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aetherarf · 3 years

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Hi there!! Based off of your headcanon of Diluc being allergic to alcohol, could you write either headcanons or a fic where Diluc accidentally drinks alcohol and gets sick and his s/o takes care of him? Maybe he mistakes some wine for grape juice and guzzles a glass while very thirsty or something

Of course :D! I'm going to mention I'm going off of my own allergic reactions to alcohol and this is not how everyone who IS allergic would react.

[[ ANGST WARNING: NEAR LETHAL ALLERGIC REACTIONS ( No death ) , BLOOD ]]

[[ SFW Summary: A simple night with his spouse, Diluc wants to just relax... but a mix up, he takes a sip of your wine... And it goes downhill from there.

Word Count: 1'761 ]]

"Is this a good spot?"

"Uhm... Just a little to the left... there!"

Diluc sighed, dusting off his hands. You had, only recently, gotten everything over to the Winery. Sure, you've been married for more than a few months, but it was just a daunting task... And it took a little bit of moving stuff around to make it feel like a proper home--for both of you.

And with that, it was the last bookshelf moved. You walked over, giving Diluc a hug and a kiss on the cheek, seeing that rare but beautiful smile on his usually apathetic features.

"Come, let's celebrate a little..."

"And by that you mean lazing about until dawn." Diluc said, but it wasn't an insult.

"Right. And I'm going to be drinking--I know, you won't, you won't... could you just drink some grape juice though, so you're drinking with me in spirit?" You pleaded, it felt a little less like you were getting drunk on your husband's [Husband!] lap while he was probably working on something or reading.

"Of course," he agreed, he liked grape juice anyway.

"You have to put it in a wine glass though. It's prettier that way."

"Demanding," he teased, all fluff and adoration, "That's fine, too."

The both of you walked to the kitchen, Diluc pouring you a glass of wine, and corked the bottle, but he left it out on the table--a silent way of saying Just bring it, I know you'll want more later.

He knew you quite well. Just how you knew he would never drink a drop of wine if he could help it, he didn't even like it on his skin...

In the end, he always said the same thing, I just don't like alcohol. There was no reason to press further, while you were curious if it had to do with... ahem, the late former Winemaster, or if it was just a manner of taste.

He'd tell you when he was ready.

You grabbed the bottle, walking ahead to laze about on the sofa, and a few moments later Diluc came in with his own glass of grape juice, sitting down beside you, practically dragging you to lie down on him as he set his glass down on the table beside the sofa, you reaching over to set down your glass as well, noting that it was the one on the left, before you leaned over, grabbing a book for yourself to read, and as you looked back at him, he was already reading his own... Squinting more than you expected.

"You should get your eyes checked," you commented, pressing your finger on the bookmark to your open book, flipping it open to the page, trying to find the line you left it on...

"Why?" He asked, not looking at you.

"You're squinting more and more. Old man eyes."

He only huffed, "Fine, I'll get checked another time."

"And I'll remind you."

"... thank you."

A comfortable silence fell as the two of you read. You reached over from time to time, taking a sip of your wine, and Diluc hadn't touched his... maybe he just wasn't in the mood, so it was fine. It was nice that he was just being considerate enough to 'pretend'.

Eventually, you emptied your glass, refilled it, and took a sip before lying against him again. His was untouched, but after you finally refilled yours.

Diluc looked oddly at the drinks... he should probably at least finish his glass to not waste, reaching over and grabbing it--he just didn't feel in the mood for it, but... it was fine.

He tried to drink it quickly, normally he enjoyed the taste but maybe he just was a little sick of it. But--As soon as he saw the empty glass, right before him, he made a horrific choking noise, the taste hitting him.

He drank wine-- an overly full glass no less.

A hand smacked over his mouth, he jumped up, desperately hoping that if he got it out of him, nothing bad would happen, completely ignoring your shout of dismay-You'd forgive him, he could mask it under such a horrific veil of disgust...

He grabbed a spare cloth and pressed it to his mouth, spitting any of it as he could, almost wanting to gag and vomit--his neck, his throat, it felt like it boiled, burning... horrific... It was spreading to his face and chest, both of which were probably red.

"Diluc-" Distantly, he heard your voice, but as he saw your face before him through teary eyes, he realized you were far closer than you sounded, "Diluc, what's wrong?"

He opened his mouth, but he suddenly smacked the cloth over it again, spitting up the blood that always would come up, as soon as it was out, he desperately rasped for air.

You saw--you stared at it. That was not the red of wine alone, that was blood. The deep red wine mixed with vibrant blood somehow was the most disgusting color you've ever seen.

"Please," you begged, "Tell me what to do," You could ask why or what or how when he didn't look like he was about to keel over.

But he couldn't tell you--he was so... weak. He could only devote every ounce of energy he had to breathing.

Lie down-if he could lie down, he could focus on that better, but... but...

With your arms wrapped around him, you did the bed you could dragging him over to lie down, he flopping like a corpse, but the desperate, almost shocked gasp of an inhale he made as soon as he wasn't forcing himself to stand, the world around him scalding hot, like he was boiling alive.

How pathetic he looked, lying here, reduced to this pathetic state by a single glass of stupid fucking wine.

You had left, for only a moment, getting a new, clean cloth to try and wipe any other blood off of his mouth. As you could back, he was coughing, how desperate and weak he sounded, tears pouring down his cheeks. You grabbed his arm, forcing him onto his side in fear that he could choke on his own blood,

"What happened," you asked, terrified with tears in your eyes as you wiped around his mouth, trying to offer what little comfort. His skin was damn dear as red as his hair, his throat looked almost like he was strangled, and his shoulders and chest were flush. You tried to tuck a pillow under his head, his neck, so he could strain as little as possible.

"Diluc," you begged, "Please, tell me... tell me what to do, tell me what's happening?"

You felt so selfish, crying when it looked like he was dying, but what else were you supposed to do? If-if you could know what to do, at least it was... something!

"Ah," he panted, "All...er..."

"Aller? No... Allergic?" You asked, and he weakly nodded. "You're having an allergic reaction to... no, you're allergic to alcohol?"

Again, he nodded, making a noise between a choked up cough and a sob--

"How do I help?" You asked, trying to comfort him, to wipe the mess off of his mouth again,

"Waih...tuh..." Wait, "Stah...yuh." Stay.

Probably staying here and ensuring he could keep breathing was the best course of action. You didn't want to leave for a second, and you wouldn't. How long would it last? Should you be dragging him to the Cathedral, as far as it was, you'd do it, you'd walk on two broken legs before you'd let him die, dragging him along.

... No.

If he knew he was having an allergic reaction, then he knew about it. He knew how to... deal with it felt generous, with how he was just riding it out, but if he'd survive... you'd never touch wine ever again if it meant never ever risking seeing him like this ever again. You didn't marry for wine, after all, you married him because you loved him, which made seeing him like this so, so much more painful.

Minutes, tense minutes when you just tried to comfort him turned to hours. For the first hour, oh, how horrible he must have felt, just spluttering for air... but slowly, his breathing got quieter. When you first noticed, you tried listening, but he was breathing... not just fighting as much.

By the third hour, his skin was not as red. Still visibly blushed all over.

By the fourth, he pushed himself up, but he seemed hesitant to speak... but this was enough. You sat next to him, grabbing him and holding his head to your chest--the tears that still trickled, he too exhausted to cry in the pain he must be in, stuck to your clothes. You didn't care. He could cough blood on you and you'd just want to make his pain stop.

"Soh... sorry." He apologized, weakly.

"Don't be." You cooed, worried but still full of love, "You're okay, that's all I care about."

A few long moments... and eventually, he pulled away from you--letting out a weak whine... He must've still been in pain.

"Can we," his voice was agonizingly raspy, but he could still talk, which was enough... more than enough, "Can we... go to bed...?" He asked, and you nodded

"Of course."

You both found your way to the bed, you half-dragging him as he kept tripping over himself. Again, he flopped into the bed, and you crawled in with him, holding him close.

"Are you going to be okay?" You asked, he didn't respond... but then he sighed.

"Yes," he said, "In a day... or two..."

"You're going to be like this for a day or two?"

He grumbled... "No..."

He must've just been too tired to explain.

"I can ask tomorrow," you decided, holding him close. '... Why didn't you tell me you were allergic to alcohol?"

A silence.

With your arms wrapped around him, you gently ran your knuckles up and down his back.

"Scared."

...

"You don't have to be scared of me."

"I know..."

"Are you safe to sleep?"

"Yes..."

"Okay, I'll be right here... I won't let something like this happen again."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, weakly sighing... His breathing was still a bit rough, raspy...

The next day, you'd learn that he's been allergic to alcohol since a young age, each word still raspy, and it'd take 'a day or two' for all the effects to clear up.

Suddenly, his aversion to alcohol, at least to a degree, made much, much more sense.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #diluc #genshin diluc x reader #diluc x reader #bark writes #angst #angsty bark #// deciding to put read more higher for easiness reasons

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loversarcanas · 3 years

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Midnight Romeo Ch. 1

Series: The Owl House Pairing: Beta!Luz/Beta!Amity

Luz Noceda finds herself frequenting night clubs to cope with her loneliness. She never expects to find anyone, really, until she’s forced to save a pretty girl from a nasty creep harassing her. Please support the original on Ao3! (trigger warnings for alcohol consumption and minor sexual harassment)

12:35am. The flashing lights and blaring dubstep over massive stereo systems was enough to overwhelm anyone, especially Luz Noceda. She wasn’t really even sure why she kept coming here. For drinks? People-watching? Moping, hoping for a stranger to reach out a hand to her and make a connection? Probably all of the above. Yet, despite how agonizingly crowded the place was and how much it reeked of Mary Jane and sweat, she sat alone at the bar, sipping on her second glass of whiskey and watching wasted hornballs grind on each other. Luz was a pretty lonely person. She didn’t really have friends to spend time with, her mom worked hectic nights at the hospital to the point where they barely saw each other, and she had nothing but shitty breakups with shitty partners who left her feeling more and more closed up. Nobody could envy her right now. Any last shreds of hope that some gorgeous, charming person would approach her and suavely sweep her off her feet, were stomped on by her own cynicism. After all, who would want her ? Slumped over the bar in an unwashed army jacket, uncombed hair and beanie, probably reeking of booze. Hah, yeah. A real catch, huh. Her self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted, however, when a shorter, punky looking girl ran up to her and wrapped arms around her. “Oh my god, hiii! I haven’t seen you in so long , babe!” came a peppy, raspy voice from the girl. Luz froze, completely shocked and incredibly confused at just what was happening right now. As well as a little bit flustered, because this girl was very pretty. Before she had a chance to speak, however, the mysterious girl whispered in her ear “ Just go with it, creepy guy behind me ”. Ah. Luz’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat, cracking a smile and hugging the girl back. “Hey! What are you doing here? It’s been ages!” Pulling away from the hug, she looked passed the girl’s green-dyed hair to see a seething man walking directly towards them. “Hey Amity, who’s this girl? Some friend of yours?” He asked through a fake, gritted smile. Oh, Luz could feel the rotten vibes emanating from him. “Yeah, the name’s Luz. Amity here is one of my friends from college. May I ask who you are?”

The strange man crossed his arms, a smug grin crossing his face. “Yeah, I’m her man of the night. And we’ll be going now, actually.” Venom dripped from each of his words as he tried to grab at Amity’s wrist. The shorter girl struggled and mumbled “Let go” as she tried to pull away, and a new flame entered Luz’s gaze. She stood up and towered half a head over the man, staring at him with an intense anger, reaching into her jacket pocket for her switchblade. “I don’t think she wants to go with you. Now let her go, or I’ll slice that hand clean off your wrist.” Luz scowled, flipping the blade open. The man visibly flinched, but stood his ground for a few moments more before finally letting go. “Whatever, fucking cunt. She’s an ugly bitch anyway.” He mumbled as he walked back into the crowd. Luz closed her switchblade and looked back down at the green haired girl, who was now rubbing the spot where her wrist had been so roughly grabbed. Amity looked up at the taller girl in appreciation. “Thanks, uh.. You said your name was Luz? Thank you. I swear to god, men don’t know how to take fucking ‘no’ for an answer.” Luz sighed, and patted her shoulder. “Yeah, guys can be real creeps sometimes, especially at places like this. I’m just glad he didn’t do worse to you. Are you okay?” Amity grumbled, and hopped up on a bar chair next to the taller girl. “Well, not really. My friends bailed on me and I’ve been trying to ward off these dipshit guys all night. I don’t see how anyone enjoys these places.” Luz stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, I hear ya. But if you hate it so much, why are you here?” Amity let out a heavy sigh. “I came because my friends asked me to. This isn’t usually my deal, but they were insistent. Then they had the gall to fucking leave me here alone. Assholes.” She mumbled, laying her head on the counter. “They don’t really sound like friends if they’re just gonna leave you here.” Luz offered. Amity noticeably shrank when she said that. “Yeah, well, they’re kinda my only option as far as friends go… And they were my ride here too, hah .” She laughed bitterly. The two of them were silent for a few moments, only being enveloped in the sound of the music over loudspeakers. At one point, the bartender asked if Amity wanted a drink. She lifted her head and ordered a long island iced tea, much to Luz’s surprise. When asked if she wanted a refill on her whiskey, Luz declined, and turned back to Amity. “So, you don’t have a ride home then?” Amity shook her head. “It’s probably fine. I’ll just grab an Uber, or beg one of my siblings to pick me up, haha.” Her laugh was tired, and her eyes looked tired as well.

While Amity silently drank, Luz watched her - taking in her appearance. Her eyes were sharp and golden, with thick, black, winged eyeliner and smokey eyeshadow. Her nose was long and pierced through the septum. Her lips were thin, covered in black lipstick and adorned with black metal snake bites. Her hair was messy, tousled and long, reaching halfway down her back. Her ears were covered in black piercings, and she wore a fitted band tee and a pink plaid miniskirt. Truly, this girl was stunning. Luz couldn’t help but wonder if this was the princess charming she had so long been wishing for- ‘Ugh, don’t be stupid’ She thought to herself, and quickly stamped out the idea. Her main concern should be how to get this girl home, anyways. Her friends left her, she’s apparently been dealing with sexual harassment all night, and she’s probably going to be wasted on long island teas before she leaves. “So… Are you gonna text your sibs for a ride?” Amity finished the remains of her glass before slamming it back down on the table. “Yeah I guess I should, probably. They’ll probably make fun of me for getting so wasted, but it’s fine, whatever.” She took out her phone and started quickly typing a message with her thumbs, before setting it down on the bar. She called the bartender back over to order another tea, then slumped back on the counter. “Uh, you sure another one is a good idea chica ? Especially after the night you’ve had?” The green-haired girl rolled her head to look at Luz, with a dead stare. “While I appreciate your concern, I kinda don’t care right now.” Her phone buzzed and she picked it up to look at the new text, before slapping it back down with a loud groan. “UGH, of COURSE they’re too busy to pick me up. Fuckin great.” Luz bit her lip, wondering what the next step should be. I mean, she barely met this girl, But after the night she’d had, she didn’t want to risk this Amity girl having another run off with a creepy guy. And she knew from experience that Ubers and Lyfts weren’t always the safest to ride in as a drunk girl. “Hey… Uh, do you need me to give you a ride home then? I really don’t mind.” She waited in silence for a moment, while Amity turned to look at her. “I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Just need to order an Uber, it’s fine..” She trailed off, pulling up the app on her phone. “Listen, I really don’t mind driving you. I’ve had some… not so fun experiences riding drunk in an Uber. They don’t do background checks on those guys, and especially since you’ve been through so much from creeps tonight...” Luz trailed off. Amity let out a huge sigh. “...Okay, fine. But you better not try anything weird either. I can and will fuck you up, or break your car window open.” Luz internally breathed a sigh of relief. She definitely understood not trusting a stranger to drive her home, but she didn’t want this girl to go through worse than she had already experienced tonight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1:21am. They walked out of the bar, Luz had mostly sobered up, and supported the shorter girl so she didn’t stumble or trip on the way to her car. Luz’s car wasn’t anything special - it was an old 2002 Honda Accord, silver and a little beat up, but she was sure to keep it clean and in functioning shape. She opened the passenger door for amity with a polite gesture, and made sure she was all the way in before shutting the door and returning to the driver’s side.

“Wow, your car is old.” Amity said bluntly. Luz laughed. “Yeah? Your point? I still keep her running like a dream. Why? Are you not used to old bangups?” Amity crossed her arms, embarrassed. “Well, my parents are all about having the newest thing. They all got brand new shit at home, fancy imported cars and that shit. They got me a brand new Maserati for my birthday this year. So yeah, I’m not used to ‘old bangups’ I guess.” She looked out the window while Luz started up the engine, and popped in a CD. The music started playing on low, Amity tuning in to the song that was playing.

‘You’re the beach on Christmas Eve,’

‘Wrong place, good time, consistently’

‘I feel like a walking love song’

‘When you do me like that, can you tell my brain turns off’ It seemed to fit the atmosphere pretty well, actually. Luz rolled down the window and let her arm hang out, bringing a much-needed cool breeze into the car. Amity could feel herself nodding off, despite trying to fight it. ‘This girl, Luz… can I really trust her? I mean, she seems really cool, and it’s nice of her to drive me home, but… ‘ Amity’s thoughts ran slowly through her head. She raised her head to look over at the girl in the driver’s seat. She really did have a cool aura about her. The army jacket and baggy cargo pants, while normally not Amity’s style, seemed to fit the girl. Her messy hair, red beanie, adorned with a pin Amity couldn’t see in the dark. She noticed Luz was singing along to the song under her breath. It was kind of cute, actually. ‘From 7-11s to California Heavens’

‘I try to hide with my words, but you just find me clever’

‘I found a million places, you’d be worth the chases’

‘To go-oh-oh’

Finally, they pull into a long driveway, protected by overbearing steel gates. Luz stopped the car, and looked up at the massive home behind them. “You live here , Amity? Damn, are you just rich as shit or something?” Amity sighed, clicked off her seatbelt and opened the door. “My family is rich as shit, yes. I try not to think about it.” Luz unblocked her seatbelt and rose to get out of the car, making sure Amity could get in alright. “Oh, wait! Here, hang on a second.” She said, running back to her car to grab something.

Amity stood before the gates for only a few seconds, before Luz came back with a scrap of paper. “Listen, not that you’ll need it, but…” She looked embarrassed, rubbing the nape of her neck anxiously. “If your friends ever bail on you again or you need to get rid of any more creeps, here’s my number.” Luz handed the scrap to Amity, before shoving both hands in her jacket pockets. Amity looked down at the paper, then back up to Luz, with a smile. “Heh, thanks Luz… Maybe I’ll take you up on that. Amity brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and turned toward the gates to her house. “Oh, and… Thank you for all your help tonight. Usually people aren’t so kind.” Those words were her last before opening the gates and walking inside.

Luz slumped back into her car, waiting until the girl was fully inside her house before buckling up and starting up the engine. ‘Well, that’s certainly not how I thought my night would go.’ She felt a buzz in her pocket, and pulled out her phone to find a new message from an unknown number. xxx-xxx-xxxx: Hey, this is Amity. Thanks again for tonight. Luz smiled, and quickly registered the girl in her contacts. As she backed out of the manor driveway, she felt a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe going out to clubs wasn't all that bad.

#toh #lumity #beta lumity #they're 21-22 in this btw #figure since its my first fic i'd crosspost it here ahaha

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 20)

She has left Chin. That was her only intent. But she knows that, that isn’t good enough. Not when her WuJing is within walking distance.

It’s desecrated, skeletal shadow haunts her. She knows that she needs to get out from under its shade. There is nothing in the Earth Kingdom for her anymore anyhow and somehow it has managed to instill more hurt and trauma than the Fire Nation had. It is time to go home.

She isn’t sure what she will do when she gets there, she is certain that they won’t even take her back. Or that they will but they will transfer her right back into an institution where she belongs. But she is going to do it. She is going home.

.oOo.

The grasslands are so empty and so vast. And this time she only has her own mind for company. She hasn’t even a mongoose-lizard nor an ostrich horse. And by Agni, her mind isn’t good company.

It yells at her. Chastises her. Mocks her for being too weak to protect herself and her family. Mocks her doubly for letting herself sink so far under. She thinks that she has managed to put herself in a worse state than the one she had been in on the day of Sozin’s Comet. At least she’d had some fight in her then. Some scrap of dignity to be retained. This Azula is simply pathetic. Pathetic and lonely and directionless. More so than before.

At one point, somewhere around a week and a half into the grassland she stops walking. Her feet are sore and her shoes are becoming worn. Her back aches and her belly pangs more often than not, she has nothing to fill it with. Having exhausted all other options, she resorts to eating grass. She finds out the hard way that this is a mistake.

That night was spent without any progress at all. That night was spent doubled over and queasy and heaving. By the end of it her sides ache and her stomach is somehow emptier and achier than before. She thinks that she may be seeing her loved ones sooner than she had imagined.

She is in a much worse state than before she’d consumed the grass. Her throat is dry and her body shakes. She quite literally drags herself for several excruciating miles. Only when she hears the sound of a stream does she will herself to her feet.

And only when she actually sees the stream does she hasten her pace. She is desperate with thirst and near ferally ravenous. She cups her hands and takes mouthfuls of water, lapping at it as though it will disappear if she doesn’t consume it fast enough.

She has the sense to stop for a moment and refill her waterskins. She is thankful that she had found the courage and willpower to enter Wujing one last time to gather some supplies for her journey.

Hunger makes fishing difficult, but desperation makes it doable. She cooks her first fish while she catches her next few. Her next dozen. She isn’t sure when she will come by her next meal so she eats until she is nearly sick.

Until she feels sluggish as she forces herself onwards. She thinks that she is only delaying the inevitable. The grasslands had been nearly uncrossable with a mount, to take them on foot, she realizes, had been an extended invitation to death.

Occasionally her mind wanders to a more pleasant place. Occasionally the field resembles a hill on the southern outskirts of Wujing.

This hill had been the perfect place for a picnic. The day before, they had made kites. She had made herself a blue dragon, Hajime had made himself a plain diamond with bright and intricate drawings, and Atsu tried his very hardest to make a badgermole.

Food was anything but scarce on this grassy hill. Ojihara’s family had come to join them and with baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables. And by late afternoon, it was a town event.

But to Azula it will always be a family memory. She was only two or three months pregnant then, but Hajime still pampered her as though she were at least six months along. She held her kite out and watched Atsu and Caihong race with theirs down the hillside. She wasn’t sure who the third child was but she tripped and Atsu helped her up. She remembers the feeling of Hajime’s arms wrapping around her middle. The feeling of his lips against the nape of her neck. She remembers the gentle caress of his hand over her bump and the breeze that tugged at her hair. She remembers having cupped her hand over his.

She remembers the moment being ruined by the breeze picking up their picnic blanket and slamming into the both of them. Their kites had knotted around one another. She remembers that she wasn’t angry or vexed. In fact she vividly recalls Hajime practically falling over with laughter as she tried to untangle the both of them from the blanket. If only the kites hadn’t tangled them up as well. Ultimately Seukhyun was the one to free them.

She remembers declaring that she was going to go back to eating strawberries and letting the children play with kites. She remembers Hajime laying down next to her and feeding her the strawberries.

She misses being spoiled like that. She misses hearing his laugh. Hearing Atsu’s laugh. Misses laughter in general.

That day she learns not to take things for granted.

.oOo.

She draws back and Sokka says nothing for a very long time. Agonizingly long. She should have just stumbled her way through an awkward declaration of love. That probably would have been far less awkward. Perhaps she had gauged their interactions the wrong way. Her face is flushed quite vividly.

Sokka still doesn’t say a thing. He isn’t Hajime and she shouldn’t have made a move so abruptly. She would rise up and make a hasty retreat for her room, but they are still sitting upon her bed. Of course she could retreat to any of the guest rooms or the training room or perhaps to take another bath just to have a bath…

She hasn’t quite stood fully when she feels a hand come around her wrist. Sokka gently pulls her back to the mattress, still silent. She thinks that he might be looking for something to say. And she supposes that it would have been rude to have kissed and fled.

“Sorry.” She grumbles at last.

“For what?” He asks.

She touches her fingers to his lips. “I thought that you…” he gives her fingers a small kiss before taking her hand and giving the back of it another small kiss.

“I don’t want you to apologize.” He rubs the back of his head. “I was actually kind of waiting for you to do that.”

“You were?”

“Sure.” He replies. “Though I kind of thought that you were going to kiss me while we were gardening.”

Apparently, even when she has the right emotion, she still has the wrong timing. It had been Hajime who had done much of the work. Hajime who had guided her in the right direction. There had been so many little signs and hints along the way. And then he’d ultimately given her their first real kiss. It had felt right. Natural.

This feels different. It feels jarring and frightening somehow. And maybe it is because she is still apprehensive about finding love at all. With anyone who isn’t Hajime. She isn’t sure that it would be fair to begin a relationship when her last one is still so heavily there. She knows what she will do if she should choose to pursue. She knows that she will compare every little aspect of Sokka--every little thing that he does--to Hajime. And how can she do that to him? How can she put him in a position where he’d be second choice to a dead man.

She doesn’t think that she can do this. It had been an impulse decision. A spur of the moment action. She doesn’t even know if she loves him; isn’t love supposed to take time? It had taken her a year to decide to marry Hajime, and months before she even kissed him. It had taken time and she has only been around Sokka for a short while. And yet it feels the same as it felt with Hajime. Sokka is fun. He is patient. He is easy to be around.

She is hard to be around. Hard and awkward and confused.

She stiffly apologizes again, gets to her feet, and in one fluid motion, pulls herself from his grasp and out into the hallway.

Somehow this feels just as wrong as kissing him. She doesn’t want to make a rebound of him, neither does she want to write him off.

Azula steals away into the palace hot springs. She casts her robes aside and submerges herself as though her conflict and distress can roll off of her body with the steam. As though she can scrub her troubles away with a bar of soap and a handful of shampoo. She stays in the water until her skin goes wrinkly. And then a little longer after that.

She hadn’t the foresight to grab her pajamas so she changes back into her day clothes.

Somewhere deep within, she hopes that Sokka will be sitting on her bed when she gets back.

He isn’t.

She thinks that she must love him if it hurts this bad to see that he wouldn’t be waiting on her to get it together. She is a fool and she doesn’t know what she is doing. He doesn’t have time to wait for her to figure it out. Likely, he thinks that she has been playing some cruel game with him, just for the sake of making him upset. It is what she would have done some years earlier.

At least she won’t have to worry about tragically losing another lover. She had a second chance and she has already let it go. And for what?

Yes, she definitely loves him. She would be able to sleep if she didn’t.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

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deans-baby-momma · 4 years

Text

The Padackles Link-Chapter 66

A/N: I do not know anything about IVF so if this is unrealistic and off the mark, don’t come at me. It’s just a fic. I made it all up.

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The first week that Jensen is gone back to work is hectic. Jackson is definitely attached to his father and in his absence our son is very unhappy. So unhappy that I have to let him scream himself to sleep at night and then I don’t get a good night’s rest because I worry that I am torturing him.

I am in tears, listening to Jackson scream at the top of his lungs over the monitor when my phone starts ringing with a Facetime. Of course it’s Jensen. I had hidden our predicament from him so far but I knew as soon as I answered my boyfriend would hear his son’s cries.

“Hey bab-what is that?” Jensen says as soon as the call connects. “Is that Jackson?”

“Yea he really misses his daddy putting him to bed at night,” I tell him with a shrug.

“Man, I hate that. I miss him too. I miss his little toothless smiles and laughter. I miss you too Drea. More than I realized I would.”

“I miss you so much Jay! And not just because I have to deal with his cries because you’re not here. I miss going to sleep in your arms and waking up next to you.”

“Take me to him,” Jensen says and I climb out of bed and walk to the nursery. Turning the phone around so that they could see one another, I listen as Jensen tries to talk to and soothe his son.

As soon as Jackson hears his father’s voice, the boy stops crying until there is nothing but whimpers coming from him. Jensen begins singing “Wagon Wheel” and I watch as our son closes his eyes and drops off to sleep.

“Damn, why didn’t I think of that?” I ask as I make my way back to the bedroom.

“Has he been doing that all week?”

“Yea. But I didn’t want to worry you,” I tell Jensen as I get resettled into bed. “I know being on set and filming is hectic and time-consuming.”

“Drea, I don’t care. If my son needs me to sing him a lullaby to go to sleep, call me. I can’t believe you put up with that for a week,” he chuckles.

Shrugging my shoulders, I look at Jensen dressed as what I assume is Dean Winchester. “You look good Jay.”

He blushes but a tiny smile appears on his lips. “Thanks, So do you. So what’re your plans for the week?”

“Well, Gen has that appointment at the fertility clinic Thursday. She wants me to go hold her hand while they harvest the eggs. Hannah is going to watch Jackson along with Tom and Shep.”

“That’s good that she isn’t going to do that alone.”

“Yea and seeing as those eggs will eventually be in my body, I figure I can be there for her procedure.”

“That sounds weirdly erotic,” Jensen laughs and Drea joins in.

“There’s nothing sexy about petri dishes and turkey basters, babe.”

“Eh, whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

“Dork!”

“I’m your dork” Jensen says, laughing.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Thursday afternoon I sit beside Gen in the large waiting area of the Center for Advanced Reproductive Medicine. Jackson is back at the Padalecki’s home with Tom and Shep and their babysitter, Hannah.

“I’m weirdly nervous,” Gen speaks up.

I look over at her and smile. “That’s natural, I guess. You are having a pretty significant procedure done.”

“Yea,” she says. “But that’s not what I’m worried about. I mean, sure they are going to be inserting a long ass needle into me and retrieving my eggs to freeze. What if there is something wrong with them? What if Jared doesn’t make it back in time to fertilize them? Is this just outrageous? Asking you to carry our baby.”

“Gen, Jared is scheduled home next weekend for Thanksgiving. The doctor assured you both that that was okay, not too long. He’ll come in and, well truthfully I’m trying not to think about his part of the job, but he will do what needs to be done and the doctor will fertilize your eggs.

“As for being outrageous by asking me to have your baby, I really could’ve been wined and dined a bit more. But I’m willing and able.”

Gen joined me in laughing as the nurse calls her name. I follow Gen as she follows the nurse back to a procedure room.

The nurse, Abby, hands Gen a paper gown and points to the corner of the room where there is a curtain for her to change behind. To give her even more privacy, I turn my back while she changes.

On the drive back to the cul-de-sac, Gen is dozing in the passenger seat when a call comes through the speakers of the Yukon. Glancing at the screen, I see that it is Jared. I click on the phone button on the steering wheel and answer.

“Drea?” Jared’s voice fills the cab. “How’d it go?”

“Without incident,” I tell him as I look over at Gen who has a smile on her face. “They were able to retrieve 17 viable eggs. Her part is over.”

The sigh that leaves his lips is resounding. Jared had been as nervous and anxious about the appointment this morning as Gen had been. All for nothing, because everything went as it should.

“How is she?”

“Tired and a little out of it,” I chuckle. “She is dozing in the seat but she has a gigantic smile on her face. Your wife loves you very much, you big moose!

Laughing, Jared responds with, “Not as much as I love her. Listen, I got to get back to set. I just wanted to call and check on you both.”

“Okay. I’m sure Gen will call you later tonight when she is more alert. Tell Jens I love him and miss him.”

“Want me to give him a big ol’ smooch for you too?”

I hang up listening to Jared chuckling at his own joke. Shaking my head, I turn to pull into the driveway at the Padalecki’s home.

The next time we are in the waiting room at the CAR-M building is a few weeks later, 8 days before Christmas, it is my turn to be anxious and a bit stressed. Today they were implanting one of the embryos, hoping that it attaches. And I wanted to be able to do this for my friends, our friends.

Gen and Jared are sitting across from me, holding hands and murmuring to one another. Jensen is back at home with Jackson, surely patiently awaiting the call after I’m impregnated by his best friend.

The same nurse, Abby, calls my name and I stand smiling at Gen and Jared before following Abby down the hallway.

The technician, Dr. Hayes, explains everything that is happening as it happens. When he inserts the catheter into my vagina, I tense at the discomfort. The tech mumbles a quick apology and I will my body. The rest of the procedure goes by quickly and before I know it I am re-dressed and heading back to the waiting room to get Gen and Jared.

I smile as I enter the room and after making an appointment in two weeks to do a pregnancy test.

“The next two weeks are going to crawl by,” Gen complains as we climb into the Yukon. “I want to know now if we can start planning for a little baby.”

Jared grabs her hands and kisses her knuckles. “I know, baby. I’m excited also.”

And just like Gen predicted, the two weeks between appointments were agonizingly slow. But once again she and I were in the exam room, awaiting the test results.

I can tell by the look on Abby’s face what the answer is before she even makes it all the way through the door.

“It’s negative isn’t it?”

That night, Gen and I cry together and drink wine and cry some more. I had to finally admit to myself that I was just as disappointed as she was. I loved being pregnant with Jackson and Jacob and was looking forward to that again; to knowing that my body was sustaining and growing life.

“They said we can try again,” I assure Gen as she refills her glass. “I am still willing to do it if you are.”

“Hell yes,” Gen says after taking a swig of her drink. “I want a baby. I want you to have my baby, Drea.” She breaks out laughing and it is then that I can tell the alcohol has gone to her head.

“That sounds funny. Doesn’t it sound funny to you Drea? You having my baby? Like, what? How? We both have the same parts. Two vaginas can’t create a baby.”

“Okay,” I say as I swipe the wineglass from her hand. “You have had enough. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Ooo, are you trying to seduce me?”

Rolling my eyes, I don’t answer; just help her up the stairs and to her room. She is out before I turn the light off.

@lostinaseaoffictionalbliss @carryonmywaywardcaptain @darlingpeanut @sunskittlex @sis-tafics @sea040561 @pretty-fortune @squirrelnotsam @death-unbecomes-you @sandlee44 @internationalmusicteacher @kricketc298 @natura1phenomenon @mannls @nickie-amore @spn-tw-37 @frozenhuntress67 @blacktithe7 @supernaturallymarvellous @thetardishasaquidditchpitch @sirod-30 @heyitscam99 @smoothdogsgirl @i-just-wanna-run-hell @paintballkid711 @closetspngirl @starfirerules @vickiq9761 @rainflowermoon @spnbaby-67 @drakelover78 @jessieray98 @81mysteriouslyme @travelingriversideblues-x @akshi8278 @keymology @topthis808 @lilulo-12 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @tftumblin @markofdean79 @thevelvetseries @larajadeschmidt13 @delightfullykrispypeach

#Jensen Ackles #the padaleckis #daneel ackles #Jared Padalecki #Genevieve Padalecki #drea murphy #jensen x drea #romance #angst #Smut #cheating #pregnancy #spn rpf #friendship #rpf fiction #ivf

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etherealwaifgoddess · 4 years

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Somewhere Only We Know

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Since joining the Avengers you can’t seem to get any alone time with Bucky. You take matters into your own hands and find a creative solution to get the handsome super soldier back in your arms.

Warnings/ Content: Referenced sex. It’s all off screen and nothing is blatantly stated.

Dialogue prompt: “Pleeeeaaase, can we just step away for a little bit? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! This is my little entry for Lani’s 3rd Mysterious Writing Challenge for the oh-so-talented @propertyofpoeandbucky. She’s amazing ya’ll. If you haven’t read anything by her yet I *highly* recommend you go take a look at her stuff. I hope you enjoy this Lani!! Thank you for hosting such a fun challenge :)

Somewhere Only We Know

(title from the song by Keane)

It wasn’t often you had time alone with Bucky. If it was up to the universe, you’d have none at all. Since joining the Avengers you found yourself constantly surrounded by various members of the eclectic group. Whether you were on missions or just lounging around the tower on your day off, there was always someone, most times multiple someones, around. It was like living in a college dorm all over again, and that was not an experience you were happy to repeat. Especially while you were trying to flirt with a certain centenarian ex-assassin.

You’d had one blissful week together when Bucky came to recruit you. He’d found you in a crappy motel outside Philadelphia, hiding out after your powers had manifested on live TV in an almost horrific incident at a NFL game. A bomb had gone off during half time and you managed to get a protective force field around it in time for the bomb to implode inside the bubble without harming anyone. Of course, a girl with purple energy flowing around her who was able to save thousands of lives garnered a lot of attention from both the good guys and the bad ones. You had been on the run for two weeks when Bucky finally caught up with you.

You were his first recruitment mission and he was determined to bring you in to join the team. You weren’t certain about being an Avenger but you were sure about getting him in bed. The super soldier’s thighs gave you a brand new appreciation of the word thicc. You’d spent the next six days enjoying each other’s company until Steve showed up, thinking he could help Bucky convince you to come back with them. You had never seen someone blush so hard their ears turned red. Steve was blessedly oblivious and you returned with them the next day.

After you returned to the tower with the guys your life had been a blur of training and practice. Bucky and you both agreed to keep what had happened to yourselves, not wanting it to potentially impact your ability to join the Avengers. You sparred with Nat, learned marksmanship from Clint, practiced controlling your powers with Wanda, jogged with Steve and Sam, and picked up a little basic first aid from Bruce. You knew it was important to be learning all that you could, to get yourself ready for the inevitable first mission, but you still missed Bucky. You’d barely get ten minutes alone with him at a time, never quite enough to make good use of it.

It was a month into your training when you’d hit your limit. Bucky was too shy to slip off to your room at night, he was still sharing an apartment with Steve and his absence would be obvious. You started looking for out of the way places you might be able to slip off to unnoticed together. There were a few regular times that your day intersected with Bucky’s so you strategized when you would be able to make your move. You just hoped Bucky was still interested. Though the way he’d had to excuse himself last week when your shirt rode up while sparring with Nat seemed to indicate he was.

You were cleaning up the kitchen after lunch, packing away the last of the leftovers, when Bucky walked into the room. He was still sweaty from his workout and the sight of his grey joggers riding low on his hips made your mouth go dry. It was now or never. “Hey Buck.” you greeted him with a welcoming smile.

“Hey, Y/N. Are there any sandwiches left?” he asked while refilling his water bottle from the tap on the fridge.

“There are, or I could go show you the new wing of the bionics lab they’re building.”

“What? I thought they’d stopped construction on that until Spring?”

“They did. But you see, it’s all the way up on the twenty second floor and no one ever goes up there.”

“Then why would we… oh.” Bucky’s eyes widened as he realized what you were implying.

“Oh.” you echoed, nodding your head. “So what are you more hungry for, Barnes? The sandwich, or me?”

Bucky blinked a moment at your blatant proposition before his brain got on board and you raced to the elevators.

It became a habit, meeting up in the abandoned construction of what would eventually be an extension of Stark’s bionics lab. It was always frantic, heated, and absolutely amazing. You were dreading Spring’s arrival when you’d lose your hideaway. Hopefully by then your relationship would be able to be public.

After an agonizingly long mission away, Bucky returned to the tower, tac gear covered in grime and still reeking of smoke. The second you locked eyes on him, you desperately wanted to get him alone. You wanted to help ease the tension in his shoulders and sadness in his eyes, take his mind off of whatever he had endured for a little while.

Everyone was gathered in the common room while Tony gave a mission report to the rest of the team. It wasn’t ideal but you were undeterred.

“Hey.” you whispered quietly to Bucky, knowing his super soldier hearing would pick up your words.

“Hiya, doll.” he answered, making sure his voice was just loud enough for you, and you alone, to hear.

“Wanna go up to our spot? They’ll never miss us.”

“We should hang around ‘til Stark is done.” he whispered with a frown.

“Pleeeeaaase, can we just step away for a little bit? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” you begged, “We’ll be quick, they won’t even notice we’re gone.”

Bucky sighed and you could tell he was relenting.

You were exiting the elevators, ready to slip back into the common room unnoticed barely twenty minutes later. Tony’s debrief meetings were usually an hour, so you should have still had plenty of time. Bucky went first, phantom silent as he slid back to his place along the back wall of the room. You waited a heart beat before making your way back to your spot next to him. It should have been perfect, you had practiced your stealth moves with Nat and were getting pretty damn good. Unfortunately your best laid plans were all taken down by a chip.

Clint had helped himself to a bag of potato chips from the snack bowl and he crunched into one loudly right as you appeared in the doorway. Everyone’s eyes snapped over to the source of the sound and saw your attempted sneaking in the background. It might not have been too suspicious if it weren’t for the smudge of soot on your neck and your deer in the headlights expression. The fact that you’d buttoned two of your blouse buttons wrong in your hurry was just icing on the cake. Bucky’s eyes widened in silent panic as he realized you were busted and he stayed frozen in place as you laughed nervously, eyes scanning the shocked expressions of your team mates.

Finally, Tony cleared his throat. “Wow. Robo Cop and our own little Glow Worm.” he shook his head in amused disbelief, “Good job, Glow Worm. Robo Cop, don’t make me give you the shovel talk, capiche? Now, let’s get back to work.”

Everyone else was too stunned to comment so you just slunk back to your spot next to Bucky. “So much for discrete.” you whispered with an apologetic smile.

“It was inevitable.” he shrugged.

“At least we won’t have to sneak upstairs to fool around now.”

“I don’t know, doll. I kinda like having somewhere only we know.”

“Love birds!” Tony shouted, startling you both. “Do you want to pay attention to the class, or do you want to go back upstairs and keep defiling my almost-lab?”

The two of you cringed in unison.

“So much for that.” you chuckle quietly, nudging Bucky in the ribs. “Sorry Tony!” you shout back.

“Wait? What!? Were you really? I was just taking a stab in the dark there. Oh god, my new lab! FRIDAY, get a hazmat crew up to the twenty second floor, stat! And you two. Ohhh you, two. Please, I beg of you. Go make use of one of the many beds we have here at Avengers Tower, preferably your own.”

Bucky blushed fiercely, his ears adorably on fire.

“I don’t want to see either one of you until noon tomorrow at the earliest. Go on now, shoo.” Tony waved his hands at you dismissively.

“The boss said so.” you shrugged at Bucky with a flirty smile.

Bucky grinned wolfishly at you, “Orders are orders.” he said before scooping you up in his arms.

You let out a little squeak as Bucky carried you off and you could hear Tony resuming his debriefing in the distance. It wasn’t the most ideal way for the team to find out, but somehow you couldn’t seem to mind at all.

#lanis3rdmysteriouswritingchallenge #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #marvel #Winter Soldier #Marvel Avengers #non cannon compliant

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1000roughdrafts · 4 years

Text

Family Secrets: Chapter Twelve

A Danger to Ourselves and Others

Summary: Feeling like you now have it all, someone shows up to shake your world with new information about everything that’s going on.

A/N: *insert something about how mobile sucks and I’m on mobile blah blah blah* 😉

Warnings: 18+ fluffy smut, vaginal penetration (sorry mom), fluff, but alas nothing good ever lasts, I’m so sorry (aka angst) also, spoilers for season 8, episode 7 are in this chapter :)

W/C: almost 2.8k

Masterlist/summary

Previous Chapter

“What a waste of freakin’ time,” Dean groans before flashing a rigid smile at the waitress as she refills the coffee mugs. “Twenty-four freaking demons and not a damn clue about the keys.”

“I wouldn’t say a waste of time, Dean,” you say sweetly as you pour creamer into your cup. “At the very least we took out twenty four demons and I’d say that’s worth something.”

“I guess so,” he says in a grumpy pout.

After stirring your coffee, you set the spoon on a napkin and lean your elbows onto the table. Wrapping your hands around the mug to collect it’s warmth, you look over at Dean, “so where do we go from here, then?”

He heedlessly shrugs, “go to bed and start again tomorrow.”

Sam moves his eyes across the table, his eyebrows turned down into deep thought. With the exception of a few sentences and his order, he’d been silent today.

“What’s up with you, Sammy?” Dean leans in, “you look pissed,” he says.

Sam looks between you and Dean, “how are you guys just fine with this?” He scoffs with a slight shake of his head and squints his eyes.

Dean sips on his coffee, “whatcha mean?”

“This whole not talking, or - or even remember each other for almost twenty years and then jumping into this weird obsession you have with each other. The visions, the - the alternate universe, all of it! I’ve never seen you like this before Dean, it’s like you’re turning into the same person, but becoming two different, and very strange people at the same time.

With his scoffing and eye rolling, mumbling things under his breath the last two weeks, you’ve had enough. “We’re happy together, Sam. Why is that such a problem for you?” you shout just a tad too loudly for a diner.

“It’s not a problem, Y/N. I do want my brother to be happy, believe me. I just,” he takes a sharp breath in. “I’m worried that this is not of your own accord, that this is leading to something dangerous,” he shakes his head, sitting up straight. “You said it yourself, Y/N, maybe something bigger is at play, something messing with us. I mean, you two hated each other just over a month ago, and now - now it’s like none of that ever even happened.” He shrugs, “I just think we need to be careful, that’s all.”

“A lot has happened between then and now, Sam,” you say, “things have changed, feelings have changed, and I assure you Sam, that we all want the same thing.”

“Sam, your concerns have been noted” Dean derisively smiles with a short nod, pulling a twenty from his wallet, he sets it in the center of the table.

The hotel door creaks as you open it. You peer into the darkness as the glow of the television lights up the wall. The soft murmur of the actors voices in the background, combining with your chimerical steps into the room, gives you a sense of peace. Dean and you kick off your shoes before looking at each other.

His eyes oscillate between yours to your lips before he smiles, taking one small step towards you. Feeling his hands soften around your face is enough to send an electric rush throughout your body. Your eyes fall shut as your body relaxes completely under his touch.

His smile spreads while he watches the muscles in your face ease, and he admires your fastened smile, lazily bringing your face closer to his. He waits until the last second to close his eyes, as to not miss a single moment of your twitching and excited lips.

You throw your hands onto his hips, leisurely massaging his sides and sliding your hands up to his shoulders. Shoving off his jacket in one fluid motion, you wait to hear it drop to the floor before bringing your hands back to the bottom of his shirt. He grunts softly, twirling you around and breaking the kiss to guide you to the bed, gently pushing you onto it.

Without removing his eyes from yours, he peels off his shirt agonizingly slowly, tossing it behind him. He runs his thumb against your lips, holding your jaw in the palm of his hand before letting it slide down the side of your throat and onto your chest.

With the tips of his fingers, he pushes you onto your back before climbing over you. Kissing your body on his way to your lips, an icy hot sensation runs through your veins as you writhe beneath him. Your hands fly onto his back and up his shoulders before they fall to unbutton his jeans.

Kneeling over you, with your legs between his, he pulls you up towards him, so you’re sitting on the bed. Putting his hands at the bottom of your shirt, he massages your stomach before pulling it over your head.

With a smile, he allows you to fall back against the bed, kissing his way from your collarbone to your belly button. You’re no longer in control of your breathing, or thoughts for that matter. You’re not even sure who the thoughts are coming from, him or you, but for the first time you feel like you’re really on the same page.

After shimmying your pants down, he keeps his eyes on you as he wraps his hands around your ankles and sending shivers up your legs. He slowly runs his hands up from your calves to your hips, causing your back to arch. His lips turn up into a half-smile watching you squirm under him.

Growing tired of his teasing, you grip onto his face and yank it towards you, your lips pressing tightly against his. He sets his palm on your stomach, slowly bringing it to the top of your panties. Moving his hand in an up and down motion over your clit, a sound escapes you in a pant, and it thrills him to slip his fingers under the band, pulling them down your legs.

He positions himself on top of you, pulling away from the kiss to gaze into your eyes. Speckled green dances in his eyes like stars on a clear night, and you nod. He enters slowly at first, inducing a gasp of pleasure from the both of you. Melodically and rhythmically, he pumps into you. He starts off slowly, taking his time to learn and enjoy your sweet spots.

When you let out a soft cry, he quickens his pace, and it doesn’t take long from that moment for you to climax, sending transcendent spasms throughout your body as you gasp out. His eyes stay planted on your face as he continues, and kisses you to conceal is moans when he peaks. He lies on top of you as you catch your breath.

You lightly kiss his neck twice, tightening yourself around his dick. He inhales sharply, the breath coming out as an airy moan. Putting his hands on either side of you on the bed, he props himself up to admire you. You can’t help the smile that forms on your face.

Putting your hand on his cheek, you let it glide down his chest and abdomen. He closes his eyes, lips opening slightly as he lifts himself out of you, letting out final whispers of pleasure. He kisses you once more on the cheek before falling onto the bed at your side. By the time his head hits the pillow, and arm wraps around you, you are sound asleep.

Not sure of how much time had passed, you wake to a pounding at the door. Both of you jump out of bed, rushing to get clothes on. Standing behind Dean, he opens the door. A strange, scruffy man with ruffled hair and a dirty, torn up trench coat stands next to Sam.

“Cas?” Dean asks, face fallen in surprise.

The man in the trench coat sits leaning forward in the chair across from Sam with his arms resting on his knees, hands folded together. Dean leans against the wall, his arms crossed on his chest and a frown on his face. It’d been months, but you’ve seen that look before. You know exactly where his mind is at, and not just because you can read it, but you’ve been in the same position as Cas.

Cas looks between the two of them, thoroughly examining their faces as if he’d never get the chance to again.

Coming out of his mental abyss, Dean looks down at his feet, “yeah, uh,” he wipes the corner of his eye. “I gotta be honest. I-I-I’m thinking, how the hell did you make it out?” He’s speaking softly now, but scrunches his face to hold the anger back. “I mean, I was there. I-I-I know that place.”

Cas nods somberly. Dean hasn’t talked much about his time in purgatory, but he didn’t need to. You’ve seen small glimpses of it in his dreams, the blood and gore, the way Dean wasn’t so much fearful of the monsters but afraid of what he was really capable of. They’d crept into your own, and you had no intention of bringing that up any time soon.

“I know how we had to scratch, and claw, and kill, and bleed,” Dean closes his eyes with a small shake of his head, “to find that portal and make it through and it almost finished me.”

Sam, with his concerned expression, glances from Dean to Cas, waiting for a response. Cas has a world behind his eyes, a world of hurt that he seems to be holding back.

“So, uh...” Dean throws his arms into the air, “so, how exactly are you sitting here with us right now?”

If looks could kill, he’d be a stew, you can’t help but think, a slight smile on your lips that’s only noticed by Dean. He glares in your direction, a silent warning to keep even your thoughts quiet. His eyebrows press down into a deeper frown as he puts his attention back on Cas.

“Dean,” he sits up in the chair, “everything you’ve just said is completely true,” he pauses, holding his eyes to Dean’s, “and that’s the strange part,” he shakes his head. “I remember endlessly running and hiding from Leviathan, and then I was on the side of the road in Illinois, and...” he moves his eyes to the floor.

“And that,” Dean starts, “that was it?”

“Yes,” Cas says, and after a long pause, he sighs. As if reluctantly, he looks up at Dean, “there’s talk among the angels,” he says, eyes shifting over to you, “about you.”

“What? Why?” Dean jumps in protectively.

Cas sighs, “I don’t know, but they’re... very worried. They said I’m the only one to prevent you from making any mistakes.”

“What kind of mistakes?”

“I can’t say,” Cas admits, shaking his head.

“What do you mean you can’t say, Cas? You can’t just bring something like that up, and not tell us what you’re talking about!” Sam butts in.

Cas’ eyes soften, he switches his gaze between you and Dean before looking back at the carpet, “all I’m permitted to say is,” he looks down into his hands, “many eons ago, your souls were once one. That person was adamant about achieving the highest point of spiritual development, but there is a limit, an amount too great for a single human to possess. Upon your death, the soul was split in two. Dean, you have one half and Y/N has the other,” he says, looking up at Dean. His voice lowers, “your souls have been searching for each other ever since, and now that you’re reunited,” he sighs, “it has the potential to kill both of you, or others,” he says, eyes flitting up at Sam as if he’s the only one with a voice of reason, “many lives are at stake here,” he says, practically begging.

“Okay,” you plop down onto the bed, and focus on the wall beside you, “why should be believe you?”

His eyes meet yous, “when the two halves make union, they feel as though they’ve known each other their whole lives. They are in tune with each other, can read each other’s minds,” you and Dean share a wide eyed glance, “metaphorically speaking, of course,” Cas adds.

You awkwardly chuckle, “metaphorically, right.”

Cas presses his eyebrows down with a slight tilt of his head, “yes, metaphorically.” Standing, he continues, “the person you used to be was in search of answers to things that cannot be answered, and the angels feared that your union would lead to the search of those once again. They’ll be hunting for you,” he focuses his attention onto Dean, “and they won’t let anything get in their way, nor stop, until they find you.”

“Why?” you ask in a shaky voice, fidgeting with your hands. He doesn’t answer, though he doesn’t need to. You feel it deep down, the ‘why’. It’s why all these people are after you, after Dean. It’s why they wanted the two of you to meet. There are no missing people, it was all just a ploy to get you two to come together. “Looks like you were right, Sam,” you say bitterly, tears in your eyes as you meet his sorrowful gaze.

The boys jump in with their ‘what ifs’ and ‘how abouts’, and you ignore everything, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind you.

Dean, following quickly behind you, puts his hands on your arm, pulling you towards him to keep you from pacing. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“’What’s wrong’, Dean?” you scoff, “did you go deaf? Were you listening to anything he said in there,” you bark. “All of it is wrong. This is just... the fate of the world is literally sitting in our hands, and that has ‘bad idea’ written all over it.”

“This isn’t the first time Sam and I have dealt with something like this, and you know what? Everything turned out okay.”

“No, you know what? Sam was exactly right,” you spit. “We’re just a danger to ourselves and others.”

“No, come on. You don’t really believe all that, do you?” Both of his hands are on your arms now, forcing your body to face him.

“Yes, and so do you, Dean, because deep down, you feel it,” you sigh, “you can’t keep things from me.” A tear slips down your cheek.

“I don’t deny that,” he says, tightly turning the corner of his lips down. “But I’m also not gonna deny how I feel about you, Y/N. How I’ve never felt this way for another person before and you’re out of your freakin’ mind if you think we’re just gonna give this up because of a little bump in the road.”

Pointing a finger at him, “and you’re out of yours if you think I’m putting lives at risk for love,” you tap a foot and fold your arms.

“So, what? You’re just done with everything now?”

You press your lips together, trying everything you can to keep the tears from coming down. A few slip by, and you quickly wipe them away with your fist, “I think so,” you say, without looking him in the eyes.

“You’re just gonna leave all over again?”

You nod, turning away.

“Yeah, Y/N, just keep running from all of your problems, and expect them to solve on their own. News flash; they won’t,” he shouts. When you turn to face him, he points a finger at you, his face is pressed together. “Must be real nice to think ‘gee, this isn’t goin’ the way I want it to, better just give up!’ Well, that’s not how life works, sweetheart!” The veins in his neck protrude as he yells, “I would give anything to live a normal life, but I’m not the person to just give up when shit gets tough.”

You step towards him, “don’t you dare come at me like you’re mister ‘never have I ever had a weak moment’. I’m not giving up, I’m not running away. I’m trying to make a decision, a difficult decision, that will save lives, not take them.”

“So this is it, then?” he says, eyes full of defeat.

You give a small nod, and he rolls his eyes, pushing open the door of the room while keeping his squinted eyes on you. “Sam. Get Y/N’s bag, she’s leaving.”

Coming to the door, Sam’s face drops and his eyes widen, “what? Y/N, why?”

“It’s final, Sam, her mind is made up,” he says, glaring at you before pushing himself through Cas and Sam to walk back into the room.

You feel a pang in your chest watching him walking away.

“You can’t just leave, Y/N,” Sam begs.

“I can, and I’m going to. It’s for the best.”

Cas rests a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam looks up at him as he nods, “she’s right,” Cas looks back at you, “you’re making the right decision, Y/N.”

Next Chapter

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areluctantsblog · 5 years

Text

21 & legal

This old edit finally got a fic 😉 Hope y'all enjoy it.

***

“What are you doing here,” Tony asks, surprised.

Peter is sitting at the kitchen counter playing with a beer bottle. He takes a sips and answers with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“I decided to move the party here. But,” he adds in mock concern “it seems that no one else got the memo.”

He manages to keep on his worried expression for a few more seconds before grinning widely at Tony.

“You know, it’s legal now…”

Tony gulps. Even though Peter waved the beer bottle towards him to indicate his meaning, the double entendre is impossible to miss.

“So, all the others are waiting for you somewhere?” Tony asks, voice hoarse as he starts walking to the sofa. He’s found out long ago that he can’t walk away from Peter Parker.

“I guess… Were you getting ready?” Peter gives him a blatant once-over.

“Yeah,” Tony nods evasively. “Yeah, I was about to start…” he trails off, but when he lifts his gaze, there’s mischief in his eyes. “Maybe I should,” he says in the most serious tone he can pull off, “I mean the others are bound to notice the message you left them and start showing up here…”

Peter doesn't respond but hops down from the stool with a smirk and turns to rummage through his backpack.

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about that," he replies turning to face Tony and showing him the bottle of single malt scotch he brought. "Want some?"

"Sure, you've got some top shelf stuff there."

Tony has no idea where Peter’s confidence is coming from, but he’s oozing it, and it leaves Tony completely baffled. It feels nothing like their usual tête-à-têtes. Peter walks across the room with a glass for Tony. He hands it to him and pours some whisky, then goes back to sit on the stool behind the counter. Tony raises his glass.

“Happy birthday, kid.”

Peter gives him a piercing stare before raising his glass, and it’s enough to tell Tony what Peter thinks of that nickname. Tony gets it. He nods to signal his understanding. Peter doesn’t comment on it and they enjoy their drinks in silence for a few minutes.

“Since I can do it legally now, I was thinking about playing a drinking game,” Peter says after finishing his whisky. “I was thinking about truth or dare or never I have I ever…”

“Truth or dare is not even a drinking game,” Tony inserts, though that is the least of his problems right now.

“Hmm, you're right,” Peter concedes, and he appears to be deep in thought. “So, let's turn it into one,” he offers brightly. “Are you game?”

Tony doesn’t reply instantly, and Peter doesn’t really seem to want an answer, because he goes on without waiting for him to say anything.

“Shall I decide? Nah, let’s, um, let me see…” he muses. “Here, I’ll spin this bottle,” he says picking up the beer bottle he emptied earlier, “and if it points more towards you, it’s truth or dare, if it points more towards me, it’s never have I ever.”

Peter grins and spins the bottle. His expression shows excitement and an innocent, genuine curiosity. Tony can’t tear his eyes from Peter. He doesn’t care about the bottle. He knows that whatever result this little game will yield, he’ll be able to read it from Peter’s expression. Honestly, he can’t imagine a scenario where those soft dark eyes don’t light up at the end of this and it frightens Tony. He tells himself that he stares at Peter in search of some sort of clue as to what is happening between them, but deep down in his guts he knows exactly what they are inching towards. It fills him with hotness and dread in equal measures.

Then, the bottle stops spinning. It points straight at Tony. If it was another game, they would… but it isn’t, and Tony mustn’t let it go that way. A bright smile spreads on Peter's face as he keeps looking at the bottle for another couple of seconds before raising his gaze to meet Tony’s.

“It’s truth or dare.”

“So it is,” Tony agrees, voice hoarse. “What are the rules?”

Peter tilts his head while he thinks. It’s an agonizingly good look on him. When he bites his lower lip, an apparently unconscious gesture, Tony nearly groans. It’s a relief when Peter starts talking, even though Tony still can’t look away from his lips.

“Well, let’s play truth or dare, but if one of us lies or denies answering or doing what he’s asked, then he has to drink.”

Tony nods. “I’m going to need a refill for this,” he says raising his empty glass.

“Planning on bailing?” Peter smirks before hopping down from his stool and walking over to him. Tony doesn’t answer. He’s well and truly fucked. He either plays along with what promises to be a very dirty game or takes the risks of getting drunk in the company of Peter Parker. He’d like to groan, his distress deepening when Peter stands very close above him. He refills his glass, eyes never leaving Tony’s. Afterwards, Peter lingers for a few seconds. His gaze is intent and open. He doesn’t try to hide anything.

Once back to the counter, Peter speaks. If he’s nervous he’s hiding it perfectly. But why would he be? All he’s doing is having a birthday celebration with his mentor and fellow Avenger. It's possible that there is no hidden meaning behind any of this...

“It’s my birthday, so I’ll start, shall I?” This time, he waits for an answer. Tony is too lost in his eyes to speak – and he wouldn’t trust his voice, anyway – so he just nods. “Truth or dare, Tony?” comes the question that somehow seems to be his death sentence. But he’s being ridiculous. He can play it safe.

“Truth,” he manages. His heart is hammering against his ribs.

“What are you feeling right now?” Peter asks, utterly without mercy.

Tony huffs, baffled. “I’m sort of confused… Yeah, because I don’t really know what’s happening here…”

“Tony,” Peter interrupts. “I’m going to need the truth here.” He scolds him like a fucking child. And why does this send a shiver down Tony’s spine? “Also, drink up. It’s punishment,” he adds with a wink.

Tony gulps down his whiskey in one swallow because god, he needs it.

“Okay, so I may have a fairly good idea about what you might want to happen here – and I’m terrified.” The ‘of my desires’ goes unsaid, but Peter looks like he gets it. He walks silently to Tony, refills his glass, then returns to the counter.

“Your turn to ask.”

“Truth or dare, Peter?”

“Truth.”

Tony knows he can’t hide his relief.

“What are you doing?” he asks, half pleading, begging Peter to keep it light, casual, not sexual and asking for an explanation of how their carefully constructed denial has turned into this.

“That’s a hard one,” Peter muses. “I’m doing so many things. Sitting here, playing with my glass, looking at you, talking. Now I’m… taking a sip,” he whispers into his glass,” hm…” he moans, “savouring, swallowing, burning with it, enjoying it… How long do you want me to go on?” he asks, tilting his head.

Tony groans and shakes his head. “It was quite enough,” he manages, though his throat is tight and he’s unable to meet Peter’s eyes.

Peter, however, doesn’t give him time to pull himself together.

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Tony answers, resigned. Not giving Peter a dare seems to be his last desperate attempt at keeping the situation safe. Of course, he could refuse even then, but once any of those words are spoken out loud there is no way he can unhear them and Tony picks his battles. Resisting Peter Parker when he tells him to do something dirty is not one Tony thinks he could win.

Peter hums thoughtfully before speaking.

“Tell me, when were you more turned on: when you listened to me getting off in the locker room showers at the compound or when I answered your call while getting head?”

Peter’s words knock the breath out of Tony. His vision blurs, his face burns up, his limbs go numb. It feels like falling, the abyss swallowing him as his last foothold crumbles. For a long time now, Tony’s been past denying his desires or wishing them away – neither got him any relief –, but he’s been also resigned never to act on them. And now here he is, called out by Peter not only on having such desires, but on having already acted on them.

His immediate reaction would have been to deny, but it’s impossible. And also, after all this time, there is finally a sense of relief. His heartbeat is slowly returning to normal and instead of paralysing him, the numbness in his limbs give him the sensation of being high. He is. High on Peter, high on the terrifying reality of the present, high on taking each step blindly through the unknown.

“The shower,” he says eventually, and something disappears from his voice. Some frequency he wasn’t aware of, the undertone of denial, restraint and shame. He sounds naked without it, just as naked as he feels. His perception is back to normal, and Tony registers Peter letting out the breath he was holding. For all his confidence, it must have been terrifying, going all in. He couldn’t have lost, though. Tony knows it and so does Peter, he thinks.

“You prefer me alone, do you?”

Tony shrugs, feeling a smirk tug at his lips. “You said it.”

They are both grinning now.

“My turn?” Tony asks. He’s still dizzy, but not upset anymore. It’s the reckless confidence of a high that gives the illusion of control, and no matter how many reasons he could bring up against it, Tony goes with it.

“Dare me” Peter replies, his tone as easy as his smile.

“Come here,” Tony says. The false sense of innocence still lingers, but the two simple words discard it like a sheet after the thing it was covering has been revealed.

Peter grabs his glass and the bottle before walking over to Tony. He sits down, so close to him that their thighs and shoulders are touching. Tony turns to look at him but doesn’t say anything. Peter is at ease. He knows that he doesn’t have to push anything anymore. His plan has worked out fine and Tony has given in.

They trust each other deeply. Always have, but it has evolved over the years. Even though they are in unchartered territory now, their connection seems to be intact. Tony smiles at Peter. He smiles back, unguarded and otherworldly happy.

“That was the first time, you know,” Tony offers.

“Really? You were more restrained than me, then. But I get it, of course,” Peter assures.

“I don’t really want to know when you started to get off to me,” Tony admits.

“Fair enough,” Peter laughs, carding his fingers through his curls. “May I still be curious about how you get off to me?” he asks, turning towards Tony. This way they are no longer flush against each other, but Peter’s knee rests on Tony’s thigh. Somehow, it’s even more intimate, but the distance helps Tony form words.

“I don’t really do it. The shower was the first slip up. Then… after the phone call we went on a mission, so I guess only you got off that day.”

“It was your voice that did it for me,” Peter admits, pupils dilating, lips glossy with saliva and whiskey.

“Not helping, kid,” Tony hisses through gritted teeth. Peter gives him a stare, and it’s all Tony can do not to devour him then and there.

“There was just one other time,” Tony goes on, hoping that it’s at least half as torturing for Peter as it is for him. “I dreamt of you. Woke up from it and just couldn’t resist. You had a boyfriend then. And you were off to uni… Well,” he gulps, “the rationalisation helped me to a blinding orgasm, but it’s effects didn’t last until next morning.”

He remembers feeling guiltier than ever before. He realised that if he had started imagining Peter, no one and nothing could ever stop him again. And it would have ruined everything. He wouldn’t have been able to look at Peter the same way as before. Their relationship would have been contaminated by the disease of his desire and Tony didn’t want it. He wanted to keep Peter’s image pure.

“I’ve come to say that it’s okay,” Peter says, taking Tony’s hand. His voice is gentle, yet serious.

Tony huffs, incredulous, but he finds himself believing that Peter really feels that way.

“It really is okay for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Peter replies simply.

Tony hums in response. They hold each other’s gaze and Tony catches himself caressing the back of Peter’s hand with a thumb. He suddenly feels vertiginous. Even though he can’t even begin to comprehend the full depth of Peter’s words, they mean the world to him. Peter smiles down at their locked hands before pulling it away and poking at Tony’s shoulder playfully.

“Wanna continue playing?”

Tony is grateful for the topic change. He knows he needs to sort out his guilt, but it’s too much to do all in one go. “Okay, dare me,” he replies, his tone light, hoping that his eyes convey his gratitude.

“Tell me about your dream.”

“Isn’t that a truth?” Tony teases.

Peter shrugs. “Maybe. You can show it, too, if you want.”

Tony shakes his head, but smiles.

“Not much to show, really. It was a busy dream, I was travelling in the city, up and down. It was in some warehouse, dark and dingy, that I saw you lying on a bed. You might have been naked, but the sheets covered you. It was a camp-bed and you were dozing. So close, it would have been the easiest thing to touch you. It was so easy to imagine when I woke that you might look like that when you are spent.”

It’s only when Peter touches his hand and whispers a gentle ‘hey’ to him that Tony notices the tears in his eyes. He shakes his head and tries to blink them away.

“I swear it was sexier in the dream,” he promises, voice breathy and weak. Peter remains silent but doesn’t let go of his hand.

“It’s been so fucking difficult,” Peter says after a long moment. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Tony chuckles. “For being young?”

“For not hiding my feelings,” Peter explains, but Tony’s glad to hear the uncertainty in his tone. The boy is not at fault here for anything and it would hurt him to hear real conviction behind his apology.

“I haven’t either,” Tony admits. “Don’t be sorry, Peter, you are all right, you’ve done nothing wrong, not ever.”

“Not to you, maybe” Peter whispers, hanging his head. Tony knows what – or rather who – Peter means.

“Was there anyone who you wanted for themselves?” he asks, dreading the answer.

“Yeah, yeah there was,” Peter replies after a long pause, but his tone is confident. “More than one. I didn’t want to use them, thinking about you. The phone call was a slip up for me, too. I even think I loved Andy, I had so many moments with him, you know, the little things. But it didn’t last, and then I couldn’t help thinking about you again, and I realised that…” his voice trails off.

Tony thinks he knows what Peter intended to say. They have those moments, too, he thinks. More than he cares to admit. Some with the group, some with Peter’s friends and family, some just the two of them and this AI or that. Recalling all the time he spent with Peter makes the warm bubble in his chest swell up. He shifts closer to Peter and pulls him into a clumsy half-hug. Peter leans into it. They breath more deeply like this. It’s relief again. Another heavy weight has been lifted from Tony’s heart.

When Peter turns his head and kisses his neck, Tony is not surprised. It’s nothing more than a peck and Tony can’t help the suspicion that Peter still tries to reassure him. He moves his hand up Peter’s back and neck to card his fingers through his hair. Peter’s lips still rest against his skin, and Tony can feel him smile. Tony sighs. He’s been wanting to do this for so long, it makes him wonder for how long they have been this close without showing it with anything but silence. It must have been years.

Suddenly, Tony’s stomach clenches with worry again. What if Peter is still too young to give his consent? Can it ever be okay after the way it started? Peter was of age when Tony first noticed his attraction to him, but the question never really went away. What if? What if it was there before? What if it lay there somewhere deep inside him even before? It’s Tony’s worst fear. His biggest shame. How can he give in now, if he cannot be sure, one hundred percent sure?

He can taste the bitterness of too many lonely nights when he was sitting where he is now and was wondering about the same thing. It’s been years… He startles when Peter puts his hand on his chest. It’s warm and caring. Tony can tell that Peter is looking at him, so he slowly raises his gaze, too.

“Hey,” Peter whispers. “Come back here. It’s all right. I came to you. I’m twenty-one, independent, free. Not an over-enthusiastic, hero-worshipping teenager. Not an inexperienced, impressionable boy. You aren’t taking advantage, Tony. You’ve kept your distance and you did good. You gave me space, a chance to grow up. And I’m here now and there’s no reason anymore not to be…” He goes silent, looking deep into Tony’s eyes.

“So many reasons,” Tony whispers, cupping Peter’s face – to pull him closer or to push him away, he’s not sure.

“There used to be, in the past,” Peter affirms.

“Are you sure?” Tony breathes, on the verge of tears. He’s lived alone for so many long decades and the one who made him come alive is literally at arm’s reach. But if it’s wrong, if it is still wrong, Tony will resist. He loves Peter too much to do otherwise. If he gets nothing more than these fleeting minutes, it will have still been worth it. He moves his thumb down Peter’s jaw. He’s so beautiful like this.

“Yes,” comes Peter’s reply. Tony can see tears well up in his eyes, too, despite his firm voice and determined expression.

Tony lifts his other hand and traces the line of Peter’s cheek in the air before caressing him, pushing the stray curls out of his face. He feels Peter melt into his touch. After a moment Peter reaches up to stroke Tony’s forehead, smoothing away his frown. Tony hums gratefully.

“You sure?” he asks eventually.

“Absolutely,” Peter nods, a bright smile lighting up his face. Tony can’t help but mirror him.

Then, finally, Tony starts leaning towards Peter. He searches his face for any sign of hesitation, but he sees none. When their noses brush against each other and their breathes mix, Tony pauses. He’s overwhelmed by all the different sensations. He’s hot and dizzy, emotional and turned on, tentative and hungry. But when Peter closes the distance between them, all else disappears. All Tony can feel now is the soft pressure of lips on his, the first taste of Peter’s tongue, the scrape of his fingers on his scalp, teasing and drawing him closer.

Tony gives in. He’s never been more willing. Peter is the centre of his universe, has been for years. He wants to love him like no one else before. Give him everything and more, love him, cherish him, make him feel how perfect he is for Tony.

Tony pushes his thumb along Peter’s jawline and hums in satisfaction at the moan it elicits from Peter. However, when instinct would make him draw Peter into his lap, Tony pulls back. Peter is beautiful, lips red, eyes unfocused as he opens them again, hand stroking the side of Tony’s neck as he brings it down to rest it on his arm. Tony takes his time to admire the perfection that is before him, but also looks for traces of disappointment or regret.

He sees none. Peter practically purrs as Tony is caressing his face. It looks for a second like Peter is going to say something, but in the end, he just draws Tony into a hug. Once again, Tony feels relief spread through his body. Peter burying his face in the crook of his neck, him holding Peter as tightly as he can – it feels that something is set right in the universe.

They stay like this for a long while, Tony moving a gentle hand across Peter’s back. With every passing second, he feels more comfortable with their intimacy. He traces every muscle of Peter’s back, the line of his spine, the bare skin of his neck. He’s allowing himself not only to touch, but to take him in through every one of his senses.

Tony’s breath hitches when he feels Peter’s tongue on his neck. The boy is kissing him, slowly, sensually and with intent. Peter’s breath is hot, it teases Tony madly, making him shudder. This time he doesn’t resist to move. He turns towards Peter and lays him down on the sofa, lingering above him, holding him close by a hand on the back of his head.

At first Peter is all gasps and moans, but then he surprises Tony by pushing him back. Peter doesn’t leave him any time to worry though, as he moves swiftly to straddle Tony. However, he doesn’t lower himself but towers over Tony, cupping his face with both hands and leaning in for a deep, sensual kiss that dissolves the last of Tony’s restraint and leaves him with an aching hard-on.

Tony hears himself let out a deep groan and Peter hum appreciatively when he finally lowers himself to Tony’s crotch. When Peter slides back to go for Tony’s neck again, the friction makes Tony cry out. He grasps Peter’s hips to guide his movement, but Peter resists. He breaks off the kiss and pull Tony’s head back by his hair. He looks Tony in the eye before whispering “Patience.” Tony is trembling beneath him, but Peter doesn’t relent. He traces the line of Tony’s lips and jaw with the tip of his tongue before returning his attention to his neck, remaining completely still.

Tony is soon reduced to a whimpering mess. When he can’t take the teasing anymore, he brings his arms around Peter, pulling him flush against his chest and bucks his hips upwards. Peter lets out a low chuckle and flicks his tongue into Tony’s ear. “You’re right… We’ve been patient for long enough,” he says and grinds down on Tony, kissing him hard. It’s nothing like before. It’s more demanding, almost feral, all teeth and grunts as they rock their bodies together.

When they look into each other’s eyes the next time, they are both breathless and dishevelled. They need a pause, but they can’t keep their hands off each other. Tony’s fingers wander up Peter’s spine beneath his shirt. Peter lets his eyes fall shut for a second, enjoying the skin on skin contact, but then he opens them again and Tony sees them light up with mischief.

“Truth or dare?” Peter asks.

“My… Are we still playing?” Tony groans, trailing a nail over Peter’s shoulder blade.

Peter gasps into his answer. “We’ve only just begun.”

Tony grins, spreading his fingers on the small of Peter’s back, pulling him close. He practically breathes his reply into Peter’s mouth. “Dare me.”

Peter’s smirk tells Tony that it was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Take off the one piece of clothing that’s the most uncomfortable right now.”

“Just the one, huh?”

“You heard,” Peter nods. He leans close to Tony’s ears and adds, “Don’t be greedy,” before pulling his earlobe between his teeth.

Tony hisses in pleasure but manages to get the words out. “Lean back, then.”

He sees surprise flashing across Peter’s face when he reaches for the hem of his T-shirt. “Are you sure?” he asks, bucking his hip forward, rubbing on Tony’s hard cock.

“Quite,” Tony assures, brushing his knuckles over Peter’s nipple and delights in the needy moan that falls from his lips at that.

Once he got rid of the shirt, Tony makes Peter rise up again. His face is level now with Peter’s chest. However, before moving in to kiss him, he pauses, lingering mere millimetres from him, his stubbles brushing against Peter from time to time. Tony tears his eyes off Peter’s body to look up at him. Peter looks back, eyes hazy, lips parted, breathing fast. “Is it okay?” Tony asks, pulling his lip gently over Peter’s nipple as he speaks.

Peter’s eyes fall shut and instead of any coherent answer he grabs Tony’s hair and pulls him flush against his own chest. Tony hums in satisfaction as his tongue begins to tease Peter’s nipple. He reaches up to brush his thumb over the other one and he’s surprised when Peter clutches his arm to keep himself steady. He’s trembling and bucking his hip forward to find friction. Tony pushes his arm between his legs, reaches up and puts his hands on his buttocks to hold him in place.

Peter’s movements become more erratic and his moans more desperate with every passing second. He cries out when Tony bites down on his nipple before moving on to the other. Tony trails his hand down is buttocks in response. “You are making me drunk,” he hisses, licking his way across Peter’s chest. To his surprise, Peter replies this time. His eyes fly open and he leans back.

At first Tony thinks he said something wrong, but then he sees Peter reaching for the whiskey bottle. He pulls off the cork with his teeth and pours some on his chest. Tony watches the golden liquid trail down Peter’s ivory skin with wide eyes, before lowering his head and kissing it off his chest. He licks all the way up to Peter’s collarbone and bites down on it. Peter gasps, then takes a sip from the bottle.

“Give me a taste,” Tony asks, going for a kiss, but Peter stops him with a finger on his lips, pushing him back. Tony’s mouth falls open in surprise. Peter wets his finger on the inside of his lower lip before pushing it into his own mouth – all the while looking straight into Tony’s eyes. Then, he offers his index to Tony, who takes it in a heartbeat, licking the whisky off it and suckling on it eagerly.

When he hears Peter moan, Tony takes the bottle from him. He pours some more whisky on him, then moves to clean it up. When he can’t reach Peter’s lower abdomen with his lips, he decides to wipe him off with his hand. He trails his thumb along the soaked hem of Peter’s jeans, then offers it for the boy to suck. And god, he does – so eagerly as if he’s never tasted anything better.

The way he flicks his tongue and hollows his face holds the most delicious promise. Tony is surprised at how easily he accepts these new images, but then all thoughts are blown from his mind when Peter starts licking his palm and pushing the tip of his tongue between his fingers. He moves to take in Tony’s middle and index finger deeply and makes the dirtiest sounds while he’s at it.

Tony cards his fingers through Peter’s hair and pulls him back and away from his hand.

“Truth or dare?” he rasps and notes with a satisfied smirk how Peter’s gaze flicks down towards his crotch before he looks Tony in the eyes.

“Dare,” Peter almost whimpers. His little game has affected him as much as it has Tony.

“Then,” Tony begins, pulling Peter close and kissing the juncture of his neck, “I dare you,” he goes on, licking his way up Peter’s jaw, “to do the same thing,” he whispers with a flick of his tongue into Peter’s ear, “to my cock,” he finishes pulling Peter back by the hair again. “Would you?” he adds, signalling that Peter has a choice here, but praying that he doesn’t back out.

Judging by the keening whimpers that escape him, he won’t. Tony takes his cue and pushes Peter down to the floor, stretching his legs wide. It’s only as Peter’s eager mouth covers him over his pants that Tony realises what he has just asked for. There’s really no turning back from here. But maybe there doesn’t need to be. He looks down on Peter’s blissful expression, his eyes closed, his lips parted, a smile at the corner of his mouth. Tony cups his face. Peter opens his eyes.

“You sure, baby?” Tony asks.

Deft fingers run up his thighs and pull down his pants in response. Tony gasps. He stares down and he feels suddenly dizzy. He has never allowed his mind to conjure up this image: Peter, taking in his cock with his dark eyes, wetting his lips, ready to taste him, to pleasure him, to swallow his spend. Tony’s hips jerk upwards, but at that Peter pulls back, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. He reaches for the whiskey again.

“You said the same thing,” he explains unscrewing the bottle.

Tony gasps and watches as Peter coats his cock in amber liquid. His breath hitches when Peter touches him, his grasp feather light, stroking him gently, lovingly. At the sensation of Peter’s tongue, Tony cries out and throws his head back, eyes rolling back. He wanted to watch, wanted the image to burn into his mind forever, but he can’t. Peter is too good and the pleasure of it overwhelms Tony.

Peter hums and moans as he cleans his cock in long licks, sucking on his balls, teasing even his perineum with the tip of his tongue. Tony buries his fingers in Peter’s hair. He doesn’t need to guide him, he’s perfect on his own, but Tony wants to feel him this way, too. Peter, however, takes him by the wrist and pulls his hand away. He kisses Tony’s palm, then brings it to his cock.

“Show me how you like it,” he whispers.

This time Tony manages to open his eyes. He looks down at his own fingers wrapped tight around his cock and Peter with his mouth wide open, waiting for him to fuck his face. He grunts and nudges his tongue with his head, moaning at the sensation as Peter flicks it over his frenulum.

“You, Peter. I like the way you do it,” he gets out and releases his shaft to caress Peter’s face. “Do whatever you want.”

Peter’s eyes go wide at that. He takes Tony in his hand and scrambles up to kiss him with passion and something else that Tony doesn’t dare believe. Peter is so eager and ready for him. Tony wants to give everything to him, the most beautiful night he ever had–

At that thought, he feels a sudden, violent ache in his chest. What if, for Peter, it’s just that? A mind-blowing shag with the man he’s been eyeing for a long time? One night, a wild birthday celebration... Tony knows that he’s wrong and yet the fearful shame that comes with the idea is paralysing.

Peter stills almost immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” Tony begins, straightening up, not looking at Peter. “I can’t,” he manages, throat tight. He glances down at Peter and can’t bear the sight.

He stands up abruptly, almost knocking Peter to the ground, but he doesn’t stop to apologise. He can’t. If he spoke, he’d cry. He rushes to the window and looks out at the city. All he sees are blurry lights in the distance. They don’t matter. The only one that matters is behind him, getting to his feet and saying Tony’s name in a soft, confused voice. Tony shivers. He feels unable to turn around, but he knows he must. He focuses on the window and glimpses Peter’s reflection. His posture says he’s hurt. Tony can’t take it. He turns.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” he breathes. Peter steps closer, touching his arm.

“What is it?”

“I ca–” Fuck. This time, the tears won’t go away. “I can’t do it…” Peter’s eyes go wide. Tony needs to get out the rest of his sentence. “If it is just tonight, then I can’t.” There. He said it. He’s stupid, he’s being crazy, but now he needs Peter’s answer more than ever before.

“What?” Peter huffs. “Tony…” he says, stepping closer to him, cupping his face. “Oh, Tony…” Peter stares at him for a long moment. “I love you.”

Tony’s heart skips a beat. His whole body goes numb with shock and happiness. Peter keeps talking, but he can’t make sense of his words. He just stares at Peter, speechless, until he hears the other laugh.

“Did you hear anything I said?” Peter asks, pushing a few stray locks out of Tony’s face.

“Not after you said…” Fuck. Did he really say it?

“That I love you?”

Tony nods, then comes to his senses. “I love you, too, Peter. God, I love you so much!”

“That’s good,” Peter says with a wide smile. “Because I was just saying that I only held back on it before for fear of scaring you. But I want you, Tony Stark, I want you tonight, tomorrow and every other day to come.”

His tears escape Tony in a laugh. He pulls Peter close and kisses him hard.

“Yes. Yes!” he pants into Peter’s mouth.

#starker #21 and legal #my first starker idea #a reluctant writes #mine

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voidendron · 4 years

Text

Deep Blue Sea: Ch 9

Chapter 9: Playing Hero Subnautica/JSE Egos Crossover

(( psst Jackie & Henrik is literally like my top favorite friendship in the fandom; they’ve just got a sour start for this AU ^^” ))

Warnings: Panic Attacks, Swearing, Drowning Characters: Jackieboy Man, Dr. Schneeplestein, Jameson Jackson POV: Jackieboy Man

Jackie was right over the medical officer’s lifepod. It was so far down…

He ducked his head under the water. His stomach twisted; he couldn’t see anything beneath him. It was pitch black down there.

You’ve got this, he assured himself. Get down to the medical officer. Hopefully he’s still alive down there. Okay, Jackie…now.

Diving straight down was disorienting as the water got darker. The pressure started increasing, forcing deeper breaths from him, making his oxygen levels tick lower faster than he’d have liked. He checked his PDA to make sure he was still going down instead of sideways, had to correct his course when he started swimming away from Pod Twelve.

“Detecting volcanic activity and several unusual electromagnetic signatures in the region. Exercise caution when diving deeper,” his PDA chirped.

…Volcanic activity?

His breath hitched when the ocean floor suddenly erupted with life: Glowing bulbs, a volcanic vent, electric…eels? When the vent went off, the very water itself seemed to come alive with movement around him. The dark water had parted to make room for plantlife and creatures he never could have imagined, the depths keeping them hidden until he was right on top of them.

It was so vastly different from where Seven had landed with its murky water, towering pillars, and honestly? Jackie thought it looked so…dead. It was just sand and Bonesharks.

The two areas weren’t even that far from each other. He couldn’t understand how the seabed had taken such a drastic, lively change in this area.

As much as he wanted to ponder, his PDA chirped a warning for his oxygen levels. The lifepod was right there, it was still giving off light from the inside. He peered in through the top hatch, tapped it with his remaining flare.

Movement from inside. There was water at the bottom of the pod; it was discolored with blood. The occupant had been injured.

Jackie tapped again; the figure inside jolted, tripped over himself in a scramble to both look up through the hatch and curl closer to the side of the pod. The medical officer’s eyes widened when he noticed that Jackie was indeed human and not one of the alien creatures.

Getting the hatch to open was a struggle. He didn’t want too much water to get in and the officer didn’t move to help. The end of his unlit flare ended up snapping off when he was forced to use that for leverage, but it at least held long enough for him to get inside; one of the eels slammed into the hatch the moment it closed above him. He yelped, slipping off the ladder and falling into the shallow water at the bottom.

The officer still hadn’t budged. Jackie could smell sweat and the older man was trembling, breathing rapidly.

Slipping off his mask, Jackie crouched at the other man’s side. “Easy,” he soothed. He had to tear his eyes away from the man’s shredded ankle to meet his gaze. All security personnel had been trained to deal with panic and anxiety attacks, but this had to be the first that Jackie had actually needed to put that training into action. “Breathe with me, okay?”

In.

Out.

“There ya go. Keep breathin’.”

The medical kit was in the water, everything spilled out. There were two fish laying there; one looked dead, the other diseased. The supplies would be contaminated. Wonderful. Jackie hadn’t brought the one from Seven. The officer’s coat was thin, though; he could use the broken part of his flare to make a tear in it. It would have to work for bandages until they could get to a lifepod with a stocked med kit.

Now that he was in a (mostly) dry pod, Jackie was realizing how heavy his hoodie was as water dripped from it. The sopping material stuck to his arms when he tugged it off. It nearly took his glasses with it to be tossed in a corner to be forgotten. His tank top was old and grungy, and he didn’t like that his arms were bare, but he’d rather that than the red hood weigh him down at the wrong time. Or better yet, be a nice handle for one of those creatures to latch onto.

“Who are..?” The medical officer’s breathing had steadied. He was wiping sweat from his brow when Jackie met his eyes again.

“Jackie. You’re uh…Schnee…Schneeplestine, right?”

“Steen,” he corrected. “Schn-neeplestein, yes.” He winced as he shifted and grabbed at his ankle. “Th-that red fish. A scan—does it say is venomous?”

Gaze shifting to the dead fish, Jackie grabbed blindly for the scanner he’d connected at his hip opposite the PDA. No, not venomous, and he answered as such. Schneeplestein sagged with relief.

“Give me your coat. All we can do right now is wrap your leg, and you’re gonna have to settle for usin’ that.”

If things weren’t so serious, Jackie would have let himself feel surprised at how differently the doctor was built from what he’d expect from someone in the position as he shrugged off the coat. Schneeplestein was tall and broad; he looked like he could break a person, not fix them up. Instead, at the back of his mind, Jackie hoped the guy was as strong as he looked. Would be real damn helpful out there.

The thin coat was like tissue paper. The broken end of his flare easily tore a hole in it, and from there his bare hands effortlessly tore it into wide strips.

“Gonna need stitches?”

“Ah…yes, y-yes.”

Jackie helped the other man to the ladder. “How are you at swimming?”

“I can swim perfectly fine.” Was that defensiveness? He couldn’t blame the guy, honestly; he’d found Schneeplestein in the midst of a panic attack. That’s…pretty damn vulnerable.

“Well, mind if I uh…” Jackie glanced at the Seaglide resting against the storage compartment. Jeez did he wish Seven had been equipped with one of those. “I can’t very—”

“How did you get down here if you cannot swim..?”

“Can’t swim well,” he corrected. Then he scratched the back of his neck. “Uh. Lots of floundering and PDA-reminders…”

“…You are going to die out there,” Schneeplestein muttered.

“Says the guy who would’ve hyperventilated ‘til his pod ran outta air.” Jackie flicked the meter matter-of-factly; it had fallen close to the red already. He’d guess there was also a leak somewhere for it to have ticked down so low already.

Waiting for the pod to slowly fill seemed to take so much longer than it had in Seven. Then again, he didn’t have a cranky officer getting snippy with him when he’d left his own pod. Jackie just had to remind himself that the attitude was warranted. This was no time to be happy-go-lucky, and maybe the guy acted more civil when his life wasn’t on the line. Don’t be too upset with him, he reminded himself.

The pod finally filled and two made their dash to get away from the eels.

An agonizingly slow ascent to the surface. The doctor would periodically grab for his ankle with a wince or sharp outtake of air that forced bubbles from his mask (a hiss, if Jackie was to guess); the salt water had to feel great on that wound. Ouch. He was a good swimmer, though. Even with the Seaglide, Jackie had a hard time keeping up. It was hard to balance the thing when he had a broken flare in one hand and kept grabbing for his PDA with the other.

Schneeplestein was looking at coordinates, pointing out a pod that would be on the way to the nearest floating one. Okay, looked like Seventeen would be their next stop.

Surfacing, both pushing their masks up, the officer pointed in the direction of Seventeen. “Is not far now,” he panted. They’d been swimming at an angle toward Seventeen and up at the same time. They could see sand and red grass beneath them now.

Jackie changed his grip on the Seaglide after both pushed their masks back down, let their oxygen refill, and went back under.

A part of the ship had broken away and settled to the seabed. He couldn’t tell what area it was, not now that it lay torn apart and the entrances nowhere in sight. In the near distance them, the shape of Lifepod Seventeen stood out among the grass.

A shape was swimming frantically some way away from them, but their fight was slowly dying.

Jackie gestured wildly to the survivor. The drowning survivor.

Both men took off toward them.

It was Schneeplestein to get to the survivor first; their fight had stopped by then. They didn’t so much as twitch in the officer’s grasp as the man held them around the waist with one arm and kicked for the surface.

When they surfaced, Jackie recognized the man. JJ! It was the cafe owner!

The doctor looked lost. “I…I need solid ground! We need to get him to Five!”

“Goddamn—he’s already suffocating! Do something!”

“I do not know what to do in open water! He needs to be laid down!”

“Do the—the—Heimlich, that’s what it’s called, right?”

“Is for solid objects that are choked on—”

“Just try it—”

“He would only swallow it again—”

“He’s drowning anyway—”

“He needs CPR, not—”

“Do it, Doctor!”

“We are getting him to Five and that is final.”

Jackie grit his teeth. He could see Pod Five bobbing in the distance.

The question was if they could even reach it in under six minutes; Jameson’s PDA was already giving off trills of alarm that its owner needed immediate medical attention.

Schneeplestein changed his grip and made a beeline for Five.

#fanfic #jacksepticeye #jackieboy man #dr. schneeplestein #jameson jackson #deep blue sea #dbs ch9 #subnautica crossover #blitz indites #panic attacks /#swearing /#drowning /

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lilbabychilton · 5 years

Text

Charitable Giving- Frederick Chilton

Chilton x Male Reader

Tags: Smut

Word Count: 1,562

Notes: Commission request. Ya girl droppin some smut into the world after the 2k18 tiddy ban.

It was Saturday evening and your best friend, Adrian, had dragged you to one of their boring charity auctions. If the event was actually about charity you wouldn’t have minded it so much. But you knew exactly where the funds were going. They’d probably end up giving 30% of what they raised to elephant preservation or whatever; and the rest would go towards buying them a new yacht.

Today was more about networking, and rubbing elbows with the rich and obnoxious than helping those in need. You loosened the tie around your neck and said a silent prayer; thanking whatever Gods would listen that the invite said ‘Semi Formal’ and you didn’t have to stuff yourself in that awful tux Adrian had gotten you a few years back.

You were hanging around the bar making light conversation while your eyes scanned the room. The same people always showed up to every function. You watched as Adrian talked with every guest, no doubt milking them for all they were worth.

After a couple minutes of conversing with the bartender, as she refilled your drink you turned your attention to the door. Just as you contemplated calling a cab, a fresh face walked in. He was average height and dressed better than anyone else in the room. Your interest was piqued.

You stood up, straightened yourself out and walked over. The handsome stranger was making small talk with Adrian when you got there. Hanging back for a minute you listened in on their conversation.

The man was well spoken, and poised. You smiled to yourself as the two of them lightly engaged in a battle of accomplishments. The exchange was getting a bit heated when you decided to let yourself in. Though you had to admit you very much enjoyed watching Adrian try to keep their composure while getting red in the face.

“Hello” you said casually, looking towards your friend then letting your eyes flicker to their guest.

“Ah, yes. Hello.” Adrian greeted you, obviously relieved to have a conversational out. They placed their hand on your upper arm then continued, “This is my good friend (Y/N).”

“(Y/N) this is Doctor Frederick Chilton, he’s the General Administrator at BSCHI” Adrian went on, removing their hand from you to ghost it over the doctors back, as if touching him was the last thing they wanted to do.

“Impressive” you said behind a smirk, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“A pleasure indeed” Doctor Chilton replied, extending his hand for you to shake.

You took it graciously while carefully noting how firm yet soft his hand felt in yours. You imagined he used an absurdly expensive hand lotion. He had that air about him.

As you shook hands he sized you up. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out or trying to figure out what kind of competition you would be. Maybe it was a little of both.

“I’m sure you two have bunches in common” Adrian said with a forced smile, “I’ll leave you to chat.”

“Doctor Chilton,” you began “may I buy you a drink?”

“You may” he replied with a charming smile.

“What’s your drink?” You asked when you arrived at the bar.

“Mcallan, if you please.” He replied without missing a beat. His expensive taste didn’t surprise you, everyone here had that.

“Mcallan, neat.” You said to the bartender, deciding to indulge the man’s extortionate tastes. You would almost certainly get more out of investing in him tonight than you would in this sham of a charity.

The two of you chatted for a couple hours; flirting with each other shamelessly. You had to admit, he was unctuous and you could see why Adrian wasn’t all that fond of him. But you’ve always been a sucker for a good looking man in well-tailored clothes. Besides, you couldn’t quite the see a downside in a man that so eagerly aimed to please.

You hung back and watched as he made his way around the room. Outshining everyone he spoke with. He was apparently having a rather spectacular year. In between conversations he would look towards you. Eyeing you with a certain smugness in his gaze.

The last time he looked at you he maintained eye contact for a bit longer, then smiled, before heading off to the bathroom. You weren’t sure if he was signaling for you to join him, but you were eager to find out.

After making sure no one was watching, you slipped away to the bathroom. There you found Doctor Chilton, standing in front of the mirror with an expectant look.

“There you are” he started with a grin, “I was beginning to wonder if all that flirting was just for show.”

“Not at all” you replied, taking a step towards him as he turned to you, “I just wanted to keep you waiting.”

“Best not keeping me waiting too long.” He said, smiling coquettishly as he closed the distance between you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it” you replied, punctuating your statement with a fervid kiss.

Doctor Chilton responded to your passion eagerly. He kissed you back with the hunger of a man who doesn’t often get physical attention. He immediately started running his hands through your hair and pressing his chest to yours.

He whimpered as you bit his bottom lip. You smiled arrogantly into the kiss then let your hands travel down his back and settle on his ass. You gave him a firm squeeze and his hips ground into yours. His erection strained against his dress pants and pressed into your thigh.

His hands started to explore your body, leaving tingling trails of heat in their wake. He found purchase on your growing erection, smiled, then pulled away to look you in the eyes.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself.” He mused, lazily giving your cock a squeeze.

“But I could be enjoying myself so much more.” You replied letting your eyes flicker to his lips, then down to where his hand was languidly stroking you over your pants.

“Shall we see what I can do about that?” He asked bringing his lips back to yours. He trailed kisses from your mouth to your neck as his deft fingers unbuttoned your dress shirt.

From your chest down to your stomach he worshiped your body like a pagan at the altar. His kisses were warm and wet, every time he stopped to suck on your skin a shiver shot up your spine.

When his tongue grazed the skin just above your belt the hair on the back of your neck stood up. He stopped and looked up at you with devious green eyes. You smiled at him; your chest heaving and body alight with anticipation.

He groaned when you laced your fingers in his hair and pushed his face closer to your painfully hard cock. He unbuckled your belt agonizingly slowly, and then unzipped your pants, using just enough pressure to tease you as the zipper went down.

He took your erection into his firm, soft hands and slowly stroked it a few times. Then he used the pad of his thumb to spread your precum around the tip.

You closed your eyes with a sharp intake of breath and allowed yourself to enjoy the sensation. While your eyes were closed he licked a long stripe up the underside of your cock then swirled his tongue around the tip.

He took you into his mouth and your grip on his hair tightened. He seemed to like, and hummed with his lips wrapped around you. Two of his fingers moved to stroke your taint as he shallowly bobbed his head.

Instinctively your hips jerked forward and you could feel yourself hit the back of his throat. He gagged a bit, but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least. He happily kept on going, messaging your balls between his fingers as you quickly thrust in and out of his mouth.

You moaned when you felt one of his hands grip your ass. His nails lightly scratching at its tender skin making you shiver.

The warmth of his mouth was beginning to overwhelm you. His tongue was skillfully moving against you as he sucked and your thrusts started getting more sporadic.

“I’m gonna cum” you breathed, roughly pulling his head back.

“Cum on me” Frederick replied breathlessly, looking up at you with hungry, lustful eyes.

“With pleasure” you growled, expertly stroking yourself until you came with a muffled grunt. Spilling yourself onto Doctor Chilton’s face and mouth.

You steadied yourself on the counter behind you and watched Frederick greedily lick his lips as you caught your breath.

“You seem spent” Chilton observed smugly as he stood up and began to clean himself off in the mirror. “Perhaps you can return the favor another time.”

He proudly handed you his number once he was all cleaned up and you rolled your eyes.

“Best we leave separately” he said as you collected yourself, “wouldn’t want people to gossip.”

He threw you a wink as he sauntered out of the bathroom. You looked yourself over in the mirror and thought to yourself ‘the man has good reason to be boastful.’

As you left the bathroom you fiddled with the Doctor’s number in your pocket. Eager to give him a call and see what else he had in store.

If you liked this please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi ☕💙

#Frederick Chilton #Frederick Chilton x Reader #Frederick Chilton x Male Reader #Chilton x Reader #Chilton x Male Reader #Hannibal Fic #Chilton fic #Doctor Chilton #I don't fucking know what else to tag this as #Make My Yuletide GAY

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r-lath-ma-vhenan · 6 years

Photo

It started with the shift of air particles, pressing on eardrums with a silent sound: the volume of the small, banausic hospital room subtly increased, causing the pressure to imperceptibly weigh upon Briar’s foggy awareness. A brush of someone’s occupancy alerted the girl’s intuition, languidly dragging her from her drug-induced dormancy. Though the visitor was not touching her and she was barely mentally present, his omnipresence encompassed her aura, smothering it, dimming it. Claiming it. The torpid beep of the heart monitor gradually accelerated as slumber reluctantly unlatched its claws from her psyche. She was numb, temporarily extinguished from her faculties and it took a lot of willpower to find the strength to open her eyes. Lids peeled open, bleary vision slowly focusing on the mysterious figure.. Only to immediately feel the sinking, drowning feeling of regret. Despite the nasal tube wrapped across her face and sitting beneath her nose to provide her with oxygen, Briar felt like she was asphyxiating on the sight of Kyan Cavenaugh sitting in the cheap armchair across from her. The one who sent her here in the first place -- the one who broke her arm himself. His pale face was half lit from the cityscape glowing behind the sheer curtains of the window with no particular expression present. How long had he been there? How long did he watch her sleep, waiting for her to awaken with every ability to end it all right there? Even though her body was comatose, she could still feel the threatening prickle of goosebumps shift on her skin, making her want to crawl right out of her flesh as she met those unmistakable green eyes of inhuman apathy. The beeping of the heart monitor sped up. “Don’t.” His gloved hands slid along the armrests of the chair, almost possessive-like as if he were bizarrely interested in the upholstery. Then clutched the ends to pull himself up. He prowled forth in agonizingly slowness; the closer he got, the more she felt the weight of his presence. Briar tried to move, but the morphine in her system had her nearly paralyzed after her surgery. Her left arm was out of order with metal supporting her bones at the moment, giving her distal humerus fracture a foundation for healing before her second surgery to make the metal pins permanent. Her limb forever changed. There were so many things she wanted to say, to demand, to ask. Leave. Get away from me. What are you doing here? One of his mitts slipped into the pocket of his coat, only to reappear with a syringe clutched betwixt leather-clad fingers. So he wanted her awake while he did it. He wanted to see the life leave her eyes like the sicko he was. The disgust was vaguely written on her face and he must have read it there because he tsked in disapproval. “How disappointing.” His voice was icy cold. “Pl-..please.” She croaked, her voice still gravely from sleep. “For every syllable that you let out, I’ll destroy one thing you love,” With that, he smiled. The satisfied curl of his lips was so serene, even genuine -- the boy was honestly so pleased with himself. With the control he had over her and this twisted little game he played. “You can’t win.” She watched his gloved hands intently as they fiddled with the IV tubes, finding the injection port. After uncapping the syringe he brought, he plunged the needle into it and slowly pushed whatever it was into her system. This was it. She was going to die. “Morphine.” He cooed, as if knowing she was afraid that he was giving her something fatal. Happy to explain himself. “I’m going to visit you a few times a week, give you extra dosages. Do you like pain? People like that are called masochists. I’m doing you a favor. . . But you’ll develop a tolerance, wanting more and more and by the time you get sent home, you’ll be so itchy with the need to get high that you’ll compulsively abuse the medication the doctor prescribes. So what will you do when you run out before your next refill, hm? You’ll come to me, of course.” He removed the needle, capping the injection port and the syringe to put back into his pocket. “Because if you go to anyone else, if you tell anyone else, I’ll know and they’ll die. You don’t want their blood on your hands, do you? No.. you’re too weak for that. But who knows, you might become desperate.” Already she could feel the effects of the pain medication: drowsiness clawed at her consciousness. Her right hand, adorned with the IV atop it, shifted slow like molasses, turning over to raise one finger. Flipping him off as her eyes subtly crossed right before closing. Gone to the world. The last thing she heard was her slowing pulse on the heart monitor and Kyan’s icy laughter.

#bt:drabble #bt:writing #drabble #writing

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mercedesbarnes · 7 years

Text

H2O

Summary: You challenge Bucky not to laugh on your day off.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: fluff, humour of the pun kind

Word Count: 1,491

A/N: this is my first fic ever posted here! I’d love any feedback, comments, questions, etc. I’ve done this water challenge with friends, and let me tell you, it gets pretty crazy.

I hope you enjoy!

“Wait…explain it to me again.”

“It’s called the Water Challenge, you have to fill up your cheeks with water.“

“And then see how fast I can drink this whole thing?” Bucky held up the water pitcher. “Newsflash, doll, my bladder can only hold so much.”

You giggled. “No, you hold water in your mouth—I do it too, don’t give me that face—then we’ll try to make each other laugh. Whoever laughs and lets all the water fall out loses.”

“Where’d you find this?”

“Buzzfeed.”

“Of course it was Buzzfeed,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head slightly.

You were sitting crossed legged in the living room, movie cases strewn haphazardly on the coffee table and plates everywhere. The team had left for a quick two-day mission, leaving you and Bucky alone in the tower. It was something you relished in, loving how you had Bucky all to yourself. The two of you were best friends but recently your thoughts around him had taken a…different route. A more-than-friends route.

Taking the pitcher you filled both of the glasses with water and handed one to your opponent.

“But isn’t this better than another day filling out the paperwork Bruce left us?”

“True. And I get to spend it with you,” he said, poking your nose with his index finger. You could feel yourself blush, so you busied yourself with smoothing down the carpet.

Your lack of attention was a mistake. You yelped as he flicked his half-full glass at you. Mouth in a gaping ‘O’, you said, “I see how its going to be! What happened to Skeptical Bucky?”

“He’s still here, but it’s still a challenge, and I plan to win. Got a problem with that doll?” An evil grin spread across his handsome face.

“Nope. Cause I’m going to win.”

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that. Let’s talk stakes.”

“Okay.” You watched him shift to refill his glass, your eyes gravitating towards his lips. Then your mouth opened, and you surprised even yourself with what came out. “If I win, you have to kiss me.”

The pitcher stopped as if time was frozen. “And if I win?”

“Then I have to kiss you.”

Courage. Can’t say it’s not spontaneous.

Water dripped agonizingly slow into the cup, yet when your eyes met Bucky’s again, his were a shade darker blue than before. “Sounds reasonable. Ready?”

You sat up straighter and both of you lifted your glass in a ‘cheers’ motion before downing it. The water sloshed around in your mouth; thank the stars you weren’t thirsty or this challenge would have been torture. You started off simple, wide then narrowed eyes, crossing them to look at your nose. Small smile. No water.

Bucky’s turn. He waggled his heavyset eyebrows to imitate the wave. You arranged your face to show that he had to try harder. As much as you wanted that kiss, you weren’t going to lose on purpose.

Back and forth the two of you devised creative ways to make each other laugh, but to no avail. Bucky was a surprisingly good competitor; it wasn’t your first time playing the challenge, and truthfully you had been expecting to win right off the bat. Time to up the intensity.

You flicked his cheek, resulting in a hollow sound that nearly made you lose it when paired with his shocked expression. Knowing Bucky as well as you did, you could imagine what he was thinking.

‘Did you just flick me?’

‘Whatcha going to do about it, old man?’

A jet of water was sprayed at your face in answer.

‘Alright. No more Mrs. Nice Y/N’

You reached out and started to tickle his sides, an action that made him recoil back. Or so you thought. Movement happened, and suddenly Bucky sat smugly on your legs, pinning you to the ground. Never breaking eye contact, he reached teasingly for the water pitcher and dangled it right above your face. His smirk was simultaneously as hot, and as terrifying as hell.

‘Nonononono’ you tried to wiggle out from under Bucky----splash. You were utterly and completely soaked, as was the couch and the carpet beneath you. You sighed in resignation, pretending to be annoyed by Bucky’s muffled laughter. He was close to breaking…and off-balance, pumping his fists in premature victory, if you had anything to do with it.

You used your training to flip him over so you were straddling him. Grabbing a pillow off the couch, you promptly dropped it from your height onto his head. To add insult to injury you spit all your water on your best friends’ face after he pushed the pillow off.

“Who’s wet now!”

This time Bucky couldn’t hold it in and he gasped out his water; you could feel his laughs resonating through your legs, and you realized what a compromising position you were in.

Apparently, Bucky was thinking the same thing. His hands moved to rest on your waist, one warm, one cool; your eyes watched as his sinful tongue flicked out to make his lips more inviting. The mood of the room had quickly switched from playful to something deeper, more intimate.

“Well, doll. I think I won.”

“Yeah…guess you did.”

You both knew what that meant. The courage from earlier crept back. Your fingers weaved their way into his soft locks, and you finally leaned down so those captivating blue eyes were closer closer, parted lips closerclosercloser—

“Good evening Mr. Stark, welcome home.”

A ding of the elevator and F.R.I.D.A.Y. startled you enough to tumble off Bucky. You scampered onto the couch before the team could come down the hall.

Why oh why did they have to come back now? You stole a nervous glance at the boy you were about to kiss not ten seconds ago.

Slowly, Bucky pushed himself up to lean against the opposite couch, cleared his throat, and used both hands to push back his hair. That tongue swiped at his lips again and it was all you could do to stay on the couch. You swore you could see an expression of frustration cross his features when your teammates emerged from around the corner, but you were probably just hoping. Really hoping.

“Hey you two,” Steve greeted. The chorus of ‘hellos’ followed from the rest of the team. Sam and Tony whizzed over the fridge, Nat took a seat at the island, and the others drifted off to their respective rooms.

“Hey,” you said. Your fingers fiddled with the bottom of your pants and you fought to keep your attention on Steve’s report of their success.

“It was an open-and-shut case, we just went in and the scientists confessed immediately,” he said, “it’s actually nice to have people cooperate with us for once.”

“Less discus,” Tony mumbled through his sandwich.

Clint returned to sit on the couch. You and Bucky exchanged an alarmed look, all awkward gone--he ducked his head away, shoulders shaking. You had to cover your mouth with your hand for fear of bursting out laughing.

“Why is the floor so wet?!”

“Blame Buzzfeed!” you yelled, grabbing Bucky’s hand and escaping to your room.

“That game was absolutely ridiculous, Y/N,” he chuckled, shutting the door behind him. “I’m soaked.”

“Gives a new meaning to ‘within spitting distance’ huh?”

He took a few steps closer. “You know what? I think I’d prefer to be within kissing distance.”

Your heart skipped a beat; you didn’t hope after all. “Well, currently, we have no other options.”

Bucky titled his head. “Was that a water pun?”

“…maybe.”

“You’ve gotta stop doing that,” he laughed slightly and looked up at the ceiling.

“Doing what?” you asked with a taunting grin. Bucky reached out and tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, cupping your cheek.

“Saying things that make me want to kiss you.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure he could hear it. Feel it too, since he leaned in so his forehead rested against yours.

“What if I told you not only was that one pun, it was two.”

“Then I’d have to do this.”

Bucky lowered his lips to meet yours, the moment you had dreamed of for so long. The kiss was soft and gentle and chaste at first. Then Bucky’s arms encircled your waist, and you reached up and tangled yours around his neck, adding more pressure to your lips, deepening the kiss. Your parted lips opened further, allowing your tongues to earnestly say hello. Finally you pulled apart, arms still around one another.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long...”

“Me too,” you breathed.

“I think I like winning.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in a lopsided grin.

“Don’t get used to it, I demand a rematch.” You bumped his nose with yours. “But later,” you said, pulling him in for another kiss, “we haven’t completed the stakes yet.”

_______________________________________________________________

tagging some of my favourites and inspiration because I’m new and I really admire you :)

a big thank you to @fxckmebuck for being amazing with writing, and all the tips and encouragement!

@buckyywiththegoodhair @avengerofyourheart @bovaria @wndas-romanoff @thejamesoldier @caplanbuckybarnes @softcorehippos @papi-chulo-bucky@buckybarnesismypreciousplum @mangosoldier

(let me know if you want to be untagged)

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

Note

mod bonnie you're a monster with that cllif hanger. please oh please can we get the escape and the sex SOON!!

Hail Mary : Part IX

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate in those early days, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

Jamie’s arm around my middle held me securely against his chest as he reigned up. His grip on me was strong, considerately preventing my lurching forward from inertia, but the added contact with his heaving chest showed he was just as exhausted as me.

“So, wh—” Lord, this might be Scotland, and the night air cool and moist, but my mouth was dry as the Sahara. I laughed a little and leaned my head back against Jamie’s shoulder as I tried to get enough moisture to rasp out, “Where are we, exactly?”

“‘Exactly’ where, I dinna ken, but w—” He was a bit short of breath himself, apparently. He gave me a squeeze and a sweaty kiss on the cheek before relinquishing me to Murtagh, who was reaching to help me down from the horse. “—We crossed out of MacKenzie lands as of the last glen, so for the moment, we’re—Whoa, lass—!”

My knees locked as I slipped off the horse, my feet juddering so hard onto the packed earth that I nearly toppled before Murtagh’s strong grip saved me. “Are ye alright, a nighean?”

I just stared at him.

Jamie shifted sharply in the saddle to check that I was alright. “Mo chridhe?”

“Fine,” I panted. I was fine; but the shock of hearing an endearment coming from the ever-dour Murtagh’s lips, his eyes warm with concern, even, had taken me considerably aback. A softy, underneath it all, eh? “Perfectly fine,” I said again, waving my hand in reassurance, “just tired.”

Jamie jumped down beside me and took the satchel from my hands. “Go have a bit of a rest, Sassenach, while we tend to the horses.”

I didn’t need telling twice. I found a grassy spot and stretched full length on my back, groaning in relief and draping my arm over my face against harsh moonlight.

We’d ridden for nearly twenty-four hours since our escape from Leoch, which had been no small feat in and of itself.

A guard had begun stalking Jamie scarce twenty minutes after the confrontation with Colum. The brute—hulking, even compared to Jamie, if it could be believed—had been a faithful, menacing shadow for the entire afternoon and evening, escorting Jamie firmly to his chamber when night fell, and neatly preventing any contact between Jamie and me.

Thankfully for all of us, Colum had not deemed it necessary to post a guard at MY door. All Jamie had had to do was wait for the dark of midnight, clamber out his fourth-floor window, and climb CAREFULLY up the stone wall of the keep. He’d had one near-fall, sending a shower of stone dust and mortar chips downward; but thankfully, attracted no attention as he clambered up to the roof, and entered the castle again through a garret window to make his way to my chamber.

Murtagh—with whom Jamie had had several vital minutes as he was leaving Colum’s tower—had not been assigned an obvious tail, and thus had been able to gather food and weapons for our flight. Jamie hadn’t dared risk having Murtagh speak to or otherwise get word to me, in case Colum had hidden eyes watching after all. They had, however, arranged for the torches between my chamber and the window to the east-wing roof to be prematurely extinguished, giving Jamie and me the cover of near-pitch-blackness in which to make our way to the roof. We’d had to dart hastily into an alcove as a pair of Grant retainers came down the hall, speaking of the next day’s ceremony and making bets on whether or not Edina Grant would faint (as, we were given to understand, she had a rather sickly constitution). But finally we made it to our escape hatch. Out the window we went, down a ten-foot drop to the roof of the wing below, a painstaking walk across the shadowed gable, and another drop to the yard below.

It all would have gone off without a hitch, if the ostensibly-convenient stack of crates we were climbing down hadn’t toppled, causing a ruckus that attracted first the guard dogs and then the guards themselves. Jamie had managed to knock the three men out, but we could hear the alarm being raised and the thundering of many booted feet as we sprinted for the outer door, where Murtagh was waiting just outside. He’d managed only two horses, but beggars and choosers, and all that; and we were galloping south with all due haste, leaving the walls of Leoch behind, and praying we could stay ahead of any of Colum’s men that would be dispatched to follow us….which, thank heaven, we had.

Jamie thudded onto the ground next to me and groaned as he stretched out onto his back, his boots a few inches from my elbow.

I rolled onto my stomach to give my aching rear end a break, laying my cheek on my crossed arms and feeling the night breeze ruffling through my hair. My head was spinning with the delirium of exhaustion, and I prayed this would be a LONG rest. The three or four respites we’d taken so far had been agonizingly short, time enough only to spare the horses keeling over. And if I was weary and aching, Jamie must be near to keeling over himself, having had the task of controlling the horse one-handed AND keeping a hold on me to keep me falling when I inevitably dozed off against his shoulder.

Sure enough, he groaned again, with an urgency and a Gaelic curse that spoke to a great deal of discomfort.

“Love?” I reached out a leaden hand to touch his foot, cursing that my medicine box had been (wisely) deemed too heavy to bring along, “Have you pulled something?”

“D’ye have any notion,” he said between gritted teeth, “of how your arse looks in those breeks?”

Fatigue be damned, this was WORTH IT. I came up on my arms and craned my neck around to grin at him. He was propped up on one arm, staring in definite distress at the item in question.

Jamie being Jamie, I had been rather startled that he had suggested trousers in the first place; but practicality, it seemed, had won out over propriety. It would have been a liability to all of us, to have me slowed by heavy skirts on our escape.

Apparently, the breeks were their own sort of liability, though. I spy, with my little eye, a not-so-little kilt tent.

“Good, is it?” I asked, trying my very hardest not to laugh….or ogle…and failing at both. Definitely not little.

“Jesus,” he said again, in what might have been considered a whimper.

You know, you *have* undressed me completely, before, lad,I thought about saying; but I couldn’t help feeling gratified at his apparent awe. It was a father fine arse, by all accounts. And,might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. I gave my rear end a rather lewd undulation and he swore so violently it scared the horses.

“Cuir stad, lad, you’ll wake the dead!” Murtagh scolded, emerging from the underbrush with our refilled canteens and turning his gimlet eye on me. “What in God’s name did ye DO to him?”

Jamie laughed and sat up. “All the right things, a charaid.”

I sat up too, gratefully accepting my replenished canteen, changing the subject as well as my posture to spare Jamie from squirming himself into an early grave. “So, we’re safe, now? The MacKenzies can’t pursue us outside their own lands?”

“Not wi’out exposing themselves to a great deal of risk,” Murtagh said, plunking down next to us. “Colum’s enraged, to be sure, but he’ll have enough on his hands wi’ the Grants to consider doing anythin’ to vex another clan in the process.”

“Lord, the poor Grants,” I laughed, groaning a bit. “They’ve gotten the short end of the stick, haven’t they?”

Jamie’s mouth tightened, an expression I’d come to know meant he was supremely uncomfortable. “I did leave a letter in my chamber, ken?”

“A letter?” Murtagh and I both said together.

“To Miss Grant,” he said, with a tight shrug. “Explaining that my flight had naught to do wi’ her, but only that my heart belonged to another.”

I smiled. “That was very considerate of you, darling.”

“Aye, and also hopefully t’will appease Malcolm Grant that Colum didna willfully seek to ensnare him and shame his daughter.”

“Do you think your uncles will ever let you come back to Leoch?”

“No.” It was Murtagh that answered, his voice grim. “Not if his mother’s case is to be our guide.”

Jamie nodded in agreement and dropped his eyes.

Ellen MacKenzie had never once received even a word from her enraged brothers after her scandalous elopement with Black Brian Fraser. Dougal had apparently visited Lallybroch a time or two after her death, and had eventually taken Jamie for his foster, but from the moment she left that castle, Ellen’s fate had been sealed: exiled and infamous.

It had been love for Ellen and Brian, Jamie said, real and deep and strong, and so she never had cause to regret her decision; and yet…

I scooted closer to her son and leaned in to kiss his shoulder. “I am sorry, you know—to be the cause of your entire life upending.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows, dubious.

“Well, it’s not as if I want you to cast me to the roadside, do I? But they are your family. I know they don’t mean nothing to you.”

“True…and thank you, Sassenach. But to the MacKenzies, family is obligation as much as affection. Heart, but with claws.” He pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “Dinna fash: I dinna regret a thing.”

“Well, I know you don’t now, but—”

“They’re my blood, but my true family is Jenny. Murtagh.” He squeezed my hand hard. “You.”

The lump formed so suddenly in my throat, I could only whisper it back to him. “You.”

My only family.

He gently cupped my chin and kissed me, then drew back with purpose, catching his godfather’s eye. “I ken you’re as tired as we, a gostadh, but surely ye must be getting on your way if you’re to catch the post rider?”

The dour clansman nodded and got to his feet. “I’ll be off in ten minutes, as soon as the handfasting is done.”

Jamie was like a loosed arrow as he leapt to his feet, barking something at Murtagh in rapid Gaelic. Murtagh threw up his face and said something scornful back in the same language, and even my brief time amongst eighteenth-century highlanders had taught me the early warning signs of an all-out brawl.

“Jesus H. Christ, honestly!” I stepped neatly between them—getting a prodigious spray of spittle from both sides for my efforts—and held up my hands. “Will you both calm down and PLEASE explain to me what handfasting is?”

“Handfasting is—” Murtagh began.

“—nothing you need trouble yourself over, because it’s NOT HAPPENING,” Jamie finished, eyes flashing at Murtagh across my shoulder.

“—A CEREMONY OF MARRIAGE,” Murtagh persisted, “for when there’s no priest handy. Ye join hands, say the words, and you’re man and wife for a year and a day, until the union can be formally blessed.”

“And it’s real? A legitimate union, I mean, according to the church?”

“Aye,” he said, seeming surprised by my doubt. “Valid only for the year, but valid nonetheless. Common enough in the Highlands so as no’ to looked down upon.”

“We are not going to be handfasted,” Jamie growled, “and that’s all there—”

“But of course we should!” I said. “Jamie, you said it yourself at Leoch: being married as soon as possible is the next most important thing for our safety, yes?”

“Aye, but—” He shuffled uncomfortably. “It’s so—crude! Ye deserve a ring—a proper dress for—”

“I don’t bloody need all that!“ I said with such laughing scorn that he looked startled. “Jamie… I’ve been married before,” I said, far more gently. “The ring, the clothes—? Those things can be lovely, but they aren’t important to me. But if…” I searched his face, not wanting to be flippant. “Are they important to you?”

“Well, aye, in a way but—They’re only important insomuch as—” He was flustered, almost sheepish in his unease as he ran a hand backward through his hair. “I should never wish to give ye anything less than is due to ye. I want to honor ye, Sassenach.”

“You do honor me, Jamie, just by wanting to marry me. That’s all I need.”

He looked torn. “I ken you’re a practical woman, Claire, and ye wish to put a good face on things, but—”

“But I do mean it, my love. No, listen,” I pushed, as he began to interrupt. “If I had been Edina Grant, say, a stranger you were OBLIGED to marry…just think of how different the wedding would need to be. The ring, our clothing, the place—that all would be significant, because–”

“Because we wouldna be knowing each other?” Jamie said, his features relaxing.

I exhaled in relief at the understanding in his voice. “Exactly.”

“I’d be a stranger you were meeting at the altar,” he continued, nodding slowly.

“And so the protocol, the finery and beauty of it all,” I took up, “That would be what we’d remember about our wedding. We’d need that to hold on to, to make it a pleasant memory.”

“....Until we might come to love or respect one another, one day,” he finished.

“But you do know me, Jamie: you know me. And you know I want to marry you.” I touched his face, sweeping down the stubble of his jaw. “And so the love we share is what we’ll remember about tonight. Nothing else matters.”

“Nothing else,” he repeated, his eyes twinkling and his mouth turned up in a tender smile, “mo nighean donn.”

And so it truly didn’t matter that we were both sweaty and reeking of horse as I came into his arms; didn’t matter that I was dressed like a little boy, or that my hair had reached the size and texture of the average haystack. All that mattered was that he meant it when he whispered, hoarse with feeling, “I do love you, Claire.”

And that there was no reservation in my heart when I looked up into his eyes and said back to him, “And I love you.”

“And if ye’re both quite finished breathing into each other’s faces,” Murtagh said, belching, “we’ll get on wi’ it?”

It was fast; it was simple—with not a scrap of either pomp or circumstance. We simply knelt, clasped hands, and said the words with Murtagh as witness.

And yet, even so, a deep, silent peace descended around us, wrapping each syllable in a sweet solemnity that would mark this place, this night in our memories, always:

“I, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp do take thee, James Alexander M—” He grinned, but I managed it, and the spell fell around us again. “—Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be my lawful wedded husband. With my goods I thee endow, with my body I thee worship, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, so long as we both shall live.”

His eyes blazed as he swore his life to me in return. “I, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, do take thee, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, to be my lawful wedded wife. With my goods I thee endow, with my body I thee worship, in sickness and in health, in richness and in poverty, so long as we both shall live.”

And I kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, and felt the world slide, then click into place.

A pair.

A home.

Jamie didn’t let go of my hand for a moment during our toast (for not even a fugitive Scotsman travels without whisky), nor did either of us stop grinning like fools in love. Husband. Wife.

Not even Murtagh was unaffected. For all he tried to hide behind his gruff and scruff, I’d seen his eyes sparkling as he looked down at Jamie and me saying our vows; I’d felt the feeling behind the rough hug he’d given me; and I’d been floored by the hoarseness of his voice as he’d said in my ear, “You’re right for him, a nighean.” And that made me feel an absolute empress over my happiness. Right for him; right for me; right.

“We’ll stay the night here,” Jamie said with decision, reaching up for his saddlebag.

But Murtagh said something in rapid Gaelic as he swung up into his saddle, gesturing to the east. Jamie grinned, asked something back, and got an answer that seemed to both surprise and please him greatly before Murtagh was galloping off into the distance.

“What was that about?”

“Murtagh knows of a better place for us to spend the night.” He held out his hand. “Can ye bear to ride a bit longer, my wife?”

I accepted the boost up into the saddle. “If it’s worth it, darling husband.”

“Sounds as if it will be,” he said as he clambered up behind us and turned us east. “And it’s good it isna far.“

“Tired?”

“Aye. And…” He ran his fingers down my rib cage and my blood went hot as he breathed into my shoulder, “…I’d like to get started wi’ worshiping your body.”

[more to come]

#Anonymous #;mod bonnie #Hail Mary AU #next week i promise #the do gets done #had to get them hitched first #and give them a bit of a chance to rest up #I kind of liked doing a Fraser wedding without blood of my blood #just to change things up a bit #these are the vows Roger and Bree used

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haughtbreaker · 7 years

Link

This is for @jaybear1701 who prompted this fic to me. Just a short one shot of some young wayhaught

"There is no way..." Thin and mousy haired, one teen nudge his friend, setting off a chain of nudges in the packed booth. "You ask her." He had the beginnings of a mustache that only teenagers thought were fashionable and he spoke with a slight southern drawl.

His closest friend, the captain of the football team scoffed. "She's hot… but have you seen her sister?" He shook his head, scrubbing his hand through his short cropped black hair.

"Sounds like a whole lot of excuses, if you ask me." Mousy hair nudged him again, sending him even harder down the line of bodies.

"Hey!" Nicole shoved back just forcefully enough to appear upset when she hadn't minded at all. Just aggressive enough to not appear weak, to keep her sacred bubble of safety and respect.

"Cut it out." Doc and Dolls, or Double Ds as she'd always referred to them, despite their nagging and rough housing, were never apart and had a tendency to let their obnoxious behavior interrupt a fun evening at Shorty's, the local pie shop that served mediocre food with out-of-date music piping from a rusted old jukebox against one wall.

Doc scoffed, any attempt at malice ruined by the fact that they'd been friends for a better part of a decade, since he moved up to Purgatory from Texas. "Make me." Having moved up to Canada from the US of A herself, neither she nor Doc had picked up the strange accent everyone else had.

"Shut up." A hiss came from the other side of the table, forms growing taller and a little more buffed. "She's coming." Nicole watched in disgust as he licked the palm of his hand, smoothing back his dark brown hair that was just long enough to curl against the edge of his ears. Pete could be pretty disgusting… hell all boys could.

It was so stupid, Nicole thought as everyone seemed to be preening. She'd been washing her hands in the bathroom when apparently the waitress had come by before, so she didn't quite understand what everyone was going on about. A group of 6 high school boys bracketing the one female player on the team, Nicole was used to their constant need for attention from every hot girl.

"You guys finally ready to order?"

Nicole barely heard the waitress who suddenly appeared. Waverly Earp. A junior unlike Nicole and the rest of them, she'd seen the girl around campus… as often as possible if she could admit it to herself. If there was anyone who was Nicole's kryptonite, it was all 5' 4" of Waverly Earp. It was like the adorable brunette in jeans cutoffs had an unspeakable pull on her, making her weak in the knees and heart.

They'd been going to Shorty's since junior year and she'd never seen the youngest Earp daughter working there. She couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with her sister, The personification of middle child syndrome, Waverly's sister Wynonna was no doubt a financial burden on their guardian, having been in and out of trouble with the law since their dad died a few years back.

As troubling as it was, it did nothing to curb the smile that danced across Waverly's face.

Nicole needed to find her cool, so she let every one order first. What was she going to order? The food really was bad, but she needed a reason to talk, to plead her case for… what exactly?

Hell if she knew.

Nicole didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse as she got to listen to each and every one of her teammates try to hit on Waverly. She winced with every attempt, watching with both disgust at the way the boys seemed to ooze their axe-scented charm all over the waitress, and pride as Waverly easily parried each advance, never unkind even as she pat Doc on the shoulder and declined his offer to come over for a game of poker. Nicole nearly laughed once or twice but kept silent and gathered her own confidence. They were her friends, but they sucked at flirting.

Finally, eyes the color of rich earth in the Spring landed on her and she swore she saw a smile grow brighter as Waverly saw her sitting here. "What about you, Nicole?"

Nicole felt her heart stop.

Waverly Earp knew her name.

"I…" Her voice cracked, not unlike her friends' voices had during those agonizingly long years of puberty. But she wasn't a teenage boy. Clearing her throat, she smiled. "Sorry. I'm not that hungry but…um," she sat a little straighter, trying to project the charisma that she'd worked years to perfect, "I'd love something sweet..." She could almost feel the eyes of the table turning towards her.

Waverly's smile ever so slightly pulled towards one side, a barely noticeable smirk appearing. "Well, you've come to the right place. We've got 15 types of pie, and just about all of them are worth trying," she paused for the barest of moments before continuing, "and I just wanted to let you know, we have the best darn chocolate ice cream in the town, churned by none other than yours truly."

Nicole rose an eyebrow. "You made it yourself? I don't think I've ever met someone who's made their own ice cream."

"It's great for building upper body strength." Waverly laughed a small nervous laugh, as if wondering why she'd just said that. "I mean… nothing like football or anything." She reached up to push a bit of her hair behind her ear, her smile sweeter than any pie could ever be.

Nicole swallowed audibly, wishing she could nudge the double Ds out of the way so Waverly could tell her all about each and every flavor. They may as well had been alone, just the two of them as the diner dropped away, creating a bubble of comfortable banter.

"Well, I can't let all that hard work go to waste. Can I get it in a shake?"

Waverly nodded, scribbling on her pad. "You sure can. Did you want to get a slice of pie with it?"

"Yeah." Nicole leaned forward. She didn't even like pie that much, but if it meant Waverly would stay even the briefest of moments longer, she would ask about every pie on the menu. "What's your favorite?"

Waverly chuckled softly, having been asked a million times. Normally she'd spout off whatever the special was, usually something that wasn't selling quite as well that day, but something stopped her. "It depends on the day of the week. Sometimes it's apple, sometimes it's pumpkin." She waggled her head back and fourth as if trying to decide. "I love banana cream pie but the chocolate cream is good as well…"

"What's your favorite today?" The words were suddenly so comfortable, Nicole decided. Talking to Waverly Earp was easier than she'd ever thought possible. "Like if you were to order a slice of pie right now, what would that be? Get me whatever that is."

Scribbling words on the pad, Waverly nodded, suddenly realizing she hadn't been paying much attention to the other players. "Alright." She gathered the menus, looking around the table with a smile that was just a hint muted in comparison to the one she gave Nicole. "I'll get that started for ya. You boys keep it down, all right?"

As soon as Waverly stepped away, Nicole nearly laughed when 6 heads swung her way completely.

"Dude."

"Nic…"

"Da fuck…"

Nicole laughed, fiddling with the small bundle of silverware in front of her. "Shut up." She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Being around Waverly and talking to her, despite her earlier fear, had been as easy as breathing, as natural as her heart beating. The moment their eyes met, without a courtyard of distance between them like there normally was at school, she'd sunk into a gentle pattern she hadn't known she shared with anyone else. Looking around to see jealous eyes watching her, she laughed again, scratching at the side of her neck.

She barely listened to them as they began to exchange rowdy comments back and forth, talking about the other girls in school who, according to their bruised egos, were a hundred times cuter than Waverly Earp.

Still they all sat a little taller, chests puffing out as Waverly returned, barely managing to balance a tray loaded with glasses. "Okay, two cokes…" She began to dish out the drinks, saving the last glass that was filled with dark concoction covered in a swirl of whipped cream, bright sprinkles and a cherry topping it off. That glass, Waverly reached over the table to first set down a square napkin and the glass on the corner of it. "Enjoy." Her eyes locked with Nicole's for a short moment before she winked and turned away, heading over to another table.

Nicole looked down at the drink, or rather at the napkin that sat between it and the table. Each letter and number written in obnoxiously cute form, Nicole let her fingertip brush over the phone number scribbled beneath an inviting Call me and a happy face.

There was no touchdown sweeter than a number scribbled across the cheap napkin. She had the most ridiculous urge to call her now. Preposterous since she could see Waverly across the diner, refilling a glass as she chatted with a customer. How soon would be too soon?

"Holy shit… did she just give you her number?" Dolls leaned over, looking at the napkin even as Nicole pulled out her cell phone. "You know you gotta wait like 3 days before calling right? That's what my brother always said. Can't seem too desperate."

Nicole snorted as she programmed the number into her phone, trying to reign in the giddy sensation that blossomed inside her as she keyed the name Waverly Earp into the contact screen. "You see Dolls," she spoke as she pulled up a text message, typing a simple note. "This is why you are still single," she smiled at him before hitting the send button. "And why your brother is still single."

From across the room, Nicole couldn't help but wonder if Waverly had her phone on her, because it was just seconds before those gorgeous eyes looked over at her even as she continued to speak to her customer. Nicole gave her a smile and she swore she could hear a soft laugh in Waverly's words as she talked about the pie.

#wayhaught #highschool au #wynonna earp #wefanfic #ficlet #prompt

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