one of the best sound techs we’ve had,” he apologised, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. I appreciated the apology, it was the first one I’d had since the tour began.

Alex and I had an argument that night. We argued often, but this was explosive. He came into my room, coked up and horny, sitting next to me on the bed and pressing wet kisses to my neck.

“Are you over your little tantrum?” he asked, kneading my breast a little roughly. I pulled away.

“Little tantrum?” I repeated, surprised at his tactless words. “Everyone has been treating me like shit recently Alex.” He shrugged, running a hand up my thigh over my jeans, toying with my top button.

“Whatever it was. Ivan was trying to help and you just went mental,” he laughed, like it was all a big joke. He pressed his lips against mine and I pushed him away.

“It’s your fault I’ve been feeling like this!” I snapped. “If I didn’t start dating you then people would actually treat me like a professional! All of a sudden Damon is asking the drum tech to check the mic volume before they go on!”

“All of a sudden it’s my fault?” he asked, voice raising slightly. “Just cause you overreacted and bit Ivan’s head off?!”

“You don’t get it Alex! If you were ever actually here you’d understand how I was feeling, but you’re always off snorting lines and banging these fucking French girls!” I shouted at him.

“Well maybe I’d be here more if you actually put out instead of just going off at me!” he yelled back. I stood up, walking across the room with my hair clenched in my fists. I wanted as much distance between us as possible.

“Put out?” I looked at him incredulously. “So you’re only here if you can have sex with me? This relationship only exists so you can rely on me having sex with you whenever you fancy?!” We were both properly shouting now.

“That’s what relationships are! That’s what love is! The only difference between friends and relationships is sex!” he replied, seeing this as perfectly valid reasoning.

“So all I am is sex to you?” I asked, my voice now dangerously softer but still dripping with venom.

“No... That’s not- Stop twisting my fucking words!”

I calmly picked up my cigarette carton and lit one, letting his point ferment.

“Get out,” I spat. He glowered at me, standing up and leaving the room, slamming the hotel room door behind him.

As soon as he left the room, hot tears started spilling down my face, not tears of sadness but of rage. I felt overwhelmed. I smoked a cigarette, then another, the deep inhalation subduing my frustration. I heard a soft knock at the door.

“Piss off Alex!”

“It’s not Alex,” came Graham’s gentle reply. I stood and opened the door, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Gra,” I huffed in relief at his presence.

“I heard you were arguing, I wanted to see you were okay,” he said. It didn’t surprise me he’d heard it. Graham’s room was just across the hall, and we’d not been quiet. “Pub?” he offered, smiling slightly.

“Yeah alright, I’ll just grab my coat.”

We found a small bar not too far away from the hotel. Neither of us spoke particularly good French, but Graham knew enough to order some wine. The Parisians didn’t drink the same way the British did, and both of us were a little too embarrassed to try and order two pints of beer and a pack of cheese and onion crisps. Instead, we sat with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses, hidden away in a back booth and laughing at our clumsy attempts at the French language.

“It’s so embarrassing walking round with Mr Culture speaking fluent French like it’s the most natural thing in the world, meanwhile I struggle asking the man in the shop for a packet of fags,” I complained, chuckling.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you arguing about before?” Graham queried.

“Oh, just...” I paused, unsure whether to tell him or whether he’d just agree with Alex. “Well you know how I lost my temper before?” Graham nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth like he always did when he was listening. “Well he made a joke about it, and it pissed me off. I dunno, I feel so tired and miserable recently, and the way everyone has been treating me like I’m totally incompetent at my job is so difficult. Alex is never there, he just swans around doing whatever he wants, meanwhile I just feel so overwhelmed,” I spilled, not even intending to share that much. Something about the build up of emotions in my life and Graham’s reassuring presence at the end of the table made me feel the sudden need to tell him everything. “I just don’t feel happy anymore.”

“I know how you feel, kind of,” Graham reassured, placing his hand over mine, while I took a large swig of wine. Looking back, I think that was the first moment I thought about kissing him. Of course I didn’t, we stayed out most of the night and then stumbled back to the hotel drunk. But I actually considered that maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad if I was dating Graham, not Alex.

October 1996

I never expected the knock at the door. It was a cold night in mid October, so when I opened the door wearing only a large t-shirt and odd socks, the biting breeze nipped at my bare legs. Graham stood there awkwardly, wrapped up in a fleece lined jacket and his eyes slightly glazed in his drunkness. I didn't ask any questions, just greeted him with a hug that lasted a few seconds longer than usual, then invited him in.

Graham wasn't a happy man, but I myself was hardly a ray of sunshine. I sat down next to him on my old settee, lighting a cigarette and refilling my wine glass. I offered him a glass but he shook his head.

"What's up Gra?" I asked him softly, reaching out to cover his hand with my own. He let out a dejected sigh.

"I can't do it anymore (y/n)," he explained. "The band. I'm starting to hate them all. The press, the tours, the people. It's way too fucking much. Damon won't change the music we do, he's being a controlling bastard, and then Alex, fuck." Graham pulled at his earlobe, something I noticed him do often when he was feeling nervous or stressed.

"What is it?"

"He's out living his playboy lifestyle, shagging around, doing lines, drinking champagne. Meanwhile, you just sit around pretending like everything is fine!"

I dropped my hand from his. I wasn't ready for this criticism, especially not from a man who was currently drunk every second of his life.

"It is fine, Gra."

"No it's not, because he barely gives you a backwards glance when he goes out and I have to watch it," he complained. He turned to me, looking over my face like he was drinking it in. "I think you're so beautiful."

"What?"

"So, so fucking beautiful," he repeated. Graham was bad at eye contact, but right now he was drunk, and looking at me with such a sinful look in his gaze. He glanced over my lips, and the small flip in my stomach as he did was my only sign. There had been moments over the past year where Graham and I had shared similar glances, but neither of us acted on impulse, until now.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. Immediately his hands slipped around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and as he deepened the kiss I pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. He assisted my movements, pulling it off to fall lazily on the floor.

His hand travelled down to my underwear, tucking a finger beneath the waistband of my knickers, pausing to see if I stopped him. I did, but only to pull his t-shirt over his head. I had seen Graham without a shirt before, but now I took in his lithe physique and broad shoulders. He slipped his hand to my clit, rubbing it in slow circles. I gasped at his touch and he leant down to brush his lips against my ear.

“You turn me on so much,” he whispered honestly, slipping two fingers inside me and curling them up. I moaned into his neck, pressing a kiss against it. Alex never really bothered with foreplay so this felt like heaven. After a minute he pulled his fingers out to push me down against the sofa, as I pulled him into another hungry kiss. He pushed his hips against mine and I let out another soft moan while he smiled into the kiss. Soon the desperation over took us and I fumbled with his belt, helping him remove the rest of his clothes before he pulled my t-shirt over my head, drinking in my body.

For a second he tucked his hands into my hair, holding my face behind my ears and stroking me cheeks with his thumb, before kissing me playfully on the nose. He pushed himself inside me with a slight groan, watching my face as I let out a satisfied sigh. I felt so appreciated, the way he looked at me was so tender. Unlike my day to day misery with Alex, this felt so raw, so right. He cupped one of my breasts with his hand, kneading it gently as he softly kissed and nipped at my neck. I felt sweat beading along my thighs, pressed into his body as we lay on the sofa, fully naked with the exception of our socks. He picked up the pace, and I could tell he was trying to control his urge to finish as quickly as possible. He rubbed my clit with the rough pad of his thumb, causing me to let out an unexpectedly loud moan as I clenched around him and my body shook. This brought him over the edge and he finished inside of me with a string of swears. He looked at me slightly panicked.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked, and I laughed, nodding, still out of breath and thrumming from my orgasm. He rested his forehead against my own and we lay there for a moment, panting, letting it register what had just occurred. I didn’t feel guilty at all, although I could tell Graham did. Alex had said so many things to me now that I couldn’t feel regret for sleeping with his friend, not when the moment was so sweet. Then he seemed to be pulled back into reality.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, standing up and looking for his boxers. “I didn’t mean to do that, it wasn’t the plan.” I furrowed my eyebrows slightly.

“The plan? What was the plan?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you I love you, but you weren’t supposed to... You were going to tell me to piss off and then I could lay it to rest. I’m sorry. I’m drunk.” He pulled his boxers up and started looking for his jeans, but I reached out for his hand, pulling him round to look at me. I was still naked, knees drawn up to my chest on the sofa. I saw his eyes soften, his behaviour calm.

“Gra, I don’t want you to go,” I pleaded, my voice coming out a lot quieter than i intended. Alex and I had had another argument, and I was already feeling so lost until Graham showed up.

He paused, looking at out two hands together. I held my breath, waiting for his response. I needed him to make the irresponsible decision. Eventually, he nodded, and I nipped to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I came back in, clean and wearing a t-shirt and knickers, Graham had settled on the settee with the telly on, he’d also pulled his t-shirt on. I came to sit next to him, and he rested his head on my chest slightly while I began to run my fingers through his hair and he hummed contentedly. The show was boring, a late night crime drama. Within a few minutes Graham was snoring softly on my chest. I sipped my wine and smiled to myself.

November 1996

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Graham rolled over with a groan of pleasure, panting with sweat on his brow. I turned on my side to face him and he pulled a stupid face, still lying on his back. I let out a sigh and turned over, away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, moving closer and pressing a kiss onto my shoulder. One of his large hands rested on my waist and I suppressed the urge to sniffle.

“We don’t love each other though do we?” I said rhetorically.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, if we loved each other, then I’d leave Alex and you’d stop drinking so much.” I felt so bad saying it, but it was true. Even as Graham arrived in a better mood today, there was still an alcoholic taste on his tongue. We’d been seeing each other for over a month, and I knew I wasn’t breaking up with Alex any time soon.

“Maybe you’re right, but still, it feels nice to say, doesn’t it?” he pointed out, nuzzling his head into my neck as he ran his hand round to lay against my stomach, pulling my back closer to his chest.

Sometimes it felt like Alex must have known about me and Graham’s relationship, because he suddenly changed last month. Of course, we still argued. He still enjoyed champagne and cocaine and plenty of women, but god he was good at apologising. After arguments he’d always pull off the perfect apology. He’d me out to an expensive restaurant and completely overlook every gorgeous woman there. He’d make a point of telling the waitress that he must be the stupidest man on earth to have an argument with his ‘beautiful girlfriend’ and would try and show me off to every person in the room. Sometimes his apologies were less flashy, sometimes they came in the form of a home cooked croque monsieur in the morning, and kisses all over my face. Alex had the ability to make me feel both completely worthless and wonderfully special, but when he made me feel so special the guilt always tainted my mood.

In fact, it was at this moment a knock came at the door. I sat up in slight panic. Graham looked at me in confusion.

“It must be Alex,” I told him in a hushed voice.

“Shit.”

The knock came again. I pulled on a shirt from the cupboard, padding through my flat to the living room.

“Hey, (y/n). I know your home,” he said through the door.

“Can you come back later, Al?” I asked, doing up a couple of the buttons. “There’s someone here at the minute.”

“No, just open the door,” he persisted. I sighed, walking over and unlocking it. I stood there in a just the oversized shirt and some underwear I’d pulled on. My bedroom door was shut, Alex wouldn’t mind as long as he didn’t know who was in there.

“I’m in the middle of something,” I said slightly exasperated.

“Fucking hell, you look good,” he grinned, looking me up and down before pushing his way past to get into my flat.

“Hey, don’t come in!” I protested.

“It’s fine, love. I left my keys somewhere here, I just came to grab them,” Alex replied, going into the kitchen and picking them up off the side. He walked into the living, cheeky smile on his face. “Hey, can I say hello to whoever is in there?” he teased, stepping towards my bedroom door. I rushed forward, pushing him away while he teasingly stood his ground.

“No you cannot, it’s weird. If I come into yours while someone’s there you look like a philanderer, but when you come here guys think you’re my pimp or something,” I argued, managing to get him across the room toward the front door.

“Okay, fine,” Alex agreed, dropping his hands to around my waist. “Kiss goodbye?” he requested in a silly voice, tilting his head to the side. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. He pressed his lips to mine for a moment, dropping his hand to squeeze my arse jokingly, and I pulled away to give him a lighthearted smack on the arm and hurrying him out the flat.

When I walked back into my room, Graham was still nestled beneath the duvet, his head poking over the top.

January 1997

"You have to be joking, right?" came the surprised voice of Blur's bassist. Alex was stood in the doorway of a backroom at Groucho's. His pupils were like goddamn dinner plates, as per usual, but for once he was acting surprisingly sober for someone so off their tits. We'd been caught, and as Alex cast a disbelieving look between myself and his bandmate my heart dropped down into the bottom of my stomach.

I had been dating Alex James for just about two years, and had known him for four, and although our relationship wasn't defined as such, it was a rather open one. This, however, seemed to be a breach of our agreement. This wasn't a random person, or even a distant friend, this was Graham.

When Alex had walked in, he'd come across a scene that was a little bit more than over friendly. The guitarist had his hand underneath my skirt and was kissing my neck while we laughed drunkly. Of course, then came the interruption, and we had jumped apart at the arrival of my boyfriend. I sat awkwardly, chewing my lip, feeling like a naughty school kid. Nobody spoke. It was difficult to know what to say. There was no chance of convincing him it was less than he thought, I'm sure our guilty faces spoke volumes. After a pause that went on for way too long, I tried to speak up.

"Al-" I began to reason but my voice was cut of.

"No," he interjected. "I can't fucking believe it. You're my mate, Gra. You're in the band. Of course, the quiet, sweet one. Works for you doesn't it? 'Cause this whole time you've been fucking my girlfriend," Alex snapped. I saw Graham look down, his jaw clenched slightly. I wanted to reach for his hand but I knew it wasn't the time.

"Alex,” I warned but he scoffed at me.

"Piss off with that, (Y/N)," he scolded with an incredulous laugh. "Get your stuff from my place tomorrow, but don't come too early 'cause I'm bringing home that blonde girl from the bar tonight," he told me harshly, leaving the room, probably to go practice his lines in the bathroom.

I sat back down next to Graham, my frown mirroring his. I tipped my head onto his shoulder, and he pulled me into him with a comforting arm. It was difficult to pin down my feelings, although guilt was the presiding one. I felt especially guilty for not finding the ability to care that Alex had just split up with me. I felt tears prick my eyes, unable to stop myself from crying. Graham tilted his head to me, brushing the tears from underneath my eyes with his thumb, and pressing a kiss onto my forehead. I tried to pull him in for a kiss, to distract myself from my current feelings, but he turned his head away.

“Now’s not the time,” he told me gently.

February 1997

I didn’t expect to still accompany the boys on the American tour, in fact, I was aware Alex had greatly argued against it, but Ivan had insisted. I was under contract to the record label and familiar with the set up and how the band liked things. I rather have stayed in London to be honest.

Before we left, Blur released their self titled album, kicking it off with a 'secret' gig at the Astoria to a sold out crowd of two thousand people. The mood was so elevated, all tensions seemed to be erased. A huge after party went down. It was packed with Britpop royalty and went completely out of hand. That night I even stupidly assumed that things would go back to normal, water under the bridge.

I only listened to the album two days later. It was totally different to anything they'd done before. I recognised the influence of the underground bands Graham listened to, although the tone seemed slightly ironic. The album seemed fast paced, but then, halfway through the album came an unexpected softer number, Graham's soft voice coming into my living room through a layer of crackly voice effects. The first verse was despairing. I knew Graham was struggling with his alcohol, but I'd been doing so awfully myself that I didn't even realise how bad it had gotten. It was the chorus that really ruined me though; heartwrenchingly honest and bitterly optimistic. I didn't care if he'd written it about me or not, but that last line hit me somewhere deep in my heart and put tears in my eyes. By the time the song had ended I was a sniffling mess on my living room floor and brimming with such a strong sense of love.

We left to France two days later. The crew were acting strange with me. Everyone knew that I’d now slept with two members of the band, and there was lots of implication I was going to try a third. Damon was acting well off with me and usually I found myself sat with Graham receiving glares from both Damon and Alex. We had to go through Paris and then Tokyo before we arrived in the US at the beginning of March. Things were okay when we all got drunk enough, the boys tended to forget about my crimes against the band. We did sing alongs at our hotels. Alex got a bit arsey when Graham fell asleep with his head in my lap in Tokyo, but he’d happily bring girls to drink with us and happily snog them while I was sat there. I didn’t mind, the part of me that cared was so easy to shut off now.

I loved Japan, and the Japanese loved Blur. Damon was particularly popular with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face. The reception at the airport was always brilliant. There would always be a crowd of teenage girls desperate for a signature off their favourite band member, I think one of the Gallaghers already said it, but it was like a second wave Beatlemania. I usually sat back with Ivan, watching the boys deal with their fans, especially Graham. While Alex and Damon used a charming smile, Gra always seemed so unsure what he was doing was right. It was very endearing. I wanted to stay as far away from fame as possible.

Me and Alex’s breakup was extremely high profile. Of course, why we split up was a public mystery, only adding to interest levels. We kept our relationship fairly private, although I had experienced the odd incident with paparazzi, but the Blur management team saw great opportunity for promotion with our split. I was hounded by music journalists for weeks, and photos of me suddenly started appearing all over the gossip magazines. As much as I didn’t want to be stuck on tour with Alex, I had to say it was a relief to leave it behind.

Graham still came to my hotel room late at night, but for both of our sakes he left way before the sun rose. That part was the hardest, when he climbed out of bed to get dressed and leave. I’d watch him put on his clothes, peeking my head over the bedsheets and not speaking. He’d press a kiss to my forehead and tiptoe out the room, back to his own. Then I was alone. I think that fear of being alone was what kept me from ending things with Alex, because staring up at the ceiling after Graham left was the most saddening feeling in the world. I couldn’t say I love you to him anymore, even if I did. When I was still with Alex, it was just a phrase, but then it had become an empty promise. I was far too scared to bear my soul to him like that. I think it upset him slightly, when I wouldn’t say it back, but he never mentioned it.

It was moments like that, lying alone in bed and feeling totally isolated, with nothing but the rushing thoughts in my head, that I would have given anything for Alex to burst into my room and pick a fight with me again. Sometimes I wanted him to loose his temper, to see me across the room and to shout at me, to call me names. His willing acceptance of the situation hurt me most. His ability to move on like it was nothing.

March 1997

Things went downhill once we arrived in America. Everyone was jet lagged from the flight and we were mainly travelling around on a tour bus. Being in such close confines did have a habit of getting on everyone’s nerves. I was sharing a tour bus with some other sound technicians, which was a nightmare. I was the only woman on tour, and every morning I got up an hour before everyone else so I could get dressed without being stared at by a group of blokes. Unfortunately, I was also going to bed in the early hours of the morning anyway, so I was feeling twice as exhausted as usual.

Suddenly, Alex seemed a whole lot more pissed at me than before. Any time Graham and I were even in the same room, he would glare until one of us left. He couldn't help but leave snide comments.

The other issue with being on tour was privacy. I barely got a second alone with Graham. Damon had walked in on one of our few opportunities, while Graham had his head between my legs, and aside from it being very embarrassing, since the incident Damon had been twice as off with me as ever before. Eventually, Graham and I settled for cuddles and conversation, this seemed to cause the least tension.

One night in Detroit, we all went out to a bar. I found in America all anyone ever wanted to know was 'what you did'. Of course, this was in reference to career, but I'd recently found entertainment in replying "nothing much". I spoke to lots of American's, receiving regular compliments on my accent. We drank lots, Alex ended up taking a very attractive blonde girl to the tour bus, leaving the rest of us to continue our evening by drinking enough to knock out an elephant. At one point I wobbled outside for a cigarette and some fresh air.

I stood by the back door and the bins, inhaling the smoke and letting the cold sober me slightly. Then, a very drunk Damon stumbled out the pub, proceeding to bend over by the wall and vomit onto the floor and his trainers. I rushed over, putting a hand on his back and trying to shuffle his feet away to avoid where he was being sick. He finished throwing up and swatted me away.

"Piss off (y/n)," he slurred. "It's your fault it's like this." I stepped back, surprised at his words.

"What?"

"You cocked everything up!" he whined, leaning against the wall for support. "You broke Alex's heart, and now he's mad at Gra, and now Gra's in love with you and you're going to hurt him. Fucking hell, (y/n), look at him! Can't you see what it'd do to him!"

I couldn't help it. For what seemed like the millionth time in the past month, tears prickled my eyes. I never usually cried, but now all my emotions lay very close to the surface.

"I don't want to hurt Graham, Dames. I never wanted to ruin anything," I sniffled, taking a drag from my cigarette to try to calm my wavering voice. "I love Gra, I really do, it's just... complicated."

Damon's eyes softened slightly, and then he fell over into his own sick.

#graham coxon #graham coxon x reader #blur band #britpop #90s imagine #smut #blur #britpop imagine #alex james #alex james x reader #battle of britpop

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fruit Bat: Scud/Reader

He should know better than to irritate the vampire that’s already pissed, wounded, and starving—so you teach him.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: vampires and discipline, at @pandoratriestowritestuff’s request for some Scud. Credit to them and @phoenixblack89, who talked about Scud getting spanked and choking on a donut, for the respective scenes.

- - -

You’re still pissed at him.

But it’s hard to give him the silent treatment when you need to get at the junk around the tables. Move, pass me that wrench, throw me that wire, is dry and distant, work-related; but turn that shit down, quit spewing crumbs, stop grabbing me, and other growls that aren’t related to the tech you’re fiddling with get read as some sign—to keep doing those things, but that’s sure not what your glares should be saying.

Well, it isn’t a surprise that he’s being a dumbass about it. A moron about a lot of shit, lately, the bandage on your arm can vouch for that. And it was an accident, sure, you wouldn’t usually blame him for aiming that UV flashlight at anything that swarmed at him on a job; but he’d been high and you’d called out a warning, dammit, and he still got you with it. Burned like a motherfucker, like acid.

His apology was huffed, high-sluggish, and rank like the shitty weed he’d been toking.

Maybe he’s realizing you’re really pissed, content with just your hand as company for a few days, because you haven’t taken a break even once from this group project—a net of UV panels you can drape over the van; they stay off for now, obviously—to get your hands down his pants, or his down yours.

But Josh—Scud’s dumb, and it pisses him off to be called Josh, so of course that’s what you call him—is definitely high, not as sharp as he’d otherwise be, and his logic is coming from his dick today. His brain would be screaming at him to not agitate the vampire that’s wounded and pissed.

He’s prodded at you the whole damn night so far, brushing your groin to grab a tool there’s fifteen more of scattered around that he can get to, angling his head in a way that makes the churning veins under too damn tempting, flat-out groping your ass when his first two tactics don’t get him anything more than warning hisses.

Except when he decides he doesn’t like a particular hiss you give, too much teeth for his liking, because when his hand drops from where it’s gotten in a squeeze it claps right back down across the ass cheek it grabbed. Fucking hard, too; "make peace, not war" your ass.

You whirl where he’s scrambling back to his side of the room, giggling, hands raised with his palms out like he can call a truce. Like he hasn’t been doing this shit all night and your hisses and menaced fangs are supposed to be equals, or something.

Well, they aren’t. And you feel like cashing in some payback.

"C’mon, baby, lighten up!" trails his getaway while you give chase. You don’t run after him, but Josh stumbles and darts around like you are. It’s one of the oldest hunting tactics, just following, while the prey tires itself out trying to get away. Vampires don’t need to use it, you could just as easily catch up, even with a bandaged arm.

But Josh wants to goddamn play, so you’ll follow suit. For now.

Smoker’s lungs, stoner’s, don’t let him keep it up as long as a guy his age could. Josh staggers, stumbles a last time like his clothes weigh fifty pounds, and drops on the steps up to another part of the workshop. By his couch and TV, the little nest he’s made for himself, and you don’t think that’s accidental; but you don’t plan to move things to that shitty couch, not anytime soon.

You walk right up to him, and Josh goddamn grins, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs like he’s offering himself up like a damn meal. He’s still got one of those shitty donuts, and he takes a bite, still grinning, and flicks a crumb at your leg.

"You’re a child," you growl, getting a whiff of syrup lactic acids, probably burning his calves like battery; iron thumped in and out of his heart, jumping in his throat, flushing his face; that damn weed turning everything earthy, chalky like loam, but still good.

"I’m a delight," spews more crumbs with another giggle. "Besides, baby, you love it."

You do—when you aren’t pissed at him. "Love to kick your ass," you huff, toeing the step by his foot.

His hum makes you swallow. Fucking thirsty, you are, and that’s just the worst kind of trifecta for Josh to be near right now: starved, pissed, and wounded. Your nerves are shot, and his chase didn’t tire you, but it sure as shit reminded you of what hunts are supposed to take care of. And his hum, that sounds vaguely like a dying, helpless churr from a punctured throat...

Shit.

But the hum bubbles into a chuckle, as you’re stepping away to beat it and get back to work—so Blade doesn’t have you to stake and Josh to mend, or a drained corpse to bury—when you get a lazy kick to your calf and a teasing, "The little fruit bat running away? Afraid I’ll smack him again?"

You’re starving, agitated, and your arm throbs. It’s not a nickname you hate, but it sets off something.

You stop, turn back slowly, and flick your eyes to either side to make sure you won’t be skewered by stray junk out of place. All clear, so you skulk up, schooling your face into a careful, bland look that puts Josh on edge more than a scowl.

"Ain’t my ass about to get smacked, boy," is throttled with a snap of fangs and a low pounce, and Josh can only drop the fucking donut and yelp as you tackle him.

He gets a bit of ground, because his hand clamps right down on the bandages, making you bark at the bolt of pain. It’s been longer since your last drink than you admitted to Blade, before he left, and that doesn’t help. But Blade would’ve had you come with, otherwise, and you figured dealing with Josh was worth getting the panels for the van closer to field testing.

Because as much as you want to skitter up the wall and drop Josh from the rafters, most days, you don’t want to get back to the van and find a drained, stoner-sized juice box.

So it’s a little ironic that he’s sprawled over your legs, when the scuffle’s over. It’s not what you intended—to pin him to his stomach, straddle, and give a few smacks before letting him go—but you sort yourselves out. First Josh, and you wrap an arm over his waist to keep him down; then yourself, and you sit up properly so his ass is right where you want it.

These days, child rearing isn’t what you were accustomed to, and Josh doesn’t figure it out until he feels your hand settle across the seat of his cargo pants. "No fuckin’ way," is half telling, half laughing, and the weed probably has something to do with that second part.

Because the first part’s not amused, but just in case he doesn’t get it across that he’s not thrilled to be pinned this way, Josh starts trying to buck off your lap.

"Yes fucking way," you hiss, and your hand cracks down over his right cheek.

It’s loud, even for his human hearing, and goes off like a shotgun blast. Josh twists his head back, huffing. The scowl he tries to give doesn’t have the kind of impact he hopes for, when it twitches at the second swat you land, right over the same spot. Harder than the first, because you won’t have him scowling at you, goddamn brat.

"Hope you know how to sleep with one eye open," cracks when you get a handful of flesh, quieter when he hangs his head. The pants are thin, and you feel the warmth from the swats, hell, hear the blood fizz under the surface. "Get you back for this."

You frown, not at the threat, but another rush of blood you hear. Feel, even better, in your lap.

You growl and throw a withering look his way, because fucking seriously? "You gettin’ hardover this?"

You hear the bones grind, Josh gritting his teeth, when you give the spot you’ve hit twice now a slow rub. Christ, he is, and he’s halfway there by the time you’ve rubbed enough circles into the warmed skin that you have to strain to hear the fizzing blood. You should’ve guessed he was into this, not like he doesn’t rile you up to pin or chase him anyway, this even makes sense.

The swipe to his left thigh is sudden, vampire speed but not strength because you aren’t that cruel. Your ears perk at the sound it gets, when the crack settles again, but before you can ask if he’s fine you feel his thigh rise up into your hand. You can’t help but scoff, because Christ’s sake, you weren’t trying to get frisky with him—and that ship’s goddamn sailed, because you’re helping him get hard.

You’re getting hard, too, can’t be a hypocrite about that. Josh feels it, pushing up into his side, and when he twists his head back again he’s flushed and his mouth’s open. His eyes are glazed over, brow’s furrowed, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the mop of hair in the way. Dammit,and you get a handful of his shirt in your striking hand to keep him from toppling over, and unwrap the other to push the hair off his face.

You can hear his sigh just fine, but it thrums into your fingers where you keep them pushed into his scalp, warm, damp from work and running from you. "Done already, baby? Maybe we can switch," buzzes up your arm.

Shit. You aren’t excited for that, because if he’s going to get you back he’s damn well working for it. But you can feel him reacting to you, swamping your senses; a whine when your fingers curl in the bangs before combing out, his hips shimmying when your arm loops over again, the muscles of his hide clenching as you drag down his pants and boxers.

That last one gets a sharp breath that’s followed up with a sharper swat. You suck in a gasp yourself and tighten your arm, giving your hard-on friction to grind off of, as you run your fingertips over the barely-pink skin. Warm, hot, without the fabric, and it fizzles louder like damn fireworks, when you drop your palm over the left cheek.

"Baby? Not getting any, uh, urges? Know I look good ‘nough to eat normally, but—"

"Shut up," you snarl, and then you’re smacking him again.

It’s anger at this bullshit, your injury, your arm throbbing as Josh twitches against the hold you just double down on when you start laying down swats quick and hard. He could’ve killed you, and he was too damn high to realize it, to apologize, still hasn’t.

But it’s some twisted fascination, too, watching the barely-pink go hot pink, white in the beat after a blow before it blooms darker, then red. You hear the blood fizz, pop, and simmer with each shade the flesh darkens to. Ass goes slower than the thighs, more meat to them, and that reminds you that there’s something to grab so you do. Not after every swat, just to give you both a breather, and you groan when you peel your hand off each time and a five-fingered print flares white before reddening again.

"Hope you choke on those damn donuts," you groan, throaty, when you realize your aim goes off because Josh is rutting into your damn lap. "Quit moving, lemme."

He goes rigid when you grab a hot thigh and spread him open, shift him right so his cock isn’t snug against your leg, and start to stroke. Cruelly slow, but it’s not like he’s getting out of this without some discipline. But you wouldn’t exactly mind doing this again, either...

"No one’s dead, then?"

Josh yelps and finally does buck off your lap. You let him, falling in a heap with his pants still down to his knees, because you’re too busy cringing back from the circle of UV light pointed at the floor. On concrete, not too close to the steps, but you’ve had enough of that wicked light as it is.

Blade doesn’t look bothered by Josh’s undressed, red ass, or the wet spot he left on your jeans. Neither of you finished, just pre-cum, but you’re not keeping a nose or ear out to scent or hear if Josh does by accident in the scramble. You’ve got something else on your mind, that wicks away the lust and anger and drags hunger up your throat so fast you’re dizzy.

The IV bag’s tossed to you, torn into and drained in the time it takes Blade to fish out another from his bag. You hear the flashlight go off and pounce out onto concrete to burrow into the second one he gives over, then growl for the third you can smell when he doesn’t offer it.

"There a problem?"

Your growl sputters, and Josh must’ve gotten his pants back up because he draws attention to himself now. "All good, B. Just looking for some shit for the panels."

Blade doesn’t ask what shit required Josh’s nose being two inches from the lowest step, or being over your lap while he looked, but you go deaf to what they do talk about when the third bag’s thrown your way. By the time you finish, wiggling the puncture marks over your yawning mouth to get the last drop, Blade’s gone and Josh’s face wrinkles.

"Oh, now you don’t want to bother me?" you purr, all fangs, your arm hardly aching and your throat good and wet.

"Shit, dude, would table manners kill you?"

You purr louder, a chuckle, as Josh turns away and goes to hide on his couch with his TV. Close to dawn, anyway, and it’s better to have two pairs of hands for the panels. At least that’s what Josh will tell Blade, probably, if he asks why he isn’t working on it in the morning when you’re sleeping. You’re betting on Blade either calling him out, saying a sore ass doesn’t mean a day off, or just letting it slide. He’s not stranger to vampire strength, even if it’s never been applied to his ass.

Well, Josh can tell him all about it, and you wipe the blood off your face, purr throttling in a real laugh, as Josh decides to lay down on his stomach while he fumbles with the TV.

"Gonna get you back," he reminds you.

In the dim, barely-lit room, with just some cartoon to flick pale tones over the dark space, you lurk over and crawl up onto the back of the couch, balancing on your side, so you can lick your fingers clean and run them through his hair. You tune out the shitty TV to hone in on his blood, calming down, still sputtering around his warm ass. It’s white noise you lose yourself in, purring at his swears when he shifts and agitates the flesh.

#blade 2 #scud #scud x reader #male reader #vampire reader #prompt request #bingo fill

[dykeninthdoctor]

“ironhusbands, pre relationship, focusing on them in their first year of college and being like rhodey really realizing how young tony is” and “sweater sharing”

“Have you heard–“

“Did you see–“

“He went to Rob’s party–“

The whispers are carried to him on the wind, full of rumors, sometimes lies, sometimes truths.

Jim doesn’t care. He knows Tony Stark–the heir to the Stark empire, son of the legend, Howard Stark–is on campus, but he doesn’t care.

There’s no reason for him to.

The kid is 16, apparently, a prodigy for his age, which Jim could’ve guessed, and he gives zero shits about his education.

Jim hasn’t heard anything about the kid going to classes; only about parties, and girls, and sometimes, the whispers mention boys, too. They call Stark a charmer, a slut, a flirt, and worse.

Maybe Jim cares a little bit.

Stark is 16, and he already has a reputation, one that scares Jim.

“Oh my God, did you see how much he drank last night?” a girl says, eyes wide in a mockery of surprise.

“He never seems like he’s drunk, though,” her friend says.

Jim frowns.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” the first girl teases, and then they’re both laughing, walking in the other direction.

Jim frowns harder.

-

He goes to a party the next chance he gets.

Stark is there, in the center of it all, holding court like a prince standing on the backs of his adoring subjects. He’s sprawled across a sofa, legs draped across the lap of a girl whose hand is resting on the inside of his thigh, head in the lap of another girl whose lips are staining marks of red across his jaw.

Stark’s eyes are glazed, the smile he wears is taped on, and Jim realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s all a mask. A mask hastily built, a mask with cracks that Stark uses alcohol to fill, so that no one can see the emotions behind it.

Jim doesn’t know how, or why, but he can.

“A toast,” Stark slurs, raising the plastic cup in his hand, “To dear ol’ dad, who sent me to this lovely institution.”

A cheer goes up around the room.

Stark drinks.

Jim’s moving before he realizes, shoving his way past people, fighting to get to Stark, snapping sharply, “C’mon, Tony, let’s go.”

To his surprise, and fear, Stark gets up and takes his hand without second thought. Jim tries not to think about why.

When he takes Stark outside, the kid–because God, he’s just a kid–looks up at him with a raised brow and a smirk made of plaster. “We’re gonna do it outside? You’re into exhibitionist shit, huh?”

And then he’s on his knees in front of Jim, and Jim’s trying not to throw up.

“No–shit, no, please stand up, Stark–“

“What?”

It’s the confusion in his voice that finally does it, and Jim’s retching into the bushes that line the house behind them, coughing up bile.

He hears the clumsy motions of Stark getting to his feet, feels a small but calloused hand on his back, sees Stark’s face–eyes wide, lips parted in a small o, the face of a kid–and then throws up more bile onto the leaves.

“I’m sorry?” Stark offers quietly, and it’s so different from the brassy, loud, slurred voice of the prince Jim saw only minutes ago.

“How old are you?” Jim asks. It’s not what he meant to say, but as Stark’s eyes go a little wider, he knows he needs to know the answer, because it’s not 16.

“I’m almost 15.”

Jim tries not to throw up again.

-

He takes Stark back to his dorm, with its single bed and tiny cork board with pictures of Momma Robbie and Jeanie tacked up, with the single poster of a galaxy taped to his wall and the precarious stack of textbooks on his desk.

Stark drowns in his clothes, the knitted sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, revealing a collarbone littered with hickeys, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing bruises the shape of fingers pressed into tan skin.

“Why?”

The question rings out in the silent room.

“Why what?”

“Why are you being…like this?”

“Because you need this,” Jim says.

Stark just looks at him, his chest rising and falling with exaggerated slow breaths, his eyes blinking slowly, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“C’mon, get in bed.”

When Stark doesn’t move, Jim freezes.

“No, Stark–not like that. I’m not gonna do anything with you–to you. We’re not doing anything. You deserve a safe place to sleep. I’m gonna do homework, okay?”

“Okay,” Stark says quietly.

When he falls asleep, curled around the only pillow in Jim’s bed, he looks even younger.

Jim makes himself a promise.

A promise to protect Stark.

-

The next day, when he wakes up with his face pressed to the pages of his physics textbook, and his bed rumpled but empty, he realizes protection is not what Stark wants.

Too bad, Jim thinks. Too fucking bad.

-

It’s harder than he thinks to find Stark; even if the kid doesn’t attend classes, there aren’t parties during the day.

The whispers don’t tell him anything, and today, they’re about him.

“He went home with him, just like that–“

“Have you see him around before?”

“Stark just listened to him–“

Jim ignores them.

He goes to his classes, he takes notes, he tries to focus.

He also thinks about where Stark might be hiding.

-

He doesn’t have to think too hard; Stark’s sitting in his dorm when he gets back after his 5:00 lecture.

The door was locked, but Stark didn’t seem to have any difficulty with that.

“Hi,” Stark says.

“What the fuck,” Jim says back.

Stark shrugs. “You were nice to me. What do you want for it? Money? A reputation boost? We can pretend to fuck, if you don’t want to for real, just so that people think you got some.”

“What do I want for it?” Jim repeats.

“Yeah, payment.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“C’mon, everyone wants something,” Stark says, and the way his eyes avoid Jim’s, despite his casual pose and even more casual tone, tells Jim that he’s scared.

“I don’t want anything, Stark.”

It’s a lie; he wants to know who hurt Stark, he wants to give Stark a hug, he wants to protect Stark.

He also wants Stark to let him out of choice, rather than obligation.

“Okay,” Stark says.

Okay, Jim thinks.

What he says is, “You can stay while I do my homework, if you want.”

“I talk a lot,” Stark tells him. “I’ll bother you.”

“I have a little sister, you can’t be worse than her.”

“Oh.”

So Stark stays.

-

“What’s your name?”

“Jim.”

“Oh, that won’t do at all. What’s the rest of it?”

“James Rupert Rhodes?”

“Rupert?”

“Don’t start with me, Stark–“

“Tony. My name’s Tony.”

“And my name’s Jim.”

“Not anymore, it’s not. You’re Rhodey now.”

-

“What are you doing?”

“Physics.”

“No shit, Sherlock, I meant the equation. You calculated wrong.”

“I did not.”

“Put it in the calculator, it’s not 6.78, it’s 6.57.”

“You did that in your head?”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

-

“How old’s your sister?”

“She’s 10, but she’s 7 in that picture.”

“That’s your mom?”

“Yeah, I took that picture of them at the lake near our house.”

“She…she looks nice.”

“She’d like you.”

-

“What’s your major?”

“Aerospace Engineering, so yeah, I’m a rocket scientist.”

“Damn, how’d you know what I was gonna say?”

“You’re predictable, Tones.”

“Tones?”

“Well, if you’re allowed to give me a nickname, shouldn’t the favor be returned?”

“I…yeah.”

-

So Jim becomes Rhodey, and Stark becomes Tony, and sometimes Tones.

-

Rhodey realizes a few months in that Tony doesn’t need protection.

Tony knows how to protect himself, with a sharp quip or an even sharper smile.

What Tony needs is love.

So Rhodey makes a new promise.

-

After Rhodey has to drag Tony out of another party, after slurred words become quiet apologies, after Tony falls asleep in his bed again, Rhodey calls his momma.

She tells him to bring Tony home for Christmas break.

-

In Rhodey’s eyes, Tony’s never looked more alive than when Momma Robbie convinced him to play Scrabble with her and Jeanie.

-

“That boy needs love, James,” Momma Robbie tells him, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“I know, momma.”

“You gonna make sure he gets it?”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

-

When the clock strikes twelve on New Years, Tony tries to kiss him.

They’re on the roof, the stars above them reflecting in Tony’s eyes, and Tony tries to kiss him.

“No, Tones,” Rhodey says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love you.”

“Just not like that?”

Tony’s voice is broken glass, slowly tearing Rhodey’s heart to pieces.

The lie is a knife to the chest.

“Just not like that.”

Tony nods quietly.

They don’t share a bed that night.

-

When they get back from break, after a silent car ride, Tony asks suddenly, “Wanna see my workshop?”

It would’ve been simpler to ask if Rhodey wanted to see his heart.

There’s no other to answer to give than yes.

-

It’s a beautiful mess of chaos, the only description befitting the place where Tony breathes life into wires and gears and lines of numbers.

Rhodey doesn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you, Tones.”

Tony hugs him for an hour, and then spends three more showing him each idea, and then uses another two to get lost in a new project.

Rhodey realizes that this is where Tony truly comes alive.

He’s a kid in a candy store, a bird taking flight, a genius at work.

And he’s beautiful.

The knife, the lie, digs harder into Rhodey’s chest.

-

Tony has bad weeks, and worse weeks, where Rhodey doesn’t see him for days, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because Tony always comes back.

-

Rhodey learns about Howard during a bad week, and about Jarvis on a good one.

He learns about Maria on a good week, and about Ana on a bad one.

Tony brings him pieces, and Rhodey starts to build the puzzle.

Some pieces are missing, and will probably always be missing, but it’s okay.

Rhodey will love him no matter what.

And slowly, Tony is starting to believe that. Rhodey can see it in his eyes, in the way his mask comes off, in the way the cracks become windows for Rhodey to look through.

-

The summer is long. Tony calls him some weeks, emails other weeks, doesn’t talk at all for most of them.

The worst part is not knowing if he’s okay.

But Rhodey takes what he can get, and gives as much as Tony will take.

-

When they get back to school, there are fresh bruises on Tony’s arms. Rhodey gives him a new sweater from Momma Robbie and Tony wears it like its armor.

They get a dorm together, officially, and most nights, Tony ends up in Rhodey’s bed, in Rhodey’s arms.

Watching him wake up is the best part of Rhodey’s day.

It’s hard, to keep lying, but Tony’s still just a kid, and Rhodey won’t be another person to use him.

So he loves him in the ways he can, and it’s enough, because it has to be.

-

The whispers are constant, always talking about them, but this time, Rhodey truly doesn’t care.

He knows better than the lies they spread.

-

“Rhodey–Rhodey, wake up,” Tony whispers against his chest.

Rhodey grunts. “‘m sleeping.”

“It’s raining.”

“So?”

“I wanna go outside.”

It’s the look in his eyes that does it, the wonder. Rhodey’s on his feet before he even realizes it. “Okay, Tones.”

They dance in the rain on the roof, and Tony laughs, and Rhodey looks at him, and sees nothing but happiness, and feels nothing but love.

-

Rhodey kisses Tony on his 18th birthday.

Maybe it’s wrong, but the way Tony laughs against his lips and twines his arms around his neck is nothing but right.

“I thought–“

“I lied, genius, I had to,” Rhodey whispers, ready to let go, but Tony just holds him tighter.

“Thank you.”

“For lying?”

“For loving me the way I needed.”

#uhhhh yeah this was WAY longer than i expected but. #tony being so so so young and rhodey REALIZING that? yeah. i went fucking rabid with this prompt oops #anyway i'm pretty proud of this :D #tony stark #james rhodey rhodes #iron man #war machine #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #ironhusbands drabble #tony stark drabble #i hATE tagging #mcu #marvel #aven.writing

[honorable-wanderings]

Word of Honor - Episode 3 Part 2 - We’re getting INN to it now!

Meanwhile back with Scooby  and the Gang. B-characters realize that the Goldilocks is missing and it was only the 3 bears that were killed.

And we can hear them surprisingly well from this far away. Their voices must carry exceptionally well.

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

The spiderwebs of DEATH

Seriously though it’s been hours. How has no one either taken these wires down or run into them accidentally? You cannot tell me they have checked every bit of this place for ChengLing’s body if these are still up.

Someone has lied to you Mr. White ‘n’ Blue.

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

No you fucking did not. If you were cleaning them up roughly you’d at least get the ones on the main doorways! goddamn.

-----------

Old ppl vs the Ghosts!

COME ON DOWN FOR THE FIGHT OF YOUR LIFE THE ALL DEAD VS THE MOSTLY DEAD THIS SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY BE THERE BE THERE BE THERE.

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

The Ghost Valley is a menace! It’s high time someone went in there and eradicated them all!

Huh... never thought of that before...

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

Eh. Old people chanting the children’s rhymes doesn’t have the same tension. It’s just not the right feel. It’s a no from me.

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

Yes. This is perfectly far enough away. No one could possibly overhear us from this distance! I am a genius!

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

We are all very worried about ChengLing’s well being. Yes. That is all. Only his well being. Nothing else. No ulterior motives here. Nope. Purely just good will and worry. :DDDD

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

Ah yes! Back to my boys! :D

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

You big softie.

Seriously though. He is so considerate of not only Best Boy’s physical well being but really his emotional state and autonomy as well. He doesn’t expect ChengLing to act like a full grown adult but he doesn’t treat him like a little kid either. It’s great and I’m here for it.

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

It’s not stalking if we got here first, right? Now you’re stalking me! :D :D :D :D :D

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

Some day soon I’ll get you to admit you like me ;)

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

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

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat you’re here to? At this random river?????? OMG what are the chancesssssss?!?!?

At this point I just wanna know fuckin how????

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

A-Xiang deserves a fucking medal for putting up with this BS. For real.

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

A-Xu you make-a him sad D:

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

Zhou ZiShu! Look out! They’re stealing your boat!!

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

-Hey if the ghost valley peeps come up to wreck shit it’s gonna be our shit that gets wrecked too you know? -I don’t give a farting fly’s left ass cheek! I’m one foot in the grave already.

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

Glazed armor this glazed armor that give me a glazed donut and let’s call it a day. I don’t careeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

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

Are you inn or out?

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

Sorry we’re out of space because for some reason we let ourselves rent out the entire establishment to a single person. Like I get he paid for the rooms but it’d still be bad for business?? Like no one wants to go to an inn if they won’t let you stay even though there are empty rooms. Like the fuck

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

Look elsewhere? Shit you know this is the only inn in town (apparently)!! Where we supposed to go???

Um... why don’t you try looking at I don’t give a FUCK

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

Well well well. Who could have seen this coming?

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

Zhou ZiShu is about read to add a few more nails

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

This old ragged beggar man is hot as fuck. Set him up in my room at once!

Just end my suffering. I beg you

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

ChengLing just gonna keep his mouth shut and stay out of it

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

-I gave you my own room! -My room now. Kindly GTFO -But I bought you clothes too! -Yeah no one asked you. GTFO!!

-How have my seduction techniques continued to fail??????????

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

Love me pls D:

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

If Oedipus invented a wire tap he’s gonna have to work harder to get past me!!

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

But he doesn’t look like he’s a bad person

Bad people rarely do.

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

Take the bed? I couldn’t possibly!! No! You’re taking care of me and protecting me and you’re old! You take the bed! I’ll sleep on the chair! I’m the best boy!!!

Bitch did I fucking stutter?

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

You owe me no explanations. I’m sure you have your reasons and that they’re good ones. But don’t suffer needlessly. Treat your wounds and I won’t ask any more about it.

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

MY BOY DOESN’T DESERVE THIS. ALL THIS OVER A PIECE OF FUCKIN SEA GLASS??????????

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

Ain’t nobody dope as me I’m just so fresh, so clean (So fresh and so clean clean)

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

Daaate niiiiiight

----------

So I get that you’re like persistently stalking me and all that but like Why??

Because I know you cute as fuck. Why you hiding? Show me what your true face and I’ll tell you what I want. What I really really want.

You first bitch

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

Local man tries to pry secrets out of only human in a 10 mile radius who has no ulterior motives and is confused when it doesn’t work.

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

Das gay

HDU

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

Clink Clink bitch

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

Master can you please keep it in your pants for 5 minutes? It’s all I ask. Just 5 minutes of peace! Please!

---------

Pop Quiz! Who is the second cutest person in the world?

I will settle for anyone who feeds me

Naw. Tsundere is where it’s at.

*Is unimpressed in tsundere*

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

Then who is the mostest cutest?

A tsundere with long legs, slim waist, fat ass.

Heavens strike me down now. Please end my misery. Why did I sit here? Didn’t I know better?

Anyone have any more torture nails? Anyone? Please?

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

*Insert Mii channel theme*

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

We are the unwashed masses. Let’s go fuck some shit up

---------

Hey guys. Does this look like anime style to you? Someone said it looks like anime but I don’t see it.

I think it looks great! I can’t even draw a stick figure! hahahaha

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

Sleepy boi <3

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

How the fuck did I become the third wheel?

-----------

*mii channel theme continues*

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

Your honored uncle here wouldn’t let us eat anything until you woke up even though he sat at my table. D:

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

-Stop acting like a little brat and start acting polite and demure like the other girls

-Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugh gross

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

We’re doing found family and we’re doing it now!

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

Why aren’t you eating?

Yeah! We had to wait all this time for you to get here and you’re not even eating anyway!!!!!!

Well my home and my entire family died, and so did that random boat man who protected me. And also there’s a hole in my stomach. So I don’t have much of an appetite atm.

Oh My God. can you not???

But that’s how I show affection!!!!!!!! D:<

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

Shoving food in your face to hide your tears. A time honored tradition.

Also D: Best boy is sad </3

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

Oh no. More people I’m supposed to remember.

JESUS FUCK REALLY???

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? HOW MANY? You cannot tell me they are all important. Please tell me I’m not supposed to remember this many people. I can’t handle this.

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG

THAT’S 11 PEOPLE AT ONCE! WHAT THE FUCK

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

Whenever this guy speaks it sounds like he’s trying really hard not to cough in front of the board meeting.

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

Okay so what I got from this is

There was a treaty between these peeps and the ghost peeps to say they’ll leave each other the fuck alone

The ghost peeps broke that promise by fucking with the mirror lake sect and so these peeps decided to retaliate

and they’re gonna retaliate by throwing a party? Like I guess they’re just gathering forces? But like it’s a weird way to do it.

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

Oh for the love of god.

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

Pffffffffffffffff welcome to the circus

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

*sigh*

Okay y’all I can remember like 6 people. 7 Max. Y’all gonna have to be picky about who’s important here.

How many of these people do I actually have to know?

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

Now what the fuck happened here and why are the twin jades here?

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

You two have a piece of the glazed ham. And even though no one is using it it’s really important that we keep it that way. No one must hold all pieces of the glazed ham. Or..... bad things?

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

Oh my. Pain o’clock already?

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

SOMEONE GET THEIR ASS IN THERE AND GIVE MY BOY A HUG!

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

Hey! What do you see? Is he in there? I can’t see a goddamn thing.

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

So I know that he’s like what, 15? And like grew up with a dad. But like you know they made him scream “A-Die” and then wake up to Zhou ZiShu’s comforting touch on purpose. You know that was planned.

Maybe not a father, but certainly a father figure.

(Also thanks, A-Xu for answering my request from earlier for someone to comfort the poor boy.)

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

What’s this? The sounds of a scuffle???

Whelp. Not anymore.

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

Couldn’t he have just ordered them to leave instead?

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

The Ghost Valley seems to be following me rather closely.

Oh you have no idea. ;)

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

Alcohol detected

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

Let me call you a cute pet name and I’ll let you drink from my bottle of nectar. ;)

Oh my god this shit again?

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

You know what?

Two can play at this game.

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

You wanna see what lies underneath? Rip it off yourself.

Don’t worry! I’m patient! Sleep well! Dream of me! I know I’ll be dreaming of you! ;)

#word of honor #Shanhe Ling #wen kexing #zhou zishu #zhang chengling #Gu Xiang #Writing WoH #spoilers #episode 3 #long post

[xeiniex]

If this is alright maybe one where whitty has a ptsd meltdown because someone triggered it, maybe intentionally, and he runs off so ruv goes to find him and sees whitty hurt himself as an old bad habit to calming down? Nothing overly graphic. If you don't decide to do it that's cool either way I love your work!

Oh dear that is angsty. Lots of warning tags on this one to everyone reading, seriously, if anything here makes ya feel icky, have some coco ☕ and skip on by. Swearing, trauma, and self-inflicted pain in this one!

The clouds overhead that morning were fluffy, perfect for gazing up into as they sat outside the cafe. Ruv was fairly cautious of the three other occupied tables around them, and wondered if any of the people were named "Cate", like the name scrawled on his cup. On Whitty's was "Beka" and Ruv silently hoped both these women hadn't noticed that their coffees weren't coming.

"It's a bear yelling at a teapot, wearing one of those spiny propeller hats." Whitty said, pointing up at the cloud.

Ruv followed his hand, and shrugged at the floating cotton bomb. "Nah. It looks like... a cloud."

"No shit." Whitty responded, sipping his drink again.

Ruv's eyes flickered back to the three other tables. He had a sudden, bad feeling about something. One of the tables had a few men at it, and Ruv knew immediately from their clothes the kind of guys they were. Band T-shirts, thick sunglasses, avocado toast... just a couple of hipsters.

He shook his head. Two guys out chilling. He didn't care what they were doing, but the way they occasionally glanced over at their table... Ruv didn't like it. Maybe they recognized him?

"That one there is a candle sitting on top of a safe." Whitty said, and Ruv looked back at him as he pointed laziliy at the sky. "You can even see the smoke floating off of it." he continued, glancing at Ruv.

Ruv nodded. "Yea, it kinda looks like smoke. Or fog, almost. Steam, maybe."

"And you can see the candle, right?" he said, drinking out of his coffee again, his eyes still smiling over at Ruv.

Ruv shook his head. "I don't see it. It definitely looks like smoke though. Or just a cloud."

"You're bad at this." Whitty told him, sarcasm laced between his words. Ruv just smiled.

"Hey!" A voice said.

Ruv turned, glaring up at the two guys standing by their table, both of them holding fake leather-bound notebooks. Their gaze wasn't at him, though. It was entirely on Whitty.

Ruv felt instantly defensive, straightening a little and glaring at the two men. They ignored him. "You're Whitty?" one asked.

Ruv glanced at his boyfriend. His eyes lit up when they said that, giddy excitement falling over his expression.

Ruv heaved a sigh, falling back in his chair. Just a couple of fangirls for Whitty, he thought with a small smile.

"That's the real name, believe or not." Whitty bragged, putting his cup on the table, and leaning over to peer into his pocket. "Either of you guys want an autograph? I don't have a pen on me."

"Oh no." the other guy said, chuckling awkwardly as his friend shivered. "Hell no, we don't want your autograph."

Ruv's eye narrowed, and Whitty shifted where he sat. "...okay then." he said.

One of the guys nodded, looking at the other. "Is it true... you're a walking, talking nuclear bomb, Mr. Whitty?"

Ruv's eyes narrowed. The fuck?

The excitement fell from Whitty's face, and he leaned back as he stared at the men. "I uh... I'm not a weapon."

"Yes, that's exactly what you are." One of the guys said, with a small sigh. "If you would be so kind as to come with us right now, please, that would be most appreciated."

Ruv blinked at them.

The other guy added, "Now, don't think we won't use force. Being only twenty percent human, Mr. Whitty, legal action does not apply to you. You can come with us now peacefully. We are giving you that option."

Whitty stayed silent, his eyes burning at the two guys. "No way in hell." he muttered.

The men glanced at each other. One of them shrugged, and the other held up his hand and flicked something small and silver towards Whitty. He reached up to his cheek to try and brush it off, but then the other guy held up a remote, pressing a large button.

Whitty's entire body went rigid at that, and both men chuckled. "These things really work, huh?" one said.

Ruv threw the first punch, and he wholly admits to that. He threw the second punch too. They were the only punches thrown.

His chair had been knocked over from how fast he stood, and his knuckles hurt from where they collided with the guy's noses. Both of the men had their hands pressed to their bloodied faces, laying back on the concrete patio and groaning in pain.

Ruv stared down at them. His mind felt empty, his thoughts frozen, as he lifted a foot over the closer guy's ribcage, readying to bring it down and listen to the popcorn of each bone snapping under his boot. "Deactivate that fucking thing, right the fuck now, before I turn your chest into a bag of bone shards." he flared.

The guy nodded, his eyes wide as he stared up at Ruv, lifting the remote and pointing it at Whitty. Ruv turned to him, watching as he jolted back into movement, instantly scratching the silver dot off his face.

He then gripped the edge of the table, his eyes wide as he stared off at something in the distance. He blinked, and his eyes flickered with tiny, spinning shapes, but only for a second.

"...You 'k?" Ruv asked, not moving his foot from where it hovered over the secret hipster.

He saw Whitty swallow, and then stand up. "I've... I'll text you later." he said, before dashing off the patio and down the street.

Ruv, his mind completely forgetting the two guys still sobbing on the ground beneath him, took off after him without a second thought.

Ruv was faster than Whitty, so he thought he'd catch up pretty quick. He rushed along the public road, glancing left and right trying to find him, when he huffed angrily.

Whitty wouldn't be anywhere near people right now. Not when he was feeling like how he looked.

Ruv ran down the first alley he found, shooting around, eye catching on the occasional dumpster that was the same color as his hoody, or a homeless person that would shift and grab his attention briefly, begging for cash.

He searched everywhere, gazing up at fire escapes, looking around tall fences, trying to find where he could've gone.

Finally, finally, he ran around a bend and came to a skidding halt, seeing Whitty sitting against the wall, arms hugged around his legs, muttering to himself.

Ruv's eye widened, and he sat across from Whitty, asking quietly, "What's wrong?"

Whitty's breaths were shaky as he looked up at him, gasoline pooling out of his eyes. "I'm just a weapon." he said, his eyes glazed over and staring away.

Ruv blinked at him, slowly. That's when he noticed Whitty's fingertip.

Ruv almost swore with how it looked. Whitty had rubber fingers from the third knuckle to where the nail should've been. They had dents and scratches in them, but Ruv never noticed if they were picked at that much.

Now, both the rubber covers of his middle and pointer finger were in his lap, the edges ripped up and jagged from where he picked at them.

Where they should've been, back on his fingers, was a twisted, dented collection of wires and yellow metal. Ruv almost didn't want to touch them, just because he was scared they would electrocute him.

"Fuck..." he whispered, gently. "Are you okay?"

"I'm a weapon." Whitty muttered, as he began picking at the rubber cover of his ring finger. "Look. I'm all wires. I'm just fucking wires and bomb parts." he sobbed.

Ruv couldn't watch this. He quickly grabbed Whitty's hand, pulling it away from his other hand, and squeezing it firmly. "You're not a bomb." he said. "And don't do that."

Whitty stared at him, eyes wide and shifting across his face.

For the first time in their relationship, Whitty's hands felt cold, gripped in Ruv's. He blinked at him slowly. "You are not a bomb, Whitty." he repeated.

They sat together there, for maybe another ten minutes, Ruv repeating that over and over as firmly held Whitty's hands apart so he wouldn't hurt himself anymore.

Finally, he had calmed down enough to just stare at the sky between the two buildings. Ruv was carefully helping him wrap the ripped up rubber back around his fingers, telling him, "We have some rubber glue in the church we can use."

Whitty nodded. "Thanks." he said, gazing up at the clouds.

Ruv just nodded a reply. After finally fixing his fingers as best he could, he squeezed Whitty's hand warmly.

"That hasn't happened for a long time, I promise." Whitty said. "I thought I got over it as a kid still, but obviously not."

Ruv nodded, looking back up into his eyes. "It's alright." he said, before falling back and leaning on the wall next to him, staring up at the fluffy clouds.

As a joke, he pointed at one directly over their heads, and said, "Think that's uh... fish?"

Whitty gazed up at it too, then laughed. "Yeah, a fish with a gun. Or maybe a flashlight."

Ruv shook his head. "Nah. He's holding a cloud."

Whitty bumped his arm, sighing in annoyance. Ruv hugged him back.

#tw sh #tw trauma #<- Just in case #I promised fluff at some point dang it #both those guys got broken noses btw #I know 2 random hipsters is anticlimatic but I couldn't think of a fluid way to get it to be Daddy Dearest or Mom #So I settled with greater good agents #or a terrorist group looking for a fast bomb factory #not sure #not sure if this makes sense

[kinglazrus]

Sam's Amethyst Orbs: the crackfic

Ectoberweek2020

Day 5: Orb / Reanimation

Summary: Sam has amethyst orbs. Need I say more? Dedicated to @lexosaurus

Word count: 1705

There were a lot of things Danny loved about Sam. Her take-no-shit attitude. Her stunning accuracy with shin kicks. Her delighted grin in the middle of the most adrenaline-pumping, heart-racing ghost fights. You know, normal stuff teenage boys found attractive. He couldn’t tell you when he first fell in love with her. Maybe freshman year, when he realized she would never judge him for being something less than human. Maybe eighth grade, when she got her first goth makeover and came to school wearing black lipstick and lace sleeves. Or maybe all the way back in grade four, when she punched Dash Baxter so hard that she knocked out two of his baby teeth.

Either way, he knew he loved her, but there was one thing he loved most of all: her amethyst orbs.

He loved the way Sam's amethyst orbs shone in the sunlight, how they sparkled like precious gems plucked from the deepest mine, polished until they glowed from within. Every time he looked at Sam's amethyst orbs, they trapped him with their crystal gaze. If he could, he would stare into their beauteous depths for all eternity.

The disasteroid could be bearing down on them—which, by the way, was very real and very canon—and Danny wouldn't even care. Not as long as Sam's amethyst orbs were the last thing he saw.

"The what?" Tucker asked.

Danny blinked, the lovestruck glaze fading from his eyes. "What?"

"You said something weird."

Danny wrinkled his nose. "Excuse me? Sam's amethyst orbs are not–"

"Ugh, not that." Tucker waved his hand dismissively. "You said something about... roids? Are you taking steroids? Are you on drugs? Is it," he leaned across Danny's desk and loudly whispered, "the ghost weed?"

"Tucker!" Danny slapped his hand over Tucker's mouth, casting a wary glance at the rest of the classroom. Dash was looking their way but turned back to his notebook as soon as he met Danny's eye, a sneer on his lips. Other than him, no one else was paying attention. Mr. Lancer, sitting at his desk, had his nose buried in a book that looked suspiciously like a Warriors novel, with tears glistening in his eyes.

Danny raised his eyebrows but didn't comment.

Something warm and wet touched his palm.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Danny recoiled, jerking his hand away from Tucker's mouth

"You cover my mouth, I lick your palm. It's fair game," Tucker said.

"Gross." Danny wiped his hand on Tucker's sweater. "What were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Sam's amethyst–"

"No." Tucker pressed a finger to Danny's lips, silencing him. "The disaster-whatsit."

"Disasteroid?"

"Like... disaster on steroids?"

"Like a disaster asteroid."

Tucker stared at Danny blankly.

"What?"

"Tucker." Danny sighed and shook his head. "You should know this. It's canon, remember? Endorsed by nine out of ten scientists."

"What about the tenth?"

"We don't talk about the tenth. But that doesn't matter. As I was saying: Sam's amethyst orbs." Danny tumbled headlong into another long rant. Tucker, held prisoner by the conventions of best friendship, groaned and pulled his hat down over his ears.

—

As the trio walked through the park, hunting for ghosts, Sam's amethyst orbs glinted in the moon's soft glow. They caught the silver light in a way nothing else could, more precious than any metal. Because they were like gems—amethysts, to be exact—but orb-shaped, and belonged to Sam.

Danny, enthralled by the sight and thoroughly distracted, flew face-first into a nearby tree. Rough bark scraped against his cheek, scratching his face as he dropped to the grass, yelping in pain and surprise.

"Dude," Tucker said, grinning at Danny's misfortune.

Sam, who at least tried to hide her smile behind her hand, leaned over Danny. "Geez, save some for the ghosts." She tilted her head, blocking the beam of moonlight filtering through the leaves overhead.

Danny felt more pain looking up at Sam's shadowed form that he did hitting the tree; the heavenly gleam had disappeared from her amethyst orbs. But even when shrouded in darkness, bereft of their usual lustre, Sam's amethyst orbs were exquisite. In fact, the gloom added an air of mystery, a wicked edge that fit Sam as well as her steel-toed combat boots fit the dent in Tucker's shin.

"How did you hit a tree?" she asked

"By staring right at it and flying forward," Danny said.

Sam laughed. Her head tipped back far enough that, for a second, her amethyst orbs carried that silver twinkle once again, until she leaned forward once more, and it disappeared. "No, seriously. What distracted you?"

Danny pursed his lips, cheeks burning. He didn't want to say. But as Sam leaned further, lowering her head toward his, bringing those charming, spherical amethyst orbs closer, he had to tell her. He turned his head away and mumbled, "Your amethyst orbs."

Sam frowned. "My what?"

Danny opened his mouth, only for Tucker immediately slap his hand over it.

"No, don't start. He's being on about this for, like eight hundred words already," Tucker said.

"On about what?"

Taking his hand away from Danny's mouth, Tucker pulled his own eyes open wide. "Your amethyst orbs."

Sam snorted. "What, are we in a bad fan fiction or something?"

"Well, yeah. Except worse, because it's a crackfic. But the grammar's okay, I guess." Danny shrugged. He couldn't complain, at the moment, although he could have gone without getting slapped by a tree trunk.

"Danny, are you okay?" Sam crouched in front of him and reached out, brows creased in concern. "I think you might have hit your head a little too hard."

"I'm fine, I swear. I'll prove it. Look, this," he gestured to his cheek, "can be written away in an instant, just watch."

Tucker and Sam leaned forward, watching closely. Nothing happened.

"Just give it a moment," Danny insisted.

Ninety seconds later—which was the approximate length of a moment based on medieval sundials and their correlation to modern concepts of time—nothing happened.

Danny, itching, in pain, and feeling rather done with all of this, scowled. "I take it back. This story sucks."

His cheek started bleeding profusely.

"Dude!" Tucker said, eyes widening.

"You are not okay. We're going to my place." Sam grabbed Danny's arm and hauled him up.

"But I'm fine!"

"No, you're not."

"But the next scene might not have moonlight! Sam's amethyst orbs look so pretty in the moonlight!"

—

The next scene did not have moonlight, because Danny didn't deserve moonlight. He deserved Sam wearing sunglasses and full-body cloak and no view of her amethyst orbs, which was exactly what he got that day at school

"It's not fair," Danny whined. He sat on the curb after the final bell, chin cradled in the palm of his hand. "I just wanted to see her amethyst orbs. So spherical, so perfect, so amethyst."

Too bad for Danny. He shouldn't have insulted the story.

"Well, it's stupid. It started normally, but now I'm here, talking to you."

"Talking to who?" Sam, who materialized out of nowhere, asked.

"Uh..." Danny gaped at her. "How did you do that?"

Tucker appeared on Danny's other side. "We walked."

"No, you didn't."

"Maybe we did," Sam said. "Maybe we have ghost powers, too. Maybe the author thinks this joke has gone on long enough and we're here as arbitrary plot devices to push the story forward." She sat down next to him, smoothing the hem of her cloak under her legs.

Danny liked the cloak, he really did. He was head over heels for Sam. There was nothing about her he didn't like; except the cloak's collar. Although soft and satiny, a stiff wire kept the collar upright so the lace trim skimmed Sam's jaw.

Sam poked his cheek. "You gonna be weird about my 'amethyst orbs' again?"

"It's not weird!" Danny protested.

"It's weird," Tucker said. "Just call them eyes like a normal person."

Danny glanced Tucker's way, pursing his lips. Genuine confusion flickered across his face. "Why would I call them eyes?"

"Because they're eyes?"

"Orbs.

"Eyes."

"Orbs"

"Eyes!"

"Orbs!" Danny shouted. "Orbs! Orbs! Orbs!"

Overhead, thunder boomed. Danny jumped, slipping off the curb, and quickly scrambled to his feet. Sam and Tucker followed. Together, they stared up at the sky. Moments ago, it had been bright and blue, the picture of a perfect day. Now, dark heavy clouds blanketed it all the way to the horizon. Thunder rumbled, rolling across Amity Park. A shadow fell over the trio from behind.

Trembling, they turned.

Walker loomed behind them, taller than any building. In his hands, he held his lawbook and snapped it shut with a sneer. "That's against the rules." His voice rumbled with the thunder. Before the teens could react, Walker reached down and snatched Danny up, holding him in a crushing grip.

"Hey! He didn't do anything!" Tucker shouted. He grabbed a pebble off the sidewalk and chucked it at Walker. The small stone bounced off the toe of his boot.

"Wow, Tucker. Thanks for the help," Danny said.

"Daniel Fenton, you are under arrest for violation of the fanfiction code. Section sixty-nine, appendix four-twenty: using the word orbs in place of eyes," Walker said. "Come quietly, and maybe you won't be executed."

"Don't you mean... maybe you'll be... lenient?" Danny wheezed, struggling to breathe in Walker's tight fist. The slightest movement and Walker could crush him. So maybe it wasn't the best time for sass, but Danny wasn't known for his impeccable timing.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Walker asked. He wasn't wrong. "Any last words?"

"Why do you keep saying eyes? They're orbs!" Danny beat his fist against Walker's thumb. "Sam's amethyst orbs!"

Walker's eyes narrowed. "That's it," he said. "You're going to jail." He stomped away, his heavy steps shaking the street.

Tucker leaned toward Sam and whispered, "Should we follow?"

"Nah. I mean, he did use the word orbs instead of eyes," she said. "He could use a little prison time."

In the distance, Danny wailed. "Not! Orbs! Neck! Lace!" As his final cry faded away, Sam glanced down at her cloak. She pulled the tall collar back, revealing a simple silver necklace with two pendants on it: gleaming amethyst orbs.

#I'm pretty sure I spent way more time that I should have on a crackfic like this #but ending it was a struggle #so here you go #be warned: I did not edit #crackfic #phicc #phanfic #danny phantom fanfiction #tumblroneshots #ectober #ectoberweek #ectoberweek2020 #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #walker

[juyeoniemyhoney]

things she’ll never know

When you love someone, the most important thing that you should not do is introduce them to their crush and help them get along. Yoongi knows this because he has learned the hard way. Because truly, introducing you to Jungkook has got to be his biggest mistake ever and once things for you and Jungkook start to escalate into more than a friendship, Yoongi knows he fucked up. 

-pairing: min yoongi x reader (feat. jungkook)

-genre: angst yo 

-warnings: none really, this may be a little stupid

-word count: 2408 words

-A/N: what upppp. back with a little yoongi angst. i hope you guys like it! don’t be shy to request some ideas you’d like me to write! i like live to please people and coming up with plots or scenarios are like super hard for me for some reason. also don’t be afraid to tell me your thoughts on this one! it really, really helps me to improve and write better! 

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It is without a doubt that everything you do has no reason. Like literally everything you are pursuing has in some way or another been forced onto you. You did not sign up for school, no. Your mother had just dressed you up in a school uniform one day when you were six and left you in a school full of strangers and other tiny people. So naturally, after being forced into things your whole life, you have developed a hate for almost everything. 

But nothing you have gone through can quite prepare you for the shit that you have to endure today. 

Today, instead of having an engaging discussion about life during homeroom like you usually do, your classmates are scattered around the classroom, cleaning every single nook and cranny until it is basically shining. All the while, the teacher screams at a group of friends who childishly throw rubbish and spray water at each other as a means to make this laborious task at least a little bit more fun than it actually is. 

After every semester, your school deems it necessary for the students to conduct a “spring cleaning” activity. As a result, your fun homeroom sessions are replaced with an hour of cleaning; beneficial for the janitors who work at your school, but nonetheless a drab and boring activity. 

“This is so boring,” you sigh, verbalising your thoughts to Yoongi, who is silently wiping a window pane beside you. Yoongi remains silent and just nods, lips set in a firm line but expression gentle. At his silent response, you cannot help but allow a smile to bloom on your lips at his extremely Yoongi-esque answer. 

Yoongi, your best friend, is an attractive, raven haired boy of little words. He has been by your side for as long as you can remember; since you had moved in beside him. He had come up to you, shy, tiny and chubby, asking you to help him tie his shoelaces. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable and you basically tell him everything. And because Yoongi is such a good friend, the moment you told him that you found Jungkook, a fellow classmate, attractive, Yoongi had taken it upon himself to — unlike his introverted nature — befriend him. 

Which brings us to today, almost a year after Jungkook was included into your list of friends. The three of you had grown quite close in the past year. But don’t be mistaken, it took you almost three months to warm up to him, far too shy to even look him in the eyes. But with insistent prompting from Yoongi and an insane amount of coincidental occurrences, obviously articulately orchestrated by Yoongi, you eventually came round and began to talk comfortably with Jungkook. 

“Yoongi,” you call him, reaching up to his sleeve to tug on it gently. The action causes Yoongi’s heart to swell and his chest strains painfully with the inability to house the sheer amount of adoration he feels for you. Yoongi hums in response, too lost at the sight of you to process words.

“Make this more fun,” you command, frown drawing your brows together, lips turned down at the corners in a pout. Yoongi’s heart falters at the sight. 

Years ago, when you and Yoongi were four years old, only a few days after he met you, he already knew that he was going to marry you. You had run up to him in the playground, attacking him with a bear hug, surprising him by muttering a soft and shy, I love you as you tucked your face into his neck. Yoongi has never been the same since.

That moment has been replaying itself in his head, a constant reminder that his immediate thought after you had embraced him was that he never wanted you to let go. He has only fallen harder for you since; for your magnetic personality and your laugh and your smile that seems to shine so brightly that it is as if the sun had decided to bury itself in your very being. 

His unadulterated attraction to even just the thought of you only seemed to strengthen that fateful night, consisting of powerful torrents of rain and a sole umbrella. That night, (despite being under the legal drinking age) you were drunk out of your mind, arm slung around Yoongi’s shoulder and legs tripping over each other clumsily. The two of you had awkwardly, yet silently, stumbled into your room, Yoongi groaning with exertion and exhaustion after having to haul you all the way back to your house from the party that celebrated your school’s volleyball team’s win. As soon as your head had hit your pillow, lightning flashed as if the sky was snapping a picture of that moment, granting Yoongi sight of you. Love surged through him at the sight, your eyes barely open and glazed over in exhaustion. 

“It’s raining,” you had observed from the window behind Yoongi. Yoongi, too distracted by the look of pure merriment swirling in your brown eyes that shone like the moon, could only a whisper an aloof answer. You’ve always liked rain. 

He was spiralling down a tangent of doubtful supposition, trying to decide if he should just kiss you right then and there, if it would still ruin your friendship even if there was a high possibility that the whole night would excuse itself from your memory in the morning. Yoongi immediately dispelled the horrifying thought from his brain, barely registering that you had gotten up and had started to rummage about your things. 

“You should take this umbrella,” you slurred, turning back around to look at Yoongi. You stumbled clumsily towards him, as if you were a baby learning to walk. Just as you were about to hand Yoongi the umbrella, a wire had caught your foot, pulling taut and tripping you. You had stumbled forward in an attempt to find your balance, but once you realised that it would not be possible, you had tried to catch yourself on Yoongi instead, but your lack of sobriety had also meant the deduction of your depth perception, causing you to completely miss his shoulders. 

All too suddenly, Yoongi found himself on your bed, on his back, tasting alcohol on your lips. Yoongi’s brain had ceased regular function at that point and instead of pulling away, instead of pushing you off him, instead of something, he found himself kissing you. And for the shortest of seconds, you were kissing him back. He seemed to have fallen from reality and landed in an alternate universe; where you are his, and you are okay with being his. Your lips felt surreal and warm, so, so warm and he didn’t want to ever stop kissing you. But then Yoongi felt your tongue at the seam of his lips, and he was dragged out of his trance by the ankles and jolting away from you as if you were a live wire. 

“Why...?” you had questioned, earnest eyes gazing down at him, searching for eye contact but Yoongi had refused it, eyes landing on everything except yours. And too fast for Yoongi to even process himself, he was snatching the umbrella from your hands, pushing you off him as gently as he could in his haste, and practically sprinting out of your bedroom, in search of refuge that only his own could offer.

When Yoongi thinks back to that incident, he always beats himself up for dashing out of there before ensuring that you were okay first. He had let his feelings control him and didn’t even stop to think that he should have probably sobered you up first before leaving. But it is far too late to regret and that incident now serves as one of Yoongi’s milestones, the one that had caused his feelings for you to grow exponentially, the kiss that you cannot even remember. 

“How about we play tag? If I touch you with this rag, I win. If you manage to evade me for the rest of the period, you win. Winner gets a whole tub of ice cream,” Yoongi suggests, finally snapping out of his trance. 

“That hardly seems far,” you complain with a slap to his bicep. It causes Yoongi to flinch and you let out a melodious chuckle at his reaction. Yoongi’s heart dances to the tune. 

“Fine then, be bored,” is Yoongi’s snarky reply. He lets out a sigh in faux disappointment and turns back to the window to continue his interrupted wiping. Though, his expression immediately brightens when you protest to your teasing gone wrong. Flowers bloom in Yoongi’s chest and he feels a strong urge to hug you; to wrap you up in his arms, hidden away from the world in his warmth. Yoongi has to quite literally hold himself back to not act on the urge.

And so begins the game of tag. If Yoongi were to be entirely honest, he hates physical activity, of every and any sort. Which is why he has no idea why he had suggested to play tag in the first place. If he were to be even more honest, even if he hates running, he is sure that if he were playing seriously, the game would end in the matter of seconds. So, he chases you with restraint and pretends to take breaks in between the chasing. And if he ever came close to tagging you, he would shorten his reach so that the rag would miss you by a hair. It is just, Yoongi is high on the sound of your mirthful giggling, not wanting it to stop for even just a second. Not when the sound makes him so happy that he feels as if his whole body is levitating. 

Yoongi chases you all around the classroom, the two of you blatantly ignoring your teacher’s nagging. As the period comes to an end, Yoongi quickens his speed, just refusing to lose to you after realising how much you would tease him if he did. Now at the front of the classroom, Yoongi finds himself far behind you, struggling to catch up. 

Everything that happens next seems to happen in slow-motion for Yoongi.

As you glance over your shoulder to gauge where Yoongi is, you accidentally ram into someone. More specifically, you run right into Jungkook. You let out a surprised squeal when your head hits his chest and Jungkook wraps his arms around you in instinct, letting out his own sound of surprise. Yoongi’s heart, at the sight, sinks right into his gut, as if it were in quicksand. Jungkook’s expression of surprise morphs into an endearing smile and he relaxes and hugs you comfortably, arms around your shoulders and chin resting gingerly on top of your head. 

Jungkook’s scent and warmth send you into a state of delirium. Your cheeks burn red in embarrassment when he starts stroking your hair, gently combing his fingers through the thick locks. Your classmates do not care, in fact you do not think they even notice the intimate moment the two fo you are having now. It is as if the world has vanished and it is just you and Jungkook, and no one else to disturb you. In Jungkook’s arms, everything feels right, like not a thing in the world is wrong, and maybe, it is here, in his arms, that you belong. As cringe-worthy as it sounds, your ears tune out all of your surroundings and only seem to be able to focus on the rhythmic beating of Jungkook’s heart. And when your arms come up around him to circle around his waist, the pace of his heart increases and you finally know that you are not the only one who is feeling things. 

Yoongi, on the other hand, is absolutely livid, irises flaring red as he looks at the two of you hugging so dearly, so natural that it is as if you two have been hugging for years. One side of Yoongi, the selfish side, wants to rip you from Jungkook’s arms and claim you as his, as if he is the hound of hades, guarding the gates of the world the two of you have built together, preventing Jungkook from ever entering your world and snatching you away. But the other side of Yoongi, the one that grounds himself to reality should his love for you cause him to do utterly idiotic things, tells him to come to terms with the fact that you will never be involved with him romantically, tells him to just let you go, tells him to deal with his own idiotic actions. Because truly, introducing you to Jungkook is, and will forever be his biggest regret. But at the same time, how could he not? When you had gazed up at him with mirth-filled eyes, smile shining brighter than any star to exist in the cosmos. How could he not when he could basically feel your voice worm its way into his chest, festering something so captivating that he could not help but do something, anything to hear that tone in your voice again and feel the flowers bloom in his heart, a sweet, summer warmth melting him like candle wax. How could he rob you, the one person he has loved with all his heart, mind and soul of your happiness?

The answer is that he cannot. 

So, instead of socking Jungkook in the face, instead of tearing you from Jungkook’s arms and kissing you with passionate ferocity, Yoongi circles your hugging bodies so that you can see him, gently tapping you to get your attention. Your head pops out from Jungkook’s chest and you look at Yoongi over his shoulder. When your eyes lock, your arms still around Jungkook and Jungkook’s arms still around you, he whispers as softly as he can so that you cannot hear the cracking of his heart in his voice. And despite the excruciating amount of pain he is feeling in this moment, Yoongi manages to proffer you a small smile. 

“You win.”

His words refer to a plethora of things; his heart, his life, this one-sided game he has been playing. And then, before you can question anything, he leaves you to deliberate what on earth those two words should signify other than that game of tag that just decided Yoongi’s and your destiny. 

Because did you actually win or did you just lose everything?

#min yoongi #suga #yoongi #angst #yoongi angst #bts #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #suga imagines #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #yoongi au #suga au #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #fanfiction #bts scenarios #suga x reader #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi x y/n

[bluebirdwrites]

j stands for joker; batfam

warnings; language, violence, injury, non-consensual touching (nothing extreme), descriptions of death.

author’s note; so,, this is based off of Arkham knight slightly where jason gets branded by the joker. except!!! in this universe, the normal thing where jason died happened, and it’s batsis that this happens to during an unexpected situation.. if that makes sense? hopefully this isn’t too sucky :’) fem!reader too, btw (: here’s my dc masterlist in case you wanna, you know, check it out! requests the opennnn ;)

summary; with time, you hope that Joker will burn. that he will be marked by death the way that he has branded your skin.

Being held up in the bank with your brother on the way to get lunch is not how you expected the day to go. Not to mention, being Wayne kids had massive targets immediately on your backs in the case of bank robbers.

If only they knew Bruce Wayne was Batman.

“Fuck’s sake,” He drags a hand down his face, palming at his cheeks looking rather like a spoilt child with an angry pout on his face at a time like this. “Of all the times that I don’t carry my guns. This shit happens.”

You glare at him over your shoulder, making sure to thump him up the side of the head watching as the white strands mix with black, “Not the time when we’ll probably be the ones offered up as rich people bait Jason.”

It’s not the people that turn you in surprisingly enough, it turns out to be the white streak of hair that flops over your brother’s forehead that gives him away as the a Wayne boy, and in turn you as a Wayne girl.

The thugs parade around you both in a circle making sure to taunt you both, roughly shoving your brother to the floor even as he glares up with such a ferocity you know he’s itching to lose it. So, stupidly- bravely maybe, you step in, completely ignoring the glare that is now focused on you.

“Well aren’t you boys just precious? Look,” you let out a whistle and press the emergency button on your necklace that would alert the whole family. “How about you take your hands off of my brother and shove them up your ass so I don’t have to do it for you.” It is said lightly, even as Jason continues to give you a look of exasperation that says to shut up, it’s too late now.

The men laugh as the leader- seemingly a member of Jokers crew by the white clown makeup he wears- steps toward you and lifts your chin with a gun. “Listen rich-bitch, I don’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours,” the gun stays put as the man grabs your waist and brings you towards him by the hips. “That and I always like a woman with a mouth. I think I’ll take you with me sweetheart. Make everyone else leave, let’s keep the girl here for when the boss arrives.”

You can see three guys grab Jason and struggle to hold him as the guy turns you so your back is to his chest. “Everyone out,” the guy rubs the gun in circles on your temple and cocks it as you give a fuming Jason a hard look telling him to go. “Or her brains paint the wall a nice shade of red.”

Everyone leaves, and you’re sure your family will be here soon as the guy feels you up. You growl low in your throat and drive your elbow backwards as his hand grazes over your ass.

“Touchy, touchy,” the guy ties you up on a chair in the bank ripping your shirt from your torso. The gun is still pointed to your temple and your impatience grows. “The boss is here rich-bitch, and he’s going to have some fun with you.”

The clown is pasty white and scarred as always. Still wearing a purple suit and an orange plaid dress shirt. Still a psycho with green hair and an unflinching smile; this is your first time meeting him in civilian clothes.

“Well, well, well. Whatever do we have here? You wouldn’t happen to be Miss Wayne would you? My, my, my,” the Clown’s cackles bounce off of the walls as he claps his hands in glee. “Now you’re all mine, mine, mine, to do with as I please. Can’t harm that pretty face can I? I’ll have to get creative.”

He turns to the thug in the room, gun still hesitantly trained on you. The clown smiles, mouth gleaming yellow and bared as he purrs approaching his henchman holding out his hand expectant. “Such a good boy, give me the gun,” the goon is wary as he gives Joker the gun. “Time for the fun, pull my finger.”

The sound of the bullet ripping though the man’s skull is wet, spraying blood and brain matter from the impact of the bullet. The henchmen’s eyes are glazed as his body dully falls to the floor and pools with red. The clown cackles and jumps with glee, clicking his heels and shimmying around the fallen body.

Soon after, Joker brings forth a battery and generator that one would use on a car from a storage closet. He unhurriedly connects a wire to each arm and each leg and steps back chittering to himself as you wonder what in the hell is taking your family so long.

“Now pet, I’m not going to kill you! Of course not!,” his voice lowers an octave as the first circuit of electricity goes through you with the press of a button in his palm causing a loud groan to escape you and buzzing noises to fill your ears. “I’m just going to hurt you. Really, really, bad.”

A mere few minutes later, he stops the surges of electricity, seemingly frazzled as he approaches you with a metal rod and an unfaltering grin and twitching, deranged eyes. You begin to struggle, as it looks akin to that of a branding iron with its red hot end at one end of the metal.

“It seems that we’ve run out of play time dear, I’ll leave you something to remember me by until our next play-date since we’ve had so much fun together.” The clown lifts the iron poker for you to see, red hot with the letter ‘J’ held close to the side of your neck.

You’re straining in your chair as you think you can feel the buzz of your necklace on your collarbones, alerting you that they are coming. They’ll be here soon is all you can think as you try and stall.

“Go to hell you” it is said, and it is said with venom lacing your voice. It makes the clown all the more eager as he pushes the brand into the side of your neck. The pain is searing and it makes your toes curl as a scream rips through your throat as you become branded with him. His name on your body forever.

He soon stands back and claps his hands as he reheats the brand placing the mark multiple more times against your bare torso, becoming increasingly gleeful as you scream and cry. “You’re mine now girlie, got me all over you.”

The sound of glass raining from above like a hurricane is reassuring as the pain throbs and your body is searing and sizzling where his brand has been. The clown stands behind you, lifting your head by your hair. He’s leaning over your shoulder as he shows you off like a sick prize to your family in costume.

“Look at how pretty she looks all marked up,” he yanks your head to the side showing one of his brands and slides his hands up and down your torso where the rest of the brands lie. “Now she’s all mine, mine, mine. I had fun with her today, we’ll have to do it again sometime! Tell her daddy I say ‘Hi’!”

Tears are in your eyes as you look at the members of your family currently in front of you. Varying levels of anger are displayed, as they all twitch and glare looking ready to rip the clown behind you to shreds. Joker leans down to rest his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your neck and giggle as the lights go out and he is gone. Just like that becoming a ghost.

There is a beat of silence where your head rolls harshly to the side as you stare blankly with silent tears. There is a beat of silence as they realise that Joker is gone and of the pain that you are in and the state of your body. The beat of silence is the calm before the storm. In that beat of silence you are scared, utterly terrified. Not of the clown but of what he has done to you.

You don’t move and neither do they, too paralysed and too numb and in that moment you just want your family. The tears come faster, they come in fat salty rivets that cover your cheeks and drip off your jaw. The panic and the pain sets in next, overwhelmingly so, and it crushes you.

Your dad is there first, not as Batman but as Bruce Wayne- he must have come through the front entrance judging by the wide open door and police escort- as he reaches you, his daughter. The restraints are gone as you fall forward into him as he allows himself to run his hands through your hair and kiss the crown of your head.

“Dad,” you cling to your father and you are aware as he picks you up and wraps you in his suit jacket being careful of the brands that cover your torso. “Can we go home?”

Your brothers are in costume you realise, as they vanish in quick succession, one after the other. When you get outside, there is press and police and sirens. There are flashing cameras and yelling. The police force a barricade around yourself and your father make press leave.

The next thing you remember you’re in an ambulance and there are four people rushing towards you and your dad. Damian reaches you first, where an out of character hug happens as he leaps on you minding the bandages on your torso. He has his head resting on your shoulder and all you can think is, ‘I’m glad it was me and not anyone else.’

“I’ll kill him,” it’s said as a snarl and you know he means it. There’s no playing around with what he’s saying, with the sincerity of it. “He hurt you. Branded you, and I know you are not okay before you even say it. I was worried and I am glad that you’re okay.”

With glassy green eyes, he gently lets go of you standing slightly to the side and then Dick’s there, half picking you up and still being careful with you. But you can feel the anger bubbling in the trembling of his arms and the ticking of his jaw, the familiarity of the dangerous temper hiding under the surface. You can see the fear too, within the tears ready to drip down his cheeks and the shaky breaths he takes.

“Had us worried there pretty bird,” and he’s letting you sit back down fully and kissing your temple. “Don’t taunt the guys holding you hostage again please. Don’t take after Jason. Cass, Babs and Kate are going after Joker at the moment.”

He now stands to the side with his jaw locked talking to Damian. And Tim’s looking at you with tired, worried eyes as he takes large steps forward to hug you. He’s hugging you as tight as he can; so tight you can feel the racing and stuttering of his heart in his chest. He seems beyond relieved that you’re okay.

He’s pulling back to look you in the eye. “When I saw you before, I-,” he’s now gripping your shoulders forcing your eyes to meet the smouldering steely blue of his own, that show the distress within them. “I thought he was going to kill you y’know? I thought that- well, I’ll tell you later. Just know that I’m glad you’re safe pretty bird.”

As Tim joins your other brothers, it is only Jason with you now. You can see it in his eyes- he’s tearing himself to bits. He looks like he’s been crying, his face is puffy and his cheeks and nose are flushed pink. He strides towards you until he’s standing so close he’s towering over you wringing his hands looking like a kicked puppy.

“Why did you talk back to that thug in there? I had it under control! You were hurt by him, it should’ve been me! Why the fuck? I will kill that son of-“ he’s ranting and running his hands through his hair, mussing it up beyond belief. His eyes are blue green and darkening with his anger, and his lip is beginning to wobble the way it always does before he either explodes or is about to cry.

And you’re the one pulling him to you this time, tired arms around broad shoulders. You’re the one making him cling to you as he hugs you as tight and as tenderly as he can while his eyes water and he’s shaking like a leaf. Only when he’s ready, he’s pulling back and silently asking to look at the brand on your neck.

When he sees it, he looks green and he gags. Not because the wound is that bad, but because of what it stands for. Because of who had branded you, of the promise Joker made, of the fact you both knew Joker would be back for you.

The ‘J’ covers the entire column of the left side of your throat, it looks red and angry and painful. Jason is tentative as he runs a finger over it and you look each other in the eye. It burns. And with time, you both hope that Joker will burn too.

#dc comics #dc comics x reader #batfam #batfam x reader #batboys #batboys x reader #batsis #batsis!reader #batfam x batsis #batboys x batsis #batman #batman x batsis #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x batsis #dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake #tim drake x reader #red robin #red robin x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #robin #robin x reader #cassandra cain

[dershloopmain]

End Of Everything - Chapter 2

‘’Jesus,’’ Casey said, looking down at the broken fence with multiple zombies, all in different states of living, tried to claw their way out of their barbed wire and wooden confines.

‘’Tell me about it. I knew they were dumb but I thought they were supposed to have dope eyesight? Doesn't look like it to me,’’’ Raph scoffed, pulling his own splintering baseball bat out of his bag, poking the arm of the closest trapped zombie.

‘’Won’t Donnie want a sample for his tests? Don't poke em too much what if they come free you ass!”

‘’They won't come free! I dunno I thought he was good for all that.’’

‘’I dunno either but shouldn't we at least ask him? Besides, we need the help,’’ Casey said with a shrug, ‘’and stop poking em Raph!’’

‘’What? You can ask him, but if I show my face in that lair before this is done, Leo will end my life so you’re going,’’ Raph said, pulling back from the undead recipient of his abuse.

‘’Fine, I’ll go alone then.’’

‘’Don’t say it like that you’re making it seem like you're going out into a haunted forest. You just gotta drop down the sewer pipe and walk like 100 feet then you’re at the turnstiles.’’

‘’I know! I also know I am, just as susceptible to Leo’s… whatever we’re calling them.’’

‘’First of all, when did you learn such a big word Jones and second just text him then you big dope,’’ Raph rolled his eyes, turning back to his undead victims, beginning to poke and prod at their bodies.

‘’I said stop fuckin’ poking em dude!’’ Casey said, pushing Raph away from the fence with his foot as he tapped out a text to Donnie, ‘’And it's surprising what hanging with D all day makes you learn.’’

‘’Hey! Rude. They're not gonna hurt anyone they're stuck as anything in there. Besides, I’ve been hanging with Don for years, you won't get smarter in a couple of months. Half his ramblings are gibberish at this point,’’ Raph said, sitting up and continuing to poke the zombie. Casey rolled his eyes, realising he wasn't going to win this.

‘’I dunno. I guess I just actually pay attention to him,’’ Casey said with a glare.

‘’Oh sorry,’’ Raph said with a sarcastic high pitched tone, ‘’What is he your boyfriend now? Why’re you getting so defensive?’’ Casey shot another glare at Raph, ‘’Yikes, touchy subject then. I’ll support you no matter what bro, and if you wanna kiss some time, just let me know,’’ Raph said, standing and pouting his lips while moving towards his friend.

‘’Dude stop it,’’ Casey laughed, pushing Raph back, ‘’No he isn’t either I’m just saying, maybe you’d be less of a bone head if you actually listened to him.’’

‘’Nice to know I’ve still got a chance with you then,’’ Raph said with a smirk, ‘’And who are you calling ‘bonehead’ Casey Jones, you’ve got more skull than cells.’’

‘’Alright alright I get it you’re gay for me, its hard not to be, just don't let Mona hear or she will kill both of us. I’m also just gonna ignore that last part but what I said still stands you’re a bonehead.’’

‘’I show you bone head,’’ Raph said, diving at Casey and tackling him to the ground, locking him in a headlock, ‘’Say I'm not a bonehead and I’ll let you go.’’ He said with a smile.

‘’Never!’’

‘’Well then, I hope you like the taste of dirt and sweat because I ain’t moving until you say it!’’

‘’Children, children, come on stop it,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes as he pulled himself out of the sewer. Raph looked up at his brother and smiled, allowing Casey a moment to flip Raph up and off of him. He landed on the dusty, cracked tarmac with a shout of surprise, before huffing and pulling himself and Casey up off of the floor, ‘’Now then. What’s the problem?’’

‘’We need help and Case was wondering if you needed new samples to test,’’ Raph said, pointing at the hole in the fence and multiple zombies clawing at the floor in an attempt to pull themselves free and feast on the 3’s flesh.

‘’Right… I’m guessing Leo said you couldn't have help right? That’s why you texted me?’’

‘’Yup.’’

‘’Thought so,’’ Donnie said softly with a small grimace on his face. A grimace that didn't go unnoticed by Casey and Raph. Nothing was said regarding it but yet… they all understood. A silent yet ever-present cloud hung over them all but not a word was said. Raph cleared his throat.

‘’Right then,’’ He spoke, rubbing his hands together readily, ‘’Let’s get on with it.’’ With that, the moment was over and the cloud disappeared, however not completely. It still loomed over them, threatening to take over their beings at any point. Donnie and Casey nodded, pulling their splintering boe staff and baseball bat out respectively and begun to shift the monsters, pushing them back from a safe distance.

‘’How long have our defences been compromised?’’ Donnie said, straightening up and letting out a deep breath.

‘’Not sure,’’ Raph said, copying his brother, ‘’But they’re really stuck in there so it must’ve been at least a couple of days. Probably longer.’’

‘’Why did Leo only send you two to do this?’’

‘’Your guess is as good as mine. He probably still hates me because of what happened.’’

‘’He can’t be still hung up on that. It’s been 3 months.’’

‘’I know,’’ Raph let out a shaky sigh, lifting his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘’He's not the only one who lost someone important though. We all lost something but we aren't all tyrannical megalomaniacs.’’

‘’You know how close Usagi and he were though. You can’t be mad at him for missing him.’’

‘’It’s past ‘missing him’. Fuck, I miss Mona too but it’s not my fault it happened I just- I just hate that I can't stop loving him. He's my brother, no matter what he does to me. I nearly died on that supply run, if it weren't for Casey I wouldn't be here but… no matter how mad it makes me I can’t stay mad at him,’’ Raph bit his tongue, his shoulders sinking in defeat, ‘’I’d do anything to get him back.’’

‘’I know Raph. I know,’’ Donnie said softly, moving towards his brother and wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his shell comfortingly. Casey didn’t say a word, he only followed Donnie’s lead and wrapped his own arms around his friend.

‘’Fuck me, man, there's something about the apocalypse that's making us all sappy,’’ Casey laughed, pulling an arm away from Raph and wrapping it around Donnie, who evidently also wasn't taking the entire situation well, but was just a lot worse at talking about it. He could tell from the turtle's physique that it’d taken a toll on him. Initially, while he had always been relatively thin, any muscle mass he had had before was gone, leaving nothing but skin, bone and organs. The eye bags Donnie had always sported seemed deeper and more rooted in weeks of sleepless nights rather than days of late nights and early mornings. His face was sallow and thin, his cheekbones protruding through his skin, almost pushing to escape their green confines. But he never said a word. Not to him. Not to Mikey or Raph. Not even to April. He was a silent sufferer, he wouldn't say a word to anyone but yet everyone knew. One of these days, Casey thought, he was going to have a proper conversation with Donnie. A proper talk. Even back before all this, they hadn’t been insanely close. Always at war over something or other yet something drew Casey to Donnie. He wasn't sure what yet but he’d figure it out. Eventually.

‘’Guys you do realise there's still zombies literal centimetres from us,’’ Donnie said, glazing towards the green-grey decaying hand reaching out for Raph’s ankle.

‘’Oh shit yeah,’’ Raph and Casey said in unison, pulling away and starring down at the writhing mass.

‘’How are we gonna move ‘em then?’’ Raph said, pulling a broken hockey stick out of Casey’s bag and poking the creatures again.

‘’My God Raph you’re like a 6-year-old. Stop. Poking. The. Fucking. Zombies!’’ Casey said angrily, ripping the hockey stick out of his hand and shoving them firmly back into his bag.

‘’Well, by the looks of things,’’ Donnie said, crouching down and levering the creatures up using his staff, ‘’They’ve been impaled by the fence. Pushing them back is just going to lodge them in even more and break the fence even more. We need to create some kind of lever system to lift them up so we can push them off the fence and out of our perimeter,’’ He stood up again, stretching his legs out and giving them a small shake, before looking over at Raph and Casey.

‘’This is why you’re the brain’s and I’m the brawn D,’’ Casey said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pushing him down into a headlock.

‘’Cut it out Casey,’’ Donnie said indignantly, squirming in an attempt to get out of Casey’s arms.

‘’Yeah Casey, cut it out. We gotta sort this out before ‘Nardo throws his rattle out his pram,’’ Raph rolled his eyes and Casey grimaced, loosening his grip and allowing Donnie to pull himself free.

Without another word, Donnie pulled a small toolbox out of his bag and placed it on the floor not too far from the creatures writhing in the barbed wire and jagged wood. Opening the box gently, he pulled out a small, clean-looking glass syringe and a neatly folded wet wipe.

‘’Ok,’’ He said finally, ‘’I need you two, and its imperative that you listen and do exactly as I say because I’m your only hope for a cure and if I get turned you’re all doomed so,’’ Donnie pointed at the pile of zombies, ‘’hold them down and away from me. But under no circumstances are you to do ANYTHING that could kill that one. If they die, their sample will be tarnished and it won't be effective,’’ He finished, a stern and serious expression on his face.

‘’Got it, Don,’’ Raph said, walking towards the pile and pushing his foot down onto the head of the creature Donnie had said, ‘’Casey, can you hold the others back while try and sort this one out?’’

‘’I’ll try,’’ He said sheepishly, looking down at the 3 or so other zombies laying at his feet before quickly composing himself and beginning to use his hockey stick to lift them up and pushing them back and away from his friends and home. Stepping over the barbed wire and broken fencing, he jammed his hockey stick back into his bag and pulled the splintering bat out, moving towards the now free pile of freaks.

‘’You want me to kill em, D?’’

‘’Can do,’’ Donnie said flatly, not looking up from his test subject.

‘’Uh- You know what never mind I’ll just kill em,’’ Casey said, swinging his bat in a downward arch, smashing the creatures’ skulls in, killing them all instantaneously. Mushy brain and dark, viscous blood splattered on his sneakers and jeans, coating them in another layer of grit and grime. He had to admit, the idea that these were once living people was disturbing to him. They’d once had lives, jobs, families and friends. They’d been like him once. Alive and free. Would everyone have bashed his skull in if he’d been infected? Or would he have been corralled and used as a test subject for Donnie to find a cure? He hoped the latter but… He wasn’t sure. After what’d happened, he wasn’t sure Leo would’ve been insanely happy with the idea of keeping zombies in the lair, especially not him. Being low on the hierarchy had its perks but not having Leo on his side in regards to anything was not one of them. He sighed, shaking the viscera off of his shoes and bat before stepping back into the borders of their home.

‘’Nearly done Don?’’ Casey said, crouching near him. He glanced over at his

‘’Nearly and… there we go done,’’ Donnie said, wiping the mucus and deep red blood from the small wound he’d just created, smiling at his work.

‘’Why’d you wipe it after. They’re dead their entire body is infected,’’ Raph said, removing his foot from the creatures head and letting Donnie back up before dropping its arms and dashing around to the other side of the fence.

‘’Force of habit,’’ Donnie said quietly, clearly uncomfortable with what was about to happen.

‘’We have to do it, Don, I know you don’t like it but we do,’’ Raph said, walking over to his brother and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Donnie looked away, gently placing the syringe into a ziplock back and putting it back into his toolbox.

‘’I know you do I just- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing them be killed. They used to alive and through no fault of their own, now they’re monsters I- I don't know how much more of this excessive violence and murder I can take,’’ Donnie said, his eyes filling up with tears.

‘’Hey, hey don’t get upset. Crying’s healthy and all but if you start, I’ll start and even Raph might start- hey ow!’’ Casey exclaimed, whipping around and shooting Raph a death glare. Raph snorted, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Donnie laughed, wiping away yet another batch of unshed tears.

‘’Sorry it just… gets a little much at times,’’ Donnie shook his head, rubbing his elbow nervously.

‘’Don’t apologise for having emotions you big dummy,’’ Raph said, walking to stand next to Casey, ‘’I gotta say, me and Casey aren’t exactly peachy. I doubt Mikey and April are either. Don’t even get me started on Leo. It’s ok to feel like this Don, just stop bottling it up. That’s where it’s not healthy.’’

‘’I can’t believe for once WE are the one's schooling Donnie,’’ Casey said, crossing his arms and shaking his head jokingly. Raph rolled his eyes, as did Donnie.

‘’Now the sentimental shit’s over, let’s just finish up here and go down, I seriously doubt ‘Nardo is gonna be happy with how long we’ve been,’’ Raph said, trying not to think about what was inevitably to come.

‘’Tell me about it. D, we’ll deal with the creature and you can like, close your eyes and ears if that’ll help, then we’ll get started on the fence,’’ Casey said, trying to add an air of enthusiasm to his voice to bring up the mood, however, even he could tell it wasn’t working.

‘’Sure,’’ Donnie said, walking back to the manhole cover and looking away, covering his ears as Raph and Casey pulled out their respective weapons and began pulling the zombie out of the barbed wire and splintering wood, replacing it out onto the dusty street. Then, Raph stepped towards the thing that was slowly attempting to crawl back towards them and slammed his sai down into its head, cracking its skull and killing it, once and for all. He felt the vibrations up his arm as the metal of his sai clashed with the concrete, causing him to shiver a little, before pulling himself up and shaking the remnants of blood and brain off of his sai.

‘’Ok D, all done,’’ Casey shouted over, turning around to his friend and giving him a reassuring smile, who offered a small, shaky smile in return.

With that, Raph tucked his sai away and stepped over what was leftover of the small portion of the fence.

‘’You got any nails in that thing Donnie?’’ Raph asked, gesturing at the toolbox.

‘’I should have a few, I brought some hammers too, I figured you two wouldn't have remembered to bring any with you,’’ Donnie said, opening the toolbox and pulling out a handful of nails and handing them to Casey, before pulling his backpack around so it hung over one shoulder and rummaging through it for a couple of seconds before pulling out 3 relatively clean hammers and handing one to each of them.

‘’Well then, let's get to it,’’ Raph said, swinging the hammer around and grabbing a couple of nails from Casey’s outstretched hand, before picking up one of the wooden boards and beginning to bash it back into the wooden post that protruded from the tarmac. Casey and Donnie soon followed suit, before finally beginning to carefully pick up the barbed and wrap it around the makeshift fencing.

‘’That wasn’t so bad,’’ Raph said, grinning at their handiwork.

‘’Definitely a lot quicker with you here D,’’ Casey said, smiling at his friend.

‘’No problem Casey. I know how Leo can be, so just text me if you ever need help with anything. He already doesn't like you coming down to my lab. Thinks you’re stopping me from working or something,’’ Donnie said with a sigh.

‘’Well, I’m not gonna stop coming unless you tell me to. I don’t care what he thinks,’’ Casey said defiantly, putting his hands on his hips as if he were some hero.

‘’A real modern-day revolutionary you are Casey Jones,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

‘’Should we head back? It’s getting cold,’’ Raph said, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing them in an attempt to preserve any sort of body heat he could.

‘’Jesus it is. Must really be September,’’ Casey said, stuffing his hands deep into his hoody pockets.

Donnie nodded, flexing his fingers before pulling them back into a fist multiple times.

With that, the three headed towards the manhole cover and climbed down back into the sewer. It was surprising how much you learned about New York’s bathroom habits after 6 months of the apocalypse. Raph had always assumed that there’d always be greywater down here, no matter how many humans lived up top yet somehow, the sewers had run dry. Remains of final faeces and bathroom breaks lay dried up or non-existent along the floor of the sewer. It was almost impressive yet disturbing. The world really was ending. Or, as Donnie had put it ‘’Humanity's end as the dominant life force on earth’’.

‘’Bite your tongue Raph. If Leo says anything, don’t bite,’’ Donnie whispered as they hopped the turnstiles into the lair. Raph swallowed in a desperate attempt to dampen his dry tongue, failing miserably. He could feel his stomach turn in knots and any food he’d eaten in the last 24 hours was churning in his stomach, threatening to make a reappearance.

‘’Raphael,’’ Leo’s deep voice filled their ears, Raph flinched, ‘’I trust your supply run went well.’’

‘’Yeah. Got more medical supplies. There wasn’t much else we needed though so that was it.’’ ‘’What about our defences. Are they secure now?’’

‘’Yeah. Casey and Donnie helped me patch it back up so it should be fine.’’

‘’Donatello helped? I thought I told you that you and Casey were to do it alone.’’

‘’Yes, I know, I’m sorry but he was already up there to get another sample from the zombies and he had stuff on him to help so…’’ Raph trailed off, his eyes trained on the ground. He refused to look into Leo’s cold, uncaring eyes. If he did, he already knew he couldn't hold himself back.

‘’Hmm. Donatello? Is this what happened?’’

‘’Yes, Leo. I promise you, they didn’t ask me to help them. I asked them if I could come up to get a sample for my studies,’’ Donnie said sheepishly, looking up at Leo, trying his best not to let his fear be shown.

‘’Fine. I’ll believe you. You may all leave now.’’ Leo said plainly, glaring down at Casey and Raph, both of whom were starring at the ground still as they walked away, shoulders hunching slightly.

Leo nearly felt himself crack. He wanted to stop them, tell them he was sorry and wanted everything to go back to normal but… he couldn't. He couldn’t stop hating them for what happened. He couldn’t stop his blood from boiling every time he saw Raph walk past him to leave the lair. Maybe time would heal all wounds, but for now, he was perfectly content blaming and hating his younger brother for what he’d done. Not just because of what he'd lost. It's what all of them had lost. It was how reckless and immature Raph had been and HOW he'd caused it. All of it added up into a pit of rage that had been brewing for years. The number of times he'd been kidnapped or injured because of Raph's idiocy and complacency and arrogance. What had happened had broken him, the small, sane and happy, innocent part of him had snapped. Maybe if Usagi returned that part would be reconnected but… he knew that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. And it was all Raph’s fault.

#zombie au #apocalypse #post apocolypse #apocalyptic fiction #apocalypse fanfiction #tmnt #tmnt donatello #tmnt Donnie #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo 2012 #tmnt donnie 2012 #tmnt casey #tmnt casey jones #tmnt raph 2012 #tmnt casey 2012 #tmnt fluff #tmnt angst #tmnt family fluff #tmnt family #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic #tmnt fan fic #tmnt fan fiction

[gifted-burnout-archive]

Criminal minds (could include Supernatural) Headcanons on how they would deal with the zombie apocalypse. The team after Elle left. Spencer x Reader. LOVE YOU

Ok, so I will be focusing on the ‘main’ team, because a. I haven’t watched far enough to meet the wonder that is Agent Alvez, and b. because I feel like I know these characters better. So, it’ll be Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ, Garcia, Spencer and You! Plus, the origin story of discovering the virus.

Headcanon - Criminal Minds Zombie Apocalypse (feat. Spencer Reid x Reader)

So, first off, no one would know the zombie apocalypse was coming. I mean, no one ever does in these sort of scenarios, not really. In fact, the first inkling the BAU would get of the impending apocalypse is on a case.

A strange series of events had led to multiple victims dying overnight in Tampa, Florida (because of course this shit would start in Florida), and the team had been called in to try and give a profile. Multiple people have passed away peacefully after admitting themselves to hospital after being bitten, feeling nausea and light headedness before suddenly dying.

So, the team fly down on the jet, and you sleep on Spencer’s shoulder the whole way down because it’s an early start and you two are best buds, so of course he lets you sleep on his shoulder.

And Hotch is taking the awake team members through the information they have, which is not much at all. In fact, the only thing they really have going for them is the autopsy of several victims show the same set of human teeth had bitten into victims.

So, you all get there, at the hospital, and Garcia’s on the phone, spouting off rumours from reporters covering the case. And she’s like, sounding kind of scared? Reading these reports is freaking her out, and Hotch asks what’s bothering her as you all enter the hospital, the police department opting to meet the BAU there.

And Garcia’s like, “Oh, nothing sir... I’m freaking myself out over nothing. I just watched a few too many zombie movies over Halloween.”

And Morgan laughs, “What, you thinking we have a rogue zombie on our hands Garcia?”

You all have a giggle at it, and Hotch sends you, Spencer and Prentiss down to the morgue to examine the dead bodies while he, Rossi, JJ and Morgan interview the few surviving victims.

So you head down, and Spencer is suggesting that the team come to a movie night with him, a horror movie special on serial killers.

He’s still in the Halloween mood.

And before Prentiss can politely refuse, or politely you can excitedly agree, the elevator doors open and you are in the basement of this hospital.

The first thing that hits you is the smell.

Rotting flesh, blood, puss, all the things that collect and amount in the stench of death.

It’s so strong that you and Prentiss cover your noses and mouths with your tops. Spencer doesn’t, because he’s weird and doesn’t process the odour of death like a normal human.

You head out first, the lights overhead beginning to flicker.

The further you go in, the more aware of your gun you become. While the area around the elevator was fine, the place begins to look more and more like a slasher flick - the entire floor is trashed, medical carts toppled over, hospital beds haphazardly strewn across the corridors.

Prentiss and Reid follow behind, stopping when you do at the morgue door.

The morgue door with a window splattered in blood.

“Hotch, we’ve got a situation down here.” Prentiss would radio in, but silence in return. You were below ground, signal is patchy at best.

And out of nowhere would come a clatter, sending all three of you to raise your guns and aim. Spencer down the left hall, Prentiss the right, and you at the door.

“FBI!” You would yell, taking a second before opening the morgue door slowly.

The room looks like a bomb site, the coroner is slumped over by the operating table, blood pooling around her.

You rush in, holstering your gun and checking the woman for a pulse. Spencer would follow in, checking the room for the killer, but come up empty. You move your hand away, sighing as you seemed to have arrived too late.

But the doctor’s eyes open. Only, the entire eye is glazed over, like a glass eyes, and white liquid is running from the corners.

“Doctor are you-”

Before you could offer assistance, the doctor jumps on you with inhuman strength, pinning you to the ground and trying to bite you. Snarling, rabid, the doctor starts trying to claw your clothes off, get to skin.

And a gun shot rings out.

Reid stands a few feet away, the end of his gun smoking as the doctor slumps to your side, dead. Reid had shot her in the head.

Prentiss comes rushing in, and looks at the scene. You go to explain she was rabid, but Prentiss’ eyes are fearful, and she points to the body.

“Where’s the blood?”

The doctor wasn’t bleeding from her head. In fact, what began to slowly drip out of the bullet hole was a black ooze.

Reid pulls you to your feet, and the three of you decide the best next step is to get the fuck out of there.

Whether any of you meant to or not, you break into a jog, heading back towards the elevator. Low moans and growls come from behind doors surrounding you, and even though you wanted to stop, you teammates urged you to keep going.

Upon arriving at the elevator, you all hear a yell, and you snap your head towards it. Just down the hallway, a man who looks rather like one of your deceased had begun limping towards you, his pace picking up as Prentiss frantically pressed for the elevator.

The moment you saw the same glass eyes, you raised your gun and shot him in the head, the body slumping to the floor.

The elevator finally opened, and you clambered in with Spencer and Emily, all of you breathing heavy.

Spencer immediately turns you to face him and starts checking your visible skin.

“What are you doing?”

“Did she manage to break the skin when she attacked you?” He asks, moving down to your legs and checking your ankles.

“Spencer-”

“DID SHE?” He asked again, and you were taken aback. Reid had never shouted at you before, in all your time at the BAU.

“No.”

The three of you head upon to the quarantine floor, where the rest of the team are, the elevator doors opening to the sound of gunshots.

JJ and Rossi are stood back to back, firing at unknown targets, while Morgan and Hotch rushed towards the elevator with a few doctors and nurses following. 

“JJ, ROSSI, LET’S MOVE!” Morgan yells, and after a few more shots the rest of the team are in the elevator with you and a few members of meidcal staff.

“What the fuck is going on?” JJ asks, finally catching her breath as the elevator heads to the ground floor.

“I think Garica was right.” Spencer says, his free hand clutching yours. “As improbable as it may be, I think we’re at point zero of the apocalypse.”

--

So, after the BAU discovered the virus, they all head back to Quantico, JJ making an emergency statement to all media outlets that a “contagious disease had been discovered in Florida, and everyone must stay in their homes.”

Of course, people didn’t listen. (wear your masks, people)

The virus spread like wildfire, and within a week, every single state had cases of infected.

At first, the BAU were asked to assist the CDC, just in case this was an attack of biological warfare in case there was an unsub to be found. A lot of people didn’t want to accept the truth that this was, quite simply...

Zombies.

Rossi demanded that the entire team and families move into his mansion/compound. It wasn’t an offer, it was an order, and he was fearing for the lives of his family.

The most important thing to point out in this scenario is that none of the BAU are dumb enough to get infected. These people were smart enough to loot the Quantico arsenal, get their ammo sorted, even bring along Garcia’s computer system to ensure peak performance from the team.

And for the first year, doomsday prepper Rossi with his tonnes of dried pasta in a back room and more amatriciana sauce than you thought possible would be feeding a family of eleven: JJ and Hotch brought along the family.

Morgan, Prentiss, and you would be geared up for 24/7 border defence. You were lucky to have a millionaire co-worker with a house behind a wall, because your perimeter patrol became a lot easier.

Barbed wire and everything.

Spencer became a doctor of infectious diseases in a month of reading, and began an effort to find a cure, with the help of Garcia, doctors across the globe, and video calls.

Hotch and JJ would be helping manage panic, corresponding with the White House until there was no reply, and trying to keep Henry and Jack oblivious to the whole thing.

But, eventually, food runs out.

After fourteen months in the compound, food had finally become scarce in the middle of winter, and the compound walls could only hold back a hoard for so long.

And, what’s more, the internet finally stopped fucking working.

After a month of deliberating and Rossi managing to make beans on toast taste like fine Italian dining, you finally had to move on from the home. 

Reid’s contacts from the outside made clear that were three safe zones across the US, and that planes were taking survivors to uninfected countries after screenings.

At this point, North and Central America were near completely infected, along with large portions of Asia, Europe and Africa.

When the team finally goes on the move, it’s with the intention of getting to a safe zone and leaving, fast. Not only was there a need to save one another because of how close your work had brought you all,

But Jack and Henry deserved to live.

Out on the road, the teams works much like the BAU would have: Hotch is the de-facto leader with Rossi as his second. They were decision finalizers and motivators on harder days.

Spencer was the in-house expert on the disease and sat nav. His eidetic memory served well on remembering which routes to take and avoid, locating areas of low-zombie concentration, and spouting dinosaur facts to keep Jack and Henry happy.

JJ became the group mom, and Garcia the fun aunt. Despite the constant fear, the pair would always be there and ready to assist in times of emergency.

Will and Morgan were the brawn, focused on killing anything that moved, whether it be foe or food. Both more serious than the rest of the team, they realise the weight of the situation and are driven by the need to not let family die.

Prentiss is the lookout. More nimble than the rest of the team, and thoroughly capable with a gun, she spends a lot of time climbing trees, looking for possible hoards on their way, and spends a lot of time sat at the fire, hunkered over and burning wood until the fire brushes her fingers. She’s probably the most in denial about the whole thing, her logical mind can’t process it fully.

And you, you are the risk taker. When all was said and done, the one running into the fight armed with a machete and a need to save your friends was you. A part of you knows it might get you killed, but until you reached the safe zone, you were the team’s infantry, first line of defence, and you were killing zombies left right and fucking centre.

So, the first safe zone was in Illinois. 

From Rossi’s house, it was about a month away. And as winter turned into spring, you finally reached the state.

Only to find the entire safe zone had been infected, and you were entering a zombie swarm.

Now, I’m not saying you are the stupidest out of the group, not by any means, but you 100% risked your own life too many fucking times in Illinois.

And, whether it was the beauty of zombie ooze spattered over your trousers or the look of certainty in your eyes as you were faced with an infected hungry for your flesh as you shot it point blank in the head, Spencer suddenly became very protective of you, his best friend.

Also, side note, the clothing. I feel like it would be pretty standard post-apocalyptic stuff, leather jackets and jeans and big boots (all of which Garcia would despise wearing and bedazzled whenever possible), but there is two looks that would top everything else:

One, Spencer would ditch the sweater vest and be rocking the dress shirt and leather jacket look. Stubble and hair mad and *drools*

Two, ROSSI IN A GILET

Also, bearded Hotch.

Back to you and Spencer though, his protectiveness over you would become a problem. The next safe zone is in New Mexico, and with another month and a half of you running off to kill zombies ahead of him, Spencer starts to get angry at you for being so reckless.

It’s only when the team managed to fill up a stationed pickup truck at a gas station and drive it halfway through Kansas before the battery died that Spencer reached his breaking point though.

As you all settled in a farm house for the evening, shocked to find food that wasn’t expired in the cupboards, and Rossi began cooking your first enjoyable meal in months, you decided to step out for some air, check that the neighbouring barn was still free of zombies.

You armed yourself with an axe, not expecting any danger, and headed out. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer followed. He knew it would be safer if her joined, just to make sure you didn’t get hurt.

So, here you are, with an axe in one hand and a torch in the other, walking over to the dilapidated barn that looks like something from a movie: big and red with white on the beams. You crack open the door, and whistle as you head in. It’s quiet, and you don’t like the quiet, but you knew you were safe. Will and Morgan had checked the barn an hour ago, and you really came out for a breath of manure filled air and a chance to process Illinois properly.

But then a hand grabbed your axe, throwing it to the far side of the barn, and you were pinned down by a rogue zombie.

This one was aged. Usually, you would find zombies freshly bitten or a few months into infection, but this guy? His flesh was almost completely gone from the right side of his face, the right eyes black instead of glazed over. So close to you, he reeked, every ragged breath he blew in your face made you want to vomit. His hand had closed around your throat, and you knew.

This is where you die.

You closed your eyes, just silently praying he killed you instead of changing you, when the weight disappeared from your neck and body. Your eyes snapped open, only to watch in horror as the zombie went after Spencer, who saved your life once more:

He took your axe and swung it straight into the zombie’s head, practically splitting the creature in two.

Without a word, he walked over and lifted you into his arms, carrying you back to the farmhouse, sitting you on the porch steps. He didn’t say anything, just sitting beside you, looking up at the stars.

“Why do you do this to me?” He would ask quietly, causing you to look over. His eyes are still on the stars.

“What do you mean Spence?”

“I don’t want to watch you die, Y/N.”

“Spence I-“

“No! I don’t get why every chance you get, you’re in the middle of danger! What am I meant to do when you get infected? Huh? Are you really going to make me kill you?! I love you, Y/N!” He would almost yell it, but before he goes on you would kiss him, shutting him up.

Inside, the team would hear everything, and as they tried their best to give you two privacy, Henry and Jack were having none of it.

“Auntie Y/N and Uncle Spencer kissed.” Henry would whisper after running to the window to spy on the pair of you.

“It’s about time.” Jack would mutter, slurping up a strand of spaghetti, causing the entire table to burst out in laughter. You and Spencer would return to the dinner table both a little flushed, Morgan wiggling eyebrows and Garcia trying her best to hold back giggles.

That night, as the pair of you sat with your family, all trying to escape and return to some form of normality, Spencer would take your hand. Only this time, it meant more.

Whatever lay ahead, you would face it together.

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #headcanon #zombie apocalypse #request #we love spencer reid

[beevynn]

Weeping of a Wolf

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4821

Summary:  No matter what Geralt calls him, Jaskier isn’t a lark.

Read below or on AO3!

No matter what Geralt calls him, Jaskier isn’t a lark. Not an innocent little songbird who does nothing but twitter through tree branches with a melody in its breast. He can’t be, not when the whites of his teeth are bared and the soft blue that makes up his eyes freeze over. Jaskier isn’t a songbird. He’s a wolf. One that lives the daylight hours in a sheep's skin, bleating a song to a crowd who are none the wiser of the predator in their midst. He warps people's perception of him with a sweet voice that hides the sharpness of his words, elaborate clothing to hide the lithe body underneath, and a ditzy personality to hide a plotting mind. He could handle far more than he let on.

Sometimes Geralt forgets that.

“-a friend of humanity!”

The tavern was filled with the rambunctious cheers of the locale as Jaskier climbed upon a table to sing his last notes to the throng. With a flamboyant flail of his arm, he dipped into a bow gathering the overfilled coin bag at his feet, “My good people of Eldham! You may rest easy knowing the wretched basilisk that has tormented your lives has been slain! Slain by the mighty Geralt of Rivia himself!” Jaskier sent a wink to the solemn figure haunting an empty corner, “Yet tonight is not just a night to celebrate the ending of a monster, but a night to celebrate the men who lost their lives to protect this village before a witcher arrived!”

The crowd roared once more as Jaskier hopped off the table and swiped a tankard of ale from a passing barmaid, “Let the ale flow long and swift,” he proclaimed as he raised the drink, “as we celebrate those brave men!”

With that final proclamation, Jaskier swung his lute across his back and turned to mingle with the people. For a town that had lost serval on their own, they were rather cheery. If he was being completely honest Jaskier didn’t know whether they were usually ones to celebrate life rather than mourn or if they were drinking their grief away. Either way, everyone was very loose with their coin and Jaskier has made more tonight than he has in a very long time.

He felt a bit bad about taking it... Until he realized how much he needed it.

Suddenly Jaskier was jolted forward as a meaty hand seized his shoulder, when he spun around he was met with a disheveled looking man, who’s dull brown hair tangled around broad shoulders.

“Where ya headed, pretty thing? Wouldn’t you like to sing us another song?”

Jaskier smiled and looked into bloodshot gray eyes, “Ah, my good sir. I have already performed a rather extravagant closure. I am done for the night.”

The man belched, sending a foul smell directly Jaskier’s way, and tightened his grip bringing the smaller man closer, “A different kind of performance then. With all that dancing you were doing it's pretty clear all you want is to be shoved down and fucked.”

There was a pause as the people around them grew silent. Everyone watching the altercation between the two closely, but none of them trying to put a stop to it. Not that Jaskier needed the help. With a firm push from the bard, the drunkard stumbled back and landed ass first on a nearby bench. He grumbled and tried to push himself up until a finger was gently tapped against his forehead. When he looked up he was met with a seductive look. Jaskier smiled softly and straddled the man, as he got himself comfortable he pushed locks hair away from a red face and unclasped a few of the buttons on his shirt.

The man grinned and placed clumsy hands on Jaskier’s supple waist, “Ah, you know exactly what you’re made for-”

There was only a flash of silver as a warning as Jaskier whipped his dagger from its resting place and let it rest against chapped lips. There was a struggle until the man froze as Jaskier shoved the better part of the silver stem into his mouth.

Drink glazed eyes met piercing blue.

“Shove? Oh, Darling, I am partial to a bit of shoving,” Jaskier purred as he leaned to put his mouth near the trembling man's ear, “Would you like to know what happens when I shove my pretty little bird deeper down your gullet?”

When the man did nothing but whimper Jaskier hummed and placed a well-manicured hand on a scruffy cheek, “I’ll have you know I don’t take kindly to people grabbing me untowardly, but I am a nice man, I’ll forgive you as long as you apologize.” Jaskier then waited until a sound that resembled an apology escaped around the dagger, “There we go.” He then slowly pulled it out and wiped its spit slick shaft on the man’s tattered shirt. “Have a wonderful night.” With those parting words, Jaskier shifted his weight off of the man and returned his weapon to the hidden pocket in his doublet.

When he spun around Jaskier was met with the sight of Geralt standing frozen just behind him. His body tensed and hands clenched, he looked as if he had been frozen mid lunge. The group of people that had stood near the slight squabble had strayed away. Whatever self-preservation instincts they had forced them to move away from the sight of an angered witcher. The air in that corner of the tavern had grown heavy with a feeling that they couldn’t deduce. It was understandable that they fled.

There was a fluttering feeling deep within Jaskier’s stomach as he sauntered the few steps between himself and his witcher. He then linked his arm with Geralt’s and escorted him away from the scene, ignoring the whispers that erupted around them.

“Now, now, Geralt. There was no reason for you to unseat yourself. I can handle a small scale ruffian on my own, you know this.”

Jaskier chuckled when the response he was given was a harsh grunt. He licked his lips and watched as Geralt’s eyes, dark with expanded pupils, followed its path. It seemed that Geralt had forgotten just why he had gotten up, he had been sufficiently distracted. The relationship between the bard and witcher had been steeped in mutual attraction since the first time they encountered one another, and it had only grown into something more since then. While Jaskier seemed to permeate their everyday life with his Geralt’s only ever broke through his well-fortified walls during instances like this. Jaskier lived for them. The moments reminded Jaskier that his feelings were not one-sided. That even though Geralt refused to acknowledge them they existed. Jaskier just hoped they are as strong as his own and that Geralt would come clean about them soon.

As Jaskier continued to lead Geralt away he passed a tip to the innkeeper, mumbling an apology about the quarrel. He then made his way up the creaky steps, Geralt still silent by his side. When they made it to the room Jaskier unwound his arm and shut the door with a satisfying bang.

“Well, that was a rather eventful night, wasn’t it?” Not waiting for a response Jaskier took his lute from his shoulders and placed it lovingly on the chest of drawers already cluttered with his belongings. “I haven’t had to unsheathe in quite some time. It’s good to know I’ve still got it.”

As he began organizing his possessions he shot a glance at the man who continued to stand still at the doorway. Geralt's nostrils flared with each carefully calculated breath and his golden eyes did not move from where they watched Jaskier flutter around.

“Fuck.”

Jaskier slowed what he was doing and watched as Geralt slowly lost whatever battle he had been having with himself. Geralt's eyes slammed shut and his chest heaved with a breath he held before releasing it with a shaky whoosh. When he reopened them they were pleading.

“I can't do this any longer.”

The witcher then moved forward, his steps slow and cautious as he approached Jaskier, who had completely paused as he watched Geralt. When he stood in front of the bard Geralt let himself fall roughly to his knees and pressed his face into the fine silks that covered Jaskier’s stomach. He took a moment to just breathe in the scent of the man. Underneath the false floral smell Jaskier spritzed himself with daily was the one that never failed to drive Geralt crazy. It was a smell that Geralt could easily follow, even if he was half-blind and delusional from a fight gone wrong. Sunshine and happiness. It was hard to describe it but a majority of the time Jaskier smells like some omnipotent being plucked a flare from the sun, gave happiness a smell, and bundled it together, creating the bard known as Jaskier. Every time Geralt smelled it his body felt as if it were being closely held and the darkness behind his eyes blazed with the brightest shade of yellow.

Geralt was brought out of his reflection when he felt his chin being cupped and his face being urged to look upward. He was met with Jaskier smiling tenderly.

“Is this it then, Geralt? Are we finally taking the leap?”

Geralt huffed and nodded.

Jaskier smiled, “Good.”

With that said Jaskier crouched in front of the kneeling man, not breaking the eye contact between the two of them. When he had settled he brought his other hand up to fully cup Geralt's face, running his thumbs softly over the groove under Geralt's eyes. They continued resting like that in silence, no noise in the room other than the breathing of the two men. Once slow and soft, and the other rapid and shallow.

Jaskier closed his eyes and placed his forehead against Geralt’s, “Finally.”

Jaskier softly pressed his lips to Geralt’s, and it seemed that was all that needed to be done to set him off. As soon as Geralt felt the pressure of Jaskier’s lips on his own it was as if someone had cut the wire holding him taunt. His bones turned liquid and he slumped forward into the kiss. He was frantic in the way he clawed at Jaskier, almost begging for him not to stop. He grunted when he felt Jaskier lean back.

“Come. Let’s move this to the bed.”

Jaskier helped Geralt stand on shaking legs and moved them towards the closer of the two beds in the room. He had him sit on the edge of the bed and widen his legs so Jaskier could have space to stand. Then he kissed Geralt again. This time putting as much passion in it as he possibly could.

Geralt groaned when he felt Jaskier breach his lips and caress the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He quivered as fingers firmly clasped his silver locks and positioned his head right where they wanted it. The dual sensation of pleasure and pain rushed through his body as his cock leaked in his trousers. When soft lips were removed from his own he chased after, trying to return them to their rightful place. They had been taken away from him once, he didn’t want that to happen again.

Breathing heavily, Jaskier stroked the bridge of Geralt's nose, “Alas, I am a simple human, and sadly, that means I am forced to breathe more often than someone who has been made to be so much more than I.”

Geralt shook his head, he wasn’t more than Jaskier. How could he, as tainted as he is, be more than the child of actual sunshine. It was bad enough that he was corrupting Jaskier with his destroying touch. He could practically feel his darkness eating away at Jaskier’s light, selfish in the way it tried to bury itself in the warmth.

Jaskier’s soft expression transformed into something sterner as he watched Geralt get lost in his thoughts. He knew that face. Though it remained fixed in its regular stoicism Jaskier could tell every time Geralt started his self-deprecating thoughts. One’s eyes tell no lies.

“Where have you gone, Geralt? I do expect you to stay here, in this moment, when I am with you.”

This broke Jaskier’s heart, the fact that Geralt felt so undeserving of love. Undeserving of any niceties. That this man, and he is a man, no matter what mutation he has been through, felt like a lesser being. Jaskier has seen him give what little food he had to a street urchin, though he himself had not eaten in days. Has watched as he took stone after stone from the ungrateful fools that threw them. All the while screaming monster, as if they weren’t the monsters themselves. Though Jaskier never fails to try to throw himself at the closest perpetrator he is always held back by a steel arm.

They don’t understand, Jaskier. Let them be.

If the rest of this night goes as Jaskier plans he will forevermore happily disregard those words.  

Jaskier pressed a gentle kiss to Geralt’s cheek and asked if he could stand once more. When the answer was given by Geralt silently rising Jaskier smiled and said two words: good boy.  

A reaction happened immediately, a jarring shudder rushed through Geralt’s body as he took a sharp breath. Jaskier brushed his nose against the pulse point on Geralt’s neck and could feel the thrumming of his heart. It was beating the same pace as Jaskier’s own does when he luxuriates. For the witcher that was practically racing.  

While Jaskier yearned to throw the witcher down and show him just how much he cared he knew he had to take it slow. He wanted to take it slow. He wanted to run the softest of touches down every scar, followed by the gentlest of kisses. Take hours to massage each knot that burrowed its way into the witcher’s body, praising the man for all his good doings. Geralt is a savior that walks the same path as regular men. He deserves to be cared for. He deserves to be worshiped.  

Jaskier will do just that.  

“Geralt, may I undress you?”  

Geralt’s lips pursed with a steadying breath and he nodded, “Please, Jask...I-I.”

Jaskier calmly shushed Geralt and took a calming breath of his own. Never has he heard Geralt stutter, not able to find the words. He slowly undid the buttons that held Geralt's shirt together, kissing every inch of skin that was exposed to him. He then let steady fingers pull the end of the shirt from where it was tucked into Geralt's trousers, bringing it over his head and allowing the wolf medallion he war to fall loose and rest itself on the fuzz of Geralt's chest hair. Throwing the shirt behind him Jaskier then began on the buttons that lined the front of Geralt's pants, and in one fell swoop ridding Geralt of both them and his smallclothes. He skipped his attention over the half hard cock that swung between muscle bound thighs and urged Geralt to lift each foot so he could gather the pants and toss them to join the crumpled shirt.  

Then Geralt was left to stand bare in all his naked splendor. He was stunning. Jaskier, of course, knew that, being the one to practically force Geralt into the nearest body of water to bathe. He usually always took a peak, he was only human, but there was something different about the fact that this time it was Jaskier’s own hands that stripped the witcher of his clothing. It was intimate in a way the two of them had never been.  

“Lie down, Geralt. On your back if you would.”

Geralt quickly followed the command as he had been trained to do. He let his head rest on one pillow and held his arms rigidly at his sides, lost in his head once more as the bard moved away. He wanted Jaskier, he wanted him so badly he felt as if he could crawl out of his own skin. Yet, he was frightened. As much as he hated to admit it he was terrified of what was to come. Not of Jaskier, never of Jaskier. That man could shatter Geralt with an ease no other being that walked this world could, but that wasn’t what scared Geralt. Jaskier could never, would never, bring harm to him.  

It was Geralt that could hurt Jaskier.

It was Geralt who had hurt Jaskier. He would give anything to take those words he spoke atop that damned mountain away. Anything. While he had said his words of apology the consequences of his actions still haunted their relationship. Jaskier’s eyes dimmed anytime Yennefer was mentioned, and he withdrew into himself anytime Geralt turned towards him in anger. Even with Jaskier trying his best to hide it Geralt could always tell. It was the only time Jaskier’s smell became sharp with the pungent scent of decay and the thick feeling of sludge coated the back of Geralt's tongue.  

Geralt loved Jaskier so much. It was easy to admit it to himself. And it was because Geralt's love for Jaskier was so strong he kept a barrier between the two. Jaskier was delicate and he didn’t deserve the curse that was Geralt's love to be cast upon him.  

But Geralt was weak. Especially today.  

It was rare for Jaskier to be forced to defend himself. Most folk were too scared to touch the bard that traveled with the white wolf. It was also few and far between that someone was stupid enough to put their hands on Jaskier in the witcher’s presence. Still it happens, it happened tonight. Jaskier was glorious in the way he handled himself. Seeing Jaskier put someone in their place always caused a small bundle of hope to form in Geralt's heart. It reminded him just how strong Jaskier was and whispered to him that Jaskier could handle anything that Geralt threw at him. Usually Geralt could tell that feeling to piss off and shove it aside but something had happened to shake Geralt’s defenses.  

When Geralt rose that morning he was met with the sight of Jaskier’s sleep soft face. The bard had rolled off his bedroll and had somehow wormed his way against Geralt without waking him. All Geralt could do was revel in the feeling of Jaskier’s body as thought after thought of what they could be slammed into his consciousness. It caused Geralt physical pain to move away from Jaskier instead of taking him into his arms.  

Geralt had ran to the nearest town, hoping they had a job he could distract himself with. He was lucky they had a basilisk issue. The fight served its purpose for a while, but all his feelings came rushing back when he saw Jaskier entertaining the crowd. Chestnut hair tousled, and eyes gleaming as he sang. The sun had gifted him fresh freckles and they practically sparkled whenever Jaskier twirled through a beam of light that bled through the cracked wood of the ceiling. He was beautiful.  

Geralt had tried to drown his thoughts in ale, but then he was watching as someone forced themselves onto Jaskier. He quickly made his way over but had frozen when Jaskier proved he could take care of himself. He knew he had lost the battle when Jaskier led him to their shared room.  

Now this was happening.

It seemed that Jaskier had stripped himself of most of his clothes and was left in only his underthings as he sat beside Geralt, watching the man. When Geralt looked at him he smiled and gestured with a small vial of oil that was in his hand.  

“You need to relax Geralt,” He said as he removed the cork, “How about a massage?”

Jaskier then poured a small amount of the oil in his hands and rubbed them together to warm it. He then took hold of Geralt's clenched sword hand and began massaging into it, kneading the stiffness away and working the oil into the tough skin. Before he moved his touch upwards he kissed the open palm.  

“You have used this hand to save countless lives. Including my own.” Jaskier nuzzled his cheek into it, “I am honored to be able to hold it like this.” He then let go of the hand to rub against Geralt's arm. “You’ve trained tirelessly to better your reflexes. It had been an honor to be able to watch.” He then straddled Geralt's lower stomach and pressed his ear to Geralt's chest, where his heart was. “This beats to keep a wonderful man alive.” Jaskier then looked at Geralt, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It is an honor to be able to listen to it.”  

Geralt shook his head and quietly murmured, “It shouldn’t be. There is nothing about me that you should be grateful for.”  

Jaskier caught Geralt's lips with his own for a slow kiss, “I am grateful for everything about you. I adore you.” A laugh bubble from his chest as he shook his head, “How can I not when you radiate even though you shroud yourself with shadows? You have such a beautiful light, Geralt. Disagree with me all you like, I know it to be true.”  

Geralt quivered and his eyes began to burn, with each word Jaskier cut deep. Releasing something trapped within binds Geralt doesn’t even remember tying. Jaskier’s silver tongue waxed poetry about everything Geralt found undesirable about himself. His eyes, his hair, even his teeth. It became very apparent why Jaskier was known widely as one of the most renowned bards. He weaved such believable stories.  

Jaskier raised his head from where it was buried in Geralt's chest, an earnest look on his face. “I’m going to take care of you, Geralt. For as long as my heart beats. Starting today.”

Jaskier then kissed down Geralt's chest, licking over the raised scars that littered it as he went. He dipped his tongue into the divot of Geralt's navel before nipping at each hip bone. As he did that his breath ghosted over Geralt's softened cock, triggering it to twitch back to life. He took the hardened length into his hand and licked away the bead of precum that had gathered on the tip. Geralt's cock was as impressive as the man himself. Jaskier felt the corners of his mouth strain as he sucked the tip. With a few calming breaths he inhaled the entirety of Geralt, causing the man to moan and arch his back. Rough hands grasped at Jaskier’s hair, but the pressure was removed as soon as it had come as Geralt had jerked his hands back and pressed them over his mouth.  

Jaskier hummed as he relaxed his throat, allowing the last of Geralt's cock to ease into his mouth, the entire length resting heavily on his tongue. He closed his eyes and scented the heady smell of Geralt as his nose rested against the wiry hairs on his pelvic bone. Jaskier was in no rush, all he did was hold Geralt's cock in his mouth, swallowing the fluids that pooled together regularly. Eyes still closed, Jaskier slid his hands up Geralt's body until he bumped into the bony points of elbows. He grabbed them and tugged, urging Geralt to remove his hands from his face and instead weave them into Jaskier’s hair.  

The weight of Geralt's cock and the firm grasp on his hair caused Jaskier’s prick to swell within his pants. He had been half hard the moment Geralt fell to his knees in front of him, but the act of bringing the man pleasure brought about his full arousal swiftly. Jaskier moaned and opened his eyes, meeting Geralt’s. He did not let his gaze falter as he tightened the ring of his lips and slowly dragged them up, using a hand to stroke every exposed inch as it left his mouth. He continued this pattern, of sucking and stroking, until the hands in his hair twitched and the thighs framing his head tensed. Those actions signified the time for Jaskier to stop. He allowed the cock to fall free from his mouth, resulting in a whine from the witcher.  

“I’m not going to stop,” Jaskier said as he stroked the cock at a leisurely pace. Enough to keep arousal, but not enough to bring about completion. “I’m going to give you more.

Geralt bit his lip and tried his best to keep his eyes locked with Jaskier’s. The minstrel's hand felt heavy on him, the mixed feeling of soft palms and rough fingertip caused him to release sounds he would usually be embarrassed of. He almost shouted when the additional pleasure of Jaskier sucking one of his heavy balls into his mouth was added.  

There was a slight pressure at his entrance.  

“Has anyone ever touched you here, dear heart?”

Geralt shook his head at the question. While he has had many lovers in his lifetime none of them took interest in him that way. They had been sufficiently distracted. Geralt himself never thought of it during sex. The only time it had ever been brought up was with Yennefer, but the look in her eyes didn’t send a heat of arousal up his spine like the one in Jaskier’s did. If he was being honest it had caused his arousal to wane. He wasn’t afraid to admit Yennefer intimidated him.  

“May I touch you here?”

This time Geralt nodded, almost frenetically. He readied himself to allow Jaskier to breach him but found himself shocked when instead of blunt fingers touching him it was a warm tongue circling his puckered hole. He threw his head back with a hiss as he felt the tongue curl into him and widened his legs to allow Jaskier better access. When the broad edge was pressed against him in a sloppy, opened-mouthed kiss, his hips jolted involuntarily. He felt rather than saw Jaskier fumble for the oil that had been disregarded by his side. When a slick finger pressed against his hole he melted, allowing it to slowly sink into him.  

“Jaskier!” Geralt panted, as he canted his hips, begging, hoping for more.  

A second digit joined the first and the tongue returned, sliding between the fingers with a loud slurp. There was a moment of stillness given to Geralt before he felt the fingers curl. Then suddenly his whole being felt as if he had been struck by lightning. Each tremor that quaked him came from a place deep within his body that Geralt did not know existed. He had never felt pleasure like this, it was dizzying. He could hardly breathe as he was bombarded with the overwhelming force of Jaskier’s attention.  

Jaskier firmly clasped the base of Geralt cock as he continued to massage Geralt's prostate. He watched fondly as Geralt writhed in pleasure, furrowed brow glistening with a sheen of sweat, bottom lip chewed raw with a sharper than normal canine. The man was an absolute vision when he allowed himself to bask in pleasure instead of using it as a means to an end. Jaskier could compose sonnet after sonnet about him, this person who seemed to encapsulate the beauty of both the sun and the moon. Jaskier loved him so much his soul ached.  

Love.  

Jaskier huffed at himself. After all this time he still hasn't said those seemingly simple words out loud. He has told Geralt countless times that he cared for him or that he would follow him until the end of time, but his deeper feelings always remained hidden, tucked behind the sweet words of songs. Geralt probably has no clue, as dense as the man is, of just how strongly Jaskier feels for him.  

“I love you.”

Jaskier suddenly felt lighter as he said those words, and couldn’t stop the beaming smile that stretched across his face.  

“I love you so much.”

Geralt's eyes sprang open and he searched Jaskier’s face, scanning for any hint of deception or regret. When he found none he felt something in his chest collapse and reached desperately for Jaskier. He ignored the sudden empty feeling as Jaskier’s fingers left him and gathered the smaller man to him, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He felt a sob try to claw its way out of his throat as hot tears leaked from his eyes. When he buried his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck he was hit with the pure scent of Jaskier’s love, he could no longer hold himself back and a deep, broken howl tore from him. He felt arms wrap around him and a soft voice let him know it would be alright, that he could let everything go.  

And so Geralt let himself be shattered.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #fanfiction #my writing

[eternal-love-song]

Unleashed Aggression

"Aww, you don't want to take out your aggression on me, Daddy?" Toga asked with that same sly smile she used to get what she wanted.

He did want to take his aggression out on her. That was the problem.

Toga x OC male

[Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Choking, Bondage, Gags, Spanking, Biting, Dubious Consent, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Sadism, Masochism, Humiliation, Daddy Kink, Electric Play]

This story is based on A Slightly Bitterly Love Story by @heavenly-dio In chapter 5 of that story, I saw an opportunity for smut and I look it. If you're curious about the character of Shogeki, I encourage you to check out that story as it is genuinely fantastic!

Shogeki felt like a live wire in the worst of ways. Despite everything that he'd done that day, the fighting, the passing out, the shower, nothing had made a dent in his bad mood. He'd had days like this before, of course. Days when all he wanted, all he needed, was to tear something apart to release all his pent up aggression. But he'd been trying to do that all day and hadn't succeeded one bit.

The bitch wasn't helping.

"Stay away from me you psycho! Back off!" He was not in the mood to deal with her damn grabby hands. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her. Hell, he was barely in the mood to deal with himself at this point, but he doubted she would let him sleep, which was the only effective way he had of not dealing with anything for a few hours. 

God, he was tired. He wanted to ask Sakana to knock him the hell out again. He wanted to... he needed to stop thinking about this. Right now. 

It's not that he was getting more angry, exactly, more that it was just slowly circling in his mind. The tension didn't go away just because he was pretending that he didn't want to unleash a charge on this entire building. And hell, maybe he would have taken a chance to unleash a few into the new lock on his room and see how much it could take. He wouldn't mind exhausting himself and passing out if that was what it all came to. Unfortunately, he couldn't afford to do that with her around.

No, that's not true. Yesterday, he might have gone ahead and done it anyway if he'd been in this type of mood. He couldn't afford to do it while he was bleeding and she had already rushed him once, so there was no way to even pretend that it wouldn't be a problem. And giving Toga himself as a weapon was not an acceptable consequence of his anger, not in any sense of the word.

The problem when he was this angry was that everything looped back around to make him more angry. He couldn't stop picturing the humming in his blood like electricity waiting to leap off of him, couldn't stop imaging reaching out to whatever was close to him and just...

"Aww, you don't want to take out your aggression on me, Daddy?" Toga asked with that same sly smile she used to get what she wanted.

He did want to take his aggression out on her. That was the problem.

Then again, was that a problem? He'd damn near killed her already to keep her in line and no one had questioned him. Hell, no one would question him. She was a villain. She was a complete psycho. No matter what he did to her, no one would bat much of an eye. (He ignored the part of his brain that tried to contradict that. Drowned it out with the static sounds of his anger and the barely repressed tension in his muscles.)

She had been baiting him since day one. Attacking him, calling him her boyfriend, sleeping naked... she practically begged him to lose control every minute of every day. So fine. Shogeki would take the bait.

He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, startling her so much that she dropped his phone, her eyes widening as they turned to him. She froze like a dear in headlights and there was something in her eyes very close to fear. And fuck, part of him hated himself for it and the rest... the rest of him already wanted to squeeze and see what came next. He had started to think that she was too crazy to be afraid but there was something very satisfying about putting that look on her face when nothing else had so far.

"Is that what you want?" he asked her. The part of him that was trying to keep calm acknowledged that there was a world of difference between speaking and growling, but he wasn't actually able to reign himself in enough to be certain of which he'd done. "You want me to take my aggression out on you?"

He should have expected the shift. Should have expected that fearful expression to slide into something smug and teasing, should have expected the way she licked her lips as she looked at him, should have expected the way her breathing picked up like a bitch in heat. He should have expected the way it pissed him off even more. His fingers twitched around her neck and he tried very hard not to move before he was ready, not willing to let her control him via his anger. 

"Gonna punish me, Daddy?" she asked in a teasing tone. One of her hands rested on his wrist, the other reaching toward him in a sensual manner, sliding up his arm. What she thought was sensual, at least. All he found it was annoying. That cutesy act of hers got real old, real fast. "Come on, Daddy. Let's see what you got."

He squeezed. It was so abrupt that he actually cut off her words and her hands grabbed hold of him where they rested on his arm as if to pull him away, but she stopped. The surprised look on her face melted into a smile. The smile melted into something more...hungry. She tried to lung at him and he choke slammed her to the bed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he shocked her enough that her limbs spasmed.

He would be damned if he let her have any control in this. He got enough of her taunting and teasing when he was in a normal mood, if she continued to do it now, he just might kill her. The fact that he had a difficult time reminding himself why he shouldn't just kill her was a testament to his current mood. 

He flipped her over, pushing her face into the ground and pulling her arms behind her. He pushed his knee into her back to hold her in place as he tied her arms together with the sheets. It wouldn't be the strongest hold, but it would do for now. She was struggling beneath him, but he only pressed his knee into her harder. He leaned down next to her ear. "You aren't in control here," he growled.

"Aki-chan gonna show me who's boss?" she asked as she squirmed beneath him. He was getting tired of that taunting tone of hers.

"I'm gonna show you how powerless you really are," he told her. He shoved her face into the bed, holding it at an angle as he leaned closer to her neck, doing the one thing he knew she'd wanted to do to him the whole time; he bit her. He sank his teeth into her hard, adding a small electric jolt to the motion to further vent his frustration. The small cry that she let out was high pitched and pained. It was more gratifying than he thought it would be. Unfortunately, she followed it up with such wanton moaning that he couldn't tell if she was really that into it or if she was just doing it to piss him off. Probably both, knowing her.

It pissed him off either way. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her head back until he saw her expression twist into something strained and uncomfortable, even as her eyes were still glazed with lust. "What does it take to shut you up?"

"Maybe if you gave me something to do with my mouth, Daddy?" she responded immediately. He shoved her face back down into the bed to muffle her. There was no way he was putting any part of himself into her mouth. Not only did he not trust her as far as he could throw her, but he really didn't want to give her the satisfaction. But if she she really wanted something she could do with her mouth...

"Alright, Toga. I have something for you," he said. She wouldn't be able to see the grin on his face, but it was just as well. She was still squirming beneath him and if she saw his expression, it would only make her more excited. Everything made her more excited and her excitement only increased his aggravation. 

Good thing he was already taking his aggression out on her.

He reached for his pillows, pulling off the pillow cases while he pressed his weight onto her further to keep her in place. He balled up one pillow case and shoved it into her mouth, then tied the other around her head to keep the first in place. He was tired of her mouth and at this point he was sure he wouldn't enjoy this unless he stopped having to hear it.

She actually made a pretty good sight like this, tied and gagged and under his knee. It was almost peaceful to have this moment of silent. Almost, because she was still thrashing around on his bed. He was still two steps away from tying one of these sheets around her neck and stringing her up. But there were easier, more satisfying and less consequence filled ways to vent his anger on her.

He eased off of her back and flipped her over, surprised and pleased to see actual displeasure on her face. Most likely she was only pouting, but the thought that he had managed to do something she didn't like was incredibly enjoyable. He grinned, spreading her thighs and pinning them down with his knees. He placed one hand on her throat and one beside her head, holding up his weight as he towered over her. 

"What's wrong? Got something to say?" he taunted. She tried to surge up toward him but didn't have the leverage to do so and he squeezed her neck once in warning. He reached down to pull up her shirt, exposing her chest, and then pulling up her bra right after. He had bothered to look at her much the last time, but she actually had a nice body. Her breast were shapely and soft, her hips were enticing, she wasn't bad to look at when she was still for two fucking seconds. He looked up and was surprised to see Toga's face becoming slightly flushed. 

"This is what you wanted, right?" He asked. "You've been throwing yourself at me since we met, about time I decided to catch you, isn't you?"

He didn't bother trying to decipher whatever muffled response she was making. Instead, he reached out to take hold of her nipples and twisted them sharply, taking pleasure in the way her body jumped beneath him. She inhaled sharply through her nose before her breathing picked up altogether and she straining beneath him again. "I bet you like this, don't you, you psycho?" He pinched them both tightly and listening to the increase in her muffled noise. He wondered whether it was pleasure or pain, was tempted to ask her, but unwilling to suffer whatever she would say if he gave her the chance. He didn't want her to ruin this for him.

Like this, she was ten times more bearable. Quiet, docile, he might even admit pretty. The flush on her face and the gag in her mouth was a nice touch. "I think I might have a use for you after all." He released her nipples, letting his hands slid down her body until he reached her skirt, slipping his hands beneath it and the waist band of her panties. He moved his legs so that he could toss the clothes off of her. Toga was dripping wet, proving his theory that she was getting off on this. The scent of her arousal was strong and as soon as she was exposed she began thrusting her hips toward him in a needy manner.

"You don't have any standards for yourself, do you?" He asked her, flicking her clit and watching as her legs tried to close. He had to press his knees harder into her thighs to keep her in place. He laughed, then he kept laughing as he pinched her clit and saw her face scrunch up in pain. There was more muffled sound from her, but it was easy to ignore. "What? Didn't you want me to punish you?" He shove two fingers into her, almost amazed at how easily she took them. She was so wet there was barely resistance at all and her walls tightened around his fingers immediately. "You're a fucking glutton for punishment." 

Shogeki leaned forward and bit her nipple, then licked a stripe along the side of her breast and bit harder. She was shaking, her hips bucking toward him as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. Her cunt was greedy for him, sucking his fingers into her warm embrace, tightening every time he tried to pull out. He could imagine it would feel great around his cock, even if she didn't really deserve it. He continued to leave bites all over her breast, continued to pump his fingers into her just to watch as her body quivered.

He pulled his fingers out before she could come and he heard the sound of frustration she made, even as it was muffled. He laughed at her frustration, stroking her cheek before letting his hand wrap around her neck again and squeezing slowly. "Didn't I tell you that you aren't in control here?" He reached between them and slapped his hand against her cunt, relishing in her full body jerk. "This isn't about you." He slapped her again, enjoying the sound of the wet smack and watching her cunt twitch beneath his hand. "And you don't get to dictate what happens here." 

She was breathing hard, struggling beneath him so much that he thought she might actual be trying to buck him off. She was glaring at him and the look of frustration was the most beautiful expression that he had ever seen on her face. 

"Do you want to come?" he asked in mocking tone, twisting one of her nipples as he bit down on her throat. Her body was thrashing and her muffled sounds were startling to sound like sobs as he slapped his hand against her cunt harder. "I'm not gonna stop you," he told her, picking another spot on one of her breast and biting it as he pinched her other nipple. "Come on, Toga." He grabbed her hair, twisting it and pulling her head back. "You want to come, right?" He pushed his knees into her thighs harder, forcing her legs to spread wider. "You want your Daddy to fucking punish you, right?" He pinch her clit hard and she sobbed. There were tears in her eyes, which could easily be from pleasure or pain, and the thought just encouraged him to go harder. "Then fucking come you psycho bitch!" He let another shock roll from his fingertips into her cunt, her body jerking hard. 

He felt the rush of wetness surrounding his fingers as she came, pulling back enough to watch as her cunt twitched and spasmed. He listened to her muffled sobs and watched the tears as they poured down her face. He gradually slowed his movements before he pulled his fingers out of her, finally starting to feel some of the angry energy easing within him. 

He wasn't done with her yet. He still had some frustration that he wanted to work out. And really, if he'd gone this far, why stop now?

"Well, Toga, was that what you had in mind when you asked me to take my aggression out on you?" Shogeki asked. He moved off of her, holding her head up by her hair and flipping her over. He pushed her face down and pulled her hips up, taking a moment to admire the sight while she wasn't looking. She made another muffled sound and he answered by slapping her ass hard. "Is that a complaint?" He slapped the other cheek. "Let me remind you that your opinion doesn't matter."

He opened his pants with one hand, pulling them halfway down his thighs. She tried to look at him over her shoulder and he forced her head back down into the bed. "Don't fucking look at me," he growled. "I don't even want to think about you, right now."

He pulled her thighs further apart, lined himself up, and shoved forward into her. She cried out, the sound long and low behind her gag. She was warm and tight around him, and he let out a pleased groan that he turned into a growl. He grabbed hold of her restrained arms, using them as leverage as he began to thrust in and out of her. "Fuuuuck," the word was dragged out of him and he closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of her around him. He ground his teeth just afterward, annoyed with himself for enjoying this. He tighened his grip on her arms, reaching around her to grab one of her breast in a painful vice, and set a punishing pace with his thrust. "You have... no idea... how fucking... fucking furious...fuck!" He ground out the words between thrust.

He slapped his hand against her ass to vent his sudden rage. When it failed to calm him at all, he pulled her head up by her hair and bit her neck. She jerked in his hold, but the muffled sound she made wasn't as satisfying as it was earlier. He growled in her ear, gripping her hair tighter before lifting his other hand and pulling the make shift gag off of her.

"Harder, Daddy!" she moaned wantonly. Of course that would be the first thing she said to him. Of fucking course. He pushed her face back down in disgust. "That's right. Just like that, Daddy! Show me what a bad girl I am!"

"That's the first fucking thing you have to say?" he growled. He pushed her face into the bed harder as if he would suffocate her, but she managed to turn her head to the side to respond.

"What did... you want... me to say... Aki-chan?" she asked between panting breaths. She moaned as he thrust particularly hard, trying to push her hips back towards him but barely having the leverage to do so. Instead, she widened her legs and lifted her hips even more. "Oh, Daddy, it hurts! Please, stop. Don't be so rough!"

His hand moved from her hair to throat, pulling her body up against him and squeezing. "I fucking... hate you... psycho bitch!" He breathed into her ear.

Her voice was a rasp as she answered. "Hate me harder, Aki-chan!"

He continued to thrust into her, closing his hand around her throat tighter. He closed his eyes as he felt himself getting close, trying to pretend that it wasn't Toga he was repeatedly sinking into. That it wasn't Toga squeezing around him, moaning beneath him even as he made it very difficult for her to do so. And just when he felt himself on the edge...

"Daddy, please!" she gasped.

"Fuck!" he pushed her away from him, pulling out in time to cum all over her backside and just barely remembering to release his hold on her neck. There was a prolonged moment of pure bliss, the anger draining out of him as he caught his breath. 

Then the moment passed and he opened his eyes and looked down at Toga. She was panting and looking at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright with excitement and he could see her throat already starting to bruise. She looked, if possible, even more obsessed with him than she had before. He covered his face with his arm. "Shit."

This was gonna be so much more trouble than it was worth.

#ELS Writing #Smut #Himiko Toga #toga x oc #My Hero Academia #BNHA #Fanfiction

[lyssismagical]

you were not the monster that i knew

Whumptober Day Twenty-Eight. Beaten 

Read on AO3

This was definitely not the way Peter was planning on spending his Winter Break.

His plan was to hang out with the Starks at their cabin, watch Christmas movies, drink hot chocolate, have slumber parties with Morgan every night, invite Ned and MJ round, attend a few holiday parties, get caught up in all his schoolwork.

Getting kidnapped was not a part of his plans.

Getting kidnapped with Tony was definitely not part of his plans.

But he should be used to things going haywire by now.

The people who took them definitely shouldn’t be old enough to be kidnapping people.

One girl, probably twenty years old, at the latest, swings a crowbar to rest on her shoulder, chewing bubblegum and kicking the ground with her Doc Martens.

“You don’t have to be doing this,” Peter says, forever the one to take the passive route. “Whoever you’re working for, they can’t control you. We can help you.”

“We don’t work for anyone, bug,” a boy replies, rolling his dark eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. He’s got a roll of barbed wire against his hip, hanging down to his knees.

The boy beside him has a meat tenderizer and he pulls a pill bottle out of his pocket and pops one.

There’s a total of six of them, all around their early twenties from what Peter can guess, and all with a worrying arrangement of makeshift weapons.

“You still don’t need to do this,” Peter continues. He’s doesn’t want to fight them, that’s the last thing he wants to do. “We can help you.”

“Like we’d want your help,” the first girl says, rolling her eyes. “We’ve got a job to do, so I’d suggest you shut your mouth before you make this any worse for yourself.”

But shutting up has never been one of Peter’s strong suits. “You don’t have to do this. Think about it for a second. You’re young and you’ve got a lot to-”

“Peter!” Tony hisses, wide eyes glaring at him. “Shut up. Please.”

It’s too late for that though, because the group moves forward in sync like they’ve planned for this.

*

Dizzy and in more pain than imaginable, Peter blinks his eyes open.

Tony’s kneeling over him, bloodshot eyes flicking between his stomach and his face, hands putting pressure on his left leg.

“Shit,” he groans, falling into a coughing fit. “That hurts like a bitch.”

“Fucking- When they come back, you’re going to do what they tell you to, okay? You’re not going to pull any of that bullshit again.”

Peter squints up at Tony, trying his best to remember what happened. It’s a little hazy after the boy with the meat tenderizer took a swing at him, but he definitely remembers being tied up with the barbed wire.

There had been a lot of weapons they’d been trading between. Crowbar, meat tenderizer, one of them had 6 colorful darts and had thrown them at him like he was a dartboard, another had a dumbbell.

“Did you see?” Peter asks. He’s not exactly sure why that’s the most important thing he needs to know, but he can remember screaming, and he hopes Tony didn’t have to see that happening to him.

Tony shakes his head, still applying pressure to Peter’s leg. He wonders what happened to him, but he doesn’t want to ask.

“A couple of them dragged me across the hall to another room after I tried to fight them.” He lifts his hand, knuckles wrapped in gauze. “Got a lucky hit in with one of them, but I was at a disadvantage.”

“How bad am I lookin’?” Peter asks, head lolling to the side. He’s in too much pain to really pinpoint where it’s coming from.

Tony winces. “Pretty bad, kiddo, hate to say it…”

Letting out a sigh, Peter grabs at Tony’s shirt and hauls himself into a sitting position with Tony’s help.

“Any idea why they did this?” Peter asks. It’s taking more energy then he’d like to admit just to stay conscious. “Motives? Organizations? Anything?”

Tony shakes his head, letting go of Peter’s leg to pull off his hoodie leaving him in an old rock t-shirt. “When I was brought back, you had already passed out, beaten within an inch of your life, and they left. Didn’t say anything to me.”

It takes a little while of silence while Tony tears his hoodie into strips before wrapping Peter in tourniquets. His left leg, right upper arm, left forearm, head, stomach, chest.

Turns out, Peter had been bleeding quite a bit after they’d removed the darts.

“There we go,” Tony murmurs, sitting back. He looks like he’s been crying, but Peter’s not quite sure how to comfort him.

“’m okay,” he slurs. His head’s pounding and his ears are ringing, but he tries his best to focus on Tony through the fog. “Rho’ey’s gonna fin’ us?”

Tony smiles shakily. “Yeah, Rhodey’s going to find us, kiddo. For now, get some rest. Let your healing do it’s job, alright? I’ll watch over you.”

Without another word, Peter shuffles down, body aching at the movement and cold seeping through the concrete, and he rests his head on Tony’s leg, pushing his face against Tony’s stomach.

Tony wraps his good arm around Peter’s shoulders, hand resting firmly on the back of his neck.

“I’ll keep you safe.”

* This time, when he comes to, the pain’s a little less insistent, but the fear is seeping into him like a disease.

“Mister Stark?” he asks. He feels like a little kid, curling into Tony with warmth and comfort, desperate for even a little bit of safety.

Tony looks down at him, gently brushing back his curls with a soft smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?”

He sniffles, tears springing to his eyes, and he hides his face against Tony’s stomach. “Don’t wanna go through that again.”

He can feel Tony’s tired sigh, and he feels awful for putting this kind of pressure on Tony, but he’s only seventeen and he’s scared and after the beating he went through, he just wants to go home.

“I know, kiddo, I know.”

The rest goes unsaid. There’s nothing I can do.

“Hey, Mister Stark?” Peter speaks up after a little while, trying his best to act like everything’s okay.

Tony looks down, arm tightening around Peter’s shoulders. “What?”

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs. He lifts his arm, old watch blinking midnight. The tech’s been destroyed, but he’s been left with the time. Small victories.

A sigh escapes Tony’s mouth and he leans down to press a kiss to Peter’s temple. “Merry Christmas, kiddo.”

Peter can’t help the tears this time, he curls tighter against Tony stomach, and lets himself cry.

* They’re left alone for a few hours, but eventually, the first girl and boy come back, no weapons in hand.

Peter can’t help but cower, more than he’d like to admit.

“Poor bug,” the girl coos sarcastically. “We can’t have you getting bored in here, can we?”

The boy grins so wide it makes his face look inhuman. “Course not. But don’t you worry, we’re here to keep you company.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tony demands, keeping his good arm firmly holding Peter against his side. “Money? If you want money, I can get you money.”

Rolling his eyes, the boy shakes his head. “We don’t want money, Stark.”

If it weren’t for Peter’s enhanced senses he wouldn’t have seen the twitch in the girl’s mouth, drawn up in a weird smile, wouldn’t have seen the boy’s flexing fingers.

“Who’s doing this to you?” he asks, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “Please, we only want to help you. Did they threaten you? Your family? Who’s making you do this?”

The girl winces, but tries her best to keep her face set in stone. “Nobody’s making us do anything, bug.”

But Peter’s never been one to give up. “Please. Are they listening? If they are, that’s okay. If you’re keeping your family safe-”

“No,” Tony growls. “You’re not hurting him anymore. It doesn’t matter who’s in charge, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore.”

The girl’s eyes have gone a little bit wide, but there’s a hazy glaze over her eyes.

With sudden clarity through his concussion, he remembers one of the other boys with a rattling pill bottle. Vaguely, he can remember one of them pausing and taking a pill yesterday during his beating.

“They’re drugging you, aren’t they?” Peter asks. He’s only running on hope at this point. Hope that he’s getting it right and that if he gets enough right, they’ll trust him to help. “Somebody’s making you do this. You don’t want to though, do you?”

The boy’s mouth turns down, smile dropping off his face. “We don’t have to answer any of your questions. All that matters to you is that we need to do a little more damage.”

“Don’t touch him!” Tony shouts, trying to keep his hold on Peter, but the boy yanks the young hero forward onto the concrete by the collar and lands a kick to Peter’s chest.

“Damian-” the girl says, grabbing the boy’s arm.

“Shut up!” Damian shouts. His next swing hits Peter in the nose and the blood spills on the concrete, joining the other stains.

The girl yanks at Damian’s arm, pulling him away from Peter. There’re tears spilling down her cheeks and she grabs Peter by the collar, pulling him back into a sitting position.

“What do we do?” she asks, face crumpling. “You were right- I- All of us- We were taken and they’ve been- they’ve been drugging us and- and they know everything about us. Our friends, our family, they know exactly how to get us to be their puppets, but we- I can’t do this anymore.”

Peter pushes the back of his hand against his nose, trying his best to staunch the blood. “We’re going to help you.”

Tony fumbles for Peter, grabbing the kid by the shoulders. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

“It’s Christmas, Mister Stark, the time for giving, right?” he says.

“You heard the kid, guess we’re helping you then. Let’s blow this popstand.”

To fit with all of the other difficulties, it turns out Peter can’t walk. One of his shins are broken and his opposite ankle is too. So he has to limp awkwardly and painfully between Tony and Damian with the girl in the lead.

“I’m Peter,” he says to break the tension that seems to linger. Mostly between Tony and Damian.

“We know,” the girl says, pausing at a corner and waiting for Peter to give a thumbs up at it’s emptiness. “I’m Cass.”

Turns out, they’d been in a cell in the basement of a pretty big farmhouse.

Damian shushes him before he can reply. “We’re getting close to the quarters and the others might not react as sympathetically as Cass did.”

Cass pushes open a door ahead of them, slipping into the room, and shutting the door behind her. The three of them hold their breath in the hallway, waiting and waiting and waiting-

And then, the door reopens and five people leave the room. Everyone.

They look just as intimidating as before and Peter can’t help but to grip Tony’s shoulder a little tighter, leaning into him.

They had just beaten the shit out of Peter only a day before. He tells himself it’s only natural for him to be a little antsy.

“Who’s doing this?” Tony demands, easily taking charge of the group. “Are they here?”

“They left last night,” one girl pipes up. She’s easily the youngest, wide eyes latching onto Peter’s broken frame with so much guilt. “Thought we could handle it ourselves.”

Peter flinches when somebody steps towards him and Tony practically snarls, shoving himself in front of Peter.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the boy says, lifting his hands in defense. He’s got a thick southern accent. He pushes a water bottle toward Tony. “Just wanted to offer some water?”

“We’ve gotta get a move on before somebody checks the security footage,” Cass says, already walking ahead.

Damian’s face morphs into sympathy when Peter bites down on a whine of pain when he starts to limp forward.

“Know I’m not the most trustworthy person, but you wanna lift?” Damian offers, extending his arms.

Peter looks to Tony for approval, worry shining in his eyes, but he’s panting in pain and blood is still sluggishly falling from his nose and the tourniquets are soaked in blood as well, so he doesn’t really have much of a choice but to accept Damian’s offer.

They’re putting a lot of trust in people who could easily kill them in their weakened state, Peter because of the beating, and Tony’s been weak ever since the snap. But again, they don’t have a choice but to keep going.

“Hayden,” somebody hisses behind them as they’re walking. Peter peeks over Damian’s shoulder to see it’s the boy who offered him water talking to the youngest of the group.

The young girl turns, lip split and black eye nearly swelling her eye shut. “It’s going to be okay.”

“It’s Wednesday,” the boy replies like it means the world.

And apparently it does because Hayden’s mouth drops open in a gasp and she turns quickly to find Peter already watching her.

“It’s Wednesday,” she repeats. “It’s delivery day.”

And just on cue, the door opens revealing a dozen or so guards, dressed from head to foot in thick armor.

“Shit!” Peter exclaims, tumbling from Damian’s hold. “Run!”

Everybody takes off back down the hallway except for Peter who can’t run even if he wanted to. He catches sight of Tony, grabbing Hayden by the elbow and tugging her into one of the rooms down the hallway.

Cass grabs Peter at the very last second, pulling him into the bathroom just as the guns start firing.

“What do we do?” she asks, eyes wide and hand still gripping Peter’s forearm. “We need a plan.”

It’s not a good plan, but it’s a plan nonetheless, so they don’t have much of a choice but to jump out the window.

It’s a bit too long of a fall, especially for Peter who’s already a little bit past broken. So once he hits the ground, he bites down on his sleeve to muffle the cry of pain that threatens to escape him.

“Peter, c’mon, we’ve gotta go, please,” Cass is begging by his head. He tries to think past the all-consuming pain, but it’s a little bit difficult.

“I’ve got him, I’ve got him,” a new voice is saying. “Get out of here, Cass. We’ll meet up at the road.”

He’s lifted into the new voice’s arms, head lolling as he lets out a whine of pain.

Wind blows past them as the stranger hurries forward in the direction Cass had disappeared off in.

There’s feet pounding behind them and gunshots echo in Peter’s ear and then the adrenaline finally kicks in.

He blinks his eyes open, trying his best to keep his head on straight as he squints up into the stranger’s face. It’s the boy who had the pill bottle at the start.

And four of the guards on their tail, guns raised and trying to get a good shot at them as they weave through the trees.

Peter, uncaring of his secret identity at this point, swings himself over the guy’s shoulder, landing on the ground.

“I’ll meet you there!” he shouts to the boy, before starting to take out the guards. He knows all he’s doing is hurting himself more, but at this rate, he might already bleed out, so he may as well do it while saving some others.

As soon as he knocks the four guards out, only one new graze on his side, sluggishly spilling blood down his legs, he sits against a tree, panting for breath.

The boy reappears from behind a tree.

“Not going to let you die for me,” he says, jaw clenched as he pulls Peter back into his arms. “We’re not far from the road where we can get reception and get you some help.”

“I’m Peter,” he says. It’s probably a stupid thing to say, but it makes the boy smile a little bit.

“Micah.”

Peter hangs onto the idea that all of these people are human. That he’s doing all of this for a reason. That he hasn’t made a mistake.

“Merry Christmas, Micah.”

* “Thank god.”

Peter snaps his eyes open, immediately searching for Tony who appears beside him and Micah.

“Mis’er S’ark,” Peter slurs, dangerously close to passing out. “Made it.”

“Got yourself shot first, though, didn’t you?” Tony says, eyes glassy with tears. “And before you ask, everyone’s here. Everyone made it out.”

Peter finally lets out the breath he feels like he’s been holding since they got kidnapped. “Home?”

Tony nods, brushing back Peter’s curls. “Yeah, we’re going home, kiddo, don’t you worry. We’ll get you to a doctor and you’ll be just fine.”

“Wha’ ‘bout Christmas?” he asks, a pout falling on his mouth. Dizzily, he reaches out and grabs Tony’s sleeve.

“We’ll do Christmas once you’re back on your feet, okay? We can wait.”

Cars finally begin to pull up on the street, Avengers and Shield Agents and Police Officers, who all head into the forest to track down the guards and whoever was in charge.

A big ambulance pulls up on the side of the road, and all eight of them pile into the back.

Micah settles Peter down on the stretcher.

“Where are we going?” Damian asks, carefully wrapping his arm in some bandage Tony passes him. “We can call our family when we get there, right?”

“Of course,” Tony says, gaze not leaving Peter’s face. “We’re going to the Avengers Compound to get the kid patched up. I’d recommend telling Wilson and Barnes everything you know about your captors before you go though.”

A silence falls over the ambulance as they speed towards the Compound, and Peter just focuses his attention on staying awake. He thinks he’s crying, but it’s hard to tell, hard to focus enough to find out, but he feels better knowing he’s given these people a second chance.

* “It wasn’t bad, per se.” Tony overhears Hayden telling Sam. He’s waiting impatiently for Peter to make it out of the Med-Bay, but it’s already been over an hour and he hasn’t heard anything, so he figures he’ll make himself useful.

“What do you mean?” Sam asks, jotting something down on his notepad.

The six kids they rescued are scattered about the tower, giving statements, calling family, taking showers or naps or finding food to eat. Tony trusts them enough to take care of themselves and to stay out of trouble. And if not, he’s got Friday watching them.

“I mean, the majority of the time it was just us living in a house, you know. It was easy enough to pretend we were just roommates at will,” she explains, eyes flickering up to meet Tony’s. She offers a tired smile. “How’s Peter?”

“Don’t know,” he responds. “How are you?”

She smiles a little bit fuller. “Better. My mom’s coming to get me. Haven’t seen her in… in a long time.”

Damian and Seth, the boy who offered them the water bottle what feels like days ago but couldn’t have been more than a few hours, wander into the room.

They both look freshly showered and rested, and more than that, they look happy.

“Thanks for everything you’ve done for us, Mister Stark,” Damian says, pulling Hayden into a hug when she reaches them. “Really, if it weren’t for you and Peter-”

Cass, Sofia, and Micah arrive as well, probably courtesy of Friday, and they look happy too.

It’s an overwhelming amount of red Tony can feel disappearing from his ledger. He saved six kids from a life like that. Scared that one wrong move would kill their family. Forced to hurt people for the sake of those they love.

“It was all Peter, you don’t have to thank me,” Tony says. “He’s got a heart too big for his own good.”

“Well, thank him from us,” Cass says. “And as much as we’d all love to make sure he’s okay and to, you know, repay you in any way we can, we-”

Tony quickly cuts her off. “No, I totally get it. Go home. Just- Call me if you need anything, alright?”

The kids all give him a hug, and way too many thanks for everything he did for them, and then they all head into the elevator, holding onto each other, and grinning so brightly at the future they’ve got.

* Peter’s okay.

He always is.

No matter how close to death he gets, he always makes it out alive. And he insists he’s good enough to go home for the tail ends of Christmas.

They all crowd in around the Christmas tree, Peter tiredly leaning against Tony and watching Morgan pull open her Christmas presents first.

“Spi’er-Man!” she shouts, showing Peter the Spider-Man onesie he got for her.

“You like it, M?” Peter asks, smiling softly at her.

She bounces up and down, hugging the onesie. “Yeah! Thank you, Petey!”

She gives him a hug, nearly tripping into his side.

“Careful, Little Miss, Petey’s still a little fragile,” Tony says, pulling Morgan into his own lap to keep her from reopening one of Peter’s very recently stitched wounds.

“Petey’s turn!” Morgan exclaims instead. She pushes a poorly wrapped present into Peter’s lap.

Careful with the wrapping paper, Peter opens it to find a…

“Oh my god,” he breathes.

It’s a little friendship necklace that says Best Big Brother on it and a matching one for Morgan that says Best Little Sister.

Peter carefully clasps the necklace around his neck, grinning down at it before helping Morgan put hers on.

“You like it, Petey?” she echoes. “Mommy helped me pick it out.”

“I love it, M. I’ll never take it off.”

She grins brightly and leans back against her dad’s chest.

Tony’s phone buzzes on the table.

Hayden made a groupchat with everyone’s numbers in it and his phone is almost immediately flooded with pictures of the kids with their families.

“Look, kid,” Tony says, showing Peter the photos. “Looks like you helped a lot of people have happy Christmases this year.”

Peter smiles, resting his head on Tony’s shoulder with a happy sigh. “I know it’ll sound bad, but I’m kinda happy we got kidnapped.”

Tony lifts his phone and snaps a picture of the whole family. Pepper, May, Happy, Rhodey, Morgan, Peter, and Tony, all grinning at the camera, and he sends the photo to the groupchat.

“Merry Christmas, Mister Stark,” Peter murmurs, smiling up at Tony.

“Merry Christmas, kiddo.”

#whumptober2019 #no.28 #beaten #lyss writes #graphic depictions of violence #violence #irondad #irondad fic #ignore that this sucks #im super sick so oops

[belladonnaandulriched]

amped and wired, part two | chapter one: break my body

It had been two days since Lars and I returned home from the City and I had no idea when he wanted to return home to the Bay Area. While I had been relishing in every moment I was in bed and taking my sweet time in getting up: the feeling of having all the blankets wrapped around me like I was a burrito of some sort. I always buried my head into the real soft part of the pillow: it all cradled me like my mom's arms. I always woke up toasty warm and feeling soft.

He seemed more adept at lounging on my couch forever than making an effort to get back home—and I thought I had my lazy moments. If it was any compliment to him, he didn't deserve to be left out in the cold like what happened to me. But for two full days now, I had gotten up and found him lazing on the couch, right on top of one of my blankets in his plain T-shirt and pants; at least he took off his shoes—I think he only got up to take a piss whenever he could and wanted to. The second morning I woke up to get myself a cup of coffee and check on him, he remained in the same spot as the night before, even when I told him “good night.” Really, I don't think he even so much as moved.

At one point, I looked into his face from clear across the room and I wanted to pat the sides of his face or maybe bitch slap 'em a li'l bit but I knew it was to be a bit too much at that time. Those green eyes seemed to gaze off into nothing, kind of like how I felt the moment I hung up the phone from Charlie. His arms dangled about him like the arms of a marionette puppet without its master. His body looked heavy and small at the same time: sluggish, if you will, like one of the many Mayas after he knocked their heads off.

Every now and again, I thought of asking him how he felt, and every single time, I thought he would reply to me in the worst way possible. I sat at the kitchen table humming to myself and thinking of drumlines to put down once I stole a moment in a studio when I thought of his drumming. But he didn't seem so intent on making any kind of movements such as that even vaguely possible.

Eventually before dinner on that second night, I strode up to him with a fluttery feeling in the pit of my stomach, and yet it needed to be done. He lay there on my couch with his arms folded over his chest and his face glazed over like he had been spinning around in too many circles. It was the most he had moved in two days.

“Alright, Lars, it's been a coupla days,” I started at a quick clip, “do ya mind tellin' me what's goin' on in that head of yours?”

He didn't reply: he continued to stare up at the ceiling with that blank expression on his face. I ran my fingers through my black curls, such that I could feel their dried out roots. I needed a shower, or a drink of water. Or both.

“Lars,” I said in a low voice. “Lars.”

He didn't move or make a sound. He just lay there like he was stoned out of his wits, but his eyes were way too clear. I frowned at him and I was unsure if he could even see me. There was a faint little nugget of light in those green irises, but nothing to write home about. I sighed through my nose and doubled back to the kitchen to start on making something for the both of us. The least I could do was make him something, given the night before I just made myself something: I would have asked him if he wanted anything to eat for himself but he didn't even bat a lash at the notion of me eating two helpings of chili solo.

Given it was rather cold that night with that freezing torrential lake effect rain making its way in, I was in the mood for something traditional but I didn't feel like ringing up my mom especially since the night began falling upon us. But I needed something to warm me up, something to coax me back into bed.

Something with pasta and some tomatoes. The real meat and potatoes.

I kept that in mind as I whipped up a big pot of angel hair and some tomato sauce—I wished for my mom's meatballs there with me, but it was either eat it there while it was all still hot or let it get cold (ew!)

I slung a dish towel over my shoulder even though I wasn't much of a cook so to speak, but it was good enough, though. I lingered over the top of the pot of sauce, and rested my hands on the edge of the counter, and took a whiff. I'm a simple Italian boy: I make something with tomatoes, I've gotta smell it. I closed my eyes and relished in that nice smell for a moment before I went to tell Lars about it. I still had the towel over my shoulder as made my way into the next room.

“Lars, I made some spaghetti—you want some?”

He still didn't reply. I finally buried my face in my hands and let out an exasperated sigh.

“C'mon, Lars, ya gotta eat!” I insisted, and I made my way into the next room. I stood over him with my hands on my hips. I wasn't much taller than him, but I was the one standing over him. I knew what he was feeling, but I needed him to eat, especially since he hadn't eaten anything or even so much as had a drink of water in the past two days alone.

“Lars,” I said in a firm tone of voice. “Lars!”

He parted his lips a tiny little bit and a soft mumble emerged from the back of his mouth, except I couldn't exactly hear what he said. I stopped in place, and then I wondered if he was saying something but his mouth was too dry. I crouched down next to him.

“What was that?” I asked him in a softer tone. He made the noise again: it sounded as though he had something stuck in his throat. I ran my tongue along my bottom lip and I realized that I needed a drink of water myself.

“What'd you say? C'mon, man, help me out here.”

Lars closed his lips and swallowed it down. He rolled his head to the side.

“Lars,” I said again; his eyes were closing. “Lars! Lars—hey, c'mon, man, wake up!”

He fell asleep right there.

“Lars... Lars!”

I reached for the sides of his face and patted him several times.

“Come on—come on!”

I reached down for the side of the blanket and gave it a good yank. Fell right on my ass and bumped my knee on the bottom of the couch.

“Ow! Damn!”

I looked up to find he hadn't budged or even so much as changed his expression. I fetched up an exasperated sigh and stood to my feet, albeit my knee and the lower parts of my legs all throbbing in pain. I fixed the towel on my shoulder and ran my fingers through my hair again. Yeah, I definitely needed a drink of water to go with my pasta.

I made my way back into the kitchen and served myself a plate, complete with lots of tomato sauce. My mom's meatballs definitely would have been the finishing touch on it, but I didn't have much other choice. I drank down a big glass of water to go with it, but I knew I would have to shower, too, seeing as I had no chance to do so yesterday or the day before when we made our return.

I had two helpings seeing as I wanted to give some to Lars, but he hadn't said anything about it so I helped myself. The second time I added some grated parmesan on top for a little more of a nuance.

Afterwards, I rinsed off my plate and put away the rest in the fridge. Since I had a two large helpings of it, my jeans were feeling a little extra snug than normal. In fact, my stomach had a little more tightness than usual. I was warm—a little too warm. And soft.

Granted, it wasn't that late, but my bed called me from the kitchen there. I ran my fingers through my curls again, but that time I reached over with my other hand to switch off the light. The whole place engulfed with dim light from the lights and the orange reflection of it all on the clouds outside. I lifted my arms over my head to let my belly hang out a little bit and then I made my way towards my room.

“Do you think I should call my mother?” Lars asked me, and the sound of his voice sliced through the silence so quickly, it made me jump. But I caught myself and fixed the collar of my sweatshirt. I looked over at him and his eyes staring back at me through the darkness.

“Well—do you need to call her?” I led him into it.

“I do not know. And I do not know what to tell her, either. Like, what am I supposed to tell her, 'hi, Mom. Is Dad around? Oh, nothing... just gone depressing and everything...”

I frowned at him even though I knew he couldn't see me.

“Is there still some pasta left?” he asked.

“Yeah, there's plenty. I was just about to go in here and chill for a little while before I go to sleep.”

“It's not even that late, though.”

“Yeah, but I'm very full and warm, so...”

“Ah. Feeling relaxed.”

“Besides, you gotta eat, man. I banged my knee and my shin on the couch tryin' ta get yer ass up.”

“I know you did.”

“Well, why didn't you?”

“'Cause I'm an idiot. That's why.”

“Lars, you're not an idiot. You're not. Trust me. I'm the idiot here.”

“You?” He seemed appalled by that.

“Yeah. The biggest idiot you've ever seen.”

“Joey, you're a fucking badass, man. You're a hero.”

“A hero? No, no, no, nah, nah, nah, nah. No. No freaking way.”

“You are, though. You don't realize it right now, but you are in fact a hero.”

“Do you want some pasta or no?”

“I might as well.” Even though it was dark, I could smell the disappointment on him from there. I strode over to the lamp next to the chair and switched it on: golden yellow light washed over the room, and in time for his sitting up from the couch.

“By the way, I hope you can forgive me,” he started again. I turned around to face him with my eyebrows knitted together.

“For what?”

“Taking up your couch.”

“You're not takin' up anything, Lars,” I assured him.

“Really?”

“Really. Really, really.”

He groaned in his throat and he stood to his feet. I watched him make his way into the kitchen for a plate of pasta himself, and then I sank down on the couch myself. His laying there for as long as he did gave it an extra touch of softness. I heard him shuffling about in there but I found myself figuring out the cushions a bit more right then. I spread my legs and leaned back: softer than normal. Lars tenderized this thing. It helped that I was extra full so I could relax to of great extent right there.

Speak of the devil, he returned to the front room with a small plate of it in one hand and he took his seat next to me.

“It's not my mom's but—” I shrugged at him. “—what're ya gonna do.”

He once again stayed in silence. In fact, the whole entire time he ate it up, he was silent. I had one arm up on the back of the couch and my legs spread wide open.

At one point, he looked over at me with his mouth of those slender little noodles with a bemused look on his face. His eyes flicked down to my thighs and my crotch and then he examined my body. He swallowed the bite.

“What?” I asked him.

“Nothing. It's just—it's good to have a quiet moment for once.”

“I know, right?” I chuckled at that. “How is it, by the way?”

“It's delicious. Perfect, like it just... hits the spot.”

“I was in the mood for sump'n traditional,” I confessed with another shrug of the shoulders. “By the way, you gonna be fine out here? Y'know, sleepin' tonight? I know you did it the first night we got back, and then last night, too.”

“Actually, I was—I was wondering if—” He paused.

“Wondering if what?” He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“What?”

His face fell.

“Lars?”

The room was silent, save for the tiny beginning droplets on the roof overhead.

One of the best things ever, I don't care what happens to me in life, is falling asleep when your stomach is nice and full and the rain hits the roof in torrents. It will never get old and I was wishing for that right then and there: just take off my clothes and climb into bed and relish in the warmth while listening to the rain over me.

“I was wondering if you would—allow me—to—bunk with you tonight.”

“Like, in my bed with me?”

“Yes. We can sleep head to toe if you wish.”

“Uh—um—yeah,” I said, reluctant. “Yeah, we can do that. It beats sleepin' out here by yourself.”

“Exactly! I was feeling alone for a bit there before you turned off the light.”

“Well, why didn't you say somethin'?”

“I didn't know how to break it to you, especially after all that's happened.”

“Lars, look at me...”

And he did.

“I've got a feelin' that you and I are gonna be here a while,” I told him with a clearing of my throat. “That is until—sump'n happens. I dunno what, though.”

He set his fork down on the edge of the plate and took another look at me.

“You done?” I asked him and I held out my hand to take his plate.

“Yes, but I'll take it, though, Joey. Don't worry about it.”

He stood to his feet and I watched him make his way over to the kitchen. I stayed there on those extra cushions for a moment before I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I looked over at the mouth of the hallway and saw something moving over there. I fetched up a sigh and I knew it had to be either Vera or Mrs. Snow coming forth given the sun had gone down and the rain was falling over our heads. I had to find a sweet spot, a little pocket of time to tell Lars about the ghosts here, otherwise who knows how he would react?

He returned to the front room with his long hair tousled a bit and his face in a daze.

“You alright?” I asked him.

“Oh, yeah. I should ask you that, too, though.”

I nibbled on my bottom lip.

“Joey—? Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I live with ghosts,” I said up front, with no strings attached.

“Ghosts? Like—actual entities of the dead? You live with ghosts?” He chuckled a little bit at that.

“Yeah.”

He burst out laughing.

“What's so funny?”

“There's no such thing!” he declared.

“Yes, there is! I live with four of them!”

“I am sure you do, Joey. That pasta in your belly is starting to getting to you a bit, methinks.”

“Why would I bullshit about that sort of thing, Lars?” I demanded while keeping my arm up on top of the couch. “By the way, did you actually just say 'methinks'?”

“Methinks so!” he cracked, but I rolled my eyes at that.

“Lars, I'm serious. There are four ghosts here: a little girl, an old man, a nurse, and a woman about our age.”

“Why, of all places did they choose this little apartment, though?” he asked with another low chuckle.

“Hell if I know. They just kinda came with the place as far as I know.”

“There is an Indian reservation near here, though.”

“Yeah, I know there is. My mom and my grandma used to take me there when I was a little boy.” I hesitated for a second, and then I realized what he meant by that. “Wait. You don't think—”

“It's possible. You know the whole thing about building things upon an Indian burial ground and whatnot.”

“Yeah, but there's nuthin' upon the actual graveyard, though. It's just a blank stretch of grass with some open trenches and a couple of trees, but that's about it.”

“Oh, I see.”

“See what?”

“It's open air.”

“It's not open air.”

“Sounds like it, though.”

“But it's not!”

“Are we gonna go to bed or not?”

I opened my mouth to say something but no noise came out. The sole noise came from the rain on the roof, which then picked up. The best thing ever and I was squandering it.

“Yeah. Let's.”

I stood to my feet and I felt the pasta weigh down inside my stomach. I clasped a hand there to steady myself.

“And I thought I liked to eat,” he joked.

“Eat, sleep, kick ass, repeat,” I told him as he made his way into my room. He was first to switch on the light to which he laughed again.

“I'm afraid to ask,” I confessed to him.

“There's no ghosts in here, Joseph.”

I fetched up a sigh at that. They were reticent to come out because the light was on, I just knew it. In fact, once I doubled back to switch off the lamp in the living room, I was met with a slight chill, one that ran up my arms and my spine. I knew it wasn't from the window given I had closed it just prior to the rains entering the area.

“Joey?” Lars called.

“Coming.”

I returned to my room in time to find him crawling under the covers with no pants on.

“Okay, so how we gonna do this,” I wondered aloud.

“Head to toe,” he insisted.

“I know—I just don't know which way we're gonna have to lay here, though.”

“Here, I'll sleep this way—” He crawled towards the foot of the bed and lay down on his side. He lay the side of his head on the soft part of the mattress.

“You gonna be okay right there?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

I squinted at him, to which he lifted his head and gazed at me with those little eyebrows of his raised. I lifted a finger and doubled back to the front room once again for a pillow from the couch. I felt the chill once again, but it was the least of things on my mind at the moment. I came back to the room once again with it in both hands.

“You're not gonna suffocate me with that thing, are you?” he asked me with a look of fear in his eyes.

“Nah, you'd haveta beg me to do that to ya,” I assured him. “Lift yer head—”

He raised himself up on his elbow so I could slide the pillow underneath his head, and then he lay back down.

“That's better. Thank you, Joey.”

“I just didn't like the idea of you laying there with nuttin' to support your head. I mean you saw me gettin' up back there.”

“Yeah, but that's your belly. We're talking my head here.”

“Hey, if we were talking heads, we'd be in gray woolly suits and barefoot, mmkay?”

“Given it's the same it ever was, too,” he pointed out.

“Exactly!” I stripped off my shirt and folded it up before putting it away in the dresser drawer. My eyelids were feeling heavy and I was feeling heavy and ready for bed myself. It wasn't that late, but it sure felt like it. I crawled underneath the covers next to Lars—he had his back to me, which meant I would have the backs of his legs pressed against my chest. And then I reached up to switch off the light.

“Oh, damn,” he muttered.

“What?” I lay my head down on my pillow.

“Dark in here.”

“Dark and lovely,” I corrected him as I nestled down under the covers. I brought the blankets up to my ear and closed my eyes. Between the warmth in my stomach, having him next to me, and the rain on the roof, I was quick to fall asleep.

I found myself in the warehouse, the one down in the City where all of that butchering went down. I was laying on top of the table with my arms outstretched on either side of me. Someone stole my clothes: I looked down and saw a big light the size of a truck tire hovering over me. It took me a second to realize it was an x-ray machine. Someone was giving me x-rays without giving me some kind of protection.

I rolled my head over to see a guy hovering over me. I couldn't see his face given the sheer extent of the shadow in there. But I could see his hands, the size of dinner plates, and his fingers, long, spindly, and pointed with razor blades. I wondered what he would do to me, that is if he did anything to me.

I watched him linger closer to me.

“What're you doing?” I demanded. He didn't answer: I felt something brush against the sides of my neck. I looked on either side of me to find someone had also cut my hair at the roots. My hair! I had no mirror on hand but I knew didn't look right.

But that was the least of my problems right then.

The man moved in closer to my stomach, right underneath the x-ray light. Those fingers shone bright like shiny brand new knives underneath that pallid light. The pointed tips grazed against my skin: light as feathers but sharper than any knife I had ever encountered. A gentle caress was enough to break the skin.

I didn't feel any pain. At first.

And then he caressed me again.

It was enough for my chest to rise but I couldn't make a sound.

He did it again, and that time he used both hands. He sliced me open with no anesthesia and no regard for my body. I could feel those claws tearing into my flesh and my organs. I could feel him messing with it all. I looked down without moving my head to find my skin fanned out from my midsection, each layer spread out like lace.

“He's perfect,” said a woman next to me.

“I'm glad you brought him in,” he told her in a soft voice, “this is what he gets for being such a little play thing. The outsider looking in. This is what he gets.”

I writhed in pain but it was useless, especially since I had been strapped down to the table.

“Such gorgeous flesh,” said the nurse. “Perfect for clones.”

“I almost don't want to clean it,” said the man as he sawed through my hip bones. I was wide awake and hemorrhaging, but I witnessed the whole entire thing. Every slice. Every hole made by the points of his fingers in my intestines and in my stomach. I could feel my organs oozing out with each puncture. Sawing through my bones felt like sawing through something celery. Or a raw potato. I had become both meat and potatoes to this guy.

Cutting me open without any remorse for what he had done to me.

“Poor beautiful little boy—thinks he can get away with being so rude,” the nurse taunted me; I had no idea if she was Mrs. Snow or not, but who gives a shit. I felt him slicing down my legs, and in between my legs. It was like one of those slicers you'd see at the meat department in the grocery store, except I was on the slicing end.

“Take his flesh,” he told the nurse. “It's delicate and lush and healthy. He's perfect for cloning.”

“What should we do with his blood?” she asked him.

“Save it. It's been caught here, see? As for his hair—those black curls—take it to the seamstress for some sewing. We can't let any part of him go to waste.”

“But what about the rest of his corpse, though?”

I couldn't hear what he was saying because the pain was so monumental, so overwhelming, that I couldn't scream. I had been torn open and torn apart. Sliced apart and butchered like a carcass. My blood spilling over the edges of the table and down into buckets because they knew what would happen. My insides mutilated and used like they were nothing. Torn to shreds for nothing more than being me.

I couldn't scream given he was about to tear into my lungs and my throat. But I screamed anyway. I screamed as he broke through my ribs and punctured my lungs.

I was a dead man but I was screaming at the top of my lungs anyway.

If Charlie could hear me scream from miles away, then surely the dead would, too.

I shook myself awake and I stared into the darkness. I was met by the sound of the rain on the roof and Lars' gentle snoring. It took me a second to realize he pressed his heels against my stomach, which still felt very full. Careful not to wake him, I shifted over onto my back. I rested my hands on my stomach to feel the warmth and also if I was still intact.

The whole image of it haunted me to no end. Every time I closed my eyes I envisioned... that.

That warehouse. That everything about it inside of it. The things and stuff and stuff about things. Tearing my body apart for the sake of making clones.

Clones. Maya. Everything going down in ruins.

I lay there flat on my back and stared up into the darkness. I wondered if the clones had backed off a little bit because I needed to rest for a little bit. And I knew Lars wanted to, too. But then again, they were clones. They went haywire after a day and neither of us knew why.

I was too tired to ruminate over it so I relaxed a little bit more. I kept picturing it on the backs of my eyelids. The blood, the guts, the bones breaking and splintering apart with each cut of those knives, everything. At least it was a dream.

I felt something brush against my foot. I figured it was just Lars' hair as it fanned out from his head, but then I felt it again, and that time I felt it on my right foot rather than my left. I opened my eyes and glanced down to my feet. Even in the darkness, I made out sight of her head and shoulders as they rose up over the edge of the bed. She had this faint silvery glow to her that wasn't too bright, but bright enough for me to realize what she was doing.

Her gaping eyes. Her hair in the form of streamers behind her head as if she was underwater or caught up in a strong breeze. Her tattered dress, which made me think of girls who went to a girl school. She raised a finger to her lips and the black holes making up her eyes bled like mascara.

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip. It was the first time I had ever really gotten a good long look at Vera, given she always spooked the hell out of me. But even just laying there, I still felt spooked within her presence. I watched her fade away into the darkness.

I was alone again with the sound of the rain on the roof and Lars snoring. And at some point, I managed to fall asleep again.

#amped and wired #amped and wired part two #part 2 #part two #out of the ashes #anthrax #anthrax fanfic #metallica #metallica fanfic #at land's end #at land's end series #fanfic #fanfiction #joey belladonna #lars ulrich #sci fi #joey belladonna fanfic #lars ulrich fanfic #nano 2020 #nanowrimo #text #chapter 1