#he has been knocked down to pathetic level: endearing

[dollfat]

dont SCARE me like episode 70a!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#i still like kevin #he has been knocked down to pathetic level: endearing #i hope the show doesnt overuse him #dove reads wtnv #how long was he in the otherworld???? #carlos made it sound like the whole year #i thought it was a couple months #i think its soooo funny kevin likes him too #but he would've tried to change carlos #who is already perfect

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

#matthew gray gubler #mgg smut #mgg oneshot #mgg x reader

[insomniasymphony]

Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Obsessive Male Reader [Hunt him down]

Constellation: Obsessive Hisoka Morow x Obsessive Male Reader Words I got: → Voice → Strength → Bloom Rating: Teen up and Audience Warning: A little bit of violence

                                     ►► Run, little Sweetheart.                          For all we know you can't escape his claws. ◄◄

The darkness clings to your body, taking up as much space as the adrenaline that chases you through the corridors of the empty office building, while Hisoka has disappeared somewhere in the shadows of the interstices.

It's been like this for hours. Days. Weeks. It started the moment you met at the bar in an airship and casual flirting turned into a one night stand that has been repeated over and over. By now, you could almost be considered a couple. You've proven that. Hisoka with a threat to walk over corpses, should you dare to stop playing his game. You with the attempted, but failed, murder of Illumi, who spends far too much time with Hisoka. At least for your taste.

He shouldn't be looking at anyone but you.

Your pulse races as you turn the next corner and end up in the next corridor with a single light at the end. It stands out like a glimmer of hope and you know that it is the magician's way of creating a show. A show that you will follow for now.

Trotting towards the bright spot in the midst of this darkness, you find nothing on the floor but a single card representing a Jack of Hearts. His way of telling you that he is enjoying your absurd togetherness is endearing.

“Do you want to play hide and seek any longer, or do we want to stop this now?” you call into the darkness, raising your voice because you don't know where exactly he is. Then you wait, a brief moment, before you feel a gentle breeze on your ear.

Quick as a flash, you leap forward and turn at the same moment, allowing Hisoka's friendly smile to meet you as the distance between you grows to almost ten feet.

“I thought we were playing catch.” Innocently, he puts a finger to his chin, seeming almost confused by your question.

“If we really are playing catch, then you just made a mistake,” you return with a smirk.

“You sure?” Hisoka's voice lowers, becoming a hum that sends his aura rippling over you. “I'm sure I won.”

“As if.” With a throwing away hand gesture, you want to distance yourself further, but resistance won't let you. A glance over your shoulder reveals nothing at first. It's only when you focus your Gyo on the eyes and make a second attempt that you notice the pink masses stretching from wall to wall, now sticking to you like chewing gum.

“You knew what I was going to do, didn't you?” Snorting, you fight against the Bungee Gum, but fail over and over again.

“Of course.” In ambling steps, Hisoka approaches, a card in his hand and ready to murder. That's what made you guys from the start. There's a certain touch that attracts you both, but you wouldn't shy away from killing each other.

That's what makes Hisoka predictable, too. In those seconds, you could just focus your Nen into each limb and forcefully rip yourself from his clutches, but the helpless position brings sweetness that you want to sample.

The magician stops in front of you, brushes his hand over your cheek and licks his lips. Shortly afterwards he lets go, takes a step back and seems to actually magically conjure something with a few light movements.

No card trick, instead a bouquet of flowers from nowhere. Roses, unsteady in red, which makes you raise your eyebrows in wonder. Some spots are lighter than others, the inner petals are almost black.

“An interesting bouquet.”

“Do you like it?” He holds it out to you a little. “I soaked it for hours in the blood of the man you had fun with last week.”

For a moment you pucker your mouth. The man he's talking about had been the victim of your lust because you hadn't had sex with Hisoka in far too long and couldn't wait any longer. Just the thought of this guy lying underneath you, begging for more, makes your cock swell. You feel it pressing against your pants from the inside, towards Hisoka, who doesn't miss the twitch.

“Now you're getting aroused just thinking about someone else?” The amusement in his voice has at the same time something of a beastly growl that wants to tear you apart. He moves closer again, this time so close that you can feel his breath on your skin. Immediately he grabs you, reaches for your cock, which sends a wave of lustful shock through you. “And here I thought your eyes were only on me.”

“I don't want to hear you say that. How often do you fuck other people?” you snap back, pressing tighter into his grip at the same time as his nails seem to poke through your pants and you perceive the slight sensation of pain as sexual tingling.

“You're watching me,” Hisoka states, coming closer to your lips but not allowing a kiss. Instead, he loosens his Bungee Gum. But before you can appreciate the freedom, he has already flung you sideways by the shoulders against the nearest wall.

The impact is painful, squeezing the breath from your lungs for a moment before you hold your breath and wait. Hisoka's speed has brought him right in front of you, with a playing card to your throat. He doesn't need much strength to cut your head clean off.

He tosses the flowers carelessly over his shoulder, letting them hit the ground and lose leaves that spread artfully.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“You tell me.” Provocatively, you press against the card, feeling it cut lightly into your skin, revealing burning blood. Hisoka's power is barely above yours, and in those seconds you want to do nothing more than be closer to him. As close as you can possibly get. “Which one of us started looking after others?”

“Illumi?” He understands immediately. “It would have been perfectly entertaining if you had killed him. But you're slacking off. A man like you should care more about a good fight.”

“You're distracting me.”

“Do I?” This time Hisoka comes so close that you can almost taste him. He's yours, that was certain from the start, but his behaviour is driving you crazy. The fact that he is still interested in others while you aren't allowed to seek sexual pleasure is pathetic. Not least because it's hardly any different from your end.

But that's the way you are. Broken on wayward levels.

Hisoka notices it with a smile before he wants to retreat, not counting on the fact that you no longer have any desire for fruitless games. Instead of letting him have his way, you knock his hand and the card aside in one fluid movement, freeing yourself from the confinement he has imposed on you, and in the same breath place his face in your hands.

He cannot escape, cannot evade, before you press your lips on his mouth and let his warmth travel through your body.

He smiles. A small stirring of his muscles that you notice and at the same time meet with affection. In the end, you want each other too much.

Gently you let your hands wander down his neck, his shoulders, to his chest, snuggle up to him and feel his hands on your hips. He isn't willing to let you go. Neither in this moment, nor afterwards.

Until lust will bring you death by burning jealousy.

[Picture from a card collecting game] Check me up on AO3 if you have a wish for a HxH one shot too~♥

#reader insert #male reader #hisoka hxh #hisoka x reader #hisoka morow #hisoka x you #fanfiction #slash fanfiction #fanfic #only fans #AO3 fanfic #AO3 stuff #my AO3 #My writing #My fic

[tennessoui]

obikin 28,11 :3

kit to kit: oh, 28, knocking on the wrong door, that can be a cute modern quirky au

kit to kit: yeah totally sure !!! you know what it could also be? 4.2k of dark canon AU that is dub con due to identity issues that definitely ends with anakin tied to a bed with future plans of stockholm syndroming him!!!

(so read at your own risk here this is definitely on the darker side of these prompt fills)

28. Knocking On The Wrong Right Wrong Door AU (4.2k)

The storm’s picked up to dangerous levels by the time Anakin and his padawan have picked their way out of the smoking rubble of their ship and made it into the nearby town.

“Think of it this way!” Anakin yells over the howl of the wind. “The rain’ll put out the rest of the fire!”

The look Ahsoka gives him is cold enough to freeze the rain that’s pelting down on them.

“I hope Master Windu grounds you for destroying another one of the Temple’s ships,” she snips at him, looking deeply unimpressed with his dramatic expression of hurt and betrayal.

“No one keeps count of that stuff, Snips,” Anakin grins. “And anyway, if I get grounded, you’d definitely be grounded with me. As my Padawan.”

“I’d be promoted, actually. They’d knight me on the spot the first time I come back with all my ships intact.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a crack of thunder loud enough to shake him to his bones and a seriously bright flash of lightning that connects with a wind-swept tree next to them.

“Shelter!” Anakin yells over the renewed rain. “Come on, Ahsoka!”

The town is small, but there has to be some sort of hotel or lodge or--

“We don’t have any credits, Master!” Ahsoka cries, running after him.

She’s right. All their funds were in their ship, and neither of them had thought to grab them.

Kriff it all.

He changes course as soon as they get to the outskirts of the village.

He pounds on the door of the first cottage they come across. Either no one’s in or they’re particularly unfriendly, because the door stays firmly shut.

He hits the wood harder, setting up a constant rhythm. In a second, they’ll run to the next house, but there’s something about this place that feels right. Surely if only Anakin could knock loud enough to be heard over the storm--

The door cracks open and warm yellow light spills out over the doorstep.

“What?” The man asks stiffly. Anakin can only see a sliver of his face--one blue eye, dark red hair, and a beard.

“Good evening,” Anakin says, putting on his best Jedi voice. “I am seeking shelter from the storm for myself and my companion. We--”

“There’s an inn next to the school in town. Goodnight.”

Anakin wedges his foot in just before the man can close the door. “Please sir, we don’t have any credits--”

“Unfortunate. Goodnight.”

“Please, sir. My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am a General in the War. Shelter us tonight and the Jedi Order will see you repaid in full!”

The man pauses and looks him up and down slowly. The door opens a little wider. “Skywalker?” He asks, sounding suspicious.

Anakin nods eagerly. He doesn’t particularly like dropping his name like that, especially not on strange planets, but he needs to get his Padawan out of the storm. “Anakin, yes. We won’t hurt you or anything, sir. I swear.”

“Come on, Anakin,” Ahsoka says from behind him. “Let’s just go somewhere else. Someone else will let us in.”

The man tears his gaze away from Anakin, the first time he’s done so this entire time, and looks over Ahsoka as well. He opens the door even farther. “I’ll let you in,” he decides and Anakin has to fight the loud sigh of relief. “But I would like you to give me your weapons for the night, please.”

The man looks back to Anakin with a smile. It changes the lines of his face, softens them until the man looks pleasant instead of harsh. He has a nice smile. He has a really, really nice smile.

“No--” Ahsoka starts to say, sounding offended, but Anakin, still dazed by the flash of the man’s teeth, is already saying, “Yeah, of course. Here you go,” and giving his lightsaber to the man as soon as he opens the door all the way.

“Thank you, Anakin,” the man replies with another one of those smiles. Anakin can feel his face heat up at the way his name sounds rolling off this man’s tongue. “And thank you, young one,” he says when Ahsoka reluctantly thrusts her own lightsabers towards him.

“I’m not young,” Ahsoka takes great offense and the man looks apologetic.

“‘Soka,” Anakin reprimands immediately. “Don’t be rude.”

She stares at him in astonishment. He doesn’t tend to correct her that harshly, even when she’s been snippier to foreign dignitaries. But the man doesn’t deserve an attitude from either of them. He’s letting them stay in his house! He’s gorgeous! He’s going to house them out of his own generosity for the night! He’s very, very fit!

“The sitting room is just down the hall and to the right,” the man says, with a tilt of his head. Anakin obediently pulls Ahsoka along. “I’ll just go grab you some dry clothes to change into.”

Behind him he hears the man lock the door. That’s good. Safety is important and he obviously seems a little paranoid. It’s now Anakin’s full time mission to make sure the man knows he can trust him. Them.

Them.

“I have a really bad feeling about this, Anakin,” Ahsoka hisses as he practically shoves her down the hallway and into the sitting room, which looks nice and cozy. There’s a couch and everything, with a Holo projector balanced on an old looking low table.

“I’m feeling much better about this than about our odds in that storm,” Anakin argues back in an undertone. There are footsteps above them, so the man’s bedroom must be on the second floor. Anakin wonders what it looks like, and Ahsoka seems to catch on with where his thoughts are because she hits him on the shoulder.

“You’d know what I’m talking about if you were thinking with your brain instead of your lightsaber, Master.”

He opens his mouth to tell her how rude that is and also how very wrong, as Anakin can think with both, thank you very much, but the man appears in the room with them before he has a chance to.

“They won’t fit, obviously,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as if he’s embarrassed to have surprise guests in his house and not have their correct sizes in his closet. “But anything’s better than what you’re wearing now, I thought.”

“Yeah!” Anakin says eagerly. Ahsoka gives him an unimpressed look, crossing her arms. “I mean,” he coughs. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

The redhead gifts Anakin another one of his smiles. This one makes his blue eyes crinkle, which just might end up being his cause of death. Enshrine him in the Jedi Temple and at the plaque on his fee put “Here Lies Anakin Skywalker: Dead Because An Attractive Stranger Treated Him With Human Decency”.

His padawan rolls her eyes and takes her proffered stack of clothes. The man shows her where the fresher is and she stalks into it.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin apologizes immediately when the man turns to look at him with a lost look. “She’s just mad at me for crashing our ship. We were flying fine one minute and the next we have to make this emergency landing that turns out to be a bit--hard on the landing. And….you didn’t ask, did you? Kark. Sorry.”

The man smiles again with an amused shake of his head. “It’s alright, Anakin, I was wondering anyway.” He holds out the clothes for Anakin to change into and Anakin grabs them because it’s something to do that isn’t keel over from embarrassment.

Or, of course, kneel down to show this stranger how much he appreciates his kindness.

Anakin wills that thought--and it’s gorgeous mental image--away. He just hasn’t had sex in a while, not since he and Padme had gotten divorced. Usually, he needs that intimate connection with someone before he even thinks about sex, but maybe when he’s too horny it doesn’t matter anymore? Because he doesn’t even know this man’s name, but when their hands brush as he receives the stack of clothes, he feels as though the lightning from outside is shooting down his spine.

“Um.” He says, like the intelligent war general he is.

Has the man moved closer? Are his eyes dark or is it just the lighting? Is he interested in men? Is he interested in Anakin? Also, what is his kriffing name?

Anakin glances down at the clothes, preparing to ask at least one of those questions, before he realizes something. “There’s no shirt here?” He asks instead of anything much more pressing.

The man’s eyes widen and a blush spreads across his cheeks. “Oh, blast,” he mumbles, already turning to leave. “I’ll go grab you one, I’m sorry, I knew I forgot something.”

Anakin finds himself feeling hopelessly endeared by the man’s awkward flailing. He wonders if he’s managed to fluster the man. The idea feels amazing in his mind.

Grinning to himself, he starts shucking off his wet clothes. He can at least change into the pants while he waits for the man to come back, and if his timing is right---

He’s tying the loose pants tight around his waist when he hears footsteps in the hall.

Yes.

He turns around, shirtless, to glance at the man in the doorway, who’s stopped to stare at Anakin.

Anakin tries not to preen too obviously. Jedi training has done ridiculous things to the muscles of his back and chest, and he wants the man to look. To appreciate. To want.

And the man looks like he does. The man looks like he wants a lot.

There’s something dark and dangerous and wild and unrestrained in those eyes. Anakin wants closer.

He drops his shoulder and turns to face the man completely, letting him look his full. His gaze feels like a brand on every part of Anakin it touches. His hands tighten on the fabric of the shirt he’s holding when Anakin stretches his arms above his head as he yawns in a pathetically fake manner.

The man takes a couple of steps forward and Anakin stills in anticipation. He had thought he’d looked beautiful smiling, but this--this naked, dangerous want for Anakin that clouds his face--is so much more attractive. It would take one word from the man and he’d be on his knees. His back. His front. He’s not picky, he’s too busy feeling like his whole body is a live wire.

The door opens and Ahsoka’s deeply unimpressed tone effectively snaps the tension in the room. “What are you doing.”

“Getting dressed!” Anakin yelps, taking the shirt the man extends to him and putting it on immediately.

The man sends Ahsoka an unreadable but dark look before blinking a few times and smiling at her. Whatever had been on his face is gone and Anakin can’t help but think that he must have imagined it.

“Please, sit. Are you hungry?” He asks, rubbing his hands together. “Fixing you two a meal would be the least I can do for the galaxy’s heroes.”

Anakin flushes and preens as he follows the direction, the man’s praise wrapping like a warm blanket around his mind.

Ahsoka is less taken in, even as she settles in on the couch next to Anakin. “You could tell us your name,” she says, arms crossed. The look is ruined by the way the gray tunic the man has given to her is big enough to fall off one of her shoulders.

The man freezes for a second, barely noticeable if Anakin was not watching him as intently as he is. Then the stranger’s shoulders droop for a second and he looks so sad that actually Anakin doesn’t care if he never learns the man’s name. He’ll call him Dear for the rest of his life.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the man eventually murmurs, sitting delicately on the arm of the comfortable looking chair and giving them a half-sort of smile. “At your service.”

Anakin’s eyes narrow at the name that feels like it should be familiar. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. It’s pretty. He likes it.

Ahsoka jumps to her feet. “Obi-Wan Kenobi!” she says and turns to Anakin as if that’s supposed to mean something to him. He blinks up at her in confusion. “You’re the Jedi that Fell after Qui-Gon Jinn died!”

Anakin rises immediately, brain trying to process this new information. Yes. Yeah. Obi-Wan Kenobi. They’d met. They’d met on Tatooine. Kenobi had been Qui-Gon’s padawan. He’d killed Maul after Maul killed Qui-Gon. And then...he’d left the Order. Anakin had been assigned another Master. He’d forgotten all about Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I didn’t Fall,” Obi-Wan Kenobi corrects from his place on the chair. “Please, sit down.”

“You left the Order with Dooku!” Ahsoka accuses. “And you’re trying to tell me you didn’t Fall?”

Anakin’s hand goes to his belt automatically, but he doesn’t have his lightsaber. He’d given it to Obi-Wan.

“Look at my eyes, young one,” Obi-Wan demands in a cold tone. “Are they Sith-gold?”

Anakin hesitates. Obi-Wan has a point. His eyes are blue. And surely they’d know if there was another Sith afoot in the galaxy. Sith don’t like keeping quiet about themselves, from everything Anakin’s learned about them.

“You’re old enough to know how to hide that,” Ahsoka challenges immediately, which makes Obi-Wan wince.

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?” He asks with a forced laugh. Then he looks at Anakin, and his face turns pleading. “Anakin,” he says gently, slowly, Ah-na-kin, “I’m not lying. Please believe me. I--I didn’t leave the Order to join the Sith. I left because they wouldn’t allow me to train you, Anakin.”

Anakin feels like the shipwreck from an hour ago caused less whiplash than these few sentences. “Me?”

“Qui-Gon begged me to train you as he lay dying in my arms,” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenches and his face looks sad again. He closes his eyes as if to ward off the memory and when he opens them again they look wet. “When they wouldn’t allow me to, I realized there was nothing in the Order left for me. Dooku, my master’s master, came to me and asked me to leave with him. I had no idea that he would Fall. As soon as I realized what he had become, I ran. That’s why I’m here, Anakin. Please believe me. I have no involvement in the war, on either side.”

Force help him, but he does. He does believe him. He looks so honest, so heartbroken. This is Obi-Wan Kenobi? He can’t really say he remembers enough about what Kenobi had looked like all those years ago to know if the man in front of him could be an older version of the Padawan he’d met. He doesn’t actually remember anything about Kenobi, except--

“Hey, wait a second, you called me a pathetic lifeform!” Anakin says indignantly, a nine-year-old’s rage welling up in him at the memory.

Obi-Wan blinks at him and then bursts into laughter. It sounds like rocks, sliding into the ocean. Sith don’t laugh like that. He can’t imagine Ventress laughing like that. Or laughing at all, aside from a sinister chuckle.

Obi-Wan wipes the wetness from his eyes and grins at Anakin. “I’d forgotten about that,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Anakin pouts. “I was standing right there.”

“Making moon-eyes at Queen Amidala, yes,” Obi-Wan raises a sardonic eyebrow. “I thought you were sufficiently distracted. She was quite prettier.”

Anakin’s first instinct is to say, I’m prettier, but that’s not actually appropriate, and maybe Obi-Wan wouldn’t agree with him anyway.

“Do you believe me, Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan asks, turning to her while Anakin is working on controlling his flushed face.

Anakin’s padawan is still standing, but looks unsure. “I...I don’t know.”

“Then we can talk more about it over a cup of tea,” Obi-Wan decides, standing up. “I’ll be back in a second.”

As he walks past the couch to get through a door that must lead to his kitchen, he brushes his hand along Anakin’s shoulder and neck.

Anakin would like to say he handles this touch with grace and aplomb as befitting a Jedi Knight, but the look Ahsoka gives him makes him feel much more like a pathetic lifeform than a Jedi Knight.

“We can trust him,” Anakin mutters to her. “I remember him.”

“It’s been years, Anakin,” Ahsoka mutters back. “Even if you remember everything he’s ever said to you, he could be a completely different person. He probably is.”

“It’s just a night, Snips,” he reasons. “And there’s no alternatives. And I think we can trust him.”

She hesitates for a second and then exhales. “Fine,” she agrees. “But I’m not happy about it.”

Anakin grins in response.

----

Halfway through tea, Ahsoka starts nodding off.

“Crash landing takes a lot out of anyone,” Obi-Wan says sympathetically with a wink at Anakin, who puffs up in indignation. Before he can say anything in defense of his very necessary landing, Obi-Wan has taken Ahsoka’s tea and put it gently on the table. “Come on, girl, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping. I have a spare room.”

Ahsoka goes easily enough, in a way that makes Anakin feel bad for how short-tempered he’s been with her in the past few hours. He’s been stressed, she’s been stressed, but she’s just a youngling still. She’s probably been exhausted for so long now.

“Could you put our cups in the sink, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks as he leads the Togruta out of the sitting area.

Anakin complies immediately, carrying each mug like they’re something special and precious before dumping out the contents into the sink and filling each with water.

He thinks about washing them and putting them into cupboards, but he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to think that’s he’s rifling through his cupboards or anything, so he goes back to the living room to wait for him.

Obi-Wan returns just a few seconds later, smiling slightly to himself.

“What?” Anakin asks immediately. If there’s a joke that Obi-Wan finds funny, Anakin wants to hear it too.

“Just something Ahsoka said,” he replies, looking fondly down at Anakin.

Anakin’s feeling too persistent to be sidetracked by that though, so he raises both his eyebrows.

“That she’d skewer me on her lightsabers if I besmirched her master’s honor, no matter how much he asks for it,” Obi-Wan recalls with a perfectly straight face.

Anakin buries his blushing face in his hands instantly. “Force,” he mumbles.

Obi-Wan laughs again. It’s just as pretty as last time and it makes Anakin peek through his fingers.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Obi-Wan soothes. “I told her I thought I would be quite good at resisting any sort of begging from you.”

Anakin’s first thought is, of course, Want to bet?, but that’s hardly a thing to say to a near stranger. Even if he is very handsome and he has looked at you like you’re a feast and he’s a starving man just a few hours ago.

No, Anakin. Bad Anakin.

“So that’s me for the couch then, yeah?” He says in a totally normal and not at all high-pitched voice, standing so he can go fetch a blanket.

The look in Obi-Wan’s eyes freezes him where he is. They’re filled with that same dark want from before paired with a promise. “If you’d like,” Obi-Wan murmurs and then just to make sure there’s no confusion, he holds out his hand. “Or….”

Anakin doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s interlacing their fingers.

-----

When Anakin comes to, there’s light streaming in through the windows in Obi-Wan’s bedroom. He grumbles and tries to roll over.

He can’t.

Both of his arms have been securely tied over his head, and there’s a gag in his mouth.

Really, his first instinct should be panic and not a sort of sleepy arousal at what Obi-Wan plans to do with him like this.

But no. The panic doesn’t set in until he sees Obi-Wan by the window, deathstick held between his lips as he listens to a holocall.

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan murmurs, exhaling a line of smoke out the window before turning to look at Anakin. He nods his head in greeting, as if this is a normal scenario. “Yes, he’s just woken up.”

When he turns his head back to the window, the yellow of his eyes catch on the sunlight and gleam bright gold.

“The padawan has been dealt with,” Obi-Wan continues, which makes Anakin lose any sense of calm he still felt. He’s cut off from the Force so he can’t feel his bond with Ahsoka. Fear and fury wash through him equally at the thought of Obi-Wan, this Sith lord traitor and dirty liar, dealing with Ahsoka.

Oh Force, she’d been right. She’d been so right. Had she paid the cost for Anakin’s blindness?

“Yes, Master. Tell Sidious he can expect his Chosen One kneeling before him in chains as soon as he deposits the credits into my account. I’ve sent multiple pictures already as proof that Anakin Skywalker is alive and bound.”

Anakin tries to yell through the gag, but it’s ineffective and only causes Obi-Wan to look at him with an amused eyebrow raise. “And awake,” the Sith traitor purrs into the comm. “Must go now. Remember, Dooku. My credits.”

With that, he ends the comm and stubs out his deathstick with a flourish, walking around to stand at the foot of the bed with all the grace of a predator who knows its prey is well and truly cornered.

“Good morning, darling,” Obi-Wan croons. “Sorry you had to hear that.”

Anakin glowers at him. He’s never hated anyone more than he hates Obi-Wan Kenobi at this moment.

“Your padawan is safe,” Obi-Wan starts, sitting on the bed by Anakin’s midsection and tracing a hand down his bare chest. Anakin twitches away from him. “No, really,” the Sith promises in a soothing voice. “I drugged her last night of course, but you have to admit she looked like she needed a full night’s sleep.”

The tea. Force, the tea. If Anakin had thought to check the tea, or to follow Obi-Wan into the kitchen and watch him make it, they wouldn’t be here in this position. He wouldn’t be here in this specific position. Force.

“And this morning while you slept, I carried her out to my ship--or Dooku’s ship, I suppose--and put her on route to the Jedi Temple. She’ll arrive in a day or so, probably. I even gave her food and drink to survive comfortably until then. There’s no need to worry.”

Anakin tries to convey the level of disbelief he has for that statement in a single glare. Obi-Wan shrugs languidly, hand still touching his skin in a way he’d enjoyed last night. His body hasn’t gotten the notice that it shouldn’t enjoy Obi-Wan’s touch anymore, which is making this whole bound and gagged thing really awkward.

“Well, for her, I suppose.” Obi-Wan chuckles and pulls his hand away so he can light another deathstick. He takes a drag and then exhales. “I’ll even let you comm her. It’s actually quite important that you do. You see, I told her that I would kill you if she tried to come back here without first going to the Temple. She seemed to believe me.”

He rolls his eyes fondly, as if they’re sharing a joke at Ahsoka’s expense.

“Like I’d kill you,” Obi-Wan huffs a laugh, shaking his head and bringing the deathstick back to his mouth. “I told her I’d let you comm her the second she lands. Of course, she will be surrounded by Jedi masters, who will be very interested in hearing my proposed trade deal, even if she isn’t. I will give them the name of Darth Sidious, my master’s master. I will give them proof enough to end the war and have him arrested and tried for his crimes. And they will give me you.”

Anakin feels his eyes widen at the words. It’s so unexpected that even if he weren’t gagged, he wouldn’t be able to think of a single thing to say.

“It’s perfect, really,” Obi-Wan murmurs, a hand coming up to stroke through Anakin’s hair. “Sidious thinks he is about to get his hands on you, as that has been the plan for weeks now. He has paid good money for you, you know. I almost feel bad for deciding to break our agreement. But you just fell apart so beautifully under my hands last night, darling. How can I give you up?”

Anakin shivers as the memory of last night washes over his mind. He’s never felt more ashamed and yet still guiltily pleased with his performance. The praise he's getting. Force it feels good to be praised.

“So Sidious thinks he will get you, the Jedi will get Sidious, Ahsoka will probably get knighted, and you will be where you belong,” Obi-Wan blows out smoke and then leans down to grin into Anakin’s face. Anakin has to tell himself not to look away. Those yellow eyes are filled with a recognizable lust. It had been so attractive last night. It’s still attractive now, if he’s being completely honest. Force, what is wrong with him?

Obi-Wan’s hand leaves his hair to press delicately on a new bruise on his throat. “You will be with me.”

#asks #prompt fill #tw: dubious consent #due to identity issues #i dont want to spoil it but if someone wants a synopsis before reading just message me directly!!! #always be safe with yourself <3 #even if this isnt like really dark i dont wanna oversell t #Obi-Wan leaves the Jedi order Au #sith obi wan #obikin #oh yeah it was supposed to be like 2k max #whoopsie #its a bit rushed at the end because i checked the word count and i was just exasperated #with myself

[revirushifaa]

Hi can I request GN! Mc being really short like 5"2, but is like super chaotic. Whenever the brothers try to pull the "You're just a small weak human bit" they just will drag over a chair so they can look them in the eyes to say fuck you or something. Bonus points if it's when they threatened to kill the Mc because instead of running the just walk over and get a chair to yell at them. They'll just so tall and it'd be hilarious.

Pffft, a shortie trying to intimidate very large demons fufufu! Of course, HC's because it would be very long to write if it was a drabble!

Soon I'll include Belphie, after I have gotten the hang of him. For now I'll give you just six bros.

Enjoy!

Warning: Language

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

Tiny MC not scared of the brothers:

Lucifer and MC:

-Oh, the mighty firstborn is intimidating by nature and he's full of authority, so when MC's been a little brat, he'll scold them and hover them.

"What is this? A pathetic little nut of a human trying to intimidate me? I, Lucifer, the eldest of this family? How endearing-"

-Right after he laughs at them, they just grab a chair and now they have the same eye level so they answer with preppiness.

"Fuck you, peacock boy, I'm ain't afraid of ya so shove yer pride up yer butt."

-Oh, believe me when I tell you that Lucifer almost rip them to pieces, but he finds it amusing that a tiny human is there being insolent with him.

Mammon and MC:

"YOU? You the tiniest shrimp trying to be the "tough guy" and have me right down on my knees before ya? Me, THE Mammon?! Ahahahaha!!"

-MC then stands on the chair and looks right into the greedy demon's eyes.

"And ya think just because yer big n shit I'm gonna cower before you? Please, why don't you buy yourself better balls if you have the guts to try and scare me, yer balls might just be as diminute as a baby's!"

-Oh. Oh. OH. Mammon blushes bright right at that comment, that he freezes there and has no idea what to say. This human is something else, don't mess with 'em, they've gotten a lot of guts!.

Leviathan and MC:

-The shy shut-in babe actually smirks at their insolence and their idiocy of trying to be the intimidating one.

"What is it normie? Trying to be tough? Oh don't make laugh, normies like you are just the pathetic of things without any abilities or powers, you don't stand a chance against me or any of my brothers."

-Again in the chair and showing not fear, MC stares at the envious demon.

"And you an otaku nerd gamer, is intimidating or frightning? Don't make me laugh nerd, yer only good at games and anime. Why don't you just kiss that Kuri-Pan pillow of yers, cuz ya won't ever get a partner."

-Oh... Levi's self-steem drops ten meters underground. They hit him right where it does hurt the most. Why... they're small yet they're strong in their determination and words. He's so envious now because he can't actually insult someone without stuttering.

Satan and MC:

-Avatar of Wrath and cat lover has cornered a very imprudent MC as he smirks at them.

"Pathetic tiny little fly, you won't ever win against me. Oh no, I'll wreck ya and incapacitate you so you can't stand anymore.

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm not scared of ya! Man, take a chill pill or somethin' cuz ya are like an old grandpa. Pretty much like that peacock boy. Relax and go give yerself more care, is it because they ignore ya that much that yer such an atomic bomb? Hahaha, funny little angry gramps."

-What the hell?! And they just stood on a chair and say that while looking into his eyes and just what...? This human surely has something. Oh but he feels the wrath rising inside him, how dare them compare him with Lucifer?!! He's anything but him, ahhhhhh-

Asmodeus and MC:

"Aww, how cute of you trying to sound intimidating. That's Lucy fur's job though. You wouldn't be able to win a fight against me, cutie~"

"Asmo, the lustful one eh? Well, yer just all bark and no bite. Creepy girly that only is good as dressing and posing before a mirror, are ya even strong? I don't think so, if all ya do is being like how ya are!"

-What... how can a human be like this and actually have the guts to be sassy? And a creepy girly? Good job MC, you managed to break the lustful one's heart, how dare you.

-After that, Asmo doesn't even direct the word to them and pretty much has casted them out. Unwilling to forgive them, no matter how much they cry and plead him.

Beelzebub and MC:

-The gluttonous demon who's actually a sweet pea. He's the giant of the brothers, now he has a MC standing on a chair as they snatch his sandwich to eat it. Oh, the audacity of that human...!

"Ok, you little peanut. Give me back my sandwich or else I will crush you and then eat you!!"

-Seeing that they have indeed pissed him off, they only grin and give a stare at the glutton.

"Ya only work for eating and eating. Don't you even do exercise? Yer gonna get fat and gross. No one will find you attractive, because yer so ugly! I won't even reel back in fear, cuz ya don't cause fear!"

-They're so rude and he just wants to smash them and knock 'em all the pegs down. Ugh, he watches as they eat his sandwich. He gets grumpy all day after that incident.

In the end all brothers are so pissed off, and just want to kill this MC already. What was Diavolo thinking on sending them such a rude little prat!

#obey me imagines #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #not belphie included

[pink-flame]

Juke Bodyguard AU Pt.3

Here it is! The third and final part of the Juke Bodyguard AU inspired by your requests from the trope game. I reserve the right to do a standalone in this universe at some point but this wraps things up nicely for now. Enjoy! 

Part 1

Part 2

Bodyguard AU + Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C)  

Julie was used to change.

Bad change like when her mom got sick and she had to learn who she was when she couldn’t see it reflected back at her through her mother’s eyes. Bad change like when music felt like a stranger and everything she had ever wanted seemed suddenly pointless.

Good change like when she found her way back to it with a vengeance, Alex and her dad and Reggie and Carlos and Flynn refusing to give up until she started chasing her dream again. Good change like when against all odds those dreams actually started coming true, the record deal, and the hit albums and now her first national tour, a new city every night.

What she wasn’t used to was waiting for a change that didn’t seem to be coming.

She had been so sure after what she now internally referred to as “the flu incident” that things between her and Luke would change. That their vaguely flirty dynamic would transition naturally into more flu incident level expressions of affection and then a love confession, marriage and 2-3 obnoxiously good looking babies. Not right away on those last two or anything but still.

And yet here they were, three months and 24 shows later, and they were right back in vaguely flirty territory. Only she was finding it harder and harder to flirt back now that the realization that flirting was all it might ever be started to sink in.

And maybe that was the way it was supposed to be.

After all, he was her bodyguard. She was technically his boss.

She was a strong, independent woman with a thriving music career. She didn’t need some floppy haired boy to complete her life.

Didn’t stop her from wanting him though.

She didn’t bother to go to Alex for advice since he was firmly on what he had taken to calling “Team Juke”. Reggie wasn’t much better, asking her if Luke was there every time she called and never believing her when she told him she was alone. So she did what she always did when she needed someone to tell her the harsh truth.

She called Flynn.

“Look, girl, I haven’t met him but I’ve seen him on tv hovering behind you so I get it. He’s so your type. But he’s not real. He’s a fantasy you can get invested in because you know nothing will ever come of it.”

“It could,” She grumbled into the phone.

“Are you planning on confessing that you’re madly in love with him any time soon?” Flynn countered pointedly.

“I can’t,” Julie answered quickly. “Not when it’s so obvious he doesn’t feel the same.”

“Then he’ll always be a fantasy. He’s like air.”

Julie sighed.

“Cute air.”

“You wouldn’t have called me if you weren’t tired of feeling like this,” Flynn insisted. “I’m not going to let you get your heartbroken. And right now you’re on tour with Luke. So the key is avoiding those big, beautiful, dangerous eyes.”

And as much as the idea of avoiding Luke, eyes and all, seemed ridiculous when he was literally paid to follow her around, she knew she had to give it a try.

Because Flynn was right.

If she couldn’t have him then she couldn’t let him consume her life.

She was sure she would get a great song out of the situation one day but for now she just needed to pull back a little until she could see him as just a coworker she was friendly with. She could do that. Right? Of course she could. She was Julie Molina.

Only it was easier said than done.

Because Luke did not seem to take the hint.

She came stumbling off the stage after a particularly epic encore, vision blurry from the blinding lights, every muscle weak from hours of exertion, yet feeling incredible. At least she was feeling incredible until she tripped over her own unstable feet and Luke was right there, like he always was, to catch her. His hands latched onto her forearms gently, steadying her even as he grinned directly and dangerously into her eyes.

“You ok there, Boss?”

Julie managed a nod, the pounding of her heart combined with the still echoing roar of the crowd leaving his voice sounding far away and yet annoyingly clear.

“They were loving you out there,” He told her in that specific, Luke way. “You were amazing, Jules. Insane, spectacular, rad!”

This guy and his insistence on using slang from two decades ago. She definitely didn’t find that endearing.

She had to stick to the plan.

Julie ducked her head and pushed back from his grip gently at the same time.

“Thanks.”

She glanced up just long enough to see a confused and slightly hurt look on his face before she pushed past him and headed towards the green room, Alex falling into step next to her.

“Are we going to talk about why you just kicked that helpless puppy over there?” Alex asked.

Julie punched him in the arm.

“Keep your voice down, he’s right behind us! And that helpless puppy is literally the very capable bodyguard tasked with keeping me alive, so.”

“So you admit you kicked him,” Alex responded in a completely unhelpful manner.

“Ugh, shut up,” Julie groaned, glancing back and catching Luke’s eager eyes for a split second before quickly facing forward again. “I have a plan.”

“Flynn has a plan,” Alex corrected. “A stupid plan that she never would have suggested if she had seen for herself how crazy he is about you.”

“Has he said that?” She turned her head towards her best friend sharply.

Alex tilted his head.

“Not in so many words but Julie…”

“Then we stick to the plan.” She interrupted determinedly.

Alex sighed.

“Idiots, I’m surrounded by idiots.”

A couple of weeks later, Julie was starting to think he was right.

She had been doing her best to keep her relationship with Luke strictly business and it was somehow more exhausting than the two shows a week and all the time spent trying to sleep in a tour bus cot. She pretended to be busy when he offered to work on a song. She said she was tired when he tried to get her to join him for a beer with the roadies. She pretended she didn’t see him trying to catch her eye during the thousand little moments during the day when she had grown used to making eye contact with him to laugh at something Alex had said or roll their eyes when her manager tried to talk her into something completely dumb.

It was exhausting.

And the thing was it wasn’t even working.

Because every sad, kicked puppy look (as Alex called it) he gave her only left her more distracted and in more emotional turmoil. Part of her was a little mad at him. How dare he look so hurt that she wasn’t playing their usual game when he clearly didn’t want anything more? She wasn’t just a convenient outlet for his excessive flirting energy. But mostly she was just mad at herself for thinking that this ludicrous plan could ever work.

She had thought he was trouble since the moment she met him.

And she was definitely in trouble now.

It was the night of the last show of the tour and they were back in LA to finish things off. Flynn was too sick to come (ironically she thought she had the flu) but Julie’s family were out there in the VIP section. Even Reggie had come down from San Francisco to catch the show.

Julie was feeling oddly nervous for some reason. She had grown up dreaming of playing the Orpheum. It was the smallest venue she was playing on the whole tour, her manager had tried to talk her out of it, but she had insisted it was the Orpheum or nothing. Reggie and Alex had taken her to so many shows there when she was a teenager, it’s where she had discovered rock. Somehow even after everything she knew it wouldn’t fully feel like she’d achieved her dreams until she played there. It was time. Only she had finally made it there and she felt like she was going to throw up.

She wanted desperately to seek Luke out so he could tell some dumb joke to distract her or give her one of his borderline too intense pep talks. But she wasn’t doing that anymore. In fact she had insisted he go take his break now before the show, promising not to leave her green room just to keep herself from giving in to the urge.

“You doing alright there, Jules? You look kind of green.”

Julie spun on her heels and barreled directly into her big brother’s arms.

“Oof!” He huffed as she knocked the air from his lungs, his arms still coming up to wrap around her despite his shock. “You ok?”

“I’m fine,” She told him, her voice muffled as she buried her face against his chest. “It’s just that it’s the Orpheum and you know what that means to me, and the whole family is here to see me play and I’m so nervous and I’m missing Mom and I’m totally in love with my dumb bodyguard.”

Reggie pushed her back by the shoulders until he could see her blotchy face.

He reached up to ruffle her hair affectionately.

“First of all, Flynn and I totally called it,” He said with a smirk. “And Alex swears the two of you have taken ten years off of his life with your stupidity.”

“Alex talks too much,” Julie grumbled. “And Flynn is the one who told me to stay away from his annoyingly pretty eyes to begin with.”

“That’s only because she wants you to be happy. So do I by the way. And this?” He waved his hand to indicate her current state. “I hate to break it to you, Jules, but this isn’t happy.”

Julie sighed as her shoulders sagged and all of the fight went out of her at once.

“I know,” She said defeatedly. “But what am I supposed to do? I can’t force my feelings on the guy especially when I’m his boss. That’s creepy on top of being pathetic.”

“Funny,” Alex broke in from the doorway. “That’s exactly what he just said to me.”

Julie just gaped at him for a few long seconds while Reggie and Alex exchanged amused yet exasperated looks.

“Wait...what did he say exactly?” Julie finally managed to get out.

Alex rolled his eyes.

“Oh you know, ‘What did I do? Why is Julie mad at me? I’m so in love with her do you think she figured it out? Did I come off as a creep? Do you think she’ll have my babies?’”

Julie felt her mouth drop open.

“Dude!” Reggie protested.

“Ok, so the last part was more implied than said directly,” Alex admitted.

“But he said he loves me?” Julie asked hurriedly.

“Yeah,” Alex confirmed. “I’ve been telling you he does for months by the way, but nobody listens to me.”

Julie ignored her best friend’s statement and sprinted for the door.

“Where are you going?” Reggie called after her.

“You go on in ten!” Alex added frantically.

“I’ll make it!” She shouted back without slowing down.

She ran down the hallway, dodging makeup artists and promoters and so many people she’d wanted to impress just a few minutes before. There was only one person she wanted to see at that moment.

Julie kept going until she found the exit that led to the alley outside and burst through it. Luke felt caged in if he was inside for too long, something about living in a garage for a year as a teen. He stuck by her side and did his job perfectly but any chance he got she knew he could be found breathing in the fresh air and feeling like his lungs could fully expand. Sure enough, there he was, leaning against the probably filthy wall humming some song that she knew would be amazing if he ever really gave it life.

He stood straight and took two steps towards her as soon as she emerged from the door, a look of concern immediately taking over his features.

“Julie? What are you doing out here? You’re about to go on…”

She closed the distance between them and stopped just a half step closer than she normally would, her sudden proximity shutting him up for a moment.

She just looked up at him for a few seconds, just to enjoy it after weeks of denying herself. He broke the eye contact first, chuckling awkwardly as he looked down briefly.

“What?”

“Can you do me a favor?” She asked seriously.

He answered instantly.

“Anything, Julie, you know that.”

“Tell me what you just told Alex.”

His face drained of color, almost ghost like in appearance.

“He promised he wouldn’t say anything,” He mumbled.

Julie shrugged.

“He probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t walked in on me telling my brother pretty much the same thing.”

Luke’s eyes widened comically as he took in her words.

“You told your brother that I did something to make you hate me and that I don't know what it is and it’s eating me up inside?” He asked in confusion.

“I told him I love you,” She said bluntly, all the bravery she had inherited from her mom giving her the nerve. “And that I’ve been trying to distance myself from you because I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“That’s...that’s...Jules, that’s crazy!” He exclaimed, bouncing a little to emphasize his words. “I’m head over heels, crazy in love with you. Always have been.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked softly, managing to step even closer to him.

His eyes softened as he reached down to tuck one of her curls behind her ear.

“Because you’re my boss, and you’re totally out of my league. You’re this super talented, total force of nature. I mean you’re Julie Molina and I’m…”

“A big fan?” Julie interrupted, raising one eyebrow teasingly.

Luke froze.

“How did you…”

“I’ve been in your apartment, remember? When you had the flu I snooped a little. Sorry. The fact that you have my first album on vinyl is one thing but to have a cd of my first EP is really impressive. I didn’t know hard copies of that still existed…”

Like groaned.

“Ok, ok. You got me. I didn’t want you to think I was a pathetic fanboy, alright?”

Julie grinned.

“Isn’t that what you are?”

Luke smiled softly down at her, brushing the back of two fingers over her cheek.”

“Only for you, Boss.”

Julie instinctively stretched onto her toes, raising her face towards his, her eyes starting to flutter shut…

BANG

They sprang apart and spun to face Alex who had just emerged breathing heavily into the doorway behind them.

“You know no one is more Team Juke than I am but Julie you are going on in 2 minutes!”

“Oh crap,” Julie said. “I’m coming.”

Alex shot her a skeptical look.

Julie glared at him until he sighed and disappeared back inside.

“Team Juke?” Luke asked.

Julie giggled, already backing towards the door.

“Don’t ask. I’ve got to go but later we should talk about your future with the company.”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up.

“You’re firing me?”

Julie grinned.

“Well, I think we both might find your current duties a little too distracting. I think I need a stoic, middle aged man built like a linebacker. But we’ve been looking to hire a new songwriter to help me with the next album if you know anyone who might be interested.”

Luke grinned back.

“I might.”

He bit his lip and stared after her with those big, beautiful, dangerous eyes.

He was such trouble.

Julie ran back to him wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning up to a plant a quick kiss on his lips, pulling back before he could fully register what she was doing.

“Hold that thought,” She whispered with a smile before turning and running back through the door and towards the second dream come true of the night.

She was Julie Molina. She was about to play the Orpheum. She was in love with her bodyguard.

She was in trouble and she couldn’t be happier about it.

#trope prompt game #my fics #juke #jatp #fanfiction #writing

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Proper Profanity.”

WARNING: Obviously this contains a lot of profanity, lol duh :) 

Hopefully it’s at least entertaining

Dr Krill was cleaning the infirmary.. He didn’t mind cleaning, it left his mind time to wander, to think more about the humans. Today he was thinking about linguistics and the complicated way in which humans spoke to each other. It was actually quite beautiful once you stopped being annoyed with it.

He had recently compiled a list of human idioms he found rather delightful. He especially liked ‘when I am ice skating in hell’ not only did it require knowledge of human theology, but also of human sports. Plus it was a great way to tell people no.

Made him want to wriggle a little inside when he thought about it.

Now that he had gotten the use of idioms. He was starting to think about the use of human exclamations. There were so many, he hardly knew where to start.

He was so distracted with his musings that he ended up knocking over a stack of bedpans. They fell to the floor with a clatter before spinning across the open ground.

He looked down and decided that this was the perfect opportunity to try out some of his new exclamations. He wasn’t entirely sure how they worked, but you didn’t get anywhere without trying, “Shit hat!”

He stared at the bedpans trying to determine what he was feeling at the moment.

He didn’t have long for his pondering as Dr. Katie poked her head out of her office. Behind her large square glasses she looked more than a little confused. Another head peered around the corner, and he was surprised to find the captain staring at him with a bemused expression. The door to the far end of the room slid open and a group of marines peered inside.

Hmm, perhaps he had done something wrong.

“Did you just say, shit hat?” Dr Katie wondered glancing between him and the captain.

“That’s what I heard.” he said stepping out from inside.

“Did I do something wrong?” krill wondered in bemusement.

The marines laughed, “What were you even trying to do/”

“I was trying to use an angry exclamation.” The doctor explained 

The captain walked over to sit on the edge of one of the beds staring at Krill with a critical eye, “Well, it was a good effort, but not exactly right.”

“What do you mean.”

The marines walked in to sit with them as did doctor Katie.

The captain shook his head, “Well Krill, you see cursing is a very delicate art, you can’t just throw them together like that. For instance what you were trying to say was likely either ust shit, or ass hat. You can’t just throw them together. Shit would have worked, but in this instance ass hat wouldn’t have.” 

“I do not understand.”

The captain cracked his knuckles, “I will demonstrate, let us first begin with the word ass

Ass/arse = your pretty much just calling them a donkey at this point

Ass hat = refers to a person who is usually stupid or annoying 

Ass wipe = a general insult for someone you don’t like 

Dumbass = an idiot

Asshole = someone who is mean or rude 

Smartass = can be a term of endearment, but otherwise it might be used as a term for someone who is sarcastic or a know it all 

Fatass = someone who eats a lot or is also fat 

Ass face = another general insult, but this is specifically an insult and a comparison on their face to someone’s butt.

So what you were doing doesn't exactly work because you  use ass hat is an insult for a person and not an exclamation.” 

He looked around at the others to make sure they agreed with him before continuing, “our next word is damn.

Damn = can be used as an exclamation of anger in general.

Daaaaaaaaammmnnn = is for general awe, like if I saw someone do something really cool.

Damnit = another exclamation of anger generally a bit higher than just damn 

God Damn it = is just a little higher than the previous two, but implies that you want the creator himself to come down and damn the thing that you are cursing.

As a general side note, you can use damn for inanimate objects.

Damn you = is similar but usually directed towards a person. The equivalent of telling someone to go to hell or flipping them the bird. 

Damn it all = We ramp it up a bit here. You just don’t want to damn the object, but you want to damn everything.

Damn it all to hell = see previous but more specific 

Hot Damn! = this is another good exclamation. You just saw something really cool or someone who is really hot, or something that you really want.

I don’t give a damn = is the fancy way of saying I don’t care.

Are you following me so far?”

Krill nodded eagerly doing his best to remember all of this on such short notice.

“Good, now we get onto another one which I am slightly less familiar but I will try

Bitch = used to mean a female dog, but now sort of means someone who is a coward or pathetic in some way.

Bitching = to complain 

Bitch ass = not entirely sure, but if i say to get your bitch ass over here, I don’t have respect for you, though it is often used as a term of endearment between women 

Bitchboy = calling someones masculinity into question

“Ok now we get to my favorite word shit, so beautifully versatile, but it means that you have to be careful because each one has a different connotation.

The noun Shit = literally means excrement but can be used as an exclamation of displeasure. It can also replace stuff or things. Like where’s my shit

To shit = a verb means to take a dump

The adjective shitty = means something really sucks

See, a little more versatile than before, now.

Shitter = a toilet or the location where the verb takes place

A shit = is exactly what it sounds like.

To take a shit = is the same as the verb 

I don’t give a shit = I don't care kind of like I don’t give a damn

I won't take this shit = means I am not going to put up with you 

Bullshit = information, generally a lie or something that is conflated or untrue 

Batshit = is a modifier to someone who is insane, it generally means they are really crazy

Shitthole = a place that is really horrible or dirty 

Shitstain = general insult for a person you hate

Shithead = see above

Shitfaced = really drunk

The shit = something or someone that is really good

Hot shit= same as the shit

You think you’re hot shit? = generally a challenge to someone who needs to get off their high horse.

A piece of shit = means you suck or your a lowlife 

Shitload = a lot of 

To lose your shit = to go crazy or get really mad

To be on someone’s shit list = means they don’t like you

My shit = it's mine my stuff my property

Your shit = your problems and I don’t want them 

Add an animal in the front  like chicken or horse to denote a situation or information that you don’t like. This is horse shit for example.

Shit hits the fan = things get real 

Shoot the shit = to talk with someone on a social level 

He knows his shit = means he’s smart on a certain topic 

You don’t know shit = you don’t know anything

To give someone shit = you .”mess with them or to give them a hard time

Dipshit = an idiot

I am honestly cutting back on the amount of uses in this situation because if we continued this, it might go on too long.

Kril leaned in a little, “how fascinating. I had no idea one word could be so diverse.”

The human leaned in, “Than you are going to love this next one 

Fuck = sort of an upper escalation of shit. I don't know if the noun means anything really but the verb technically means to do it.

Fuck that = I am not going to do that there is no way in hell 

Fuck you = I hate you go die 

Fuck it = might as well just do this thing regardless of the consequences 

Fuck me = an exclamation of annoyance. Kind of like how could my life get any worse. Generally used when things aren't going your way. Of course you could use it in it’s literal translation as a command form or a question.

Fuck it all = another exclamation kind of like damn it all 

Fuck this shit = generally a screw this thing or activity specifically 

Fuck this = see above but less intense 

Fuckery = like what kind of fuckery is this. A question used to ask about some sort of unsavory activity.

Fuck off = telling someone to leave or go away angrily.

Fucnking hell = just an exclamation

Fucking shit = also just an exclamation

Generally you can put fucking in front of any other curse word noun and you got yourself a good insult hell, damn et. etc 

Fuckwit = an idiot

Fuckface = general insult like shithead 

I dont give a fuck = i dont care

I dont give a flying fuck = i really don’t care

Thats fucked = that is screwed up 

Hes fucked = hes screwed as in a situation specifically

Lets get fucked up = lets go get drunk or high

Lets fuck him up = lets beat him up 

Well…. Fuck = an exclamation of distress 

A fuck ton = larger than a shitload 

If you get fucked over = you’ve been used or betrayed 

And the classic a motherfucker = sort of just a general term for someone, but I  want to say it definitely implies someone is having sex with their mom

Fucktard = an idiot. 

Krill looked on in fascination and delight, “Holy shit!”

The captain blinked and then grinned, “There you go, now you're getting it. Totally forgot about that one.” He patted Krill on the back, “Now go forth, be free in your newfound knowledge and the glorious art that is cursing properly. Make sure not to use it too much though or in certain types of company because it will either cause you problems or lose it’s power. Like for instance, don’t curse around my mother or she will kill me for teaching you. Don’t curse around superior officers unless they curse first, and even then try to avoid doing it too much. Got it.”

Krill nodded.

He was so excited to apply this new rule of human language

#earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are space oddities

[bulletproofscales]

Self-Control Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26896048/chapters/65806804

3k words

tw: mentions of immobility

Feet are dragging him through the lobby; he is dreading this already. Walking up to the elevator and pressing the button.

“Wait up!” Jeongguk’s head springs up turning to see the fat man pathetically attempting to run his way.

"Hobi hyung” He greets, at a loss of words by the way his entire body shakes violently under his movements. He has to stop himself midway through licking his lips; thankfully Hoseok is too busy catching his breath; head hung low and hand against the wall for support. 

Jeongguk has to remind himself to breathe too.

The older makes the effort to lift his head up, reddened cheeks and heart-shaped smile, knocking the air out of Jeongguk’s own lungs, again. “Hey, Kookie.” His voice is all too sweet even when breathless like this. 

He wants to say more, ask if he came here walking even though he knows that would be ridiculous; just hear him say that there’s no way he could’ve walked here. To compare just how out of shape he is in comparison to the dancer he was before. Though, in rescue of his quivering self-control, the elevator doors open, and they both step in. 

Or well, Hoseok and then Jeongguk. The door is not nearly wide enough for the two of them at once. 

As he pushes the button to the fourth floor, Jeongguk can’t help but be glad it’s Hoseok he’s sharing an elevator ride with. Yeah, he is nearly pressed against the wall trying to avoid his arm grazing Hoseok’s fat one, heat emanating from his body enough to make the younger feel like melting, and there’s a distinct smell of sweat that’s being attempted to be covered with cologne, dizzying him. 

But he knows if he were to be here with anyone else, they’d exceed the weight limit. 

The elevator ride feels endless. He is forcing himself to stare at the wall directly in front of him. Even if he wants to steal glances at Hoseok’s body, admire it, every pound hanging off a frame that used to be so slim. 

But he doesn’t. Because he has self-control. 

Then a loud gurgle comes from the man next to him. 

Jeongguk’s face heats up. 

“Hungry already?” He meets Hoseok’s reddening cheeks with a side glance from the corner of his eyes and a smile that is hopefully teasing but friendly enough to not be predatory. Detachment comes off naturally in his voice. No, Joengguk isn’t affected by this at all! 

“I barely ate today.” He doubts the legitimacy of that statement. ‘Barely ate’ to any one of them means more food than on Jeongguk’s most gluttonous days. “Got to catch up to them!” He beams so happily. Hoseok is the ‘skinniest’, of the six of them. Though any variable of the word skinny being directed anywhere near Jeongguk’s friends would be laughable. 

This is another thing Jeognguk came to realize a little too late. When the first changes started to occur, the others would tease Hoseok. Call him a twig in comparison to their rapidly fattening bodies. At first, Jeongguk thought it was just the other’s way of coping with their sudden weight gain. But then, Hoseok was actively taking measures to gain weight. Even with a body like the one he has now…he still does. 

It still isn’t enough for Hoseok. 

It baffles him. Just how open they are to both the intentional and accidental aspects of their weight gain, calling one another addicts, yet actively seeking fattening foods with the purpose of being on the same level as the others. It drives him insane. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, and Jeongguk lets Hoseok step out first. His eyes were already strictly looking forward so if he got a too-long-to-be-normal glance at Hoseok’s ass, that was the reason, nothing more. And if he stays behind biting at his lip with a reddening face, it was because Hoseok walks so slowly he wanted to give him some advantage. Nothing else. 

The older one turns to look at Jeongguk. “Did I sit on something?” He is asking, humored; twisting his torso as much as he can to stare down at his pants.

So many side rolls… 

Jeongguk, he asked a question.

“No!” Maybe it comes a bit too jumpy and too loud. He coughs, casual facade coming back seamlessly. “I’m just letting you get some advantage.” And he even dares to say “You’re starting to waddle, hyung.” He begins to walk behind him, long and meaningful strides making Jeongguk reach him easily. 

What he doesn’t expect is a dreamy sigh from Hoseok, “Ahhh, you’re the only that thinks that, Jeonggukie.”  

They knock on the door; if Hoseok has to rest his palm against the wall to catch his breath, Jeongguk most certainly doesn’t pay attention to it. “Come in! It’s open.” Yoongi’s voice resonates muffled through the door. 

Of course, they’d leave it unlocked only if it means not standing up. He lets Hoseok open it, but not because he wants to see just how much more until he brushes through the door frame; Jeongguk does it out of courtesy. He inhales a little shakily before allowing himself inside, closing the door behind him as he steps into the living room alongside Hoseok.

Yoongi was sitting on the couch, taking almost up half of it. 

Was it a big couch? No. Did it still make Jeongguk have trouble swallowing down his own spit? Absolutely. 

His gut pooled almost over the couch, even when Yoongi was resting his back entirely against the backrest; well, not entirely, he still has the cushiony back rolls serving as a pillow.  His arm barely reached the armrest, but that was just Jeongguk assuming, as Yoongi’s hands were neatly placed on the shelf of his belly. One holding a bowl, balancing it on the massive dome, while the other brought food to his greasy lips. Jeongguk wonders for how long has he been eating… 

Jeongguk, stop. 

He tears his eyes away, but that’s no good, as next to him Namjoon is being pressed against the armrest of the couch.  The taunt beer belly he had developed during college, still very much there, barely budging against the pressure; though by the bottom of it, hung thick layers of pillowy fat, molding easily at the small space Yoongi left. But what captured Jeongguk’s eyes more was the hardness that was only left on him in the round taunt spot at the top of his stomach. Namjoon was broad once, strong, girthy. One of those is still true. But there’s something about the fact that the only part of Namjoon that isn’t soft is a beer belly that makes Jeongguk want to… 

Shut up. It makes him want to shut up before his self-control goes out the window. 

“Well if it isn’t my favorite twigs!” Both Hoseok and Jeongguk groan at Seokjin’s cheerful tone. Squeezed into the one-person couch. Yeah, he is sitting alone, but the width of his body is for two people. His hips are overflowing out, he actually looks stuck. The fat of his entire torso squished and bulging forward; even his moobs looked squished together. 

Hoseok is whining, lips in a pout like a child that’s being poked fun at. “Hyung stop the twig thing. Jeonggukie said I’m starting to waddle!” He is taking slow steps towards the bigger couch; for a moment the youngest’s breath stills, thinking about Hoseok possibly trying to squeeze himself in between Yoongi and Namjoon. Though he can breathe again once he sees him plop his weight heavily on the floor; right in between Yoongi’s spread legs, using his gut nearly draping off the couch as a nice neck support. Plastic cups tremble at the impact. Hell, Jeongguk can feel the vibration of the floor beneath his feet. 

“To Jeongguk, we all waddle, Seok-ah” Yoongi states almost dramatically. He knows the older would be petting Hoseok’s hair comfortingly if his arms reached below his gut. They all completely dismiss the impact of Hoseok’s weight on the ground… Which is fair, any one of them could do that. 

Which only makes Jeongguk more turned on, damn. 

He grabs one of the neglected chairs from the dining table, these two haven’t any of them in months at least. And sits down beside Yoongi. Tries not to think about how it’s dusty under his hands when he drags it closer. 

“Well, we can’t say Jeongguk knows what waddling even means. “Namjoon comments as if the youngest wasn’t even in the room, only then turning to him. “Kook-ah, was it like a sway of hips, or was it more like….a limp of sorts?” 

“I’m basically your human walking stick. I think I know what a waddle looks like.” He crosses his arms over his chest, confidently as he leans back on the chair. That’s right, Jeongguk; just pretend to be comfortable. 

“Even if you’re waddling you’re still out scrawny little twig, Hobi.” Seokjin cooes endeared. 

“At least Jeonggukie thinks I’m fat.” He mumbles to himself wistfully. Ironically, Jeongguk is making an extra effort to try and not think about how fat everyone in the room is. Everyone, but him. 

For a moment he has hope. Hope that the conversation will thrift to something else, anything, anything else. But Jeongguk is soon regretting it as he hears heavy stomps resonate behind the walls in the hallway. 

Oh, god.

“Open!” Seokjin says before they even reach the door. Jeongguk doubts they’ll be able to hear it over the loud noise of their own heavy breaths waddling towards the door. He tries not to wince noticeably, though he already knows what he’s about to see.

It looks like Taehyung is literally bursting through the door with the way his sides lightly sink into his hips. Nobody pays him any mind but Jeongguk’s eyes are wide like deer’s, stained on the way Taehyung’s chubby arms pathetically try to reach to untuck his hips form the doorframe; failing miserably. Suddenly he is being pushed and stumbles weakly forward. 

Jeongguk doesn’t even think twice before standing up to stop him from falling. Strong hands grip into the pillowy fat of his arms, tree trunk legs trembling and threatening to collapse. Jeongguk can feel the sweat from his armpits even when gripping into his bicep, all his shirts are constantly damp around the area. The younger tries his hardest not to scrunch his face in disgust, or worse, moan. 

It’s selfish that Jeongguk stays there, wanting to get as much as he can of the feeling of fat under his fingers; even when Taehyung is panting and his own arms are beginning to strain. 

Taehyung is turning his head to the door with a pout “Hey! I had that.” Jeongguk makes the mistake to look up from the sweaty man in his arms to look at the door. 

Taehyung flinches an “ouch” at the way the younger’s hands cling with a death grip, eyes wide and strained at Jimin. The fat man shuffling unbothered through the door frame, sideways. Tiny chubby hands attempting to push the bulging fat inwards as he slides into the room. 

One of these days he won’t be able to do that.

Jimin’s voice is snapping him out of his thoughts. “No, you didn’t. We would have been there for hours and my legs are giving out.” Jeongguk is snapped out of his trance, but is the reality he is living in anymore merciful? 

Jimin is waddling to where they’re all sitting; taking the chair the youngest had brought for himself. Fat overspills in every direction and the chair creaks dangerously but Jimin ignores it. “Thanks for leaving us a spot.” He huffs sarcastically. 

“Sounds like something you should have thought about before being late.” Yoongi says, his voice muffled as he swallows down the last crumbs of his bowl. When did he finish it?! 

“Some of us have lives, hyung.” Taehyung was still in his arms when he said that, his voice was breathless and Jeongguk turns his attention to him, helping him stand back up. Jeongguk is parting to go look for a chair but the older grips tighter into his forearm. “Floor.” He breathes out and Jeongguk doesn’t need any more instructions as he wraps an arm that grips to Taehyung’s back roll, supporting most of the weight pushed against him. The steps are slow and heavy, but sitting the older down is even more ungraceful.

The thud is louder than Hoseok’s, so is the tremble underneath his feet. Hell, Jeongguk can even swear he sees some of the fat hanging off Namjoon’s belly shake the slightest bit where it rests on the couch. 

“And what were you doing that was so important?” Seokjin prompts from his couch with a raised eyebrow.

“Having sex.” Jimin doesn’t even doubt before answering with an ironically cheerful proud smile. 

That was also a new addition to whatever fucked up dynamic Jeongguk had gotten himself in. With time, with the gained weight, all of them became much more….close? Jeongguk doesn’t exactly know. More touches, more teases more…openness. He doesn’t know if all of that is just platonic joking, he never got the courage to ask; he is scared of what the answer could possibly be. 

Just like Jimin didn’t hesitate, nobody was phased by this answer either. Namjoon scoffs. “Come on. You stopped having energy for sex months ago.”  How does he know this? Is he judging from their body? To be fair they can barely walk. Or does he know something else that they keep from Jeongguk? 

He tries to push the thought out of his head best he can. And rather takes a seat in front of the other end of the coffee table. 

The more distance the better. Detachment. 

Self.

Control. 

Hoseok’s lips are pursed and his head is cocked to the side as he considers his words. “Could have been a lazy handjob maybe?” The way he offers it so casually, like they aren’t talking about sex; like they aren’t talking about their friends. 

“Hobi, they stopped reaching their dicks a while ago, trust me” Seokjin intercepts with a knowing chuckle that in any other circumstance would be reassuring, but now does the opposite to Jeongguk’s spiraling thoughts. 

“Right!?” Taehyung exclaims “Who says we even have any dick left!” Jeongguk sucks in a sharp breath. It should be concerning the youngest, the way everyone mumbles in agreement. Instead, it just coils arousal at the bottom of his stomach. 

“Of course Seok still thinks you can reach your dicks. I mean look at him, he can basically touch his toes.” Yoongi argues unfazed. It’s ridiculous how utterly offended Hoseok looks by these accusations. However, he doesn’t argue.  Does Hoseok not fight back because it’s no use, or because he knows, they know? Jeongguk tries his best not to think about how the rest would even know this if they even did. 

He is officially giving himself a time out, eyes glued to the coffee table before him.

Jeongguk, get it together. 

He is still focusing on his breathing when things finally begin to go, properly, downhill. 

“So should we begin to order?” He tenses. Jimin’s voice reeks of innocence, a wide angelic grin adoring his cheeks as his small hands happily tap on the shelf of his belly. The enthusiastic agreements come in quickly. 

And just like that, Jeongguk’s torture officially begins. 

See? It’s too early for dinner, actually. But ordering is such a prolonged process, they really need all the time they can get before getting properly hungry (even though they are never fully satiated). And with their appetite, Jeongguk can easily say, they’re running against the clock. 

It’s dreadful, really, he has to sit there with the six obese men in front of him gushing and discussing different restaurants they want to order. Plural, of course. Because if they were to order enough food for all of them from one single restaurant, the place will probably think they’re being pranked. Once the list is set, they allow each one to pick three dishes from 4 restaurants. Which kinda startles Jeongguk for a bit. 

They always do three restaurants… He swallows thickly dreading to know that behind this change, there are six ravenous stomachs. 

They are planning on getting stuffed tonight. 

Fuck, how is Jeongguk even going to be able to move them afterward?!

When it’s Jeongguk’s turn to choose an order he skims over his options. All the choices are fast food places, which isn’t that surprising; they much rather have the food come quickly than have it be actually good. 

They are just that desperate to eat. 

He chooses ridiculously quickly in comparison to the rest. And if he wasn’t starving due to the tight knot in his stomach that made him avoid food all day, he’d actually eat the healthiest smallest option he could find; just to get off by the comparison to the other orders. 

He doesn’t. Jeongguk still has some self-control left. 

The wait for the food feels painfully long, which makes sense, considering the amount of food they just ordered. But it still manages to startle Jeongguk when there’s a ring of the doorbell. The first of many. 

“Jeongguk-ah” Yoongi calls pleading, and he doesn’t have to even finish his sentence for the youngest to know what he is going to ask. “Could you go get that, please?” He is asking nicely, but Jeongguk still groans. It’s not like he has a choice. Unless he wants to see one of them struggle to stand up and waddle pathetically to the poor delivery person at the door; who will suddenly understand why they are delivering this inhumane amount of food. 

He still has some respect for his sanity. 

So he stands and goes to the door, grabbing Seokjin’s wallet on the way there. One convenience about his weight is always leaving stuff in the same spot; none of them can really afford to be waddling around looking for stuff. 

When he opens the door this poor delivery girl is struggling under the bags, this is only from one restaurant?! Jeongguk is quickly pulling the bags, paying not before thanking. Something bubbling and trickling down his sides that he has come to recognize as embarrassment. Embarrassment of his six best friends who have lost every ounce of self-control they once had, unapologetically obese and inhumanely gluttonous. 

He is more embarrassed that he loves it. 

#feedee kim seokjin #·feedeerism #feedee min yoongi #"feedee jung hoseok #feedee park jimin #feedee kim taehyung #feedee kim namjoon #jungkook x everyone #sub jungkook #fat kim seokjin #fat min yoongi #fat jung hoseok #fat kim namjoon #fat park jimin #fat kim taehyung #cramped spaces #mentions of immobility

[always-anxious612]

My Love

Description: Roman has a crush but is also an insecure mess. 

Genre: hurt/comfort

Paring: Logince

Warnings: crying, panic attack, self deprecation  (let me know if I missed anything)

           Roman had a problem. How did he know he had a problem? Well, it was fairly obvious by the way his face was flushed, by the way the butterflies danced in his stomach, by the way he so uncharacteristically stumbled over his words. What was his problem you ask? Logan. He—He liked him…a lot. It wasn’t his fault that the way the nerd’s eyes lit up when he talked about something he liked was so endearing, or that the logical side’s laugh, however rare, was so beautiful. It wasn’t his fault that Logan was just…so amazing. Roman sighed, looking down at the script he was supposed to be writing. He had been wracking his brain for days, trying to finish it on time. Now, Logan needed it by the end of the day, and Roman couldn’t disappoint him. He had already done enough of that. At the thought, the lovesick grin that had been on his face a moment before slowly slid off. 

Right. He had disappointed Logan far too much to be hoping for a relationship with him. Logan hated him. Roman was the complete opposite of him, pure fantasy and big dreams, no logic allowed. He rubbed at his tired eyes before trying to focus back on his work. He could feel a headache coming on, and it seemed his poor sleeping schedule over the past few days only made him feel worse. He was a mess.

He didn’t even realize another sigh had slipped from his lips or that there was another person in his room until someone cleared their throat behind him.

“Roman, I presume that’s the script you’re working on?” a familiar monotone voice asked. Roman swallowed down a sudden nervous lump in his throat and turned to face Logan.

“That it is, my dear nerd. It shall be ready for your inspection in due time.” He announced, sincerely hoping his words were true.

“Excellent…Are you alright Roman? Your face seems to be quite flushed. Do you have a fever? If you’re sick, you needn’t worry yourself with the script today.” Logan offered. Roman felt his face burn even more at Logan’s attentive stare.

“No, No I’m fine, my love.” He replied trying to wave him o—wait, no. He didn’t. He couldn’t have just—

Logan blinked at him in surprise, confirming his worst fear. He had just called Logan my love. Right in front of his face.

“Roman, I—”

“Ok, I’ll have the script to you soon. Alright? Alright goodbye then!” Roman panicked, shoving Logan out of the room and slamming the door. He couldn’t believe it. How could he be such an idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Roman sucked in a breath and slid down his door to rest on the floor.

“I’m such an idiot.” he whispered to himself, feeling hot tears start to slide down his face.

Pathetic he chastised in his head. Crying over a small slip up. But—what if Logan never talked to him again outside of their roles in the video? If Logan hadn’t hated him enough before, he’d definitely hate him now. Roman sniffed, rubbing at his eyes; but attempting to stop the tears was futile. He just—

“Roman, please.” A voice on the other side begged. “You didn’t give me a chance to respond.” Logan’s voice only worsened Roman’s pain. He gasped, clutching his chest. This was pathetic. Panicking over a saying two simple words. Roman felt the door bump against his back.

“Are you sitting in front of the door?” Logan asked. “Please, Roman, I just—” another panicked gasp as Roman tried to dampen his crying and get control of his breathing. Silence on the other side of the door.

“Roman, can you breath for me? In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. You can do it.” Logan coached through the door. Roman tried to follow the instructions, he really did, but all he could manage was a garbled sob that caught in his throat and made him spiral farther.

“Roman, its ok, try again.” Logan encouraged. This time he counted out the breathes, knocking on the door for each beat. After a few minutes of the breathing exercise, Roman had calmed down enough to move out from the front of the door. Logan rushed in, carefully kneeling in front of the Prince.

“Roman, may I hug you?” he asked softly. Gulping, Roman looked into Logan’s eyes before nodding hesitantly. The gentleness with which Logan held him was something Roman never knew the “cold” logical side was capable of, and Roman found himself burying himself in the hug, inhaling Logan’s scent.  

“I’m sorry. I—I overacted.” Roman whispered after a couple of seconds.

“You don’t have to apologize, Roman. While you didn’t give me adequate chance to respond and jumped to a conclusion rather quickly, it can be scary to reveal your feelings, especially on accident.” Logan soothed. “I’m not very well-versed in the area of feelings myself, but I do know that if I were the one to accidentally let that slip to you, I would be in very much the same state of mind.”

Roman felt his bottom lip tremble again at the words.

“But you—you don’t have feelings for me.” He laughed mournfully, face still buried in Logan’s chest.

“Who said that? I missed the part where I said that.” Logan replied softly, making Roman’s head whip up. Logan’s heart clenched in an unfamiliar way when he saw Roman’s red-rimmed eyes and tear-soaked cheeks. Just as bad were the bags under his eyes, indicating his lack of sleep over the past few days. “Roman, I—I may not be good with feelings, but despite my words I do have them. And I have them for you. Romantic feelings, that is. I, um, I have romantic feelings for you. I mean.”

Roman let out a tear-filled laugh at Logan’s ramblings. He—Logan really…

“You mean that?” he asked, barely daring to hope.

“Of course, I do, my prince.”

Roman could have burst out crying again, this time from happiness. Instead, He leaned up, hesitating right before reaching Logan’s lips, unsure and unsteady. Luckily, Logan closed the distance and he leaned into the warmth. He tasted like coffee and crofters. Bitter and sweet, the perfect combination.

“I should have breakdowns more often if it leads to this.” Roman tried to joke once they pulled away.

“Please don’t, my star. I hate seeing you sad.”

Roman couldn’t help the soft blush that settled itself onto his face at Logan’s nickname and the softness in his voice. Gosh, he loved him.

“I’m sorry about—y’know, everything. A-And about the script. I don’t think I can finish it today like you wanted.” Roman apologized, looking away in shame.

“Roman, please tell me that the script is not why you haven’t been sleeping decently or coming out of your room for the past few days.”

“I—Well, it needed to get done, and I was just…in a bit of a creative slump. It’s fine, though. I mean, I haven’t gone to bed that late the past few nights. I just really wanted to get it done. I—I guess I failed.” Roman stammered, not realizing his absence had been noticed by anyone other than Patton.

“The past few nights, I have awoken as I always do precisely at six AM and you’re lamp has still been on every morning. I know for a fact that you don’t get up until nine most days. I am presuming that you didn’t go to bed at all these past nights judging from the dark circles under your eyes. Please, Roman, just tell me next time you’re having issues with the script. I’m happy to give you more time or help you come up with ideas.”

“I—I just…I guess I just didn’t want to disappoint you. I’m sorry.”  

“You could never disappoint me.” Logan assured softly.

“Yeah right.” Roman muttered under his breath. Logan tilted Roman’s head up, cupping his face gingerly.

“I promise Roman. You could never disappoint me.” He repeated, a firmness in his voice and fire in his eyes that Roman had never seen before. Even with Logan’s reassurance, Roman found he still couldn’t quite let himself believe his words, but when Logan pressed another soft kiss to his lips, he let a smile slowly spread across his face anyway. With a quiet sigh, he slumped against Logan in exhaustion.

“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable. I’ll grab some extra blankets, and we could take a nap? You need to replenish your sleep, and I’d be more than happy to cuddle. I-If you’d like to, um, cuddle, that is.” Logan suggested, blushing slightly.

“Hm, I never thought you’d be the one to suggest cuddles.” Roman hummed, gazing up at his love.

“I don’t mind cuddling. In fact, most studies show that cuddling can relieve stress and anxiety and sometimes can even boost your immune system by boosting your serotonin levels which have been linked to immune system improvement before. It’s also a very good way to get closer to the ones you love.”

Roman giggled slightly as Logan ranted. He loved the way Logan knew a little about almost everything. He loved the way he would rant about the tiniest things. He loved the way he would light up when nobody told him to stop or interrupted his rants. He loved him.

“Is there, um, something on my face, Roman? You—You’ve been staring for quite a while.” Logan’s asked, breaking the creative side’s trance.

“Oh, um, no—You’re just…amazing, Lo.” Roman stammered, trying to recover as a blush lit his face on fire. At least he had managed to reduce Logan to a blushing mess as well.

“I’ll go get the blankets then.” Logan finally said, standing and clearing his throat. Roman just grinned as he left. Logan really, actually liked him. They had really, actually just kissed. They were—they were really together now. And to think that it was all because his tired brain had slipped up and let him say two little words he shouldn’t have. Soon enough, Logan came back, blankets in hand and the two were cuddled underneath the warmth. Roman couldn’t help but admire the way they seemed to fit perfectly together, their legs intertwined, their arms wrapped around each other. Already, he could feel sleep begin to pull at his eyes, making him yawn and snuggle closer to Logan.

“I love you, starlight.” Roman whispered, smiling against Logan’s chest.

“I love you too, Roman. Rest well, my love.”

The words echoed in Roman’s head, Logan’s presence clouding his brain until he finally, finally let himself close his eyes and drifted into the comfort of sleep.

Taglist: @catolicabuena

#tw crying #tw panic attack #tw self deprecation #logince #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #my fics #hurt/comfort #logince hurt/comfort #roman sanders #logan sanders #ts creativity #ts logic #writing

[mistkissedmoon]

Beloved, Beloved

​​Damian quickened his pace as he made his way to the set of apartments that housed his beloved, biting back a painfully eager smile. Allah, how had he lived without her brightening up his life? His treasured queen, his love, his everything. ​​“Ra’s!” ​​Damian bit back a groan and turned around, trying to hide the irritation he felt at seeing his uncle Dusan march towards him. The albino’s eyes glittered unpleasantly as he came to a halt before him and Damian felt his stomach sink. If his uncle was in a malicious mood, this could end badly and painfully for everyone involved - and a few unwary servants. “Yes, Uncle?”​​

“Where are you off in such a hurry?” Dusan’s tone implied teasing curiosity, but he wasn’t quite able to hide the greed making his eyes shine and his fingers tremble. Damian bit back a scathing, disdainful scoff. One of the many reasons he had been chosen to be the next Ra’s al Ghul was because he, unlike Dusan, could see beyond his greed, and hide his emotions proficiently. Damian straightened, looking down at him. It was a wonder Grandfather let him live for so long… with anyone but his son, he would have had him killed, and he might have been right to do so. Damian thought idly, rolling his tongue in his mouth. He enjoyed Dusan’s barely hidden fury at his apparent indifference of him, and his larger physique which forced him to look up to make eye contact with his nephew. “I am going to my quarters, Uncle.” He replied lazily, projecting the impression that he had all the time in the world. In reality, he was seriously considering knocking him out and proceeding to visit the warm arms of his lady love. “Why are you bothering me so late at night?” ​​Dusan forced a warped facsimile of a smile, managing barely more than a snarl.

 “I thought to interest you in my latest project, my lord.” He hissed.​​Damian bit back another sigh. Would this day never end? 

“Thank you, but I’ve seen more than enough of your projects. I am going to bed. Good Night.” So saying, he spun on his heel and strode towards his bedroom door again. “Why in such a hurry, nephew? Is there something in your bedroom you’re eager to see?” Dusan called. Damian felt a jolt of fear spike. His nostrils flared, before he composed himself, thankful that Dusan was at his back and unable to see his face. He turned slowly. “No, Uncle. I am tired and wish to retire to my room, as should you. Is there a reason you are stopping me?”

 ​​“Idle curiosity.” The despicable man shrugged, as if he was not wasting time that could be spent with Raven. “I’ve grown concerned, Damian.” The man adopted a almost believable tone of paternal worry, as if he thought Damian would forget the cruelties and assassination attempts he had suffered - survived due to him. “You’re absent-minded in your duties, you stay in your room like a recluse; why, you’ve ordered the servants to leave your meals outside your door! I’m trying to engage you in another hobby, my boy.” His endearment sounded wrong, and his words dashed between them, soaking into the carpet that cloaked the Al Ghul’s compound. Dusan’s smile faltered, then reappeared, forced. Damian raised an eyebrow, wishing he would leave. “Who told you it was a hobby? I am working on something very important that requires much of my attention. Please leave immediately.”

​​“A task?” Dusan looked even more unnerving, a sadistic grin twisting his features. “Are you interrogating someone? I can help; you’ve seen my projects firsthand, after all.” Damian felt a white-hot bolt of rage frisson through him and he clenched his teeth to control himself. Just as he was getting his emotions under his control, Dusan retrieved a knife from within his clothing and started edging towards the door. Damian felt his control splinter in an instant, fury blocking out any other emotion at the thought of this filthy man anywhere near his queen, let alone hurting her. The mental image of Dusan dragging the knife over his beloved’s skin snapped what little control he had. “No, Dusan.” Damian blocked the door. “I am simply tired of your incessant blathering, and I do not find any of your pathetic, time-wasting projects to be worthy of my time.” Damian winced internally. If not for his reputation of aggressive behaviour and Dusan’s lacklustre cognitive faculties, anyone could easily realise he was hiding something. Idiot! He berated himself. Something flashed, and he deflected a throwing blade on instinct. He blinked, then sprang into a fighting stance, easily catching Dusan’s fist as he lunged towards him, throwing him aside. Dusan staggered, barely keeping his footing, before twisting towards him, more throwing knives poised to throw. “Show some respect, boy.” The albino grunted as Damian deftly dodged his weapons, letting them embed themselves onto the door behind him with a thunk. “I am your elder! I have lived through countless battles and I am the Ghost! Do you know what that means, boy?! I-”

 ​​“Serve the Ra’s al Ghul as their right hand and their lesser.” Damian caught his lunging arm (Allah, no wonder he was chosen as the next Ra’s al Ghul if this was the alternative) and twisted, forcing him to drop the knife with a cry before lifting him bodily off the ground. Dusan gurgled, his eyes slitted with hatred. “I should have been Ra’s! I am his son. You - You were chosen by your father! Why didn’t mine choose his?” His eyes, before so filled with hate, were now filled with mingled pain and envy. Damian released the sigh in his chest and gently settled him down on the ground. “I assure you, it is not a project you would be interested in. Truthfully, it’s dull, tedious work. I am merely attempting to coax a potential ally over to our side, but they are frustratingly cautious. While they will be useful when they are our allies, they is currently nothing more than the bane of my existence.” He proclaimed, relaxing as a flicker of a smile appeared on Dusan’s face.​​“Excellent, my lord.” Dusan’s eyes softened (softened wasn’t the right word. Damian noted. Perhaps cooled would fit better; some of the malice drained away, at any rate) minutely, letting him know he appreciated the subject change. He bowed briefly before striding back towards his mysterious - and probably gruesome - project, Damian’s bedroom forgotten. Damian closed his eyes in relief. He opened the door and slipped inside, locking the door once he was sure Dusan was gone. He turned and found Raven glaring at him from beside his bed. The sound of the knife hitting the floor must have prompted her to eavesdrop. “Beloved?” He questioned. “Is something wrong?” Raven opened her mouth several times, her hands clenching and unclenching. Finally, she wrapped her arms around herself and quoted, “it’s dull, tedious work. They is currently nothing more than the bane of my existence.” Damian’s fear spiked and grew like a parasite. Was she implying she thought he was serious? Surely not. But the way she was glaring… “Beloved.” He cooed. “I was simply saying that to distract Dusan.”​​

“… why?”​​ Damian felt his stomach plummet (again) at her small, weak, hurt voice. “I do not want him to know of you, Raven. He is dangerous, my love-”

​​“So am I.” She interrupted, glaring hotly at him. “And yet you continue to hid me away like some sort of- of-” She gestured wildly, her eyes wild. “-dirty secret! I’m not allowed to leave this room, I’m not allowed to let anyone know I’m here- I- I” She spluttered, swallowing a faint sob. Damian lurched forward instinctively, wanting, needing to protect her, comfort her, as if it were his only duty, stopping short when Raven shook her head and stepped back, almost… wary. Damian’s chest ached sharply, as though a knife had been driven through him. Was she afraid of him? Damian wondered despondently, feeling helpless as she placed her arms by her side. The thought should not have hurt as much as it did. Almost everyone, save his family (usually) feared him on some level, but the thought that Raven might… No. I don’t want her to be afraid of me. Not her, never her. Damian’s heart rate elevated, and he controlled his breathing. “I just - I don’t understand.” Raven sounded dangerously close to tears, and Damian’s heart ached again. “You keep me secret and tell people you’re fulfilling a tedious chore while you’re with me. You won’t allow me into your world - if you don’t want me to stay and help you achieve your vision; Do you want me to leave? I’m not sure where I stand on killing, so I probably won’t be of any use to you, at least right now.” Raven looked defiant, every inch of her the proud, slighted Demoness that she was.

 “I cannot deny it.” His head dropped in defeat. “Before you, my greatest desire was to rid the world of crime, be that with my father or as Ra’s al Ghul. Now, it has changed. My fondest, dearest wish is that you stay by my side.” He swallowed, avoiding her eyes. The beat of silence seemed too deafening to last, and so he rushed to break it. “And if that were too much for you; if you grow tired of my world, perhaps you would do my the honour of allowing me to stay by your side? I could prove very useful to you, beloved.” Damian licked his lips, only years of training stopping him from shifting in place. “I can ensure you can live comfortably anywhere, be that in the depths of a acrid desert or the slums of Gotham city.” He scrambled fruitlessly for another reason such a beautiful, brilliant, powerful demon would want him. “I will never betray you; I Love y-”​​

“No You Don’t!” She yelled, furiously, her voice breaking. There was a painful pause and if Damian’s heart was broken before, it now shrank and withered.​​“I’d do anything for you.” He vowed helplessly, weakly, feeling as though air had been stolen from his lungs. Raven’s eyes filled with tears, and she looked away before he could see them fall. “I don’t believe you.” She stated in a tiny, quiet, hitching little voice. Damian felt his heart break slowly as she shivered and cupped her arms, stepping away from him in the sudden stillness. She cut quite a miserable figure, tiny and heartbroken and sobbing and alone. Does she question my feelings or her own? He questioned himself, despairing. “That’s fine.” He tried to stop his voice from wobbling - so weak, grandfather would have been ashamed of him - “I’ll prove it to you until you believe me.”​​ Raven gave him a flat, furious, tear-stained glance of disbelief, her silence speaking volumes as she continued to rock herself and his heart twisted yet again. Damian felt himself babble in his desperation, unable to stop the flow of words escaping him. “I did not realise - I’m sorry. I should have -” He cut himself off, unable to find any words that would fix the mess he had created. How long had she been feeling like this? Like she was… unwanted? ​​“I don’t know if I can stay here, Damian.” Her words, usually so lively and filled with vitality, seemed tired and forlorn, her words lingering between them like a fog. Damian stiffened. If she had truly grown tired of his world, what would they do? Would she leave? Would he follow her? Would he be allowed to follow her? The ideas that ran headlong through his head like an elephant’s stampede was each more horrible than the last. What if it was he she had grown tired of? What if she was ambushed while he was unable to protect her? Damian swallowed. He centred himself. That was his paranoia speaking. This was Raven in front of him, and she was hurting. If he could do something that would make her happy again, then he would. “If you wish to leave, I will respect your decision. Will you allow my company on your journey?”

​​“But I don’t want to leave!” She burst out, frustrated. She paused to take several deep breaths. A faint hope rose in his breast, as torturous as it was a fresh breath of air. He shuddered violently, unused to being so vulnerable, but never once looking away. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you.” She spoke out loud. “I regret that, and I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t actually feel that unwanted. What I should have said, is that - I feel trapped. I’m shut in here all day, and I know you have your duties, but not seeing anyone is… making me unhappy. I know you try to make time for me, but - but -” She took a deep breath, and Damian rubbed her arms in support, listening intently. “I feel like a prisoner.” Damian felt a pang of hurt echo through him, and it must have shown on his face, because Raven winced. Before she could say anything, Damian dropped to his knees (she was so petite) and rested his head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Beloved. I merely wanted to protect you, but now I see that I was undermining you instead. Believe me, this is something that will be rectified immediately. I will notify the servants of your presence and you will be allowed to go wherever you wish. Anyone who tries to harm you will be dealt with personally, I promise.” Damian raised his head and held out his hands. “And I also promise that next time I want to protect you, or do something involving you, I’ll talk to you first.” She shyly put hers in his, and he clasped them, kissing the top of each hand. “I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is make you feel unhappy. If you wish to leave; I will accompany you, to wherever you wish to go.” Raven looked up, her eyes glowing, understanding his unspoken words but unable to speak for joy. “I love you!” She whispered, so overcome with happiness she felt almost afraid. She cupped his cheeks, pressing their foreheads together softly. “So, so much. We’ll stay together, always! I promise to love you and make you happier every day… my darling.” Was one person allowed to feel this way? She swayed filled with dizzying happiness. He lifted her easily, an arm wrapping around her waist and the other supporting her thighs as her legs hitched around his hips. “Beloved?” His tone was concerned, an undercurrent of gentle worry woven in with his own deep-seeded joy ripping through him. Raven, however, was too lost in her blissful happiness to answer, tucked under his chin within the heavenly circle of his arms, warm and safe and loved. Damian felt a wave of fierce love engulf him. Never again would she feel like a secret to be ashamed of and hidden away. Instead, Raven would be shown off like the goddess she was; it was not her fault, after all, that she drew attention, he reasoned. Any servant that stared too long or any associate that glanced too covetously would be taken care of separately, Raven being allowed to move wherever she wished. Raven sighed, rocking on his lap until she was secure and comfortable. Damian but back a moan and concentrated on his breathing, drawing her even closer when he deemed it safe. “I like this feeling.” She absently stroked his chest, her eyes glazing over. “You’re so warm.”​​ Damian cocked his head. 

“I am glad I can shield you from the elements, my love.” He said cautiously. Raven snorted abruptly, the smile on her face prompting Damian to crack a nonplussed grin of his own. “I meant warm emotionally, Damian.”​​

“Emotionally?”​​

“I am an empath.” She hesitated, trying to find the right way to frame her words. “Feelings can take an almost physical strength, when strong enough. Negative emotions are, for lack of a better word, cold. They feel biting, and they seem to suck oxygen from the air itself. Positive emotions, like joy, selflessness, love-” She met his gaze shyly. “Feel warm. Like a blanket fresh from the dryer.” She nuzzled his neck and curled deeper into his chest sleepily, content. “Although, I do love your physical warmth as well.” She yawned, giving no sign that she knew she had sent his pulse into overdrive. He kissed the top of her head tenderly, covering as much of her small body as he could. “I love you so much, Raven. I don’t know what I would have done if you had left.” He said quietly. “Will you stay with me, Beloved?”​​

“Beloved…” she raised her glassy eyes to his, hope brightening her face. Damian’s traitorous heart swelled with glee. “When you say that, you really mean it, don’t you?” She murmured. She exhaled a shaky breath. “I am… beloved. To you.” Damian melted. He discarded his composed façade and cupped her rosy cheeks, absently noting how both their breaths were ragged. “My beloved. You are the most precious thing in the world to me. You’re the most interesting, fascinating puzzle, the loveliest, most exquisite prize I could ever dream of. You completely possess my heart, my being, my very soul; you utterly enamour me, and I would happily spend the rest of my days cherishing you until you know exactly how much I adore you, habibata.” He cradled her against his chest, Raven having grown soft and yielding to his powerful embrace, his voice deepening into a convicted rumble. “You are the last, strongest fire in my heart, beloved. The hope your mere presence, your smile inspires gives me the strength to challenge anyone who dares threaten us. I swear to you, on my honour as an Al Ghul; I will spend every day you choose to bless me by staying by my side worshipping you… my goddess.”​​ His voice grew soft, aware he should feel ashamed of his next confession, but too enchanted with the feeling of her soft body in his arms to ever feel shame in his feelings. “If you found yourself unable to live with my life as an assassin, I will gladly dedicate the rest of my life trying to fix the world in any way you desire to ensure you know I support you.”

​​“And as long as I don’t lose you,” her gentle voice sounded like a balm over a raw wound he didn’t know he had as she looked up at him, safe in his arms, her eyes tender and soft. “I would never ask you to give up something so important to you.” Damian felt tears of overwhelming love prick his vision and he buried his face in his neck, breathing deeply. “Beloved…” How had he won the affections of such a beautiful, powerful, accepting woman? ​​“I mean it, Damian.” Her voice, still gentle, was more firm this time, spoke in a rich timbre that made Damian’s stomach clench. “There is more than one way to lose someone. You have me now; please, rely on me to support you - I’ll make sure you stay healthy and don’t bury yourself in work!” She pleaded. Damian smiled at her. How could she even think he could bury himself in work to the point of neglecting her? She was unforgettable, in every moment and aspect of his life. “Of course, beloved. We will rely on each other from now on, won’t we? I trust you; more than I have ever trusted anyone.” He promised.

 ​​“You trust me? Is that all?” Raven’s sly tone made Damian quirk his eyebrow. ​​

“Surely you know my intentions for you now, beloved?” He kissed the top of her head lazily. 

“Maybe. But I want to hear you say it.” Damian flushed, startled and indignant.​​

“Beloved! Don’t toy with me like that!  If you’re messing around, I’ll-” Damian met her determined gaze and blinked, surprised. Contrary to her mischievous voice, her eyes told him she spoke the truth. He sighed heavily. “Fine. Fine. But I will only say this once!” He warned her, his chest warming at her pleased squeal and the thought of saying words that thrilled him down to his core. He knew he would say this as many times as she wanted and she probably did, too. ​​“I… I need you.” He exhaled. “I need you like I require food; more, perhaps.” He straightened, resolve hardening his features. “I want you to be my betrothed. I wish to woo you; to court you until you have no doubt of the love and happiness you deserve, and then make you my wife. Please say you need me too.” Damian abruptly realised that he was pleading and wrenched his head away, his cheeks aflame. Within a second, his gaze was drawn back to her and he was rewarded with a gasp as she blushed at the way he looked at her and the force of his gaze. “Let us stay by each other’s side, sharing our lives, happy and wedded until we die. I love you.” He let his words linger, his sincerity breathed in every word, not daring to break the connection linking their eyes and hearts together. “I will always love you, forever and ever.” His beating heart was audible in every word.​​

“I… I feel the same.” Damian pressed their foreheads together. “I’ll stay with you. Because… I love you. With everything that I have - everything that I am - it’s for you. Only you - ah!” Raven squeaked as Damian swept her into his embrace, both bursting into laughter as he hugged her euphorically, spinning them both around in a rare moment of childish joy. They flopped down on their bed, the light of the stars shining on their still-laughing faces bright with love and joy. Damian sat against the headboard, cradling her laughing form between his legs, feeling her laughter against his chest. How could one person be so happy? He looked down at her, inhaling her scent. “You seems so small,” he marvelled, “and fragile.” He lifted one of his hands and placed them against her own, dwarfing them, Raven mock-glared at him, and he hid a smile by raising her hand and kissing each of her fingertips softly, with all the love he could pour into the gesture shining through his eyes. “This small, fragile person saved your life countless times when we were titans.” She muttered, pouting. Damian smiled, her winsome countenance being too endearing to resist. “Yes, you did. Thank you… my beloved.” Damian felt a bubble of pride swell in his chest when she blushed at her nickname. “You know, my love, I would absolutely love it if you called me ‘beloved’ as well. Would you mind?”​​

“Oh!” Raven’s girlish giggle made Damian smile involuntarily. “I have no idea what to say.” She buried her face in his sweater, trying to hide the massive smile on her face. “Do you think you’ll have an answer soon?” He asked, smiling smugly. Raven refused to leave his chest, slowly flustering Damian. “Raven? Please, I beg of you, say something.” He suddenly didn’t care how low he had to go in order to hear her answer. She slowly peeked up at him, her adorable, blushing face smiling sweetly at him. “If it makes you happy… beloved.” She squeezed her eyes shut, surprised at the contact of his warm lips upon hers and moaned, shivering, into his mouth. She gasped for breath when they separated, a blush dusting both their faces. Her eyes were glowing so brightly it was almost painful to look at them for so long, a veritable beacon of love shining through them. Damian decided he wanted to be the only one to see her gorgeous eyes from then on. The only one she looked at with such deep love and affection. The only one she would even think of calling ‘beloved’.​

______________________________

Dedicated to the lovely @andthendk for her wonderful Damirae art! I think I’m going to write a Part 2 as well, so anyone is welcome talk headcanons with me to encourage me!

#damirae #damian wayne #damian x raven #raven #rachel roth #lunar crow #damian al ghul #Assassin Au #teen titans #teen titans au #4K #4022 words #I FINISHED THIS IN TWO DAYS #TWO DAYS YOU GUYS #TWO DAYS #SO PROUD #andthendk #fanfic #my writing #hurt/comfort #league of assassin au

[themarvellouswriter]

MOB! SEBASTIAN x TALL! READER

PART II OF THE MASTERPIECE SERIES

Warnings: Nothing yet, Y/N is a bad-ass and she doesn’t take anyone’s nonsense. Slight swearing? Does referring to a stupid pair of buttocks count as swearing?

Word Count: 1.9k

Genres: Fluff, angst and a lil’ romance

Notes: The story has officially started! Now we’ll be seeing a lot more of Sebastian’s and the reader’s interactions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ugh,” you groaned as you opened your eyes. The sheets underneath your palms were smooth. Your vision swam as the room came into focus. A pastel coloured ceiling greeted you. You blinked several times trying to recall the events of the night before. A flash of panic went through you as you sat up with a start. “Veronica!” You gasped as you got to your feet. The room began to spin. You clutched the bed for support. Sinking down on your knees, you started taking deep breaths. Shakily, you stood up, using the bed for support. You looked around the room, assessing your surroundings for the first time. The room was fairly well furnished with a glass wall to your left and two doors to your right. “Unbelievable,” you muttered. “I let a pair of idiots kidnap me while saving the life of a baker. Why?” You tried the closest one. It gave way and swung outwards. “I am the maid of honor at a wedding! I refuse to stay kidnapped.”

Quietly, you made your way outside. You found yourself at the end of a long hallway. You looked around, there were three doors and a flight of stairs. Ignoring the doors, you went down to the ground floor. The entryway was deserted. Stifling down the pit in your stomach, you headed for the front door. You had just turned the handle when the door opened and you were greeted by a familiar face.

Your eyes met blue grey ones. “Sebastian?” His name rolled easily off your tongue. He grinned. But it wasn’t a soft like the one you’d seen in the pub yesterday. This one was showed thinly veiled irritation. “Mystery girl. Lovely to see you again. Now,” he stated coolly and gripped your elbow roughly. “Lets go upstairs for a nice chat, shall we?” “What? No! Let me go.” “See, if you hadn’t interrupted my boys in their business last night, you wouldn’t be here. Instead you would’ve been safe at home.” Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “Wait, your boys? Your boys were beating up my neighbour in the middle of the night! What did you expect me to do? Watch and enjoy?” You tugged your arm out of his grip. Poking your finger in his chest, “Nobody beats up my friends and gets away with it.” “Beat up? I’m sorry love, we don’t ‘beat up’ people. We kill. Your neighbour, Veronica, knew what she was getting into. And since she outlived her usefulness.” Sebastian made a vague gesture with his hands. You felt the air get knocked out of you. “You killed her?” “Me? Why I never! My people did.” He took a step forward. “Why?” Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What did she do that was so bad that you couldn’t leave her alone?” He gave you the once over. You were at eye level with him, your arms crossed over your chest. You were still in your pyjamas as compared to Sebastian’s crisp, cobalt blue suit. ‘He prefers blue suits.’ You filed this little fact away.

He took a step forward and you instinctively moved in the opposite direction. Your back hit the railing of the stairs. “None of your business.” You stared at him, wide eyed. “I’m a witness, aren’t I? You’re gonna keep me here and then what?” “Aren’t you a smart one? Yes, you’re a witness. I can’t have you running around to the cops now can I? Telling them stories about who you saw beating up your neighbour. So, I’m going to keep you here, at least for a while.” “Till when? Till I outlive my usefulness?” You asked bitterly, not backing down. “Be a good girl and you’ll last longer,” he answered, patting your shoulder. You gave him a dirty look. “I’ll cooperate. On two conditions.” “Darling, I don’t think that you’re in a position to be making any demands right now.” “Please, if you wanted me dead, I would have been by now. You want me for some other reason and so yes, I do think I can make some demands right now.” You stood up to your full height and squared your shoulders. Sebastian watched you carefully. “If your demands are reasonable enough, then I’ll think about it.” You raised an eyebrow but went on, “Firstly, I need a lot of things from my place. The final submission for my thesis is coming up and I need to add finishing touches to the thing. Secondly, the rehearsal dinner for my best friend’s wedding is this Friday and the wedding the next day. So, I need some free, not – your – prisoner, time on both days. These two things are my immediate concerns, other than that I really don’t care what you do or where I stay. As long as my work gets done.” He stared at you. “Do you not get the concept of kidnapping?” “I do. I just don’t happen to care very much for it.” His gaze didn’t waver, you returned it with the same intensity. He let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. We’ll go to your place so you can get your things. But after breakfast. Come, you must be starving. I know you didn’t have much dinner last night.” He led you by the elbow, this time gently, to the kitchen. 

You stared dumbfounded at his back, his muscles flexing underneath his suit. How can one person switch personalities so fast? He pulled out a chair at the kitchen island for you. You sat down slowly. Cupping your chin in your hands, you watched him as he moved with practiced ease. “For this -” He waved his spatula between you, “Companionship thing to work, I’m gonna need your name.” “Y/N Winchester.” “Huh.” “What?” “It suits you. Really well.” “Well… Thanks,” you finished lamely. “So, how do you like your pancakes?” “With maple syrup, please.” He grinned. “And ice – cream?” “If you have some.” “Of course! It’s my favourite.” You gave him a polite smile.

“Why are you -” “Why aren’t -” You both began at the same time. He laughed and you saw the semblance between the man who flirted with you last night and the man you was making you breakfast (after kidnapping you for being a witness to a murder, kind of witness to a kind of murder). “You first,” you said gracefully. “Why aren’t you screaming bloody murder at me right now? I mean, I just kidnapped you. Not to mention I admitted to murder out loud. How are you not freaking out?” He pushed a plate in front of you with a generous amount of syrup. “Well,” you began after taking a bite. “Well, you haven’t tried anything.” You paused. “Yet,” you added as an afterthought. “And I guess, I’m not that scared of you? I dunno. Maybe I get kidnapped every other day and this is no big deal. You never know.” You took another bite and almost moaned at the taste. “This is good stuff. You have a future in pancake making. Pancaking? Is that a thing?” Sebastian settled down with a plate of his own, opposite to you. “Funny you should mention that. Its one of my hidden talents.” “And do you have many of those? Hidden talents, I mean?” He just smiled enigmatically and continued eating. “Your turn, what were you gonna ask?” You looked at him. His lips were glossy with syrup and you imagined yourself kissing them. Quickly as the thought had come, you pushed it away. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Y/N. Do not develop Stockholm Syndrome for the pretty kidnapper. Absolutely not. Doing this is peak dumb-ass.’  “Why are you giving me breakfast? Aren’t I your prisoner? Aren’t you supposed to be dark and threatening and breaking my bones?” “Do you want me to threaten you and break your bones?” “Well, no. Of course not. It’s just that the idea of a fairly nice kidnapper feels a bit like an oxymoron.” “Just because you aren’t allowed out of the house without permission doesn’t mean I’m gonna treat you like some sort of animal. Besides, I don’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours.”

You nearly choked on your food at the sudden flirtation. “Why are you surprised? You’re beautiful and obviously smart. I’m surprised you’re not used to the constant flirting.” You swallowed. ‘There goes that plan for not having the hots for the pretty kidnapper.’ “Its usually me doing the flirting. Its quite rare for me to find myself as the object of someone’s affections. Most people just run away from the height.” He looked at you thoughtfully. “I can’t speak for most people but I find your height and confidence quite attractive.” You shrugged noncommittally. “I’m used to people being intimated by this.” You gestured at yourself with your free hand. ‘Your kidnapper basically said he has the hots for you. Play it cool Y/N, no letting anyone in your pyjamas. He’s just trying to distract you.’ “Well, I’m not intimated by someone who resembles a baby poodle as much as you do, love.” Your heart jumped at the sudden term of endearment. Flustered, you ducked your head and continued eating. ‘How pathetic is this? Getting all hot and bothered just because someone complimented you. You know not to trust your kidnappers. Cause if they were sane people, they would’ve asked you out on a date and not kidnapped you in the first place.’ The two of you finished the rest of your meal quietly.

Getting up from the island, you headed to wash your plate. “Here, let me. I’ll wash. You dry,” came Sebastian’s soft voice from behind you. He handed you the plates after washing and you dried them dutifully. “Now, to your place?” You raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming with me?” He gave you an incredulous look. “I’m not going to let you go alone if that’s what you mean.” “Aren’t you going to send your boys?” Exaggerating the last words by using air quotes. “I fear that you’re a greater threat to my men than they are to you.” You grinned impishly. “Is it just that you think I’m dangerous or that you want to spend more time with me?” He returned your smile with one of his own, “Why not both?” You laughed. “Good one, Mr. Kidnapper.” “Its Stan. Sebastian Stan.” His name rolled of his tongue, a light accent peeking through. ‘Adorable.’ “You’re weird, Sebastian. What kind of kidnapper are you?” “One of a kind.” You liked the way his name felt on your tongue, warm and familiar. “At this rate, I’ll be a not – kidnapped person by tomorrow.” “Yeah, I doubt it. I like you, just not enough to get you go. Remember why you’re here. And no funny business once we’re at your place, okay?” “Yes sir!” You gave him a mock salute as you followed him outside. On the way to his car, you spotted several armed men scattered throughout the compound. Making a mental note in your brain under ‘Ways to fail escape’, you sat inside his car wordlessly and then you were off. 

#sebastian stan #seb stan x reader #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x reader #masterpiece #themarvellouswriter #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #someone please protect this baby #sebastian is baby #masterpiece series #please pay attention to this fic

[wkemeup]

The Witness (9)

series summary: After witnessing a Hydra hit and the handsome, borderline endearing cop who had become a regular at your bar takes it upon himself to ensure your safety off the books, you learn to rely on someone else for a change and find you don’t mind it at all. Not when it’s him.

pairing: detective!bucky x reader

word count: 7.9k

warnings: torture, serious injury, ANGST !!!

author’s note: I was going to split this into two chapters but I didn’t want to be too cruel.... 😅Prepare for angst 

series masterlist // previous chapter

You woke with a harsh jolt to find yourself in a dark room. Squinting your eyes, you struggled to adjust to the lack of lightening, save for the dim flickering of the single bulb hanging down from a thin metal chain at the center of the room. You attempted to stand and you furrowed your brow when you felt a tug on your arms. Eyes trailed down to your arms to find restraints wrapped tightly around your wrists, binding you to some kind of wooden chair. You move to kick your legs, only to find them adhered to the chair as well.

Panic began to rise in your throat as your heart pounded loudly in your ears when you heard a soft groan ahead of you. Eyes snapping up to a figure sitting just a few feet away, bound in a similar fashion, chin resting on his chest.

It was dark, too dark to see clearly, but you could recognize that silhouette anywhere. Bucky.

Before you could call his name, the overhead lights flashed on, blinding you briefly at the intrusion. You squeezed your eyes shut, light still seeping in from behind the lids as you slowly blinked to adjust. When you finally opened your eyes again, you realized you and Bucky were not alone.

Rumlow stood just next to the door, leaning against the wall with a smirk upon his face. His arms folded over his chest as he pulled his finger away from the light switch. You tore your eyes away from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

Bucky had yet to regain consciousness but he was slowly coming to; head lulling side to side, trying to come back into himself. Having grown impatient, Rumlow made his way to the center of the room as grabbed a tight hold of Bucky’s hair, jerking his head up harshly to face you. A dark trail of dried blood ran down the side of his face where Rumlow likely hit him with the base of the gun to knock him out.

They must have done some damage to him after you lost consciousness, you realized. He didn’t have that kind of purple and blue bruising on his jaw or a swollen eye when you last saw him. You felt a painful ache in your stomach the longer you looked at him.

“Time to wake up, asshole,” Rumlow gritted, gesturing for a man standing beyond the door. He walked into the room; tall, dark black hair swept away from his face, with a boyish, handsome look about him despite his strong jawline. He didn’t look the Hydra type but as he chucked a barrel of ice water at Bucky and snickered under his breath when Bucky let out a pained gasp, shocked back into consciousness, you knew this man's affiliations were exactly where they belonged.

Bucky panted as the water dripped down his hair, soaking his clothes. He was shivering violently, limbs restricted by the restraints. Wide eyes met yours and panic burned behind shades of blue. He scanned you briefly, looking for injuries, before his gaze fell on your neck. You imagined there was some redness, maybe bruising from the man who had kept you hostage out on the street, because he clenched down enough on his bit to draw blood.

Then, a cough to his left from the man holding the now empty bucket. Slowly, Bucky turned to face him and his features hardened impatiently. He clenched his jaw, muscle twitching at the effort.

“Ward... you fucking piece of shit,” Bucky seethed and almost immediately after, he was met with a violent fist against the side of his face. You gasped, flinching instinctively, as the sound of his knuckles collided against Bucky’s jaw. Bucky chuckled darkly, turning to spit out a mouthful of blood before he looked back up at Ward through narrowed eyes.

“Nice to see you again, too, Detective,” Ward replied smugly, shaking his hand off.

This was the officer Sam suspected to be the mole at the one-four. Clad in a tight black t-shirt and dark wash jeans, you almost didn’t recognize him outside of the blue uniform. It had been a blur when you saw him leaning over the woman in the breakroom the first time you had set foot in the station after Charlie’s murder.

Ward bent down, kneeling at Bucky’s eye level, studying him carefully. “You’re not gonna ask me why I did it?”

Bucky shrugged, sending him a rather disinterested look. “I always knew you were a prick. Always figured if someone came along and offered you a bit of power, you’d bend right over like an obedient little--”

Ward charged at him, wrapping his hands around Bucky’s throat. A hitch in your breath as you watched, only settled as Bucky started to laugh again. How was he being so casual about this? It made your stomach twist into knots. His self-preservation instinct was long forgotten. Rumlow waved for Ward to back off and he obeyed immediately, dropping his hands. Bucky took a deep breath, stretching his neck, as he sent an amused look at Ward.

“Like I said,” Bucky taunted before he winked in Ward’s direction.

“You should watch yourself, Barnes,” Rumlow said, pacing around the room. “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you. Considering who else is in the room.”

A hand slipping onto your shoulder, causing you to shiver. Bucky’s grin fell immediately and he began tugging at the restraints.

“Don’t touch her!” Bucky growled, staring daggers into Rumlow as he fought the bindings at his wrists. The chair, bolted to the ground, creaked under him as he struggled against it.

Rumlow shrugged and he removed his hand from you. A wave of relief rushed over you and you slumped further into the chair.

“You’re not in the position to be making demands, Detective,” Rumlow taunted. He gestured for something out beyond the hallway and Ward quickly slipped out the door. A rustling clanging came from down the hall, the sound of wheels, metal. Then, Ward reemerged in the room, pushing a shiny silver cart. On top, laid a series of scalpels, knives, and various tools. You swallow but your throat ran dry.

“Now,” Rumlow began, reaching down for the scalpel, admiring it as he held it up to the light. He turned to face you. “You’re going to tell me where your bastard father hid the flash drive or I’m going to start carving up that pretty face of yours.”

You narrowed your eyes, confusion completely replacing the fear for a brief, peaceful moment. “I don’t... I don’t know what you’re talking about."

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Rumlow snarled, charging towards you with the blade aimed at your cheek. You recoil against the cool metal as it touched your skin and you could vaguely make out Bucky shouting desperately to ‘get the hell away from her!’

The knife dug into your skin, drawing a thin line over your cheekbone, eliciting a hiss from you. It happened so quickly, over before it began, though the sting lingered. Rumlow pulled away, admiring his work. The blood that trickled down the side of your face and down your neck tickled. You stretched to wipe it with your shoulder.

“I don’t know anything about a flash drive,” you spat at him, adrenaline coursing in you enough to bolster your conviction.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Rumlow gritted. “Is that it? Do you think that I would keep you alive if you were nothing more than some pathetic witness to a hit no one gives a fuck about?”

You pressed your lips together. Truthfully, you had been wondering why they hadn’t just executed you in the middle of the street, or the very second his lackey opened the door to the car you had been hiding inside. They could have shot you on sight but they didn’t. It didn’t make sense if they were only trying to silence a loose end. Clearly, they needed you for something more.

“You know, we didn’t even realize Y/l/n had a daughter,” Rumlow explained, referring to your father as he wiped the edge of the bloodied scalpel on his pant leg. “Tricky bastard kept you to himself all those years. When Ward here brought us your name and you so happened to be running the same bar good ol’ Y/l/n used as his export hub, I went and put the pieces together.”

You could sense Bucky watching you, scanning you for signs of distress, of reaction, but you kept your features stone cold. You didn’t know your father had kept you a secret from Hydra. He never once mentioned it in all your years growing up or since he was locked away.

“Before the DEA nailed him, he managed to get ahold of a very important flash drive,” Rumlow continued, pacing around to your other side. You kept your stare on the floor by Bucky’s feet. “It has a list of all the undercover Hydra agents. Police force, local government, business owners, prosecutors, doctors, you name it. So, you see why it’s important you tell me where it’s at.”

You shook your head. “Doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t know it even existed until two minutes ago.”

“Fine,” Rumlow sneered. He exchanged glances with Ward. “We brought along the cop for a reason. Let’s test him out.”

You raised an eyebrow, dread sweeping over you as Ward quickly bent down and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s chest from behind him, holding him steady in the chair. Rumlow picked up the knife from the cart and in one foul sweep, lunged it down into Bucky’s hand, pinning it to the wood of the chair. You shrieked.  

Despite his best effort, Bucky let out a grunt, panting heavily as he clamped down on his jaw to keep himself from screaming. Your eyes had blown wide, heart stopping for what felt like several seconds as Ward and Rumlow retreated away, laughing amongst themselves. The knife was still lodged in Bucky’s hand as he wiggled his fingers.

“I don’t know anything about a flash drive!” you screamed, jerking your body against the restraints. They burned on your wrists, rubbing painfully at the skin. You could hardly feel it.

“And I don’t believe you!” Rumlow shot back reaching forward and yanking the knife from Bucky’s hand with no warning. He couldn’t hold back the shout this time as the serrated edges caught against his skin, blood spraying on the floor as Rumlow shook off the knife.

“Bucky!” Panic stung in your veins, desperate to get his attention.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, slowly lifting his head to meet your eye, though you could tell by the clench in his jaw and the twitching of his muscles he was lying. Blood dripped down his fingers onto the concrete below. “I’m okay, doll. Don’t tell ‘em shit.”

“Ain’t that sweet,” Ward grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

“Makes me a little sick, personally,” Rumlow replied as he picked up a fresh blade. You didn’t have time to react before Rumlow darted forward and plunged it into Bucky’s left shoulder. Bucky shouted, his voice aching and raw, hands clenching at the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned sheet white.

“Stop!” you cried, tears welling in your eyes before you could hold them back. “Please! I don’t know anything! My father never told me about a flash drive!”

“Not good enough,” Rumlow growled, yanking out the knife and cutting a long jagged line up Bucky’s forearm, trailing blood in its wake. Bucky flinched, his face contorting to swallow back the pain, though it did little to ease his suffering.

It went on like this for what felt like hours. Back and forth. Rumlow would ask you about the flash drive you knew nothing about. Unsatisfied with your answer, he’d plunge another knife into Bucky or carve his way across Bucky’s skin. After they bloodied the visible skin on his forearms, they ripped open his shirt, exposing fresh skin and spent a particular amount of time carving small, deep, concentrated marks into Bucky’s left shoulder, marring it over completely.

Tears were streaming down your face and you begged for Bucky to look at you, but he was becoming so light-headed he could barely focus on what was right in front of him, let alone meet your eye. His head was bobbing, dizzy from the blood loss, from the constant pain. He had stopped crying out several cuts ago. It was like his body had grown numb. You wanted to feel relief at this, that he no longer seemed to be in pain, but it only seemed to make the pit in your stomach worse.

“Please,” you begged on an endless loop, exhausted from the exertion, “please, leave him alone.”

Your chin fell against your chest, unable to watch as Ward and Rumlow continued snickering to themselves, taking turns marking up Bucky’s skin and drawing blood. You wished you were stronger, that you could have held yourself together for Bucky’s sake, but when faced with the worst of humanity you knew there was nothing you could do to stop it. There was nothing but helplessness.

A flash of gold caught your eye and you looked down to find your necklace as swung out from behind your shirt in the struggle. You stared at it, a resentment building the longer you felt it weigh against the rise and fall of your chest. Your father had been nothing but a liar. He had told you once it was meant to protect you. Some good luck charm it was. It was nothing but a hunk of metal. Unless. Pointless. Maybe if it was worth something you could have leveraged it for--

Your breath hitched.

Holy shit.

Leverage. Blackmail.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“S-Stop, please, Brock,” you gasped, your voice having grown hoarse from screaming. Rumlow paused, glancing over to you, intrigued by the use of his first name. You met his eye, heart racing painfully beneath the pendent. “I’ll... I’ll tell you where it is.”

Rumlow raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Ward. Bucky slumped over as they pulled away from him, giving his body an ounce of relief. You swallowed despite the dryness in your throat, keeping your eyes training on Bucky. He lifted his head slowly, as if it took all of the energy left in him to do so. He narrowed his eyes on you, apprehensive of your confession.

“Well, sweetheart, let’s have it,” Rumlow urged, a near jittery excitement in his voice.

“First, tell me why you killed Charlie,” you bargained, a newfound confidence surging behind the layers of anger and anguish he elicited with every carve to Bucky’s skin.

Rumlow smiled at the that, seemingly impressed. He shrugged. “That old man? Just orders from the chief. I don’t ask questions.”

“I’m sure you have your suspicions,” you countered and you're not surprised when he nods. He began twirling a small blade between his fingers.

“He was a known partner of your father’s. We suspected he knew of the list,” Rumlow explained, ever so keen to monologue. “When it became obvious he didn’t, he was nothing more than a liability. He had to be dealt with.”

You sighed, feeling no respite from his reasoning. Rumlow raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. When you took a moment too long, he groaned impatiently and lunged the blade he had been fidgeting with straight into Bucky’s abdomen.

“MY BAR! It’s at my bar!” you shrieked, panicked as Bucky barely even recoiled at the intrusion, and Rumlow removed the knife. You didn’t dare take your eyes off Bucky for even a moment. Blood streamed down the small ripples of his exposed stomach; dark red oozing and coating over his skin until it dripped onto the floor beneath him.

“There’s a safe under the cash register,” you continued, voice shaking, “Inside, you’ll find a rifle. On the back wall of the safe, in the upper left corner is a latch. Open it and the flash drive will be in there.”

Then, you turned to face Rumlow, a look full of distain and loathing upon your features. Rumlow grinned, shaking his head with a laugh. He walked over to Bucky and slapped his hand on his wounded shoulder, coating his palm in blood.

“Would you look at that? You’re expendable, Barnes. Even to her,” Rumlow taunted, removing his hand and wiping it along Bucky’s chest, smearing the blood.

Rumlow picked up the gun from the table, cocking it loudly. “Now, if I get to that bar and I don’t find the flash drive, better believe I’ll be coming right back here to ask again and next time I won’t be so nice about it. You understand?”

You nodded carefully, keeping your expression as void of emotion as you could manage. Rumlow gestured for Ward to follow. He sent one last wink in your direction over his shoulder before the door latched shut, clicking several locks in place before you were alone again.

“You shouldn’t have lied to them,” Bucky gurgled weakly before he spit blood from his mouth. It dripped down his lips as he struggled to meet you eye. He was swaying, barely able to keep his head up.

“What choice did I have?” you replied, eyes flashing towards the closed door. “They were killing you, Bucky. Besides, I couldn’t let them know I figured out where it really was.”

“You what?”

“I think it’s in my necklace,” you confessed, and Bucky’s eyes narrowed on the gold pendent. “I told you my father said it would protect me but... I don’t think he meant in the way I thought.”

Bucky slumped, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He knew it would be all the leverage I needed if Hydra ever came after me,” you explained. “If I turn this thing over to the feds and they'd give me whatever I wanted. New life somewhere nice. New identity. This necklace could be the key to taking down Hydra for good. Maybe even expose their entire operation.”

Bucky nodded, trying to take in what you were saying but his eyes were falling heavy.

“I wish he had been a little less cryptic about it,” you huffed, the semblance of a smile on the curve of your lips. “That would have been helpful information a few months ago.”

Bucky smiled, ever so slightly, but it fell just as quickly, his energy not allowing him much else. His head bobbed forward and you could tell he was fighting losing consciousness. Dark red pooled on the concrete beneath him. He’d lost too much blood.

“Bucky!”

He jolted upright, blinking rapidly.

“I need you to stay awake, you hear me?” you begged, tugging on your restraints. He nodded drowsily.

A moment of silence. The room filled with nothing but the sound of your breaths and the drops of Bucky’s blood from down his elbow to the concrete floor.

“What happens when they come back and they found out you lied to them?”

You licked your dried lips. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I just needed to do something to get them away from you.”

“You can’t tell them about the necklace,” Bucky pressed, though his voice was weak. He was using all of his energy just to meet your eye. “No matter what they do to me, you can’t give that up. Do you understand?”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head. “Bucky, they could--”

“I know,” he exhaled, eyes falling to the floor. “They might kill me. But think of all the people who lives you’ll save if you can get that thing to Steve. You have to think of the greater good, here.”

“Screw the greater good, I’m not going to let you die!”

“You might have to, sweetheart,” Bucky slurred, his voice trailing off as his head slumped forward again. You waited a moment for him to jostle himself back to consciousness, but when a moment too long passed by and he hadn’t moved, a jolt of panic ripped through you.

“Bucky?”

He remained still. Hair had fallen into his eyes; his fingers having lost their tight grip on the arms of the chair.

“Bucky!” you shouted his name again, jerking your body towards him. The restraints against you bound you in place, rendering you as nothing but a witness, helpless.

“Bucky, wake up!”

Again, nothing.

You froze, tears in your eyes blurring your vision. “No, no no nonono. Come on, wake up! Don’t do this!”

You let out an aggravated scream as you tugged at the restraints with all of your strength. Then, a subtle click and your right hand hitched a little further, a small space between your skin and the wood of the chair. The crisp air stung against the burns as you stared down at it in shock. You tugged again, wincing at the tension against your raw skin. Then, the sound of a light tearing at the stitching ripped. You pulled at it carefully and the cuff slowly fell to the ground. You lifted your hand examining the ruby red burn marks upon your skin. In the moment of relief, your eyes glanced back at Bucky to find him still unresponsive.

Frantically, you began working at your left wrist, feeling around the underside of the chair for the buckle. Once you were able to undo the latch on your left wrist with ease compared to your right, you bent over and began working at the bindings on your ankles. Tiny marks of blood oozed from your wrists from the burn of the restraints, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pay much attention to it as you freed your legs from the chair.

Unrestricted, you sprang to your feet and all but lunged at Bucky. Harsher than you meant to, you gripped the sides of his face, jerking his head to you. You brushed the hair from his eyes to get a better look at him, wincing at you touched the open wound on his forehead. Eyes shut and lips parted slightly; he was out cold. You leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before you released him and knelt by his side to start undoing the binds on his wrists.

Right hand undone he slumped forward towards you and you placed a steady hand on his unmarked shoulder for support. Then, a moment later, his left was loose.

“Almost there, baby,” you whispered under your breath, unfastening the restraints on his legs. Once he was free, you stood back to your feet, pulling his right arm around your shoulders and hulled him upwards. You only got him standing for a few seconds before the dead weight kicked in and the weight of him brought you both to the ground.

“Shit,” you cursed, turning Bucky onto his back so he wasn’t putting pressure on the wounded left shoulder. A smear of blood imprinted on the concrete in its wake.

Eyes glancing towards the door every few seconds, waiting for Rumlow and Ward to walk through at any second, you scurried back to your feet and tried to ignore the amount of blood that Bucky was leaving behind in this room. You bent down to lift him again, exerting all of your energy as you tugged on his right arm. Sweat beaded on your forehead and you still hadn’t been able to get him off the ground. You collapsed with an exasperated pant, wiping the sweat from your hairline.  

“Go,”

Your eyes snapped up to find Buck blinking slowly, just on the edge of consciousness. You scrambled over to him, crawling on your knees over the harsh indents in the concrete until you leaned above him, hands brushing the hair from his eyes.

“Leave me,” he mumbled again, voice so quiet on the edge of a breath you could barely understand him. His hand, covered in dark red, reached out for you and you clasped your hands around it, the sticky wetness of the blood pooling between your palms. Tears burned in your eyes as you shook your head rapidly.

“Don’t ask that of me,” you begged, a pang in your chest as Bucky’s head slumped to the side. He was losing consciousness again. “Don’t you dare.”

“They’ll be back soon,” Bucky exhaled heavily, his eyes falling shut. “Please, go.”

“I’m not leaving you!” you cried, shaking him as his body fell limp, unresponsive once again. With a paralyzing fear throbbing in your veins, unsure you’d ever want to know the answer, you adjusted your grip on his hand, feeling for his wrist and pressing two fingers to his pulse point.

Slowly, faintly, you felt a steady rhythm beneath your touch. A sob raked through you and you leaned down, setting your head on his chest, tears dripping from the bridge of your nose to his scarred skin.

You clenched your hands into fists. They were covered in his blood.

***

What could have been hours later, you still hadn’t moved. Your legs had cramped, muscles sore against the cool, impossibly hard surface of the ground. There was no way to tell the passage of time in this room. All you knew was eventually, Rumlow and Ward would return and when they did, that would be it.

Bucky was right. You wouldn’t be able to give Rumlow the necklace, not in exchange for your own life and not for Bucky’s. Not when, in the right hands, it could expose the vilest organization the city had ever known and destroy them from the inside out. The same organization that corrupted your father, a man down on his luck in his early thirties who had stumbled his way into trafficking drugs when he couldn’t pay back his small business loans. They had promised him help in his time of need and then drowned him in a debt he’d never be able to repay, not without joining their cause.

You’d die before you let that happen to another family.

Head throbbing from the very exertion of crying for so long, you found you had nothing left in you. Perhaps you were too dehydrated at this point for more tears. You sat next to Bucky, holding his right hand tightly in your own, pressing your lips against the broken knuckles, trying to memorize the feeling. You wiped the fresh blood away against your jeans, leaving behind a light red stain on his skin.

You had tied makeshift bandages to his arm, stomach, and hand, made of the spare pieces of Bucky’s shirt they had ripped in order to find more canvas to carve upon. They were soaked red with blood.

Bucky’s head rested in your lap and you ran your free hand through his hair, praying he would find some sense of peace amongst the pain in his body. Careful strokes against his scalp, watching the involuntary twitches in his face and you pretended he was only sleeping.

Then, a rustling came from the other side of the door.

Scattered footsteps.

A series of loud grunts and a clanging against the door.

You couldn’t bring yourself feel even a semblance of fear. You knew Rumlow would lose it when he saw you and Bucky out of the restraints. Perhaps it would all be over soon and he’d forget about the flash drive and kill you on the spot. The idea brought you some relief, at least.

The locks on the door began to click and the heavy metal frame swung open. You turned away from the two men walking inside, cast in shadows by the influx of light behind them. Entirely unwilling to face the monsters that had torn and carved and mutilated the man you loved. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of your fear.

When Rumlow and Ward returned, you had expected screaming, cursing, harsh hands lunging down at you and yanking Bucky away. You expected rage and punishment; anything other than the complete silence that followed. Glancing up at them, you narrow your eyes suspiciously as one of the men fell to their knees with a heavy thud.

Eyes slowly coming into focus, adjusting to the light now absorbed in the room, your heart nearly gave out at the sight. Blonde hair. Blue eyes.

Steve.

His hands were reaching out to Bucky, drifting over the wound on his abdomen then to the one on his arm where had blood soaked through the makeshift bandages. Hovering carefully over the mess of bloody patches on his left shoulder, Steve let out a painful sigh. He brushed at his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. He didn’t even know where to start. You didn’t know either.

“We gotta get them out of here, Cap,” the voice behind him urged, stealing glances back out the open doorway. Tony.

Steve nodded quickly, seemingly coming back into himself as his arms slid under Bucky's broken body in an effort to lift him. Suddenly, your hands jutted out, gripping at Bucky reflexively.

Wide eyes bore into Steve’s and you tried to form words but nothing came out. You clenched at Bucky, trying desperately to draw him closer. You were shaking so violently that Steve set hand his atop of yours. You swallowed, tears blinking in your eyes as they fell in streaks amongst the dried blood on your cheeks.

“I- I tried to—”

“I know,” Steve assured you softly, not needing to know the rest of your confession before he absolved you. He squeezed your hands lightly, enough to communicate a world of regret, and slowly pulled your grip away from Bucky’s arms. Soft blue eyes that reminded you so much of Bucky’s did not leave yours for even a moment as he carefully set your hands to the side.

“I’m going to get him somewhere safe, Y/n. But I gotta do it right now. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, a glimpse of uncertainty tugging at you, the knowledge of the Hydra infestation in the police force prominent in the back of your head. But as you watched his eyes fall down to Bucky, the panic and fear so abundantly evident upon his face, you reached up and gripped the pendent around your neck. With one hard tug, you yanked at the chain until it snapped, holding it out for him. It was the first time you had taken it off since you put it on all those years ago. He narrowed his eyes on you, looking back to exchange a glance with Tony.

“Take it,” you begged, jerking your hand towards him. The gold burned against your skin.

Steve nodded slowly, holding his hand out as you dropped it into his palm. He stuffed it into his pocket, a clear confused look in his eyes though he didn’t question it. There wasn’t time.

You slowly dragged yourself away from Bucky, giving Steve the room he needed to hull Bucky over his shoulder, draped like a rag doll. He grunted as he stood, legs trembling as his right arm snuck up around Bucky’s side to hold him secure on his shoulder. You watched, curled against the wall as Steve made his way towards the door, Bucky’s body dangling, blood dripping onto the floor with every step, lifeless.

“Hey kiddo,” Tony’s voice called softly, pulling you from your trance. You turned to find him taking a knee next to you. He offered you a careful smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

You nodded, taking his hand as he offered it to you. When you didn’t let go, he didn’t say anything. You were thankful for that, at least. He guided you steadily to the door and instructed you to keep your eyes up. There wasn’t a moment to question what he meant before your foot caught on something just past the door. You looked down to find the bloodied body of a Hydra agent lying face up, eyes staring off unfocused at the ceiling. You swallowed and Tony urged you on.

By the time you walked outside, you were surprised to find the sky had covered in a layer in dark blue. Hadn’t it been morning when you were taken? How long had you been held in that room? You squeezed at Tony’s hand in some attempt to find comfort in it the way Bucky had done for you, but there was a gold band around his ring finger that ripped at your fantasy. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t feel right. He wasn’t Bucky.

Tony led you down the stairs of the building, guiding you out towards the flashing blue and red lights illuminating the empty parking lot. You looked up to find you didn’t recognize a single building around you. It was too spacious, for one. You couldn’t be within the city limits.

“W-where’s Bucky?” you asked, glancing to Tony. You couldn’t find Steve anywhere amongst the sea of officers clad in uniform blue. Tony gestured to the ambulance at the end of the road, roaring its siren and speeding off in a sharp right turn that took it out of view.

“There wasn’t time to wait,” Tony replied, watching for your reaction. He must have sensed the panic creeping in your veins because he added, “Steve’s with him. He’s not alone.”

Heart falling back to a normal pace, you nodded slowly. You pressed your lips into a thin line, the most of a smile your body would allow. You knew Tony and Bucky didn’t get along, but you appreciated his attempt to ease your concern. Tony was a complex man; one that went from interrogating you, demanding intel on Hydra he believed you knew in your first interaction, to sharing a glass of scotch a few months later as he took up shift as your bodyguard of the day. A good single malt healed most wounds.

“Y/n!”

Your eyes snap up, searching for the voice. Tony led you down to the sidewalk and you spotted Sam rushing in your direction. His forearm was bandaged up, his other held in a sling with a massive bandage wrapped around his shoulder where the bullet had pierced through him. He shoved past an officer, mumbling an apology as he gripped the man’s elbow for support.

Tony stepped aside, moving to scold a reporter who had impatiently crossed the yellow tape, and you threw yourself at Sam. You wrapped yourself against his good side, holding your arms around his waist as he stroked your back with his free arm. He smelled faintly of disinfectant and cologne.

“Come on,” Sam urged, glancing around at the officers gathered in a circle talking to one another. “I’ll sneak you to the hospital before the press gets winds of you.”

You nodded, keeping a tight hold on him as he weaved you through the crowd. His hand pressed into your back, keeping you grounded against him as you approached the mass of reporters and cameras. Sam threw the edge of his jacket around you and you kept your head down when he asked, obstructing the view of your face so you could slip through unrecognized. When you reached the police car sitting at the edge of the crowd, you exhaled a breath of relief.

“Are you okay to drive?” you asked Sam warily, eyeing his injured shoulder.

He shrugged as he unlatched the driver’s side door. “I got myself here in one piece. Figure if I can escape from the hospital and one very pissed off nurse and drive to the warehouse where some psychopath is holding my friends hostage without crashing, I can get my partner’s girl back to him just fine.”

As you slid into the passenger's seat, you were surprised to find a smile tugging on the cracks in your lips. It hurt a little but you didn’t mind. Sam dropped in next to you, closing the door behind him and he nudged you gently on the shoulder.

“He’s in good hands, you know,” Sam offered, turning on the ignition. “Best surgeons available for New York’s finest.”

You nodded, feeling a semblance of relief in your chest before, “what about Nat? And Peter?”

“Still in surgery last I checked,” Sam replied, sensing your influx in anxiety. He pulled out into the road and made the right turn the ambulance had taken. “The bullet that caught Romanoff clipped the edge of an artery so it’s taking longer than expected. Parker, he uh,” Sam sighed, his fingers clenching the wheel, “he had a lot of burns from the explosion and a piece of the car got jammed up in his leg. It’ll be a while before he’s out.”

You watched him carefully, studying the way his jaw clenched. It was so familiar. You’d seen it too many times at this point. It broke your heart.

“You cops need to learn to put the blame on the assholes who deserve it,” you said flatly, almost in a scolding tone. “Not yourselves.”

Sam chuckled under his breath, nodding to himself as he looked over in your direction. You offered him a small smile which he returned with ease.

It was always easy with Sam. There were never any expectations or pressure to put on a mask. He didn’t question your panicked flinch when you had reached up to clutch at your necklace, only to find it wasn’t there or when several minutes passed by between telling you some mundane story from the one-four to ease your mind before you’d respond.  

He was smarter than most gave him credit for, more observant too. He’d deny it though, waving it off through some kind of witty one-liner or changing the subject. Sam preferred to be the source of light in the one-four. He kept to his pranks and his flirting and his banter that drove Bucky insane because he knew they needed it. Maybe, he needed it a little too.

When he came up on a red light on the border of the city line, you swallowed the dryness in your throat, turning to face him. You had spent the last several minutes trying to build up the courage to tell him about what you learned from Rumlow. Part of you wanted to wait until you got to the hospital, afraid of how he might react. But, as he glanced over at you with that encouraging smile of his, you figured now was as good a time as any to tell him one of their own was betraying them.

“You were right.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Ward,” you continued with a heavy breath, “Ward’s the mole.”

A tilt of his head, a shrug in his shoulder, and sighed. He was calm, too calm for the reaction you were expecting.

“I know,” Sam confessed after the light turned green and he pressed down slowly on the gas. “I had a few of our officers' stationed at your bar, just in case. Thought maybe they’d send some of their goons out there to trash the place for fun. Ward and Rumlow walked right into it; friggin’ idiots. Barton arrested them a few hours ago. It was how Steve and Tony knew where to find you.”

You bit down on your lip, sinking back into the passenger seat in shock. “And they’re able to hold them?”

Sam laughed at that. “Hell yeah. We’ve got enough evidence against Rumlow to keep him behind bars until his trial. Ward will be a little tougher to stick, but Commander Fury isn’t going to let him out of his sight.”

“It feels too easy,” you sighed.

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes things are allowed to be easy. You don’t always gotta question when things go right for once.”

“Maybe,” you said, staring at the window as the blur of city lights came into view. “Haven't had a lot go right in my life.”

“Could be a good time to start,” Sam offered sincerely. He paused. Then, “on second thought, might want to hold that off until after we can restore your bar again. It kinda got caught in the crossfire. Rumlow and Ward didn’t go down without a fight and the place suffered a bit for it.”

“Had to be something, right?” you shook your head, the smile against your broken lips aching your cheeks. Good ol’ Sam.

***

The rest of the ride to the hospital was silent; comfortable, just watching as the colored lights blurred together as you passed by, listening to Sam hum softly under his breath to whatever was on the radio. It was almost as if the last 24 hours hadn’t happened. The stinging around your wrists and the faded red stains in your skin the only reminders.

He left the police car out front and asked one of the officers stationed by the door to park it around back for him. You appreciated Sam for that. He knew better than to leave your side, even if it was with one his uniforms. Couldn’t trust anyone but their own, and for now, that meant a small circle within the one-four.

Sam led you to the elevator and up to the eleventh floor where Steve was waiting. He sat in the far corner of the empty waiting room, tapping his foot and wringing his hands as he leaned over his knees. It smelled of cleaning supplies and the disinfectant wipes you had recognized on Sam earlier. As the elevator doors shut behind you, Steve’s head popped up having noticed your arrival.

“They took him back to the OR a few minutes ago,” Steve said before you could ask. He was good about that. He wiped his palms on his slacks and stood to his feet, making his way over to you. “Why don’t you take a seat? We’ll see if one of the nurses can come take a look at you.”

You nodded apprehensively. “Any word on Peter or Nat?”

Steve clenched his jaw as he set a hand on your back to lead you over to the chairs. Sam was already over at the nursing station.

“They’ll be finishing up with Natasha any minute now. Last update they said they were closing her up. She’ll need a ton of PT, which I’m sure she’ll despise, but she’s stable. She’ll be just fine,” Steve said with a sad smile. He took a deep breath. “Parker is still in surgery. A piece of metal from the car got lodged in his leg during the explosion and he, he suffered a lot of burns. They’re trying to do as much as they can right now to limit how much work they’ll need to do later. It’ll be a long recovery but he’s a strong kid. If anyone’s got the optimism for it, it’s him.”

Pang of guilt burned in your chest and your tried to remind yourself exactly where the blame belonged instead of taking it on yourself. It didn’t stop the ache in your stomach when you thought of him; sweet, young, energetic Peter with an endearing nervous energy, one of the trusted few members of the one-four who happily agreed to walk you to your bar every night without question. He was too good, too kind for this job. You prayed to a God you weren’t sure you believed in that he wouldn’t lose that piece of him.

Steve helped you sit down in the chair facing the long hallway where you expected the surgeon emerged from to deliver updates. He took a seat next to you and you could feel his eyes on you, looking for injury outside of the cut along your cheek.

“Did you look at the flash drive yet?” you asked quietly, glancing over at the nurse's station where Sam was still trying to get the attention of the older woman in scrubs. She was wearing headphones, bouncing her head along to the beat of whatever she was listening to.

“Flash drive?”

“The necklace,” you clarified and Steve pulled it out from his pocket. He handed it back to you and it felt odd sitting in your hand, like it hadn’t been something you had twisted and grasped at your whole life trying to draw the comfort your father claimed it possessed.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half. From the hallow chamber of the pendent, a USB drive so small it resembled a microchip fell into your hand. You sighed, a relief spreading through you as you handed the chip to Steve. You were right.

“Hydra has moles everywhere. It’s not just Ward. That drive will give you every name Hydra has on payroll, including in the one-four,” you went on to say. Steve didn’t seem surprised, he only nodding in acknowledgment. He must have suspected. He was too smart not too.

“It’s the reason Rumlow held me and Bucky for so long. They thought I knew where it was. Funny thing was, I didn’t even know it existed until he brought it up. Once I figured out it was in my necklace, I sent them on a goose chase to the bar.”

“Shit,” Steve sighed, running his hand through his hair as he shoved the chip into his pocket. “Can’t believe Sam thought to have our guys stationed there. Rumlow and Ward walked right into it. Some luck.”

“Don’t let Sam hear you say that. He’s taking full credit for bringing them in,” you teased, surprised by the light-hearted tone in your voice. Steve smirked, shaking his head as he settled back in his chair. You looked up to find Sam waving frantically at the poor nurse who had yet to notice him.

Some minutes later, as you watched Sam arguing with the nurse whose attention he finally caught, Steve let out a heavy sigh. “You sure you just want to hand this to me?”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to continue. He pulled the chip from his pocket, examining it closely.

He shrugged. “This is some serious leverage, Y/n. If you brought this to the feds, they might arrange a deal for your dad. You could ask for almost anything and they’d make it happen.”

“If my father wanted to use it to get himself out of his sentence, he would have,” you considered slowly. “He gave it to me before he was arrested. He knew they were coming. I think he--” you sighed, “He wants to serve his time. He knows the horrible shit he got caught up in. He never meant for it to go as far as it did, but it happened. He was still responsible for the distribution of drugs that fell into the hands of innocent kids. If he wanted the easy way out, he would have traded this to the cops then.”

Steve nodded. “You sure you don’t want a beach house somewhere? Maybe a new identity as a soccer mom?”

“I’m just fine where I’m at,” you laughed, leaning further back in your chair. You eyed the drive between Steve’s fingers as he fiddled with it before your gaze fell on the double doors leaning down to the operating rooms. A sigh, a little more somber, “I’ve got a bit of an invested interest now, I suppose.”

Steve grinned, though he tried to suppress it as he followed your gaze. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

part ten .

(a/n: I really almost ended this chapter right before steve and tony showed up to save ya’ll so I’m def not as cruel as I could have been lol)

tags 🔮: @sweetheartbarnes / @musiclover1263 / @pies-wands-and-more / @buckygrantbarnes / @mywinterwolf / @breatheeagainnnn / @jewelofwinter / @lumar014 / @alohafromhell1 / @bucksandroses / @teardropcup / @beautiful-aravis / @me-chi / @somewereinthegalaxi / @marvelfansworld / @whyamidoingthistomyselfhelp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @yourwonderbelle / @fairislesheets / @brokeinflight / @verygraphicink / @lollipopdomination / @emotionallysalty / @forsaken-letters / @captain-hammer-of-asgard / @ashlieadelia / @kasimagines / @ladymelissastark/ @panic-naran / @pinkisokay / @jsmith509 / @hennessy0274-blog / @littlemsrantsalot / @bucky-rrogers / @the-wayward-robot

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fic #reader insert #my writing #bucky fic #the witness

[kritomiesterbanta]

When You’re Ready? Part 2

First, I want to thank everyone for reading my first Fan Fiction and for all the feedback. With so many people asking for a Part Two I felt inspired and wrote it super quickly, so hopefully you all enjoy!

ABOUT: Part Two of When You’re Ready? And what happens to Reader after learning that Shawn has moved on

WORD COUNT: 1,962

WARNINGS: None, maybe a little angst

PART ONE HERE: https://kritomiesterbanta.tumblr.com/post/185683268490/when-youre-ready

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

You didn’t know how, but somehow during the middle of the night, and despite the constant flow of tears you had managed to fall asleep. Sitting up you could see your tear stained pillow, thankful that before you had climbed into bed you had seemingly already cried off all of your make-up, so at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Not that it really mattered, what was a make-up stained pillow when your heart felt like it was broken and ripped in two?

You shouldn’t have gone to that stupid party, and you definitely shouldn’t have drank as much as you had. Even more, why in the world had you let yourself open up and talk to Shawn like that? While you were glad that your feelings were out there, you hated that you had let yourself open up and get so vulnerable. It didn’t help that now that you were more level headed you could see how unfair it was of you to come at Shawn like that.

He had done exactly what you had asked. He had listened when you had told him not to wait. You hadn’t wanted him too, especially since you had been so sure that you would never be ready. As much as you had loved Shawn, and sadly still did, you just hadn’t seen a way to make it work. You were a busy college student, and he was a busy musician and performer traveling the world. From what you had seen and heard his girlfriend was traveling with him. Where Shawn went, she went, and that was so much more than you could offer.

You had tried so hard not to be selfish, but clearly last night your true feelings had shown through. You loved Shawn, you just wished that you had realized how much before he had found someone else.. Before he had fallen in love with someone else.

Those words, they still rang through your brain. While he had every right to move on and be happy with someone else, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to hear that he loved someone else, someone that wasn’t you.

Needing to wash and erase those thoughts from your memory you pulled yourself up out of bed, despite the fact that every part of you just wanted to lay back down, cover yourself up in your comforter and cry some more. While you were sure that more tears would fall, at least you weren’t going to act as pathetic as you felt. You had told Shawn that you both needed to move on and that was what you were going to do.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t particularly know how you were going to move on, but you knew you had to try. One thing was certain, as you made your way to the bathroom and noticed Shawn’s jacket slung over the back of your desk chair, you needed to get rid of it, or at least hide it from view. Honestly, it was taking everything in you not to rush over and slip back into it once more. You knew that you couldn’t, especially since just looking at it as you passed by reminded you of his smell, and that was dangerous.

The more you thought about it, the harder you realized this was going to be. How could you move on and forget about the way you felt when so much reminded you of him. Hell, this was the same apartment he’d come and visit you at. The same apartment where you sat cuddled on the couch watching Harry Potter and eating popcorn, which usually turned into a popcorn, or worse, a tickle fight. He knew you hated being tickled, yet somehow it was never so bad when he did it. Yes, he had known all your most ticklish spots, yet somehow it was also so cute, fun, and endearing when it was Shawn doing the tickling. He was still the only person that you’d let get away with that, or at least he had been.

Letting out a loud frustrated sigh you finally made your way into the bathroom, however, your mood certainly wasn’t changed as you looked at yourself in the mirror. While last night you had been proud of your look with your flawlessly applied make-up and perfectly curled hair, now all you could see were your red puffy eyes and the rats nest that had made itself home on top of your head. Reaching for your brush you began to work on your hair, with plans to hop into the shower next when you heard a few loud knocks on your front door.

With your phone next to your bed on your nightstand you weren’t sure what time it was, especially since you easily could have slept in due to how late you were up crying, but for all you knew it could still be pretty early. Part of you was considering going over and grabbing your phone, especially since you knew your best friend had been texting you last night, and honestly was probably the person at the door. You knew you had them worried, but you had told them that you just needed to be alone and had put it on silent for the night.

Hearing a few more loud knocks you set your brush down before moving to answer. You got that your friend was probably worried. Hell, you would be worried too, which is why as you answered the door you expected it to be her, but instead there was Shawn.

“Shawn” you exclaimed, mouth dropping open which accompanied your wide, surprised eyes. Maybe it was somewhat best that you were shocked by his presence, since at least you weren’t thinking or concentrating on the fact that you had just seen what you looked like.

“(Y/N)” he started as he took a step towards you. “We need to talk”

If you were in your right mind you probably would have told him that you had talked last night and that there was nothing further to talk about, but truthfully you were still in shock, which is why your body seemed to instinctively move back so he could come inside.

Shawn taking the opportunity moved inside and shut the door behind him. “(Y/N), I love you, and I just can’t do it. I want you. I choose you,” he passionately declared with little to no hesitation.

You knew those words were supposed to make you happy, and while it did make you feel a certain way, your heart and your brain just couldn’t forget the conversation that had been had the night before. Yes, he had told you that he loved you even then, but he had also told you that he loved his girlfriend too. “What about your girlfriend?” you softly asked, not sure what you wanted his answer to be here. “It’s over. I ended it,” he assured you, and once again, while you wanted to be happy about this, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness and understanding as to what she had to be feeling right now. You knew exactly what it was like to lose Shawn, and it was truly one of the most painful feelings ever. “I know how this must look and sound, but really it wasn’t fair to her. I couldn’t be with someone when I’m in love with someone else. What I feel for you (Y/N), it’s indescribable,” he continued, obviously still able to read you like a book.

“Shawn..” you began before lightly biting down on the corner of your bottom lip as you looked at him. This was everything you could have asked for and wanted, but why did you feel so damn guilty?

“You were right last night. I lied, but not just to you, but to myself and everyone else,” he began once more as he closed off the distance between the two of you as he reached for your hands, and instead of pulling away like you had last night you let him. “You had told me to move on, and I thought that I had, but the truth is, you are the only woman I have ever truly loved, and the only woman I want to be with. It’s you (Y/N), you’re it. You’ll always be it. Last night when you walked away and told me to move on I realized that while I thought that I had, I hadn’t and I never can.”

While your eyes had been glued down towards your linked hands, the more he spoke and the more he confessed you couldn’t help but look up at him, even if you could feel the tears once again stinging the back of your eyes. This time though they were a different kind of tears. “I’m sorry Shawn,” you quickly apologized as you dropped his hands, and while you could tell he was worried for a second all of that melted as you moved to wrap your hands around his middle as his own strong arms moved to hold you. “If it weren’t for me we wouldn’t have had to go though any of this. I should have known. I should have known that I couldn’t be without you,” you cried, a few tears finally falling.

“It’s okay,” he assured you as he ran a comforting hand up and down your back.

“But it’s not,” you disagreed as you buried your head into his chest for a moment, taking in his smell, and really, everything about this moment. “We lost so much time, and these past few months without you have been some of the worst in my entire life,” you admitted, since while you had felt like you were doing what was best, it had become painfully obvious that a huge piece of you had gone missing without Shawn in your life.

“I know, and I hated it too, but it’s okay. We have each other now, right?” he asked as his hand stopped moving on your back as he instead reached down to lift your chin in order to make you look up at him.

“Yes,” you smiled as you looked up at his pleading face. You knew he just gave up so much, and while you believed that he would do it all over again no matter the way this turned out, you wanted to assure him that he had made the right choice. “I’m ready Shawn. I want it all. I want everything with you, and I’m so so sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

With what you could only assume was him accepting your apology his lips moved down to press against your own, in a kiss that was so much better than the one you remember from before. “I love you (Y/N), and I don’t care how long it took. I’d wait for forever if that’s how long it took,” he assured you as he rested his forehead against your own, and while maybe one could disagree with that after everything that had happened last night you didn’t even care. He was here, and while part of you felt so insanely selfish, you once again just didn’t have it in you to care.

“Well no more waiting. I’m yours” you assured him as you moved to press your lips against his in an effort to show him just how much you meant each and every word of it. While you wished that you had figured this all out earlier, and wished that you could have saved everyone from the heartache that this caused, you were happy with the way that things were now and you planned on showing him just how happy you really were.

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes when you're ready

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hi for the smutty prompts can you do number 12 please. I love you're writing by the way 💕

Thank you, trio of anons!! I didn’t do a Halloween party as all my Halloween writing energy went into my 31 Days of Spideychelle. What these prompts did make me think of was Fight Club… so it’s a Fight Club AU!

Queens Club

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle)Rating: E/NSFW - warning: consensual violenceWord count: 3002

12. “Are you going to eye-fuck me all night or are you going to do something about it?”

43. “The things I want to do to you, baby.”

Warped is how it feels to live in a progressive city within a conservative country. MJ marches and rallies and volunteers her time with organizations whose goals she believes in. She looks around at these events and sees a youthful, diverse crowd hungry for equal pay, thirsty for renewable energy initiatives. She smiles, handing donated school supplies to underprivileged kids, donated canned goods to Queens’s homeless, donated fuck-yous from the disgustingly, ceaselessly rich to the people their hoarded wealth keeps poor. MJ wants to do more, so she does it, and things don’t change. Things. Don’t. Change.

She wants to pick a fight.

It’s comin’ on winter―an even bleaker time than the manic-depressive Christmas Joni Mitchell alluded to―and the impact of the latest article MJ’s submitted to an online zine that always takes her pieces feels like it’ll last about as long as the first ashy snowfall. Where’s the passion, she wanted them to ask. Maybe they could grab her by her shoulders and shake until her neck snaps while they’re at it. Disillusionment wasn’t supposed to come this soon for the kid who wore Jeanne d’Arc Ts in high school. The ‘Girl Most Likely’ of teen revolution.

The city’s greyer this year, she’d swear to it. Wishy-washy shadows and sidewalks for sleepwalkers. Getting from work to home? Nightmarish, but in, like, a boring way. The tiny, chilly apartment MJ shares with some woman who seems to keep opposite hours isn’t enough to revive her. At least the drama of scratching ‘DO NOT RESUSCITATE’ into her bedroom door is something to contemplate on the walk. Tomato soup for dinner, just to see the colour orange.

Not everyone she knows falls into the two categories of ‘sparky do-gooder’ and ‘veritable stranger’ like she’d thought. Someone is interesting. Someone has felt her clenched jaw and understood her cravings. MJ flips over the card she found shoved beneath the apartment’s front door, but the back is blank. She peruses the front again, eyes down while she lifts her dinner and gulps the last of the soup directly from the bowl. It sloshes over her upper lip, so she licks it off, feeling… Feeling. That’s enough.

The card says, ‘Fight Club.’ It provides a date and time, a familiar street address.

She’s neutral about slipping inside Midtown Tech after midnight. Whoever did the breaking in left the rear custodial door open―the one that exits into a closet-room of buckets and rolls of rough brown paper towel. There’s no sign, not that MJ had been expecting one. It isn’t parent teacher night or the heavily-postered orientation day she attended when she started college. The lights aren’t on in the hall and when she sniffs hard (adjusting to the dry air), the sound is somehow too close. She has to get out of her own body.

What she’d pictured after the anonymous invite was a gathering in someplace a little grittier than the gym. Newly refloored, by the looks of it. She could rave about the skewed divide of school funds that favours athletics, the physical over the mental, even in a specialized tech school, but she isn’t here to champion the arts.

The things MJ might need tonight could be anything; she’s filled a decrepit duffle with a water bottle, towel, and two-thirds-empty box of band-aids. It sags pathetically and she chucks it against the wall to join the dozen people―mostly men―clumped together near the fold-away bleachers.

“’Sup.” She nods to the closest person.

How long have they been doing this? Is she the only new recruit tonight? When did it begin? Why use the gym at Midtown Tech? Who found her and how? The only thing she doesn’t wonder is what the point is. He doesn’t answer any of the questions in MJ’s head and normally she doesn’t like that―curiouser and skepticaler by nature―but the conviction in his powerful-looking shoulders and grounded posture is something she’s never seen before. The phrase is bullshit, except the air does change when he moves through the circle they’ve become without her noticing. Suddenly, MJ cares about presenting herself like she’s supposed to be here.

There are rules, blah, blah, blah, and his name is Spider-Man.

The spectacle engages her adrenaline; she has to remind herself that neither of the men swinging furious amateur punches is going to come for her. It’s the first match of the night and watching is part of what Figh―is what this is about. The noise of a nose breaking is something MJ knows now. The smear of freshly-escaped blood across both men’s knuckles is surprisingly orange. Briefly, remembering her soup, she feels a nauseated surge in her stomach.

This “Spider-Man” dude is physical. He hasn’t fought yet, but he pushes the fighters, grabs their arms and shoves them together, slaps them on the back and shrieks praise in their ears. He yanks his shirt off and when the fighters collide with him, they leave streaks from superficial wounds on his chest. Never his back, because he’s always facing them. His eyes are passionate. It’s a lot, when they land on MJ.

Two more fights and he looks at her every time he turns his head. He still hasn’t fought, but he’s jostled the crowd and the fighters enough to put a shine on his skin. When he pushes his curly brown hair off his forehead, it clings for a moment before flopping back exactly where it was. She smells him when he brushes by in front of her.

The fighters are not ‘gladiators’ because they fight for themselves, not for the approval of any authority. MJ can’t see how they can ignore the clear authority of the Club’s founder. She doesn’t bring it up.

Number four’s starting up and the guy beside her has an eye swelling shut when the shock of the evening finally numbs in her mind and she begins to get angry. All those tiny godfuckingdamn backpacks for kids who are statistically less likely to reach post-secondary because of their socioeconomic backgrounds. MJ could swear she’s handed out a thousand. And the politicians? And the rich? And the rich? Spider-Man slides by at her back, knocking into her and she whips her head around to stare while he stares right on back, moving away around the ring of Last Resorters.

Across from her―a trio beating the shit out of each other in between (it isn’t exactly the fish tank meet-cute of Romeo + Juliet)―Spider-Man stares, gaze so forceful it’s like he thinks he can yank her over there, make her step into danger like walking into traffic or off the edge of a cliff. He grins.

She shoulders through the others, circling. The action is deliberate and no one gets pissed, no one scoffs or swears or flips her off. The last person standing there between her and her objective MJ bodily propels into the fight. And she’s looking a little lower than level to lock eyes with Spider-Man. He crosses his arms, she grinds her teeth.

“Are you going to eye-fuck me all night,” MJ demands, “or are you going to do something about it?”

When he starts to laugh, voices roaring up around them after a wretched pop that could’ve been a shoulder, a finger, or a cheekbone (she’s still learning the chords for the music of injury), she slaps him hard across the face. He does react, head swinging sideways on her follow-through, but he smiles at her again.

“Never the flat of the hand,” Spider-Man instructs, leaning towards her. “But we’ll train you out of that. See, what you want… what you want is a nice closed fist.”

He makes one around her ponytail, arm shooting out before she has a chance to stop him―if she had any idea how to do that―and drags her by it, sideways into the combat space.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES,” he orders, kicking a guy in the knee who then has to limp to the observers. “You picked the match,” he says to her, winding MJ’s hair around his fist to heighten the tug on her scalp, “so fight me.”

Abruptly, he frees her hair and she hurls her shoulder into his chest.

“You fucking started it, bitch.”

MJ never says that word, not as an endearment for friends (like she has a lot of those) or to reclaim control of a term used to harass women. Holding it in her mouth has always made her sick. Guess she just figuratively barfed on Spider-Man.

He staggers, then pushes her back. MJ’s feet are completely wrong and she falls on her ass.

“Up,” he says, raising his fists in front of his chin, arms flexing.

Her sneaker squeaks―she hopes it leaves a scuff―and somebody’s damp palm is pressing between her shoulder blades to steady her to her feet.

He doesn’t direct her with his words anymore after that, although MJ falls again and again. Looks like she’ll be finding out tomorrow if you can bruise your ass. Instead, he’ll tap her shoulder to make her lower it, grip her elbow to tuck it closer to her ribs. She knows this muscular guy isn’t hitting her full-strength, but it doesn’t offend her. A trip to the hospital isn’t in her plans for the near-future and he probably doesn’t want to whittle down his group. If anything, it’s likely spreading. Hence her invitation.

Blood has run from her lip to her chin by the time they unspokenly end their fight, and her stomach hurts from the multiple times Spider-Man caught MJ straight-on before she figured out she should turn to the side to present a smaller target. For now, he stands next to her and performs fifth-rate doctoring: he wipes the blood away with his thumb.

Watching other fights, MJ hadn’t understood how two people who’d just been attacking each other could then stand together like pals, comparing bruises as they bloomed. But her anger has curled up to rest and Spider-Man’s presence, his strength, makes her press her arm into his. She looks him up and down and though he studies the current fight, she’s sure he’s aware of her gaze. His stance is good considering she kneed him in the nuts.

“Did you get it all out?” he asks without turning to look at her.

MJ rolls her shoulders.

“For now. You?”

Spider-Man snorts a laugh.

“The things that I want to do to you, baby.”

It sort of comes across like a threat of violence, considering all they have just done to each other, but she happens to drop her gaze and see the front of his jeans is looking as swollen as that other poor bastard’s eye. The jeans are slouching on his hips as it is. MJ can see herself taking them off. She can see herself punching his cheek instead of slapping it this time. She can see herself doing several things now that she’s discovered her self is a self that can challenge a man to a fistfight and do damage. It feels suddenly female, drippingly female, to have stared down this shirtless madman with the anarchic, archaic hobby and introduced his groin to her knee. The partial nudity, the sweating, the concentrated eye contact―obviously, the boner. What’s not erotic about this?

“Come and fucking get it then,” she tells him, striding through the circle and nudging a winded woman aside, headed for the girls’ locker room off the gym.

Spider-Man isn’t following her. MJ is leading him.

She bangs the swinging door open and it doesn’t have time to shut before he slips inside behind her. Turning her head quickly, she wonders about kissing and decides against it. She doesn’t want this man in her face―just in her cunt.

His jeans seem to have dropped even lower; she can see the taut white band of his underwear and a couple inches of cotton below the elastic.

“I’m asking,” Spider-Man says with an earnest yet heated gaze. “I don’t out there, but here… I’m asking.”

Only he doesn’t ask anything, not a hint of uptick. Just comes up behind her―with MJ still watching over her shoulder―and scans down the length of her back with his eyes, keeping a foot of air between them. He won’t touch her without permission, is what he’s saying.

“It’s MJ, by the way,” she tells him, gripping his forearm and pulling it towards her to make his hand caress up her hip. “I’ll be coming to more of these things, so you might as well know.”

“Good.”

And they both go for the fastenings of their respective bottoms. She thinks she’ll beat him, only needing to yank the tie on her sweatpants, but Spider-Man’s a quick draw on the button and zipper of his jeans. It can’t be more than a second before they’re staggering to a wall of lockers, with her shoving her underwear down and him reaching into his and stroking his dick gratuitously before jerking down the front of his boxers.

MJ glances back at how he’s taken himself in hand and begins to rub her clit, drawing wetness forward from where their fight a few minutes ago got her going. Her hips jump. Her other hand backhands congealing blood off her lip, then goes to the locker door; she jerks her head to encourage him. She doesn’t quit circling and massaging herself as Spider-Man adjusts her hips for angle. There’s the prod of his dick as he feels out his destination―like somebody ringing a doorbell. But this guy isn’t shy. When he enters her, it’s not rough, but it’s all the way. One stroke. MJ inhales fast.

She settles into him over the first half-dozen thrusts (the paint on the pale blue metal of the locker is chipping, MJ notices through hazy eyes), sticking her ass out for a shallower angle that brings his cock closer to her g-spot. Her breaths are huffed when he finds it and his hands land suddenly and heavily on her waist, sliding down to knead her hips. She works herself faster, dragging her clit side to side under slippery fingertips. Spider-Man must be able to see her arm moving or, if not that, then definitely feel her clutching at him from the inside. He picks up the pace and she can feel how wet she is, how wet they are together.

MJ moans and shivers, frantically manipulating her clit. It’s like her noise gives him another permission―to make sounds of his own. These are gravelly grunts. Not wasteful: one on each of the thrusts he slams into her g-spot. Her arm buckles at the elbow, which is the beginning of the end.

She closes her eyes and rocks her hips backward fiercely, receiving him, receiving him, receiving him. Filling herself up. She will be unbearably full. She will be a nation unto herself. She will be… hitting a pharmacy on the way home to buy Plan B. That’s fine because everything is tingling. Her thighs are quaking and it’s possible that his hands on her hips are what’s keeping distance between her and the speckled floor. She can hear the shuffle of his jeans (around his ankles) against her sweatpants (around hers). MJ pictures her fingers rubbing at light speed. Her teeth clench until a gasp forces them and her eyes open and she’s pounding her hips down onto Spider-Man’s. These are deep, brutal movements, but she and he are fighters.

He climaxes while she still is, so she finds out she can either have orgasms that last for ages or can get off twice if someone’s drilling into her g-spot like he should be living in her nightstand and running on batteries she had to buy separately. Whatever he’s triggered, it’s fantastic and MJ grinds through it for as long as the sensation lasts.

It’s a mess and a loss when he pulls out. In the move that surprises her more than everything else she’s seen tonight put together, MJ feels him touch his forehead between her shoulder blades. Doesn’t stay for more than a few seconds, but she feels weirdly consecrated. When he backs up to hoist his clothes into place, she gives her face a smack. Shit―immediate regret and a wince as the pain in her lip pulses. She gets herself redressed and strides to one of the stalls at the far end of the locker room.

Does she buzz by him because she’s embarrassed? Nope. She stands tall, it’s just that she can only continue to do so for a limited time, until everything he just shot inside her is coating her inner thighs. No thanks.

She pees, grabbing her stomach because those muscles don’t like her tensing to urinate after Spider-Man’s punches. As she’s folding toilet paper in her hand (it’s nicer than the stuff she has at her apartment and she adds that to Midtown’s offenses, beneath the gym floor), she hears quiet speech. It’s him, talking to himself nearby. Memory aid? Post-sex pep talk? MJ is no man’s ego-stroker, but if this guy, who comes across as otherwise supremely confident, needs a little reassurance about his prowess, she can honestly praise him on the experience of tonight’s fuck.

Preparing to be complimentary but not effusive, MJ flushes and begins to swing the stall door open when she spots Spider-Man with his hands braced on one of the sinks, leaning his face close to the mirror. The red mark on his cheek could’ve been a bruise if she knew how to throw a harder punch. He’s continuing to speak softly and she stares at the bunched muscles of his back, his tight upper arms. Would she do it again (with a condom)? Yes.

“Peter, be patient,” he’s coaching himself, loud enough for her to hear now. “There’s a plan. The Club will scale so fucking beautifully once everything’s ready.”

“So your real name’s Peter,” MJ’s about to confirm, when the man, eyes still locked on his reflection, says five more words.

“Ok, Spider-Man. I trust you.”

Fuck.

more smut prompts

#my writing #spider-man #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spider-man fanfiction #fanfiction #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #MCU #Marvel MCU #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #Avengers #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #fight club au #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

[bluboothalassophile]

Welcome to Chaos

@chromium7sky, again a HUGE thanks to her for allowing me to use the Batlings for this story!

Spoilers for Hopes for a Bastard!

Family Reunions From Hell!

Nosferato scowled as he lay trapped in a toddler’s arms as he tried to prevent the kids from destroying the kitchen.

He was going to have a serious talk with his mistress about this treatment, this was not acceptable and frankly it was degrading to his nature.

He was a terrifying demon!

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason’s eyes snapped open when the hairs on the back of his neck rose. There was a low rumble from Ace, which had him frowning as he shifted Terry and Ingo off him. Carefully he pulled himself to his feet before silently navigating his way around Damian, Helena, Mar'i and Lian.

He made it to the door before he slipped out of it, motioning for Ace to stay.

Standing in the dark hall, only illuminated by the Manor’s huge open windows flooded with the moon’s light he looked around. The place was always a museum, and never eerie in feeling; but right now it felt eerie. The wind howled as it flew off the bluffs, and the waves were crashing. It was so familiar, yet right now, right now it felt off. Jason moved towards the window, a knife slid into his hand and he watched the exterior for a moment, then there was a cooling of the air which had him releasing a shuddering breath to see the steam as the frost formed on the window.

There was a shiver down his spine and Jason spun as he slashed out the knife and connected with shadows before those retreated.

“What the fuck?” he muttered.

Four red slits materialized, glowing in the dark, pulsing dangerously. They looked like Raven’s eyes when her second eyes showed up.

There was a loud bark and snarl, screams and Jason slammed through the shadows as he tore the door open and saw three red versions of Raven’s brothers encircling the kids. Ace’s fur was up and teeth were bared, Damian had a batarang out, and Jason leapt upwards as he slammed a knife into the skull of the nearest one then twisted around as he caught the other one. Talons slashed through his arms, he snarled as he slammed them into the ground, wrapping himself around the demon and snapping bones before getting to his feet to see Ace leap for the approaching demon. Jason didn’t beat his dog to the punch as he pulled the knife from the fallen demon and threw it at the other demon.

The demon disappeared into the shadows and Jason stood there panting for breath before he looked at the kids.

Damian was standing there with large uncertain eyes.

“Get the kids,” he ordered as he caught Ace and examined his dog before scratching his ears. “Good boy.”

“What was that?” Damian demanded as Jason scooped up Terry and Lian, also catching the startled floating Mar'i as Damian struggled with Helena and Ingo.

“Dunno, but we’re going downstairs, and then I’ll get Rae and bigger you,” Jason grimaced a bit at the throbbing of his arm and Ace bounded before them, predatorily slinking as they headed for the clock.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven had set up a simple spell allowing her into Damian's psyche. And now she was scouring his mind for reminents of his home dimension.

This Damian was not dissimilar to her own.

He had Dick, Jason, Cass, and Tim as siblings. He was best friends with Jon, and he was utterly in love with his Raven. It was rather endearing she noted watching Damian fumble over his words and blush and not know what to say when his Raven looked upon him.

“Do you find it amusing?” he asked her.

“Endearing, and rather reassuring, to know Damian is capable of a love like that. It’s impressive,” Raven stated.

“I wasn’t always going to be a brat,” he chuckled with genuine humor. Raven frowned at him a bit but continued sifting through memories, not daring to touch certain ones and moving others. She was seeking information of his home world so she sought for land marks, things that would be different. Thus far she’d found many but she’d also been discouraged.

Suddenly there was a pulse of darkness in the house which had Raven withdrawing her hands as she stood. She carefully listened to everything around her as her empathy stretched out.

“What is it?” Damian asked, slowly getting to his feet.

Her eyes scanned the shadows when she felt it more than she saw it. Her soul tore from her body as she threw herself between Damian and the talons that were aimed for his had have them tear through her own hand as she stopped them.

The blood dripped down to the wooden floors and she glared up into the red pulsing eyes of one of her brothers.

“Jesse,” she snarled.

“Little Sister,” Envy smiled at her as his talons tightened in the muscles of her hand. She didn’t flinch as she felt her own talons forming. “Weak,” he sneared, she gasped as talons stabbed her center and threw her into a wall. She grunted as she landed and felt the blood pouring from the wounds.

The feral snarl that broke from her tore from her baser nature as she felt her seals burning and she scrambled up to her feet as she charged him.

The magic swirled at her finger tips as she slashed it at him. He leapt out of her reach but not before she slammed the shadows downwards on Jesse then threw him through a portal.

Damian was struggling under the weight of another one of her brother’s attacks; Wrath.

Raven didn’t hesitate as she materialized before Jared.

“Pathetic,” he roared.

“Predictable,” she countered as she slashed her talons through his chest, floating up to his ear as she felt his beating heart in her fingertips. “See you in Hell, Brother,” she whispered then grasped his heart as she tore it out and Wrath fell lifelessly to the ground before shadows enveloped his body and it vanished.

“What the hell is going on?” Damian panted.

Raven winced now as she stumbled a step and pressed her hand to her rapidly healing side.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian had been startled at the materialization of demons, and he was unarmed; which had terrified him momentarily before grabbing a candlestick to defend himself with.

Now Raven and he stood in the dinning room before a pool of blood and Raven was panting. He dropped the candle stick as he grabbed her shoulders, turning her to him, as he tore her hoodie and shirt to properly assess the wound.

“That would be the family,” Raven groaned as she waved him off as she examined the rapidly shrinking wounds on her side.

“I know that much,” Damian sneered.

“Well, I don’t know anything past that right now,” Raven admitted.

“Rae!” Todd shouted, stumbling in, his arm was bleeding and gashed badly and Damian stared at Todd then.

“I’m okay,” she nodded as she waved him off.

“Thank God,” Todd groaned his eyes pulsing dangerously green, and Damian watched as the Pit started repairing Todd.

“That’s interesting,” he observed.  His brother had never gained control of the Pit, despite being a perfect resurrection. This Todd though, was apparently different

“What the fuck was that?” Todd demanded.

“The family,” Raven groaned as she stood, her skin was smooth and flawless again, then she walked to Jason grabbing his arm and sighing.

“On my world they are deceased,” Damian informed this Raven.

“Unlikely, demons are eternal, we are not merely mortal. I killed Wrath, Wrath will be healed in Hell where the dark powers are easily accessible, aiding in healing for demons. However, in your world they are most likely sealed away with Trigon, which means…” Raven grimaced.

“What sunshine?” Todd demanded.

“They’re here for Ingo,” Damian whispered in horror as the dawning realization hit him. His child was in danger, his feet were moving before he could stop them as he ran for the Cave.

“Fuck!” Todd muttered behind him.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Damian grabbed the purple baby as he backed away from the living shadows.

The man before his was handsome with red pulsing eyes; four of them, but movie star features. The features were not dissimilar to Raven’s, striking, unyielding and prideful, and terror gripped Damian's spine as he held the sword level. No one had noticed that Terry, Lian, Mar'i, and Helena were behind this demon, in the cell they had set up for detoxing. Ace was snarling and pacing the glass.

“You have something I want,” the man’s voice was smooth and charming; like Dick’s. There was this burning desire in him to just do as the man wanted. Damian could feel the want from the man, feel how much this mattered, how important it was, and if he just gave it up then he’d make the man happy. For some reason he wanted the man to be happy.

‘Don’t!’ was a thought that screamed in his mind as green eyes materialized in his mind’s eye and he found himself staring at the baby. That was enough to snap him of the idea of pleasing this man as his eyes narrowed on him and the sword in Damian's hand raised a bit more defiantly.

“Come and get it,” Damian snarled the challenge, the baby gurgled in his arms.

“You don’t want that,” the man smiled.

“Jacob!” Raven roared as she came crashing from the shadows and talons slashed at the man who nimbly leapt away.

“Little Sister,” the man sneered.

“Brother, you will leave now,” Raven’s voice was hard.

“I will claim that power,” ‘Jacob’ smiled.

“And I will kill you a thousand times over before I allow you to touch that child,” Raven warned.

Jacob launched at her, Raven leaned back as she caught Jacob, her feet knocking him off balance; Damian didn’t get to move before Raven’s soul tore from her body and she disappeared from the Cave.

“Fuck! Where’d she go, shorty?” Jason demanded as he looked around with the other version of himself at his side.

“I… I don’t know,” Damian admitted.

“Has Raven defeated her father on this world?” the older man asked.

“What the fuck does that have to do with this!?” Jason demanded as he spun on the interploper.

“Everything!” the man snapped.

“As far as I know he’s been imprisoned in her gem and that’s all I fucking know about it,” Jason growled, Damian nodded as he glowered at the older man. “Now what the fuck does that have to do with what the hell just happened!?”

“Those were the Seven Deadly Sins,” the man said levelly. The baby made grabby hands for Damian's other version and the man picked the kid up.

“And Rae’s Pride, I know all about that,” Jason growled. This was the first Damian was hearing of it.

“My Raven’s brothers want to destroy her; I doubt that’s changed in this universe.”

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven threw Jacob off of her as her back hit the grass and she rolled to her feet. Her long hair was free now as she stood; her feet bare and her second eyes opened.

“Well will you look at this, we’re all here,” a lanky figure sighed; his uneven hair was greasy and long. Wrath materialized then, as did Envy and others walked forward.

“Been a long time, sister,” Jacob announced.

Raven said nothing as she stared at her six most powerful brothers. The talons were forming now as she felt her demon purring with interest.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven woke groggy and unrested the morning light peering in on her and she frowned wanting to hide her head. It was not a restful night as she fretted about her husband with their children.

Mainly she was concerned about the trouble Ingo would create in her absence; he was her most difficult child.

She reached to call her husband then groaned; NO! She was not THAT Woman! Biting her lip she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.

It wasn’t cheating to check in and make sure he was still breathing was it?

#chromium7sky #bluboothalassophile #fanfic #welcome to the chaos #hopes for a bastard #hopes for a bastard universe #chapter 5 #batlinks universe #batlings universe #batlings #batling #batling universe #jason todd #raven #rachel roth #damian wayne #damirae #damirae kids #ingo wayne #ingram wayne #terry mcginnis #lian harper #mar'i grayson #helena wayne #ace the bathound #trigon's sons

[notsugarandspice]

Crash and Burn (Chapter 20)

yay, look who updated a fic everyone thought was abandoned (I’m just trash, but at least I got the job done lol)

Read it on AO3.

Warnings: Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Explicit Rating

June, 1995

It should be a very restless day except it isn’t. Eddie is beyond agitated, and he can’t even pinpoint why. Everything has been pins and needles lately, what with the choices for college and whatever butterfly morphed shit decided to take possession of his insides anytime he locked eyes with Richie. And now that he chews on some soggy french fries, just the way he likes them, he looks over to watch Richie smoke out of the crack from the window, lost deep in his thoughts.

They crossed the border some time ago, and Eddie should have his cheek attached to the window, taking in the sight of a country he’s never seen before. But he can’t stop looking at Richie, can’t stop thinking about Richie, everything is Richie Richie Richie. It’s a never-ending, heart clenching whirlwind of hormonal and emotional ecstasy, and it feels like every cell of his body somehow calls for this disgustingly handsome, tall, obnoxious boy that he’s in love with. Yeah, I’m in love. Would you look at that?

He’s not even sure where they’re going - this trip was wholeheartedly Richie’s idea. It has been on his bucket list for as long as he can remember but he never actually thought he’d make it there, so the hope diminished throughout the years. In a deep crevice of his mind, he could remember his dad mentioning how much he wanted to com here - the postcards Eddie hid under the bed were all Frank’s - but the memories of his father were too distant to be sure. They were always there nonetheless, like a protective wall that Eddie lacked in physical form. Because even though Richie tried to protect him, his skinny body ended up busted and passed out while the bullies finished the small boy off. But Eddie could protect himself most of the time. He tried to.

The Losers were all a little confused with their idea of a solo road trip, but nobody seemed to mind. Bill was getting better very slowly, but he had the other’s company for the next few days to keep him occupied. And anyway, Richie wasn’t planning on spending the night. Which is why they left at 05:00 AM, Eddie kicking Richie’s lanky body with his foot until he fell off the bed. They figured they’d get there in the morning, caffeinate themselves to the level of insanity, and explore all that Quebec has to offer. Except it wasn’t nearly as simple when they end up alone. It never really is with us.

Eddie can’t stop thinking about the conversation he had with Richie about their college choices. Richie wasn’t planning on so much as applying anywhere, and Eddie knows that he’s always wanted to move somewhere warm. He can’t help but feel fear gripping on his insides, taking control of his spasming throat. I will lose him. Whether I like it or not, I will lose him. And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Richie parks in the gas station, stopping by one of the pumps. Eddie feels bad that his friend is paying for literally everything and he instantly lifts his hips to fish out a twenty. He made sure to take some money from a little box he hides under the bed, covered by a dozen magazines featuring muscular men, heavily oiled, seemingly sweaty. He knows that Sonia would never touch the contents. Thus his minuscule stash has been undiscovered so far.

Richie turns the key to shut off the ignition and rotates his head to look at Eddie. The small boy feels a cold hand cover his shaking palm and he locks eyes with Richie, something warm in the other’s dark brown eyes.

“I know what you’re doing, and I’m not letting you pay for the gas of my car.” Richie tries shoving Eddie’s hand back into the small boy’s lap but fails miserably. He’s no match for Eddie’s strength.

“Richie, stop, you literally pay for everything, c’mon.”

“I know but this was my idea. And you know that money is never an issue, Eds.” Richie winks and quickly squeezes Eddie’s chin, and he hates how it resonates in a hard shiver throughout his entire body.

“Okay, stop with the nickname and at least buy us some snacks with this. Please?” Eddie extends the twenty and fiddles it in front of the other’s face, debuting a doe-eyed expression that Bev said could ‘destroy a straight man’.

Richie rolls his eyes and snorts softly but takes the bill. “It’s not fair, you know. Those- those eyes of yours.”

Eddie likes to play cocky, so he leans on the separation and raises an eyebrow, trying to pout his lips in a way that would look seductive instead of pathetic. “What about ‘em?”

Richie’s eyes dart straight to his mouth, and Eddie can see through the thickness of the lenses how much darker they are now. There is the slightest shade of pink on Richie’s cheeks - something that Eddie barely ever gets to see, so he drinks it all in.

“I think you know exactly what you’re doing, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie leans closer as if magnetically tugging Richie towards him, willing the other’s mouth to get closer. “I think you’re imagining things.”

Richie is so close now that Eddie can feel second-hand smoke getting into his lungs, but it’s the last thing on his mind anyway. “Look, this is-“

They get interrupted by a honk of a car wheezing past them, almost hitting an elderly lady crossing the gas station to get to her car. Both of them snap their heads to look at the driver of a large black SUV, flailing their arms at the woman who now stubbornly stands right in front of the black hood, chastising them for honking. Richie snorts and turns back to Eddie, but the other has already leaned back in his seat.

“Alrighty-o, Spaghetti. I think we should spend your twenty on some good shit.”

“You better not spend a whole twenty in that store. That’s for the whole trip, dipshit.”

“You’re so hard on me, why are you so hard on me?”

Eddie turns to look at Richie with a deadpanned expression, waiting until the realization hits him. Within several seconds Richie’s head falls back in laughter, and he points the finger at Eddie, bopping his nose.

“I walked right into that one.”

“Okay, don’t waste any more time and get gas already.”

“I have a better plan Spaghetti-o. We’re getting drunk tonight, and I’ll make it my mission to purchase the faahnciahst beer this gas station can provide,” says Richie with a terrible unidentifiable accent and grins wide.

“Is the beer necessary? And how do you expect to buy it here? You’re not old enough, idiot.”

“First of all, rude. Second, the drinking age is nineteen, and I’m eighteen, so that’s close enough. Anyway, look-“

Richie takes off his glasses and puts them behind the wheel. And it’s not as if Eddie hasn’t seen his best friend without glasses before. It’s mostly the unexpected effect that it suddenly has on him to have a front row seat to Richie’s bare, handsome face, and it knocks all air out of him. If Eddie was drinking right now, the liquid would dramatically purge out of his mouth and straight onto the soft skin of Richie’s pale cheeks. And it’s Richie’s shy smile that makes Eddie’s heart skip, and his stomach turns into a mess of punches and tangles. God, I hate this love shit.

“What’s wrong? Do I have something on my face? Is it the Cheetos?” Eddie takes another moment to take all of Richie in before he has to either admit that he’s blatantly staring at his best friend, or make up a lie about seeing a rash on the other’s cheek.

Richie still has the same dust of freckles he’s always had, most of them situated around his nose and very prominent now that the sun is more active. There are indents on the bridge of a crooked nose that only add softness to the face, even though he certainly looks more mature this way. Eddie can clearly see his eyebrows now - bushy but somehow shaped in a way that compliments the sharp edges of his face. And there are small wrinkles on the edge of those extremely dark brown eyes, still visible from Richie’s scary-wide smile that’s always so endearing that it makes Eddie’s stomach feel like it’s possessed. It’s all a little too much, and Eddie doesn’t know why it affects him to the level of obsession, but he can’t even look away at this point. He’s engraved in me and my skin forever, and it scares the shit out of me.

“Nothing. You- you look… Do you want me to go with you?”

Richie’s cheeks tint a slight shade of pink, and he coughs before he speaks. “Spaghetti, they’ll think I’m buying booze for a minor.”

And just like that, Eddie relaxes a bit thinking how even though he’d rather be in Richie’s lap right now, the tall boy’s complete lack of seriousness eases his libido. “You’re such a turd Richie, Jesus. I am a minor and fuck you, honestly.”

Eddie scoots closer to the door and crosses the arms on his stomach, boring his eyes into the ad on the window of the gas shop. He hears Richie get out of the car and he wants to exit the vehicle and kiss the shit out of him, but he’s also angry, so that’s not an option. It doesn’t stop him from fantasizing about it though. And just as imaginary Richie tugs on his lower lip and touches the inside of his thigh, the real one opens the back door, throwing the purchases in, and goes to open the passenger door where Eddie sits in the same position. Eddie looks up at him and hopes that his expression is vicious, and not a puddle of goo representing what currently goes on inside him.

Richie leans in, propping one hand on the seat and the other on the separation, crowding Eddie with a cheeky smile, and that handsome pointed face that’s currently free of the glasses. Eddie can see Richie’s eyes dart down to his mouth and he leans in, kissing Eddie softly, barely moving his lips. And Eddie’s heart is beating so loud, still affected by the daydream he’s been having the past five minutes, and he’s now getting the real thing, and it’s so much more than he bargained for. Because real Richie smells like cigarettes and tastes like them too, but the real lips are softer, and every time Richie breathes out into his mouth, Eddie’s hands twitch from how much it affects him. This kiss is so much slower and calculated than any they shared before. There is so much feeling in it that Eddie finds it hard to breathe. And when Richie pulls back a bit and looks at Eddie with warmth and love that he’s never felt in such dimensions before in his life, Eddie doesn’t even speak and just stares back for several seconds, lost in the black of Richie Tozier’s eyes.

Richie has never felt more carefree. It’s odd, being this close to Eddie, having the ability to kiss him anywhere and technically everywhere but they didn’t go that far yet. Richie isn’t sure it’s a good idea anyway. His entire head is already occupied by the thoughts of his best friend, and he thinks if they ever had sex, he’d find himself permanently attached to Eddie’s body like a six-foot leech.

And it’s so hard to concentrate when Eddie puts a straw in his Sprite and licks around it to make sure that the drops don’t fall on his pristinely clean shirt, or when he reaches for a menu, and leans over the bar to reveal a small patch of tan skin above the waistband of those tight jean shorts, and Richie needs a drink in him now, or he might actually lose it.

This trip is, of course, all for Eddie. Most of everything he does is for Eddie anyway, even if it doesn’t seem like it. He wishes he could give him a life full of adventure and wide smiles, but he’s just incapable at the moment. Richie has to stay in Derry, take care of the mess his parents made and maybe someday, he can commit to Eddie completely and entirely. But for now, he’s going to enjoy this day and everything that it brings.

They sit down at a random bar they choose because Eddie screams at the size of the sausages they serve, effectively activating an array of dirty jokes on Richie’s side, but even that was apparently not enough to stop the small boy from getting a beer and a lot of greasy food. Eddie loves to eat, and he especially loves to try new things. It’s one of the upsides of liking to cook, Richie thinks. He watches Eddie devour the sausage with a fervor of a starving bear cub, and he can’t help but snore in his second mug of beer, already significantly relaxed as the alcohol swims in his bloodstream.

“Hwhaht?” asks Eddie with a mouth full of sausage and bread, trying to gulp it down with his own mug.

Richie props his chin on the hand and looks at Eddie’s slightly red face, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk, and he thinks there is nothing more adorable on this planet. “I can’t decide if you look hot or cute. I’ll go with a word of my own creation - hute.”

Eddie snorts, and that’s how Richie knows he’s drunk enough to actually laugh at his jokes. And make out a lot. “That makes absolutely no fucking sense.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just say thank you, Richie, you’re hot too, and if not for the sausage in my mouth, I’d occupy it with yours-“

Eddie hits him on the shoulder, but his mouth is turned up as he drinks the beer, avoiding Richie’s eyes.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Eddie turns to look at him, and his eyes turn into warm gooey chocolate, that sweet expression that he has when he’s sleepy or when Richie compliments him out of nowhere. “Rich, this has really been enough.”

“No, it’s not. We’re too drunk to drive, and I’m not ready to go back to that shithole.”

“What are you saying?” Eddie hiccups slightly and Richie grins wide before continuing.

“I’m saying that there’s a nice castle lookin’ hotel close by, and I think we should walk there and get a room.”

“Richie, Château will cost you a fortune, and I don’t have that kind of money, you know that.”

“Okay that masterful French pronunciation was really fucking hot, and I have enough to cover a stay there. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Eds.” Richie ruffles the other’s hair and slightly pinches his cheek, smiling when he sees a prominent blush cover Eddie’s neck.

“I really can’t let you get us a hotel, it’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not. C’mon. I insist.” Richie squeezes Eddie’s knee reassuringly, and the small boy’s eyes dart down to the pale hand, and he looks equal parts torn and turned on. Richie is highly hoping for the second one.

“Shit. Fine. But we’re not ordering room service.”

“Ugh, Eds, whyyyyyy-“

Eddie insists on paying for that dinner, and they leave the car parked close to the bar and start walking in the direction of the hotel with a bag of crap Richie bought at the gas station. Eddie keeps looking around with bright eyes and a smile that makes Richie’s stomach do somersaults, and he’s so happy that he wants to scream. And he does. So much that Eddie drags him to the side of the road to connect their mouths in a kiss more passionate than anything they shared so far. Richie can even feel his knees buckle a bit, and his pants tighten from how quickly he’s growing, and he has to step back breathless because people are starting to stare and they’re in the middle of the sidewalk, and Eddie looks so good that he’s sure he’d ravage him right on the grass.

They continue walking to the hotel, and Eddie chews on the second pack of Kit Kat smiling at Richie mischievously and wobbling so much that they have to hold hands almost all the way. And Richie is very nervous, his palms sweaty and breathing ragged which has nothing to do with the high slope at which they’re walking. They might be in Canada but it’s still the 90s, and liking men is apparently an abominable crime. He paranoiacally looks around and catches the eye of every stranger for any sign of distaste. So far they haven’t encountered a pressing issue, but it’s better that they remain careful. When they near the driveway of the hotel Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand, breathing out in relief when Eddie barely notices, too mesmerized with the building. I really don’t want to disappoint you. I’m sorry I’m like this. I love you so much I forget how to breathe sometimes.

They make it to the front desk, and since it’s not the peak of the season, they’re able to get a king-bed room with a nice view. Eddie falls asleep on the comfortable cushions as he waits for Richie to settle the bill, and he has to shake the small boy to direct him towards the elevators. But as soon as they step inside the fancy accommodations, Eddie attacks the mini fridge and fishes out some soda, gulping the whole thing down in less than a minute. Richie snorts at the image and drops the plastic bag on the counter next to him.

“You know, if you’re thirsty, there are other ways to quench your desires.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and throws the empty can in the trash bin. “Shut your trashmouth already, God.”

“Just Richie is fine.” He can’t help but smile wide when the corners of Eddie’s mouth jump and he has to pretend to wipe his nose to hide it.

“I’m going to take a shower, Just Richie.” Eddie sticks his tongue out, and Richie full-heartedly laughs, sprinting towards the bed and positions himself in the middle.

When Eddie gets out of the shower barefoot wearing nothing but the white bath robe, Richie chokes on the cigarette smoke. He’s lying on the bed shirtless because I wanted to feel the silky sheets, not because I’m trying to seduce my best friend, and smokes on the cigarette after successfully removing the smoke detector in lieu of an open window. Eddie wrinkles his nose and goes after the mini fridge again, taking one of the beers Richie bought at the gas station. He climbs on the bed and without an ounce of hesitation sits right on top of Richie’s hips. Eddie twists the bottle on the corner of the robe trying to get it open, and after the top successfully clatters to the ground, he takes a sip and makes eye contact with Richie.

Thing is, no matter how many times shit like this happens between them, it always catches Richie off guard. And this time, alone in a hotel, on a king-sized bed, with gorgeous Eddie Kaspbrak on top of him, Richie feels like he just fell in love, just discovered what is feels like to have your heart jumping out of your chest. And Eddie is so smug, and perfect, hair still damp, dripping on Richie’s exposed stomach. Richie’s bravado doesn’t just waver - it shatters to a million pieces, dissipating like the ashes of the cigarette that distractedly fall on the carpeted floor. Eddie doesn’t even move but having that weight on top of him is absolute ecstasy. Jesus.

“E-Eds?” Richie’s voice cracks at the name and Eddie snorts into the bottle.

“What’s up?” Those angelic brown eyes are glistening with mischief, and Eddie’s cheeks are still rosy from the hot shower. Richie is finding it extremely difficult to concentrate.

“I…”

He doesn’t really get to finish because he suddenly can’t breathe when Eddie’s fingers start exploring his pale chest, creating goosebumps on the entirety of Richie’s skin. He feels himself shiver noticeably and his heart must be beating a hundred miles a minute. He realizes at that very moment that saying goodbye to this wonder on top of him is going to shatter his soul to pieces. He feels his eyes stinging with coming tears, but he’s distracted again when Eddie’s fingers trace a line along the waistband of his boxers. And as if on cue, he can feel himself hardening. Fucking teenage body, goddamn.

“Richie.” It’s the way Eddie says it that makes Richie’s entire body freeze up.

The sensuality in that one word is enough to make Richie fall in love again. The raw emotion in Eddie’s glazed dark eyes, surrounded by still drying long eyelashes is so overwhelming but somehow more intoxicating than anything. Richie lifts up and leans on his hands, trying to get closer to Eddie. The small boy takes the glasses off, and something about their position reminds Richie of a dream he had. But instead of dream Eddie that had an unsteady gaze illuminated by moonlight, the real version is looking straight into his eyes, making Richie feel oh so warm inside.

Eddie brushes their noses together, and Richie can’t help but release a shaky breath. He then leans in to let their lips touch just enough to ignite something. Every touch is like an attempt to drag the match on a striking surface, and the sound that usually accompanies that is Richie’s breathing and a speedy heartbeat. Eddie wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, playing with the overgrown hair there and he smiles shyly and that, that smile is Richie’s undoing.

He surges forward with mouth half-open, already pushing his tongue in. Eddie moans against Richie’s bitter lips, and the tall boy wraps his arm around the other’s middle, pushing them even closer together which seems physically impossible. He can feel Eddie’s fast heartbeat against his own naked chest, and it’s addicting, he never wants to let this sensation go. Eddie’s mouth is so hot, and their kiss is borderline ridiculous, with how much their teeth clash together, and tongues get far enough to be swallowed. Richie knows it’s close to disgusting, this raw passion between them, but he can’t stop. I never, ever want to stop.

Then Eddie rolls his hips once, and the action is minuscule in its proportions, but it gets the job done. Richie loudly moans in the other’s mouth, and he feels his dick throb with a need for anything, everything. Eddie grinds down on him harder, more confident, and Richie can’t even breathe anymore. Who knew it could be like this?

His head is all EddieEddieEddie, there isn’t one coherent thought in his brain - Eddie’s soft lips is what he’s concentrated on. And the burning in his lower abdomen, naturally. Because Eddie is relentless at chasing that feeling. And Richie realizes with fascination that makes him open his eyes that Eddie isn’t wearing any underwear. And the wave of pure lust that washes over Richie is enough to knock a grown man down. He can feel Eddie’s moans against his lips, and some deep guttural sounds that escape him, and Richie thinks that’s what heaven must feel like.

Because he’s never felt anything like this before. He’s still severely intoxicated, and he feels nauseous from the overwhelming amount of emotion that rolls through him in suffocating ripples, and-

No. Oh no, no, no, no. He does feel nauseous. So much that he has to literally throw Eddie to the side and run towards the bedroom, forgetting to even throw the door closed. He can hear Eddie’s small steps behind him, but his throat is burning as he empties a yellow substance into the pristine toilet bowl. Richie is confused. He almost never throws up after drinking alcohol. It just doesn’t happen. His tolerance has gone up to a level high enough for him to drink for several days in a row without feeling a thing.

But this? This is some next level shit. They were just kissing. His dick was about to explode, but it wasn’t even sex so why the hell was he so nervous. Richie’s hands are still shaking, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening. Eddie is rubbing circles on his sweaty back, and he suddenly feels bad that he is so disgusting. He lays his head on the chilly seat and peeks at Eddie who’s sporting a signature concerned expression that creates a small collection of wrinkles between his brows. Richie reaches his hand out and pokes Eddie there, making him giggle. Cute, cute, cute.

“You okay, Rich?” That small warm voice. So gentle and nice. Fuck, I don’t deserve this.

“Just about right, cupcake.” His voice sounds horrible as if he drank nails for breakfast.

Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes. “You really need to stop with the stupid nicknames.” He stands up and leaves the bathroom. Richie misses him instantly, but he has no strength to even reach out.

Eddie comes back with a bottle of water and wraps Richie’s shaking hand around it. “Drink. Please?”

Richie does, first spitting some out, and then gulping down half of it at once. He suddenly wants to be back in that bed, but instead of grinding, he just wants to feel Eddie’s arms hugging him from behind. Eddie always makes everything better.

“I’ll take a shower.” Eddie nods and kisses the top of Richie’s head before walking out.

When he comes out, Eddie is under the covers in nothing but boxers, the only light source on the opposite side of the bed, a soft yellow glow of the nightstand lamp. Richie is wearing nothing but underwear too as he climbs in, tugging on the string to shut the light off. Eddie instantly wraps his arm around the other’s waist, and Richie sighs in the pillow.

“You’re not mad?”

Eddie squeezes him tighter. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know. For ruining our grinding session.”

Eddie snorts and kisses Richie’s back. “No, you idiot. I’m just worried. I didn’t realize how much we drank.”

“And I used to think you are a lightweight.”

“I mean, I am. I’m much smaller than you. But you have no muscle, so-“

Richie elbows him in the stomach. “Shut up.”

Eddie leans on the elbow and gently turns Richie’s face to his. “Rich.”

There’s that softness again that makes Richie’s stomach feel queasy. “Hm?”

“I love you.” God, I love you too, I love you too, I love you too.

Richie turns around completely, connecting their lips.

Perma Tag: @happytozier @studpuffin @tinyarmedtrex @its-stranger-than-you-think @qwertykevin @j0ys @trippy-alexissss @letmybabyystayy @d-nbroughs @jem-carstairs-is-perfection (let me know if you want to be added/removed! <3 or tagged in this trash fic lol)

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #my writing