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wkemeup · 4 years

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Start Again II

summary: You and Steve deal with the aftermath of the pollen pairing: steve x reader word count: 5k warnings: SMUT (18+), perceived sexual assault (by steve), self loathing af steve rogers, making up for lost time, a very fluffy ending a/n: ok last and final part! Thanks for indulging me in my steve fantasies. You can read part one here 🌟

The more Steve thought about it, the more he wished that Hydra agent had just shot him.

He could still feel the sensitivity pulsing in fluttering beats between his legs, forcing him to adjust his pants in search of relief. He could still smell the slight tang on his fingers, on his thighs; could feel the residue on his skin. His stomach was still twisted and warped and tied into knots as he struggled to keep still in his seat while he shot cautious glances back towards the loading dock, waiting for you to return.

It took a few minutes after he’d started digging his nails into his palms until he heard the softened footsteps, head perking up as you appeared at the back of the jet. You slowly made your way up the ramp and pressed a hand to the retractor, signaling Sam you were ready for takeoff. You were silent as you passed the seat beside Steve, the one you usually occupied, the one closest to him, and took your place across the aisle. Legs crossed, leaning off the furthest edge of the seat.

It was then Steve noticed the subtle reflective marks on your cheeks, a redness straining into the whites of your eyes, a sniffle in your nose as you brushed a hand over your face. You only nodded, jaw clenched, when Sam called back from the pilot seat in his usual light-hearted banter that he was approaching takeoff. You didn’t so much as a crack a smile.

So yeah, Steve wished that agent had just shot him instead.

Hours later, after the jet touched back on solid ground and he’d put as much distance away from you as he could manage, Steve found himself standing under scalding hot water. It showered down over his back, his right hand propped up against the wall for support, wet hair and trails of water streaming down over his eyes.

It burned. The steam itself was suffocating. The water only washing away the sweat beading on neck. But it was all he could do to rid that room from his body, the pollen from its talon-sunken holes clawed deep into the furthest corners of his mind.

It wasn’t you he was trying to rid himself of. Never you.

No—it was the remnants of the violence etched into his skin, the devil in his desires, the monster in his movements.

You couldn’t look at him. You’d tried to force it back in the vault, calling his name, making sure he was alright even after what he’d done, but that was just who you were. Kind beyond what he deserved. Loving to a fault. He knew you were putting on a brave face, but you could hardly stand over wobbling legs.

So, he left. He gritted his teeth and gave you as much space as he possibly could, tried to spare you the grief of having to be in the same room, to breathe the same air, as the man who—

Christ.

He couldn’t even say it.

He stayed there, standing under scalding water, long after it lost its warmth, until it was so cold his skin had numbed and his teeth were chattering.

Nothing seemed to be enough to rinse the monster from his body. He wondered then if he ever would, or if it was just a part of him now, if it was engrained deep into his soul, if maybe it had been lying in wait under the surface all his life, waiting for the right moment to be release and rip away the very thing he adored most in this world and –

Knock knock knock.

Steve froze at the edge of the bathroom. He looked down to find navy blue pajama pants and a thin t-shirt covering his body, the cotton a little damp from the shower. His hair was dripping onto the collar of his shirt, leaving small patches of darkened cloth behind.

He blinked a few times, trying to pull himself back to his body. He glanced back at the shower. He didn’t even realize he’d turned it off, didn’t register when he’d gotten out and started to change.

Fuck. He was losing it.

He exhaled a heavy breath, starting to make his way back to the bed when the knocks came a second time.

Knock knock knock.

A little more urgent this time. A slight shift in the floorboards outside his room. A nervous kind of energy.

Steve swallowed, slicking back his damp hair and slowly padded his way over to the door.

But then, the sweet scent of coco butter caught his sense and he stilled. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, thunderous, like it might burst through the surface and fall broken and battered to the floor at his feet.

He was stone. A statue. A breath of wind could have knocked him over.

“Steve?” your voice called gently, muffled by the door between you.

He couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the small cracks in the wooden frame, the broken splinters from where he’d nearly ripped the door from its hinges the night he heard you scream through the night terrors plaguing your dreams. Tony always offered to replace it but Steve wouldn’t let him. The small broken fragments made it easier to listen for you.

“I know you’re in there,” you murmured. A soft tap followed and he could practically picture you setting your forehead to the wooden frame. “Please, just talk to me.”

A crack in your voice. A lump in your throat. You'd been crying again.

“Stevie, please... don’t shut me out,” you whispered, voice barely audible but it tore through Steve’s chest like you’d screamed it. Your hands dragged along the door until they stilled on the knob. It was unlocked. It always was. A habit he’d come to find after you’d started showing up in his room late at night when you couldn’t sleep.

But the door didn’t open this time. You didn’t peer your head in cautiously, fingers grazing on the edge of the frame. You didn’t call his name sweetly with that nervous smile on your lips. No—you waited. Waited for him to open the door himself.

And still, he couldn’t move.

He hated himself for it.

It wasn’t until he listened for the deflated, broken sigh as the floorboards squeaked gently beneath your bare feet, your hand falling away from the door as you started to leave, that Steve finally found the courage to move.

He was at the door in two steps, hand on the knob and swung it open. You flinched in your surprise and Steve instantly stepped back, made himself as small as he could manage. The last thing he wanted was to scare you. It was the only time he’d ever wished to rid the serum from his veins; make him the scrawny, unintimidating boy he was before the war.

He didn’t know what to say as he stared at you. Your hair was damp like his, arms folded over your chest, holding the edges of your robe securely over your body and while it could have easily been because of the chill of the air conditioning in the hallway, Steve took another step back, certain you were hiding yourself from him.

His eyes fell to the ground.

“Can we talk?” you asked sheepishly.

Steve nodded, stepping aside.

You slipped past him and made your way to his bed, though you paused before you sat down. It was familiar, a habit, for you to rush into his room and plop onto his bed with handfuls of popcorn and M&M’s and watch movies for hours on end. But things were different now. You clung tighter to your robe.

“You can sit. If you... um... if you want, I mean,” Steve said awkwardly, his voice broken from disuse. He wasn’t used to feeling so on edge around you and it left behind a sour taste in his mouth. He cleared his throat as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving you as much space as he could.

You nodded, offering him a short smile. You tucked one leg under you, the other hanging off the side of the bed as you turned to face him. Steve could feel you watching him, though he was determined to keep his focus on the bristles of carpet under his feet.

“Steve, I—”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words falling past his lips before he could quite gain control of them. His jaw ached from how tight he’d been clenching his, his hands restless from pulling and twisting at his fingers until the skin was red and raw.

He didn’t notice the surprise on your face, not though the tears brimming in his eyes. He didn’t notice as you crept closer to him along the bed, gently calling his name, couldn’t hear as you called for him so sweetly it ached and bled.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” Steve cried, pushing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I never—I never should have given in to that stuff and now—now you can't even look at me and I feel so fucking selfish because that’s what scares me more than anything else. More than what I did in that room. The fact that I might have just lost you because of it and I—fuck—I can’t lose you because I’ll go out of my goddamn mind. I can’t.”

“Steve,” you called again gently, trying to interject, but he was too far into his own spiral of guilt and self-loathing to hear you.

“I hate that this happened and I hate that I did this to us and I—I hate that everything is in fucking pieces right now and I don’t know how to make this right, or if I ever can, and—and I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness but—”

“Steve!”

Your hands were on the sides of his face, a firm hold of stubble along his jaw rubbing against the inside of your palms, wide blue eyes staring back at you in shock. Glossy in color, reflective marks of tears on his cheekbones, touching against your fingers. All he could focus on was the startling warmth in your hands, the tenderness in which you held him as you forced his gaze to you, and he choked back a sob brewing up the base of his spine.

“Oh, honey. All this guilt you carry... it must be so exhausting,” you sighed, gently wiping the tears under his eyes. There was an ache in your voice, a love, that ripped straight through his chest. You smiled for him, something so soft, barely lifting at the corners of your mouth, but it was enough. “I was there with you, remember? You asked for my consent a dozen times. I said yes. You warned me it would be rough. I still said yes. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve was unconvinced. He remembered how tightly he’d gripped your hip, how he left bruises behind and how your skin was scraped and burned as it rubbed against the table. He remembered how he’d pushed you down, a hand firm on your back, how he’d used you for his own pleasure and lost a part of himself in the chase.

You must have seen his mind wandering because you settled in closer to him, releasing your hold on his face, though your hands never traveled far. Instead, they ran gently down along his arms until they landed on his hands. Fingers curling under his palms, tugging them to your lap as you carefully traced the lines in his skin, over old scars and the lifeline running in an elongated arc to the center of his wrist.

“You're a good man, Steve,” you said, still staring down at his hands. “Most men... they wouldn’t have held off as long as you did. Wouldn’t have asked permission, either. You forget that I know what the effects of the pollen feel like, too, Steve. I was begging you. God, I felt like I was going to die if you didn’t do what you did. So, if you’re going to sitting here and blame yourself for what happened, then you better blame me, too.”

Now that, he didn’t see coming.

You were smiling at him when he dared to meet your eye again, though there was a sadness there. You squeezed his hands, slowly bringing them up to your lips and pressing a gentle kiss along the knuckles. He watched you in awe, heart stammering, and he did his best to memorize the feel of your lips on his skin.

It took Steve a minute to respond, too focused on how warm your hands were around his. The two of you were close, yes, but you’d never done anything like this before. Even in the nights when you crawled into his bed, there was space between you. Always teetering on the edge of something more and never daring to cross the line.

Until the line was ripped to shreds and tossed to the gutter.

The goddamn line didn’t even exist anymore.

“You alright?” you asked sweetly, because of course you were worried about him. You always were.

When he didn’t respond, you released his hands, letting him pull them back into his own lap, and a chill started to prickle at his skin. Cold, in your absence. He was always cold when you weren't there.

It used to be enough to be near you, to be close enough to smell the coco butter lotion on your skin and see the faint discoloration on scars from past missions. It wasn’t enough anymore.

Steve took in a heavy breath, trying to find the right words. “It just... It shouldn’t have been like that."

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

“Our first time. It shouldn’t have been like that,” Steve admitted, digging his nails to his palm. When he looked up at you again, you were staring at him with wide eyes, lips slightly parted, shocked. He smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I had this whole plan, you know?”

You shook your head, just barely, but enough.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I... uh... I’ve been making reservations at this fancy restaurant downtown... the one Stark won’t shut up about. Been doing that every Friday night for the past two months. Just in case I worked up the courage to finally ask you on a date. A real date.”

The words were spilling out faster than he could hold them back, but there was a relief in it, a waterfall in the admission that swept through the tension in his muscles and drew away the unsettling ache in his bones.

“I think about it a lot. I think about how we’d talk all night, like we always do,” he continued, in an almost dream like voice, “but there would be expensive wine. Red, I think. We’d order two bottles and earn some angry looks from the other tables because we’d be laughing too loud. We’d eat something good. Something recommended by the chef. I’d pay—”

“--with Stark’s card?”

Steve paused, turning to find you smiling at him, genuinely smiling. Enough to bite down on your bottom lip to try and suppress it, though it did no use. It pushed lines up by your eyes, a glow in the way you watched him, and suddenly, his whole chest was warm. He nodded.

“Of course,” he chuckled, surprised how easily it came. “Always on Tony’s dime.”

You laughed, and he was certain it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Then what?”

“I’d walk you through Brooklyn. Show you all the places I grew up. Probably stop by an ice cream joint because the portion sizes at expensive restaurants are pitiful,” Steve said, grinning as you struggled to contain your laughter, your shoulder bumping into his. He sighed, watching you for a moment, before he let himself say the words he’d been trying to say for years.

“At the end of the night, I’d—” he paused, stealing a quick glance at you before he found his remaining courage. He exhaled a heavy breath and admitted, “I’d tell you I’ve been head over heels for you for as long as I can remember. I’d tell you that you’re my best friend but I... I want you to be more. And I’d tell you I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

You froze, smile faltering for just a moment, stunned. “You would?”

He nodded, his cheeks burning a little pink, but he didn’t mind. “Then, when we got back, I’d walk you back to your room, be a proper gentleman about it and, if you’d let me, I’d kiss you. Something short. Something a little chaste. Because I wouldn’t want to push things too fast and risk messin’ this thing up because… this is it for me. You're it for me.”

Steve had never seen you rendered to a stunned silence quite like that before. He was used to fighting for a word in because you always had something to say about everything. He liked when you rambled and lost yourself on long tangents, wondering how you got from the missing Thin Mints in the freezer to the state of Greece’s economy. He found it endearing, but for once, he had a moment to talk. So, he took advantage of it.

“We’d go on a few dates,” he continued, with a soft smile, a casual shrug, like he hadn’t been thinking about it for years. “I’d hold your hand in public. Bite the head off of any reporter that asked too many questions, but I’d want people to know that I was yours, so I wouldn’t be shy about it. I’d wrap an arm around you on the couch on movie nights and wouldn’t care when Sam teases me about it because you’d be in my arms and that’s all that would matter.”

Steve swallowed, his heart beating a little faster. “And then, only when the time was right, when we’d found a trust that extended beyond the missions and the Avengers, I’d linger a little longer by our hallway before I said goodnight. You’d do that thing where you bite your lip because I know you’re waiting for me to make the first move, and I’d ask if you wanted to stay the night.”

"And if I said yes?” you asked quietly, inching just a little closer to him, enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin against his thigh.

“I’d kiss you in the doorway,” Steve exhaled a heavy breath, picturing it in his mind the way he had dozens of times before. “Something slower, enough to leave you feeling breathless. I’d kiss you enough to memorize the taste of you on my tongue, slip my hands into your hair and drag my fingers over your scalp. I wouldn’t pull away until I felt you whimper against my lips.”

When he glanced up at you, your eyes were near black, pupils dilated enough for the colors of your iris to be left in thin rims at the furthest edges. You swallowed, lips slightly parted, a dangerous kind of look about you.

“Show me.”

Steve swallowed, staring at your lips, how you tugged them between your teeth in anticipation. He exhaled a steady breath, searching your eyes for resistance, and when he found none, he let his hand slip up along your arm and nestle into your hair. You shivered under his touch, chest rising a little faster, as he slowly leaned towards you.

He paused, nails tenderly massaging at your scalp, just enough until he caught the flicker of lust woven through the startling colors in your eyes. Then, with more courage than he’s had in a long time, Steve met his lips to yours.

Slow. Wet. Starting at your lower lip, pulling it between his own and sucking sweetly. Then, a flicker of his tongue along the lines of your mouth, waiting patiently, and you parted your lips a little further for him. He swept his tongue along yours as he kissed at your upper lip. Sighing into the touch, the muffled sound of a whimper escaped and Steve smiled against your mouth.

“Then what?” you gasped, a little out of breath as Steve began to kiss along your cheekbones, your jawline, then to the sensitive parts on your collar.

“I’d lay you down on my bed,” he whispered against your skin, warm to the touch. You leaned back to the pillows, pulling your legs up onto the bed as Steve followed in suit. He laid beside you, a leg between yours, his lips never once leaving your body.

“Then,” he continued, pulling back for only a moment, though your huff of disappointment didn’t slip his notice. He chuckled as he crossed his arms at his waist and pulled his shirt up and over his head. “I’d start getting rid of the fabric between us.”

Steve paused, eyeing you, waiting for permission, and you nodded at him. A smile lifted at his cheeks as he crawled back down over you, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. His lips trailed along the bone, until he met the cozy fluff of your robe. He inched it off your shoulder, kissing at the skin between.

“I’d take off your clothes, but I'd do it slowly because I’ve already waited so long and what’s another few minutes when I can have you whining and needy by the time I’m done,” Steve teased, unwrapping the belt at your waist and letting the fabric fall open.

You giggled under him, muffling the sound against his shoulder. Underneath, you were dressed only in a tank top and panties; so thin he could see your pebbled nipples through the thin fabric.

“Keep going,” you sighed, arcing up for him as his eyes lingered just a little longer on your chest.

Steve nodded, pinching up at the ends of your tank with his thumbs, slowly bunching up the fabric towards your ribs. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your stomach, touching over curves and edges, over scars and freckles, discovering the most beautiful pieces of you he could find.

“I’d kiss every inch of you,” he exhaled, pushing the fabric up further as his lips made their way to your ribs. Then, over your breasts as you helped him discard the top over your head and toss it to the floor. Steve sighed, staring in awe. “I’d have to take a minute when I finally saw you because you’d be more beautiful than I ever pictured in my head. You’d laugh because you wouldn’t believe me and you’d try to cover yourself--” he raised an eyebrow as your arms moved to shield yourself from his staring eyes though you froze when you realized what he said, “-- like that.”

Steve chuckled, waiting for you to relax your arms back to your sides. “But I’d be determined and I’ll want to make sure you know how serious I am. So, I’d take my time with you, kiss you everywhere but where you need me most, even when I feel you searching for friction at my thigh between your legs.”

You paused, not even realizing you were trying to rub yourself on his leg, but Steve was smiling so wide, you couldn’t help but return it. There was no room for embarrassment, not with no much love in his eyes.

Steve lowered himself to your breasts, the heated flush of his breath touching your skin. Then, his tongue dipped to your nipple, circling the bud for a moment before he pulled it onto his mouth, sucking sweetly enough to pull a whine from your lips.

“Oh, Steve,” you moaned, hands sinking into his hair, guiding him, arching up into him. His hand worked at the other breast, kneading and brushing his thumb over the sensitive bud. He didn’t let up until you whined, “Stevie, please. I need you.”

He pulled back, a teasing smirk on his face as he glanced down your bodies to find your panties wet at the center, damp to the navy plaid pajamas on his thigh where you’d been rubbing yourself. He could smell the sweet, tangy scent of the wetness between you and he licked his lips.

“Not this time,” you urged. “I need you, Steve. Please.”

“You’re skipping steps in my plan, sweetheart,” Steve smirked. “I didn’t tell you yet about how I was going to kiss along your thigh, just up to the crease of your leg, kissing at your folds until I dipped my fingers between them and touched the wetness there, parted you enough that I could run my tongue along your slit.”

You shivered; lips parted in a breathless gasp. Steve winked, hooking his fingers in the band of your panties, pausing until you rolled your hips up for him, and slid them down your legs.

“I would have slid my tongue into the deepest part of you, tasted you,” he continued, a dark kind of sin in his voice that swept up your spine as he pulled down his pants, freeing himself from the fabric and letting his cock stand out against him, press up against your thighs. “I would have wrapped my lips around your clit as I slipped two fingers inside of you, three if you were ready enough. I would have sucked and kissed and licked at your clit as I pumped my fingers into you, waited until I felt your walls clenching around me, until you were digging your hands through my hair and became a withering, moaning mess. I wouldn’t stop until you cried out my name, and maybe not even then. I’d make you come at least twice before I even pulled my cock from my pants.”

You whined, jaw clenched, hands running along his chest. His cock edged at your entrance; thick, full, aching in its pulse and the pre-cum dripping at the tip.

“Steve?” you finally managed to mutter, wrecked.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You took a heavy breath, eyes darkening over. “Stop talking, will you?”

Steve grinned.

Then, he sank into you.

The stretch was unlike anything else; the pulse of it against your walls tighter than you’d been within Hydra’s vault, the absence of the pollen in your system giving way to a whole new kind of high. No longer overwhelmed by the lust and cravings and sensations buried deep inside you, but instead, memorizing the slight ache between your legs, the feelings of the thick vein that rang down the underside of his shaft as it pressed up against this glorious sweet spot at your opening, the touch of his breath warm and moist to your skin, the low hums and moans of a man you adored.

“Oh God... Steve...” you whined, knees lifting higher in search of that perfect angle that brought him deeper inside you. He choked back a groan, muffled in the crook of your neck.

His hands encased around your shoulders, hips slowly beginning to rut further inside of you before he slipped out, just to the tip. Filling you, stretching you, sinking into where he belonged.

“Fuck-- sweetheart, I—” Steve let out a growl, his right hand running up along your curves to find your breasts, fingers pinching and teasing over hardened nipples. “You feel so good, baby. So fuckin’ good.”

Your hands raked along his spine, nails digging just enough into the skin to pull a hiss from his lips before he started kissing along your neck, your jawline, hips picking up in pace. Steve slid his hand down the edge of your curves, over your stomach and between your legs where your bodies met. The pads of his fingertips dipped to your core, swirled over the drench of wetness there before they carried just a bit higher to your clit.

You gasped, clenching around his cock as his trusts began a little less gentle a little more desperate; the cry of the bedsprings and the labored breaths between you filling the room, joining the salty tang of sex in the air. Steve grinned against the crook of your neck, kissing at the dip in your collarbone sweetly in startling contrast to the rough snap of his hips. He circled at the bundle of nerves at your core, bringing you closer to your release as your walls started to cave in around him.

“Don’t-- Don’t stop,” you gasped, the coil at your core tightening and drawing to the edge, “oh fuck, Steve!”

Muffled cries into his shoulder, Steve kept up his pace, not relenting for a beat as you rode out the peak of your high. Nails digging into his back, dipped into his shoulder blades as you bit on the edge of his collar. His hips started to lose their rhythm, his breaths heavy and labored, moans slipping from his lips as the haze began to leave you and you pressed kisses to the lining of his jaw, whispering, “that’s it, Stevie. Come for me, honey.”

He nodded, hot breaths to your skin, and with a strangled cry, he released into you, filling you whole, before he chased a few more thrusts and stilled. His body fell to your chest, sinking you into the mattress as he rested his head against your heart. Arms circling up and under your shoulders, curling you in close to him, you could feel his smile curving up against your skin.

You grinned up at the ceiling, a laugh bubbling in your chest as your fingers started to rake gently through his hair, combing through the beads of sweat left behind on his forehead. He sighed at the feeling, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his lips to the hill of your breast before settling in.

“I should get up,” he mumbled, though he made to effort to move.

“I like you where you are,” you replied cheekily, squeezing your walls around his softening cock and laughing when you felt him jolt against you at the shock of it.

“Watch yourself,” Steve warned lightheartedly. “You’ll work me up again.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

Steve lifted his head from your chest, catching your eye for just a moment, and the smile on his face nearly captured the air entirely from your lungs. Impossibly sweet. Gentle. Loving in a way you never thought you’d see nestled in the pale blue of his eyes. He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“We missed a lot of steps, didn’t we?” Steve sighed, his smile softening to something sadder, like something precious had been taken from him. The first date. The first kiss. The nervous parts in between. He wanted them all.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t go back and start again,” you grinned, cupping the side of his face as you pulled him back to your lips, kissing him until you could feel him start to smile again.

You started to edge him off of you, slipping out from under his weight as he protested in a whine. He rolled onto his back, sheet draped over his lower half, elbows propping him up against the pillows as the sunlight peaking in between the curtains cast of his skin. Warm and inviting. Soft.

You leaned against the bathroom arc, just admiring him for a moment before you said, “be ready by seven tonight.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, raising a brow, though the smile on his lips was still as dreamy, still caught up you. “Why?”

“We’ve got a first date, Steven,” you winked before disappearing into the bathroom. “Don’t be late.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers

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hazbincalifornia · 3 years

Text

Mine

Chapter 19: Blitzo gets some release... eventually.

Warnings: Mpreg, explicit sexual content. The actual smutty stuff starts after the line partway through.

Likes, replies, and reblogs are all appreciated, both here and on ao3!

Ao3 link

Blitzo stared up at the balcony, one eye twitching as the rope tied to it flapped in the wind. Stolas was somewhere out of sight- probably laid out on the bed with a rose in his mouth. At the thought, Blitzo could feel his lower muscles clench and he gritted his teeth.

An hour ago, when he’d sent the text message, there had been no response. Not even a read notification. Stolas had practically been begging him to come over before, what was the deal? Was he busy? Oh sure, great, the one time Blitzo needed him...

He’d sent another message. Then another one. By the fourth (approximately seven minutes after the initial text) Blitzo was starting to bounce on the bed again, groaning as heat burned him from the inside out. Visions of feathers and the sharp snap of a beak danced through his head, and one hand clutched at his stomach, claws digging just barely into the skin to keep him from slipping away entirely as the other hand jabbed the ‘call’ button.

It went to voicemail.

“Stolas. Answer your goddamn phone. Ghhh-” His hand had drifted back down between his legs. “F-fuck, you’re the one that always wants me to pound you, so will you be there when I actually need you? I need to feel your tight little ass and your soft feathers and bite into your neck, I wanna watch you go red and feel you pulsing around me.” The bedframe squeaked as he humped the mattress for emphasis. “I swear to fuck if it was possible I’d give you all this back, fuck you full until you know what it’s like to be carrying this little bastard. You’re gonna be my bitch and you’re gonna like it.” Blitzo panted for a moment. “Call me back, because we are going to fuck or I’m shoving a cactus up your ass, got that?”

Blitzo had then jabbed ‘end call’ and fell back on the bed, pulling his fingers out of himself and staring at the ceiling for a minute as his heart pounded. He was about to reach for the dildo again when his phone started buzzing- Stolas had responded by sending several texts, one right after another.

!!!!

That’s wonderful Blitzy! I was in a meeting, I’m so sorry!

Stella should have left just an hour ago, I’ll check but the house is ours for a few days. Your timing is impeccable.

Do you need a ride over?

Blitzo had rolled his eyes and replied, swiping his jizz-soaked hand on the pillow to clean later.

its fine i hve a van. b over ther soon

Another reply from Stolas.

❤️ I assume you’ll want to use the front door, I’ll tell the servants to let you in. The balcony might be difficult in your condition.

Blitzo had hissed at that, glaring down at the phone.

ru saying i cant do it? fck u, Ill go up the usual way

Are you sure? It’s no trouble.

just b ready

Blitzo scrubbed his legs down with five different washcloths in the bathroom and pulled on pants- and they were nice tight ones that showed off his butt too. He stuffed his phone in the pocket before tugging on the lightest shirt in his closet- a long-sleeve mesh thing he’d gotten for partying. It had been a crop top before, so at least when it rode up he could pretend it was supposed to look like that. He considered for a moment before deciding against a light jacket- he was gonna be going straight to the mansion and in the van for most of the way. Finished, he struck a pose in the mirror, and yeah, maybe it was the unbelievably horny hormones, but he looked and felt hot as shit right now.

Then, of course, he’d reached the mansion and realized that he needed to scale a rope up fifty feet while pregnant, and some of the enthusiasm drained away as the brat shifted around inside of him.

“Okay. You’ve done weirder shit,” Blitzo said aloud, cracking his knuckles before curling both hands and his tail around the rope. Climbing ropes were easy. He could do this in his sleep. Probably had at some point, or at least while drunk. He’d been in the circus and did all kinds of crazy physical stunts for IMP, a single rope while he had some weight around his middle was nothing.

He got about three feet off the ground before realizing that the whole ‘fucked center of gravity’ thing combined with the sweat on his palms and slick already starting to soak his pants might pose a problem. No matter, he could still do this. He steeled himself, fingers flexing around the nylon as he shimmied up a bit more, thighs clamping and releasing as his hands moved up over each other.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Squirming inside that made him lose his grip. The rope burned as he slid down, legs getting double-soaked in the slick already starting to make the line smell like a glory hole.

His phone buzzed, but checking it would require letting go of the rope, and nothing was going to make him do that. He snarled, starting to climb again. Left. Right. Left. Right. Time slipped away as he laser-focused on trying to get up the damn rope. Come on, he’d done it a couple times before and he’d always made it, he wasn’t going to be a fucking pussy-

“Sir?” A voice that reminded Blitzo of an airport announcer cleared its throat from behind Blitzo and he nearly lost his grip again, biting back a yelp.

“What the fu-”

It was an imp in a spiffy little suit with a mouth pressed into a thin line and a cracked horn. Butler, probably. “His highness Prince Stolas had requested that I make sure that you were alright.” His fingers were interlaced tightly enough that Blitzo could see the veins popping out. “If you need, I can escort you to his room.”

“I know where his fuckin’ room is, that’s where I’m going,” Blitzo snarled.

“It’s been fifteen minutes since you arrived, sir. He’s waiting.” The ‘sir’ had enough venom to kill a Magne, and Blitzo looked up to the balcony, then down to the ground. He doubted he’d cleared twenty feet and his palms were feeling slippery again.

There was a moment of contemplation before he started sliding back down. “Not one fucking word from you, got it?”

The other imp just nodded, directing them to a side door. At least Blitzo was taller than him so he could feel a little less like a kid caught pissing in the parking lot, and at least these pants were absorbent enough to not leave a trail.

___________

It was like a reverse walk of shame, considering he hadn’t even gotten laid yet. The little butler was, mercifully, good at being quiet, only existing by the clicks of his little feet on the floor and the fact that Blitzo saw him out of the corner of his eye while doing his best to stare straight ahead. He knew vaguely where Stolas’s room was going the normal way, but today the mansion felt labyrinthine, conniving to keep Blitzo from getting to the damn bed. He was pretty sure he was squeaking as he walked now.

After about five agonizing minutes in which he sorely regretted wearing tight pants considering his cock was already straining at them, they finally neared the right room, and Blitzo could practically smell Stolas through the door, all rich cologne and earthy soil and cinnamon. The butler knocked only once before nearly getting knocked out when it flew open, smacking him in the face. Blitzo barely noticed, staring up and up at Stolas who was dressed in only a loose bathrobe.

Man. For having only not seen the guy for two days, he’d somehow managed to forget just how huge he was.

He didn’t have very long to contemplate that thought however as Stolas scooped him up in his arms, twirling him around like a doll with pupils glowing white. “Ohhhh, I’m so excited! And you dressed up for the occasion too, what a sexy little top there.” One finger traced over his belly, hooking at the bottom of the mesh. “Leaves nothing to the imagination…”

If he wasn’t going to mention the rope thing going tits-up, Blitzo wasn’t either. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a sex god and you want me, can we just get to the part where I get to fuck you already? You have no idea how uncomfortable is is to be walking around dripping like a faucet.”

Stolas laughed, nuzzling against Blitzo’s cheek before settling him down on the bed. “You certainly seemed eager on the phone! So no roleplay for now?”

“Just get your feathery butt over here so I can pound it into bird-meat,” Blitzo growled, frantically tugging at his pants as Stolas gave a pleased hoot, shedding his robe in mere seconds before crawling atop the bed, already aroused.

“So forceful when you talk dirty…”

“You like that, don’t you?” Blitzo considered taking his sweaty shirt off before realizing that was coordination he didn’t have at the moment, considering his fingers had gotten slippery just trying to remove his damn pants. He liked this shirt, he didn’t want to tear it. Taking in a deep breath, (fuck, Stolas the full thing smelled so much better than just his stupid shirt had) he peeled his underwear off, chucking them across the room hard enough that they hit the wall with a soft ‘splat’ and slid down, leaving a slimy trail. Red fingers curled around gray thighs, spreading Stolas wide with a snap as the prince let out a tiny ‘eep’.

“Right to it then!” His tone was eager, toe-claws flexing in and out as Blitzo reached between his own legs to coat his fingers more thoroughly in whatever pre-jizz junk had been oozing out of him for too damn long.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?” Blitzo could practically feel his voice lowering as his cock pressed the rest of the way out, oozing more of the lube-juice against his fingertips. “You want me inside of you, filling that perky little ass of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

“Yes, yes!” Stolas wiggled a little with a wide grin as Blitzo shifted closer, lifting the owl up so he had better access to his backdoor, probing in with his fingers for only a second before driving in hard, getting an absolute howl out of Stolas that faded into a moan.

“You’re mine for however long it takes to get rid of this heat shit, got it? You’re my little toy today, because this is all… your… fucking… fault.” Blitzo accented each of the last four words with a thrust and Stolas gripped at the sheets, tail thumping up and down on the bed with each one. One of the thumps sent a white feather fluttering up and Blitzo stabbed it with his tail, glaring at it as his claws dug into Stolas’s legs. All thoughts were starting to flood his mind except for the heat around him and the legs clutched in his fists. “Mine. You hear that?” He reached up for Stolas’s chest, hauling him up by gripping a handful of feathers with sticky fingers.

Because of his height, Stolas was staring down at him with now-flushed cheeks, but Blitzo couldn’t find it in himself to care because he was still all the way in, walls tightening around his dick with slick spilling out and soaking the sheets. “You’re property of Blitzo as long as I want you.” He grabbed Stolas’s wrist with one hand, shoving the palm flat against his middle. “Your baby, your fucking problem.” The hand still gripping Stolas’s chest tugged him down, pulling him into a kiss as a few downy feathers drifted down to the bedspread.

Blitzo was very, very glad they’d figured out kissing a while ago, because his brain was running on heat-daze and frustration and he never would have been able to figure it out now. He could feel Stolas’s hot breath down his throat and a hot feathered body pressed against his own and the palm on his belly, and when he thrust again he could feel the gasp Stolas made.

“You like that?” Blitzo almost breathed, fire singing in his veins. “Of course you do, I’m fucking good at this. Now lay down and take it like you always want to. You’re mine, and I want all of you.” He smeared some of the lube stuff off his fingers and onto the end of his tail, wrapping it around Stolas’s cock. Stolas fell back on the bed, shuddering a little with a dreamy grin.

“Take me, Blitzy.”

If he hadn’t already been about to pound Stolas to within an inch of his life, the breathy way he said that would have done it.

“You’re asking for it,” Blitzo snarled out, pulling back and snapping forward as his cock squirmed inside of Stolas, the owl throwing a hand over his forehead as the bed snapped against the wall from the force, his tail starting to stroke up and down on Stolas’s length. The smell of Stolas’s arousal was getting him off almost as much as the actual fucking was, and he wanted more of it. “Don’t you want to take advantage of all your hard work? Look at me. I said, look at me.” He smacked at Stolas’s side before continuing jerking him off and all four eyes shot back open. “You put this kid in me, you’re gonna watch as I fuck you right back.”

“I’m watching, I’m watching,” Stolas said, eyes falling back to half-lidded. “You look s-so delicious like that… I could just eat you uuuuuup!” The word dragged as Blitzo curled the tentacle of his cock down, clearly hitting the g-spot from the way that Stolas’s lower eyes started twitching. He started moving his tail up and down faster, curled tightly around Stolas’s length.

“C-could say the same to you, you look and smell so so good…” Blitzo could feel something building, and would have been embarrassed that it was so quick if he hadn’t been trying to bust properly for days now. “Gonna fill you up, take it, take all of it you fucking-” He came before finishing his sentence, gasping as he pumped load after load into Stolas, seeing the owl actually bloat slightly on his thin waist from the sheer volume. Stolas more fell than laid back, panting as Blitzo pulled his tail back, the owl’s cock still twitching and on the edge.

“Mm, so full, B-Blitzy-”

“Finish for me.” It was a voice that invited no discussion. “I want to see you jerk yourself off.”

Stolas nodded, wrapping his fingers around himself and stroking up and down while biting down on the skin under his beak. It only took a few pumps before he cried out Blitzo’s name, semen splattering his feathers as he panted from the aftermath.

“Good bird.” Blitzo looked at Stolas’s sticky fingers as they traced over the owl’s body, palm resting flat upon his slightly-bloated stomach.

“That was more than usual.” The words were light, all four eyes eyes glowing as he prodded at it. “You were excited, weren’t you? Wanted to really fill me up- I don’t know if I’ve ever been able to see it like this before. It felt fantastic, and we match now!”

“Oh, hardehar. Come back when my jizz makes you puke up acid and your gut starts moving.” Still, he couldn’t hold back a half-smile as he rolled his palm over his still-erect cock. “So, good and bad news.”

“Mmmm?” Stolas tilted his head.

“Good news is that I’m ready for another round already.”

“And the bad news?”

“Whatever this heat shit is, it didn’t go away yet.”

Stolas tapped the middle of Blitzo’s face as he grinned. “Ah, so it’s only good news, then.” He pulled Blitzo into a kiss and the imp shifted onto his lap before pressing up against Stolas's face, not caring that Stolas was a sticky mess but only that his mouth and that beak felt perfect at this exact moment.

They had plenty of time, after all, and now that he was here, Blitzo planned to enjoy every damn second of it.

#one time #shadow writes stuff #helluva mpreg #daddy blitzo #spicy text

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Sharp Spikes and Glamour - Fusion AU

Ao3, MasterPost, More of This AU

Relationships: Romantic Dukeceit, mentioned Romantic Royality and Analogical.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex/sexual innuendo, violence against inanimate objects, mentions of injury- for perspective this is Remus-centric, and he’s just like that. Also mild arguing, some self-deprecating thoughts. The Dukeceit fusion uses it/its pronouns (as do I, so no clowning).

Word Count: 3,992

Remus let himself fall backwards onto the hardwood floor, huffing. A satisfying thump echoed through the empty room, but the dull pain at the base of his skull stopped him from slamming his head down again. If Remus kept tripping over himself when his body was in top condition, he probably wouldn’t do any better with a cracked open skull and shattered vertebrae all the way down his back (however fun that might be).

Schmaltzy music lingered in the room still, and with a snap Remus willed it into silence. Now, Remus hated silence, but in that moment it felt like a blessed mercy in the wake of fucking classical fucking ‘music’. He laid flat on the floor, enjoying the quiet and wallowing in his aching muscles. As disgusted as he was by the orchestral garbage, he liked the dancing that went along with it even less- maybe for the simple fact that he was so very bad at it.

So, the big question was why he was doing this to himself. Why had he gone through the trouble of making a dance studio in his side of the Mindpalace? Why the hell was he using it to learn waltzes, rather than his usual style of fast-paced and very suggestive movement?

The answer was simple enough: Janus.

Now, just a month ago, Remus could very confidently say that his and Janus’ relationship was perfect. And it still was, really, but back then he’d been safe in the knowledge that they were also as affectionate and intimate as they could be! Which is to say, very very intimate. Wink, wink, if you catch his meaning. That was the way he liked it; Remus didn’t want there to be a step he hadn’t taken in any situation, but especially a relationship like that!

But then, that month or so prior, a very weird and crazy and impossible and fucking awesome thing happened right in the middle of the goddamn living room, proving Remus unfortunately and/or fortunately wrong about his boyfriend. His brother and his best friend had fused. Like, actually, Roman and Patton had pulled some cartoon bullshit that none of them had ever known they could even do before!

Obviously Remus was floored; everything there was to know about his (and other people’s) physical forms, he knew it and he’d pushed it to the limit before! Except for now, with something he had somehow never found out about that his brother got to first. That was the kicker, that was what made it both shocking and anger-inducing.

There was no question. Remus was going to learn to do that.

So, here he was, trying to learn, but he was not good at like, actually dancing. Which would’ve been fine, if he was dating anyone other than Janus- the most elegant, classy, coordinated side of them all! And Remus knew, somewhere in his sick-and-twisted guts, that Janus deserved to have something special, something that wasn’t more fitting in a sleazy nightclub. He wanted to give him that, no matter how hard it was.

Which was much harder than he’d originally assumed, actually. Before Remus knew it, Virgil and Logan had also managed to form a fusion before he had even gotten the hang of a waltz. And those two hadn’t even danced to get it! Wasn’t that just cementing his confidence?

Remus shook his thoughts away with a frustrated growl. He sat up on his knees braced against the ground, scraping his talons down the shiny wooden floor of his horrible, horrible dance studio. He was gonna get this right, because if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a fucking quitter.

Swinging up to his feet, Remus pushed his hair back from his face and fixed it into a tangled mass of ponytail. He brought his arms down, and then back up again, shaking them wildly. When he deemed that job done, he kicked his legs out in much the same way. Seeing as he was the embodiment of energy, he never managed to get rid of all of it, but the wiggling definitely helped his focus. With a huff of finality, Remus settled, stared at nothing, and snapped his fingers. Shitty ballroom music filled the room again, and it took all of Remus’ effort to count his steps instead of willfully vomiting onto the floor.

But he did restrain himself, he kept his focus for once and propped his arms up on the empty air. Under his hold, the very absence of material wavered, shaping itself into something like a person. And so he laid his hands on that, in relatively respectful places, and began to lead the mannequin around the room in choppy movements. It matched him beat for beat, but it could not offer its own, organic responses like an actual dancing partner might- and that was by design.

It was boring, that was the real problem. How was he supposed to get invested if it was the same four movements, over and over! Each new attempt, he got maybe five minutes in before the fatigue hit, the need to do anything more interesting. What was just a couple of twirls, maybe a dip? Janus would still probably appreciate those additions anyway!

None of the flair attempts went well. He stumbled, hit the wall, tripped, all of it. By the end of twenty minutes Remus was waving the mannequin out of existence, feeling frustration pricking the corners of his eyes. What was he thinking, he wasn’t Roman, this was so stupid!

Remus straightened up (ha, ha) and spun around. He made his way to the corner of the room, fell into a crouch, and sunk his claws into the edges of the glossy wooden floor. Splinters bit his fingers, but he barely noticed them as he began to peel back the panels. They came free in a series of crunches and snaps, spitting shards of wood out and revealing the void beneath the ground. Remus held the chunks of flooring, feeling sharp edges digging into his palms, and he shredded them to pieces. When they weren’t much bigger than pencils, he let them fall into the newly made hole. Once done, Remus set his hands on the new edge, and he did it again.

But, like almost everything he did, the destruction was loud. Shrieking, splitting, crunching kinds of loud. The kind of loud that didn’t go unnoticed.

And the mindscape was as infinitely big as it was claustrophobically small.

Within minutes there was a sharp knock against the doorframe. Remus jolted upright, spitting out the hunks of plank that had one way or another found their way to his mouth. As he turned, he grinned manically, tucking his hands behind his back.

Janus lifted a brow at him from across the room. The side stood with one hand propped on his hip, the other raised above his head so that he leaned on the doorway. His mouth was a thin, quietly concerned line, his eyes flicking around in tiny movements as he assessed the situation.

“This is quite unlike the other rooms you've created,” He observed, clicking the back of his heel on the floor. Remus turned his gaze to the wall just above Janus’ shoulder, discreetly picking the splinters from his hands. In all honesty, this situation wasn’t unexpected- Janus was known to wander around in Remus’ new creations, whenever he wanted to catch his attention- but Remus had been under the impression that when that happened, he wouldn’t be right in the middle of tearing it all down.

Which had clearly been a stupid assumption from the start, because he was. Himself.

“Hey, J.D.!” he chirped, scraping the last of the rubble from his fingertips, “Thought I might try out something new!”

Janus’ eyebrows arched up, a bemused smirk gracing his lips.

“An empty room?”

“Yeah, but obviously it got boring, so-” he gestured at the corner he’d torn into non-existence. “Time to get rid of it! It was probably a dumb idea, anyway.”

Even to his own ears, his cheery tone sounded forced. He threw in a gargled giggle to make up for it, but that came out even worse. Janus narrowed his eyes in that knowing way of his, then, and Remus knew he’d have to explain himself properly.

“Darling,” Janus slipped into the room with long strides, “What is so wrong that you’re using half-truths to talk to me?”

He wasn’t embarrassed that he’d been learning to dance- he was 99% sure he wasn’t able to feel shame (which was very sexy of him, in his opinion)- but he was upset that he was so disappointed at it.

He didn’t need anyone’s approval… but he certainly wanted Janus’.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Remus’ statement rang with honesty. He met Deceit in the middle of the room, his smile challenging, only to be met with calm and patience.

“I don’t care if it doesn’t ‘really’ matter. I just want to know why my partner was angrily devouring housing material in a brand-new corner of the mindscape.”

“It’s not that weird, I’ve eaten a lot worse than plywood!”

Janus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re clearly frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated all the time,” Remus argued, “There are so many stupid things to be frustrated about, you know that. It’s a very easy feeling to have, you get it without even noticing! Like, if it were an injury, it’d be a papercut; everyone has a papercut somewhere on their body most of the time.”

“What?”

“It’s an analogy, I think!”

Janus gave a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Remus felt a small bit of pride at how annoyed he looked, despite the uncomfortable situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Whatever, if you’re really doing so well I suppose I should spare my worry and save us both the headache.”

“Exactly! See, just because I’m feeling a bit manic-panic doesn’t mean it has anything to do with you, scaleface.”

And that was his mistake.

Janus stopped turning away as soon as he’d started, his mouth curving into a deep frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, and he almost seemed to be offended.

“You just lied.”

Remus, internally, screamed. He hadn’t even fuckin’ lied on purpose! That couldn’t be fair!

“So it is about me, then,” Janus went on slowly. “Are you angry with me?”

Remus blinked, falling untense oh-so quickly at what he now saw was Janus’ nervous face.

“Wha- no! That’s not what this is about!”

Janus only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Remus grabbed the snake’s hands with his own scarred ones, pulling him near. He felt his hesitation leave as soon as it had arrived, replaced by his usual affinity for just spitting out whatever he had to say. It wouldn’t turn out any worse than having to see his baby hurt or worried.

“It was supposed to be a surprise. For you.”

The suspicion melted off of Janus' face in increments, leaving him with a confused little half-smile.

“For me?” He echoed, “What was it?’

Remus huffed, snapping his fingers. The lyricless music returned to the desecrated room, and he gestured around with both hands.

“It didn’t really work out the way I planned, so,” he rolled his eyes and huffed. “I was teaching myself to dance all proper.”

Remus could basically see Janus’ thinking, and for some reason it was grating him.

“You want to dance with me? Dear, you know you don’t need to give me traditional romantic gestures like that-”

“It was to fuse!” Remus blurted, “I wanted to fuse with you. Like, properly.”

Janus made a soft sound of realization, his eyes going wide. He was silent for a long moment, holding too-tight onto Remus’ hands. But he had yet to let go, which the creative trait counted as a good sign.

“Oh, Love,” he whispered at last, “You’re really serious.”

Remus would’ve winced, if not for the fact that Janus' face was split in a smile, open and sincere in a way that showed he'd really been caught off-guard. His face was warm, and he looked pleased for all the world. He wasn’t judgmental, then, only surprised.

“Um… yes? I wanna fuse with you?”

Janus shook his head musingly, laughing almost exasperatedly.

“No, no, I understood that bit, but-” he waved a hand at the barren room, smirk growing wider, “Ballroom dancing? You? Really?”

He had a point. The walls were a pristine white, shot through with neat marbled patterns. There were mirrors stretching the surface of either wall, reflecting onto each other with clean clarity. There was no clutter, no objects, nothing but the little box itself. And Remus felt no more frustration as he burst out laughing. He tipped his head back and cackled, tugging Janus’ arms until they were pressed together.

“I don’t know why I thought this would work!” He cackled.

“I never know why you think anything that you do,” Janus’s nose wrinkled as his own resolve cracked, leaving shrill giggling behind. Remus snorted, holding onto his partner just to keep himself upright.

“Sorry, Jay,” he almost wheezed, “There’s no way we’re gonna be able to fuse like this, I’m horrible at it.”

Janus’ giggles tapered to a stop sharply, turning to trills of confusion before cutting off completely. Remus met his eyes, and was surprised to find renewed concern.

“Now, that’s entirely what I meant by that remark, you aren’t misinterpreting at all.”

Remus squinted at him, at the sudden spout of backwards talk.

“...What?”

Janus scoffed.

“Of course I don’t want to fuse with you, it’s not like we’re in a committed relationship, or anything.”

Janus got very lie-ey when he was heated; the ferocity had Remus taken aback.

“Soooo, you… do want to try it with me?”

Janus glared in a very duh-obviously--you-idiot kind of way. Remus might have been annoyed with his little tsundere, but the snake’s grumpy face edged just too much on the endearing side for it to spark any of that. It wasn’t too much of a shocking revelation, he supposed, but when he admitted to failing before it felt pretty final, in his opinion.

“Uh, Okay! You have to lead, though, and I’m at least 60% sure it won’t work, because like I said I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Janus hummed in satisfaction, his grimace curving up into a smirk.

“To start, we’ll need a change of scenery.”

Remus nodded agreeably. They couldn’t risk falling into the nothingness pit he’d made, after all- those were very difficult to get back out of and not a whole lot of fun in general. So when Janus held his hand out invitingly, Remus took it, letting the trait transport them to wherever he had in mind.

But that place was no better than the destroyed dance studio at all. The room they ended up in was also very much destroyed, and cluttered, and generally very slimy.

Remus’ room. From the corner of his eye, he saw Janus’ lips twitch in amusement.

“Dear, let me explain,” he tilted his head back just so, making eye-contact with his boyfriend. “We’re going to fuse. It could be in here, for all I care, or somewhere bigger for our needs, but whatever it is most certainly will be a dancefloor. Because we’re not doing this your way.”

Remus made a startled chuckling noise, almost convincing himself that the doublespeak was somehow triplespeak- which just looped back around to ‘speak’, come to think of it.

“You- that’s a really bad idea.”

Something teasing glinted in Janus’ eyes.

“Aren’t bad ideas your specialty?”

“Yes,” Remus ground his teeth together, “But not yours!”

“Your point?”

Remus breathed exhaled, loud and puffing, as he tried to explain. He wasn’t going to deny the excitement this was all bringing him, but it was hysterical, an almost negative side to enthusiasm. There were so many things that felt needed to be said. To be warned, before Janus made a horribly bad decision for himself.

“My point,” he managed, words heavy in his throat, “Is I don’t think about things, so one of us has to. I want to do this the right way, Jan, this is like the one thing I don’t want to fuck up.”

Janus narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching down.

“You think it won’t work this way.”

“You like doing things so fancy and dramatically!”

“You called it the ‘right way’,” it was hardly above a whisper, he looked surprised at his own words as he said them. Remus could only scoff.

“Well, yeah! If we do it how I would, then you probably won’t wanna be part of the creature that comes out of that!”

Janus’ pupils went from circles to slivers in no time at all, pain washing over his expression. Remus held his hands tighter and leaned in, ready to apologize for whatever he’d said to hurt him, but he couldn’t get a word in.

“It’s going to end up more of you than me. That’s what you’re worried about.”

It wasn’t a question. Remus felt some of his usually infinite energy slip away from him. It left a hole behind.

“I know you, baby,” he was tired, maybe desperate, “You won’t want that.”

“Why shouldn’t I want it?” Janus snapped suddenly, “I’ve already made it clear that I want you. Clearly I must find some of your qualities desirable, why else would I spend nearly all my time with you, around you, thinking of you?”

There was a fragile kind of quietness, broken only by Janus’ hitching breath. Remus found himself blinking and blinking, his eyes stinging like someone was pushing needles into his tear ducts, agonizingly slow. He pulled Janus to his chest, propping his chin on the side’s hat and shivering.

And Remus, to his own shock, had no words. He didn’t have much on his mind at all, knowing only that he felt so much in the moment, so much and so powerful and all serving to remind him why he loved Janus as much as he did.

He wanted to ask more questions, to make sure that Janus was as sure as he said he was, but he couldn’t. His snake was stubborn, would stick to his words no matter how much Remus badgered him, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He pressed a kiss to the top of Janus head, closed his eyes, and let the emotions wash over him.

He breathed in, out, and suddenly the second wave hit him in the chest, his eyes forced open.

Or…

It. Its eyes were forced open. Yes, that sounded right.

It stood in the middle of a room- a familiar room, but certainly not Remus’. It was much bigger, the ceiling higher to accommodate the inhabitants height, and much more organized. There was still plenty of clutter, plenty of skulls and bones and preserved creatures, but all in neat little rows on pretty rustic shelves. The place had the distinct vibe of a house belonging to a very ominous, eccentric, wealthy old murderer. Perfect.

The new creature turned its attention to itself, stretching out its limbs curiously. All nine of them, it turned out; seven arms stacked on their torso, four on the left and three on the right, all of which ending in sharp talons covered by gloves. A wicked grin split its face, and it wasted barely a moment before dashing out of the new room and down the hall. It came to the bathroom door, threw it open, and leapt inside. Two hands gripping the basin, it peered at its reflection. Two piercing, yellow eyes peered back, the pupils mismatched in shape and size. Lime-green scales covered its face and neck in splotches, smooth and diamond-shaped.

As its gaze traveled downwards, it appreciated the too-wide mouth filled with dangerous fangs, those snake-like slits up both sides of the face. Its hair was kept pinned back from its face, partially hidden beneath a black, metal crown. It was clearly messy- probably greasy- colored very dark with shocks of silver running through.

The collar of its shirt rose to nearly past its jaw, then plunged down to reveal a lot more of its chest than necessary. Its clothes were almost entirely black, broken up by the lemon/lime embellishments travelling up its arms and around the clasps in the front. The overcoat had long coattails and striped sleeves, ending in cuffs of fabric about the wrists. Moving lower it had very tight pants that did not leave much to the imagination, and boots that were more than a little over-the-top. Finally, there was the cape, hung around its shoulders and reaching floor length. It billowed when it moved even as much as an inch, looking at first like more black. Then the material caught the light, showing a dazzling display of green and yellow, glittering like a perfectly formed geode.

A laugh sprouted from it, giddy and exuberant. It twirled in the small space, its many hands twisting and toying with its outfit, hair, anything it could reach. From its hazy mind came then came its first intelligible thought, just from its appearance: it was called Rennet.

It stilled, hands hovering in scattered positions. The sharp laughs were quieting, but it still shook like it was laughing. Just shaking in general, probably. The worries of its more excitable half weren’t all gone, not that easily, and it knew it wasn’t yet stable.

Rennet took a breath, but its head didn’t clear, if anything it grew fuzzier. It was two creatures, two creatures that spent hours and hours inside their own heads as it was, and now both of those over-stuffed brains were in one too-small skull. It could almost feel the weight, leaning heavily on the wall just to keep upright.

“Should we stop?” Rennet verbalized the question in a thickly accented voice, knowing that otherwise it would never be able to understand the words through the mess of its mind.

“I don’t know,” it’s tone dropped in pitch, the sharp edges smoother, “Is that what you want?”

But it had barely gotten a chance to be. It couldn’t give up already.

So what was wrong with it?

“Oh, I don’t know. Everything?” Rennet threw its head back, because of course the worst thought was the only one that ended up audible. It sighed, dragged a hand down its face, shook its head. “Just remember the saying- two wrongs don’t make a right!”

Rennet’s mouth shut with a snap, and it felt quite angry with itself. On behalf of itself. It wasn’t sure, really- the indignation was much like something felt when a loved one was insulted, not when one’s self was insulted. That somehow made the sting worse.

“You think you’re wrong?” It said in a whisper, clutching its own wrists tight. Rennet knew the answer, though, knew it as it was ingrained into them.

And with that, its resolve sharpened. It was not going to come apart so easily, it would not accept either bits of it thinking anything so bad about himself, and…

Rennet was going to be the sexiest, baddest bitch the Mindpalace had ever seen. That was for damn certain.

It stood straight up, clapping three pairs of hands together and snapping its fingers with the seventh. It had to bear in mind that it was, for the time being, a giant sparkly monster babe. Now, being sad under those conditions just wouldn’t make any sense, and it intended to keep that thought at the forefront of its newly formed mind. Because Rennet was smart, it’d certainly retained that part of Janus, and it was peppy, if Remus had any part in it at all.

And, it mused, as it walked through the hall and down into the living room- it was undoubtedly very mischievous.

Taglist: @glitter-skeleton-uwu @donnieluvsthings @intruxiety @thefivecalls @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @gayformlessblob

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #dukeceit #fusion #my writing #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #fanfic #janus #remus #WijjFusionAU #I kin rennet and also i want it to maul me so it was a very fun character to write

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beinmybonnet · 4 years

Link

21st December 1907, Iquique, Chile

The church bell rings out in three joyful tones. With a sharp inhale, Joe sends a prayer skywards on the tails of doves.

Gunfire chases the echoes.

___

Joe is vaguely aware that Andy is dragging him backwards, snarling at his ear. His own fury is there, churning low in his stomach but for now a numbing shock has won out over his body. They’re killing them… he thinks as Andy shoves him sideways.

She punches the brick beside his head and her own embittered howl joins a building symphony of screaming. He pulls her bloodied hand to his chest and holds it firm, thumb rubbing at the stain. He swallows.

“We have to be ready,” he grinds out, their eyes meeting wide and furious. Andy nods, digging her thumbnail into the back of his hand and then pulls him further into the alley. “As soon as it stops.” He’s desperately trying to think practically now; they need a way in, a way out, god they might even need to dig in right here, and Nicolò-

“Now, move.” Andy’s rounding corners with clipped efficiency, and he remembers to pull the pistol at his belt. The noise is dying down now. “We can get back in through the playground,” she says in a tight voice over her shoulder. Joe flinches and quickens his pace.

The rear of the schoolhouse comes into view and Andy pauses at the low fence. There are yellow ribbons twisted up the slats of the gate. Every window is shattered, every shutter is swinging. Broken glass and shards of wooden frame litter the hard court and herb gardens. A group of women are hunched under a windowsill, hands over their shaking faces as they cower against the stone. Final bullets thud into the interior wall and Joe is moving, skirting the fence and pointing out towards treeline.

“Go. Into the trees, go now,” he tells the women, pointing east. One has a baby in her arms, nodding, sobbing as she stumbles backwards. Two are tugging on the sleeve of another, a gaping wound in her cheek. “You have to go, she’s gone – run.” he says, swiftly detangling their hands. A wailing child trips out of the doorway and is scooped up by the women as they stagger away. Andy moves into the space at his side, eyes fixed on the roof.

“Book was up top with the miners,” she says. While there is noise coming from within the school, there’s no movement from above. “Goddamn Silva, hijo de puta!”

“They can’t leave survivors, they’ll be sweeping the buildings – if it gets back to Santiago-”

“I know – we’ve got minutes. I’ll get Booker, meet you at the church. Fallback to Quipisca if it all goes to shit.” Joe’s nodding before she’s finished speaking, already inching towards the door. It’s been too long, where-

“Joe.”

“Church, shit, Quipisca – I heard you.”

Andy holds his gaze for a moment, then turns away towards the school. “Be fast.”

___

Joe finds him in the westernmost classroom, body curving up from the stone.

For every room searched in stoicism, blinkering himself against the mounting horrors – this one rushes up to greet him in obnoxious lividity. The little ones lie amongst their splintered desks like discarded dolls. Their limp bodies curled together in their fear. There is a small boy slumped against the wall at his feet, his white smock drizzled in ropes of crimson over a heaving chest. Joe allows himself one aching glance across the room at Nicky’s still form, and then crouches quickly before the child, cupping his shaking face in his hands.

“You’re alright, you’re alright – let me see,” he murmurs in Spanish, shifting himself to block the boy’s view of his classmates. He moves his fingers quickly over the small chest and torso, finding a shallow graze across his ribs and a deeper one along his collar. The boy’s red eyes are fixed on Joe’s own now, sobs seizing and catching within him. Joe unties his neck scarf quickly and fastens it tightly around the boy’s own throat, pressing firmly. “There now, looks much better on you.”

Little hands grip tightly at his wrists, trying to pull Joe closer. He’s about to lift the boy up into his arms when there’s a crunch of broken glass from the hallway, and a young woman drags herself through the door on her knees. Joe spins sideways, pistol raised - but she’s crying out desperately, hands tacky with blood and reaching for the child.

A choked cry for his mother the boy and is wriggling toward the door and then clasped in her arms. Joe exhales heavily, opens his mouth to tell her to go, to run-

-and there’s a shallow breath from behind him

He’s across the room and on his knees in the space between heartbeats. Nicky is facedown, arms curled in against himself but now breathing raggedly. Joe’s eyes roll up in fierce gratitude for those breaths and he quickly runs his hands over Nicky’s shoulders and down his spine, following the line of scarlet rosettes stained over his bowed back.

“Nicolò?”

Nicky presses his palm to the stone to raise himself up, struggling for purchase on the bloody floor. Too bloody. Joe’s hand clenches hard in the damp fabric at the small of Nicky’s back, fingers tightening in dread- that’s too much blood- he’s still bleeding-

But his eyes catch a neat plait trailing under Nicky’s arm. Joe’s breath stalls violently in his throat.

Lifting his head sharply now, Nicky scrambles for traction in the blood with his free hand, his right curled beneath the head of the girl within the cage of his arms. He lifts his body away from her, their clothes clinging and sticking together. His brows knit briefly, ducking his chin to peer at his own chest. Then raises his eyes to trace her form. “No, I…”

The holes piercing her pinafore are a perfect reflection of the exit wounds on Nicky’s own chest. Joe’s heart seizes painfully, and he slides his hand up to rest at the nape of Nicky's neck as he whispers his uncertainty once more. “But I-

“We have to go Nico,” Joe tells him quietly, hating- hating the world beyond the window with every fibre within him. Nicky nods absently but is still staring down at the little body cradled in his hands. He doesn’t move. “Come on, we-”

“I don’t understand.” Nicky's voice is quiet but clear. Eyes locked on unseeing eyes. Joe wants to yell, wants to hold him, wants to lead him out to the Plaza and unleash unholy hell at his side. But he touches the pads of his fingers to Nicky’s chin and tilts his face gently.

“I know.” He pauses, so Nicky can see the truth in his eyes. “But you have done all you can.” A harsh sound claws from Nicky’s throat and Joe winces, knowing. He opens his mouth to speak again, but there is a sharp call and response from the school’s forecourt and Nicky meets his eyes with a grimace. Joe cups his hands beneath slight shoulder blades, and together they lower her back to the floor. Nicky pulls her sodden plaits back to rest across her front, and Joe gently closes her wide eyes with a whispered prayer to carry her on. As they stand Nicky turns to survey the tragedy littered around him, and his expression starts to quake in a way Joe cannot bear for a second longer.

He knots their fingers together and pulls him from horror.

___

In the end, they don’t speak of her until they have crossed the Bolivian border and made a more private camp. At the church, they stood with Booker as he roared into the rafters, blood still dripping from his coat. They had moved quickly through Quipisca, following Andy through the protective grooves in the earth with what was left of the miners and their fractured families – seeing them safely into Noasa.

Nicky is sat at the ridge’s edge, feet hanging in the open air when he speaks the words once more.

“I don’t understand.”

Joe looks up at his side but does not speak. This this will have been taking form in Nicky’s mind since they left Iquique. He hasn’t pressed or pushed – knowing the words would come when Nicky was ready to speak them into the world. He's felt his turmoil in other ways of course, the bite of his nails into Joe’s wrist as they slept, the hard press of his boots into the ground as they hiked – as though he could stamp his rage back down into the earth that had birthed it. Finding words to compliment such depth of feeling has always been harder for Nicky, less instinctive. Thus all that fall from his lips do so with the deliberation and care - never wishing to be misunderstood. Joe swore to himself aeons ago that he would treasure them all.

“There are days, when I don’t understand,” Nicky corrects softly, lifting his left hand to drag his fingers down his own chest. “What is the purpose of my body if not to fall, so that others can stand? What is the purpose of this gift, when I cannot give it?” He pauses, taking a measured breath. “I had her, I shielded her, and it still was not enough. My body could not save her. My death was not enough.” Nicky sags back slightly now, jaw tightening in distress and Joe aches with him. “If death is not enough… I have nothing else to give.”

Joe takes a raw moment to absorb the words, to give them space to breathe – but his own are formed and sure.

“Our deaths can be a gift for this world, I agree. We can give, and give, and we can give again. But all we can do is give, Nicoló . We cannot control what is taken.” A charged pause chases the affirmation.

“So much was taken.” Nicky whispers into the sky.

“It was. What was her name?”

“Magdalena. Her name was Magdalena,” Nicky smiles around the sound. “I was trying to teach them the polka. She was the quickest.”

Joe grins now, his laugh a bark in the night. “I could hear them laughing from the Plaza, I wondered if you were trying to teach them arithmetic.” He takes a neat elbow to the ribs and uses the leverage to tug Nicky’s hands into his lap where he clutches them tightly, running fingertips over familiar knuckles. The view before them is effusively beautiful. The slighter hills roll together casting deep shadows into the valley’s clefts, and he can hear the rush of shallow rapids far below them. The red rock ridge they have settled on juts out into the clean air with pride, confident of its strength and place in the world. But the stars boast their beauty too stridently to be ignored. Joe cannot remember a night he could trace the constellations he learnt as a child so clearly.

Nicky dips his head to the cradle of Joe’s shoulder, tension starting to leach from his frame. But Joe will not allow them to rest this night until one issue is unwaveringly refuted.

“My love, being unable to prevent their deaths does not void the joy brought to their lives that morning. I would have you know that.” His words are steady. “Death is not your only gift, nor is it your purpose. You have so much more to give this world”

Nicky blinks slowly against the cotton of Joe’s shirt and presses his lips to his collar for a long moment. It’s acceptance, Joe knows. Grateful receipt of honest words.

“Do you feel it Yusuf? What is happening to this world?”

He does. Like a gnawing shadow on his heels. He struggles still to give it form. It’s like the world is racing against itself, ever hastening its pace. He can feel the panic of it - the pressure. It has always been this way, the bitter bite of competition having wounded lands of his heart long ago. A prize sought was a holy land, a shining and maddening city toyed over for generations. Deemed a worthy reward for the sacrifice of many lives.

Today it is 18 pence. A quick little girl, and her whole community lie cold in their grave this night for 18 pence. The exclusivity of their dirt such a point of pride for a country that its people ceased to have meaning. The behemoth of industrial greed blindly claiming them.

Joe’s words are heavy. “I feel it.”

“The world is changing. This is not the end, this growing carelessness for life.”

He picks a star, and pulls Nicky closer.

#okay i guess i'm writing again #immortal historical husbands #i tried to resist them and have admitted defeat #the old guard #usermarwan #whose set on joe's hands reminded me whilst writing to convey how tactile he is #the old guard fic #my fic #chasing the echoes #mine

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vincess-princess · 3 years

Text

in the dead of the night

a halloween present no one wanted

Pairing: vampire!Nikki/human!Vince Rating: explicit Warnings: heavy dubcon, sex toys, biting, dom/sub tendencies Wordcount: 1930

a piece based on my When The Sun Goes Down (1, 2) universe

“Move,” Nikki ordered, approaching the bed. Vince rolled over to the other side, carefully eyeing Nikki through half-closed eyes, his sleepiness gone in a matter of seconds. Nikki’s movements were a little too quick for a human, and the gesture with which he tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear was a little too sharp - too precise, even. Vince couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, but he was sure his pupils were so wide they covered his irises almost entirely. And Nikki always had black eyes when he was hungry.

“You’re early today,” Vince murmured quietly as Nikki sat down on the edge of the bed and began untying his shoes. “How’s the hunt?”

“Terrible,” Nikki threw one of his boots against the wall. The loud thud made Vince shiver. “Almost got caught by goddamned Silvers. There’s too many of them around recently.”

“Did you get hurt?” Vince sat up on the bed and was going to throw away the blanket, but Nikki turned around and pushed him back without a word. Vince complied with a sigh.

“Me? Hurt by those idiots? Ha!” Nikki hurled his another boot across the room and reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Not in a million years.”

Yeah, sure, Vince barely held back from saying. Nikki wouldn’t have thrown his boots across the room with such ferocity if the hunters were so easy to handle.

He finally mustered enough bravery and asked, “Did you feed?”

“No,” Nikki took off his shirt, unbuttoned his pants and got up, letting them slide down his legs. Then he smiled, and Vince had to bite his lip and look away, because his fangs were long and pointy and absolutely ready to dig into certain someone’s throat. Again. “Which is why I am here.”

Nikki reached out for Vince, grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him closer to the center of the bed. He pulled the blanket off, and Vince felt naked under his hungry gaze. Naked and on a plate with an apple in his mouth, ready to be devoured alive.

The next moment, cold lips pressed against his, and equally cold fingers tangled in his hair. After an impatient tug Vince opened his mouth, letting Nikki in. Nikki was a good kisser, he had a lot of time to practice. Sometimes Vince wondered how many mouths these lips have kissed before him, and how many will do the same after him. Nikki never told him anything, but Vince was pretty sure he wasn’t the only human Nikki toyed with during his undead life. Vince didn’t want to think what happened to all of them.

Only when Nikki bit Vince’s lip impatiently, Vince remembered that they were actually in the middle of a kiss. Oh, yeah, he was supposed to react to it in some way.

“You’re not so enthusiastic tonight,” Nikki broke the kiss and leaned closer. His breath was cold against Vince’s ear. “Shall I proceed directly to the pleasant part yet? Pleasant for me, of course,” and he grinned, with those pointy teeth of his.

“Sorry,” Vince mumbled and ran his hand through Nikki’s hair, lush and thick, just asking to be felt and caressed. He pulled Nikki closer and pressed his lips against his. Nikki’s fangs scratched his lips a little, but not to the point of making it bleed. It was even kind of hot, kissing a creature that could tear him apart with those fangs in no time.

“You’re so warm,” Nikki murmured in between the kisses. He positioned himself on top of Vince, his hands sliding all over his body, leaving cold traces that lingered on the skin and made Vince shudder. Even Nikki’s tongue was cold – it felt kind of what kissing a slug would be like, not that Vince actually knew how it would feel like, - and left a metallic aftertaste in his mouth. Nikki radiated cold, and now that Vince was getting hot and bothered it was no longer off-putting – welcome, really. The feeling of a strong, muscular body pressed against his, the hunger and possessiveness in his every kiss, the way he clung to him so desperately, the way his hands that could crack his skull and break his neck caressed his hair oh so gently – it was something Vince, against his will, enjoyed immensely.

“You like it, huh?” Nikki broke the kiss and settled himself on Vince’s hips, his hands pulling up his t-shirt and sneaking under it. His finger slid under the thin fabric and circled Vince’s nipple, trailed down his stomach and lower, up to the zip on his pants. He was sitting right on Vince’s swollen cock and of course he felt it. He knew what he could do to Vince and used it accordingly.

“Want me handle it for you?” he gripped Vince’s cock through the fabrics, then rose up to pull his pants lower, releasing it. His hand, though, lingered on Vince’s thigh, playing with him - not hurrying to put Vince out of his misery. Vince just nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth he would start moaning.

“Good boy,” Nikki said, wrapping his hand around Vince’s cock. Just a few strokes up and down made Vince tilt his head back and groan. When Nikki had first done that, shortly after he brought him to this house, Vince was afraid he was going to scratch his cock with his claws, but Nikki never did. He was always very careful.

“Come on, tell me how you love it,” Nikki increased the pace. His eyes were fixed on Vince’s face: he watched him with such attention Vince couldn’t help but blush. He knew Nikki could smell the blood rushing in his veins; he listened to his every broken breath; he followed every drop of sweat running down his forehead. He was just hungry, but Vince liked to think he missed his humanhood in some ways.

“Faster,” Vince moaned. “Nikki… faster. Please. Ple-“

His plea was cut short, as Nikki let go of his’s cock and stood up.

“What the fuck?” Vince reached out to grab his cock and finish, but Nikki caught his hand halfway through.

“Did I allow you to touch yourself?” He raised an eyebrow. His grip on Vince’s wrist tightened. “No release for you if I see you doing it.”

“Nikki!” Vince moaned indignantly, but obeyed. Nikki disappeared behind the door. Vince bit his lip and grasped at the sheets so tightly he almost tore the fabric. He needed a release so badly, but he remembered very well who was calling the shots here. And it wasn’t Vince, unfortunately.

Nikki came back to the room with some strange package. Just as Vince rose up on his elbows to get a better look at it, Nikki tore the package apart and pulled its contents out.

“Oh my god,” Vince said.

“Specially for you, baby,” Nikki grinned, watching Vince’s eyes widen, and sat on the corner of the bed, showing him a giant pink dildo. “Handjobs have their own charm, but nothing can replace a thick cock in the butt, can it?”

“It won’t fit inside me,” Vince couldn’t stop staring at the “surprise”. He hadn’t had anal sex for a long time, and his ass certainly wasn’t prepared for it. But he could feel the waves of warmth washing over his body, and yes, Nikki was right, handjobs were just a temporary solution.

“Let’s try and see,” Nikki winked, reached for the nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube. Vince sighed, pulled off his pants and threw them somewhere onto the floor. Nikki spread his legs and settled between them; then he pulled his hips closer and pushed a pillow under his lower back.

“I can’t stretch you,” Nikki said, pouring the lube onto his fingers, “so it’s gonna hurt a little in the beginning. But I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Did anybody ask you, darling?” Nikki raised an eyebrow. “You know, I could just skip all the trouble and feed on you right now. Do you wanna go this way?”

Vince looked Nikki in the eyes and slowly shook his head. For a second he forgot he had no choice.

“Great,” Nikki lined the dildo up to his hole and pushes it forward – just a little, but Vince flinched. “Hey, relax. It will definitely hurt if you keep being so tense.”

“I know.” Vince honestly tried to relax, breathing in and out deeply, concentrating on the breathing alone. It worked - when Nikki pushes the dildo forward, it was easier to take it. With every inch Vince’s breathing became quicker and shallower. At some point, it started to hurt, a dull pain piercing his lower side.

“Not so fast,” Vince managed to murmur. Nikki raised his gaze to see his face.

“Okay, sweetie,” he rubbed Vince’s thigh. “You’re taking it so well. Good boy.”

“I’m… not your boy.” Vince hissed, desperately trying to keep his groans inside his chest. “Ah! Careful!”

“Of course you are,” Nikki stretched out his hand and patted him on the cheek. “My little human toy. My pet.” Vince bit his hand slightly, in a fuck you gesture. Nikki only laughed.

“Oh, someone’s being naughty,” he laughed and without a warning pushed the rest of the dildo inside Vince, drawing a whimper of pain out of him. “It is going to hurt a little at first,” Nikki said, stroking Vince’s thigh. Vince wanted to shake his hand off, but once he tried to move his leg, a gentle gesture gained strength and kept him in place. Resisting was useless, as was objecting; so Vince concentrated on his breathing. It helped ignore dull pain in his lower part of the body, together with the arousal that Nikki didn’t allow him to let out. In and out, in and out, in and-

Vince gasped when Nikki carefully pulled the dildo out a little and thrust it back in, hitting his sweet spot. The momentary feeling of pleasure made him forget about the pain for a second. His own arousal, about which he had already kind of forgotten, now rose up inside him again.

“I see you like it more now,” Nikki grinned upon hearing Vince gasp. “Want more?”

Vince just nodded, clutching at the sheets. Nikki got a grasp on the dildo, pushing it in and out, faster and faster, until Vince’s moans turned into broken gasps. At some moment Nikki’s other hand grasped Vince’s swollen cock, and Vince didn’t even notice how cold it was – he could think of nothing more but the pleasure building up in his crotch, thickening with every movement of Nikki’s hands. He just wanted a release. A release, please, ple-

“Almost there, sweetheart,” Nikki released his cock and leaned down to Vince, kissing him on the lips. “Almost there.”

“Nikki,” Vince managed to exhale. “Nikki, please-“

And then - oh God. Oh fuck.

He came right on his stomach, the dildo still between his legs, while Nikki was watching him hungrily. Vince knew Nikki liked him this way the most – disheveled, breathless, still shaking from the recent orgasm. So he wasn’t surprised when his dark figure hovered over him and buried his face in Vince’s neck. In a post-orgasm haze the pain from the fangs piercing his skin wasn’t so sharp, the humiliation not so deep.

Vince put his hand on Nikki’s head, tangled his fingers in his hair and closed his eyes. Just go through it, he told himself. It happened so many times, just go through it.

#nikki sixx #vince neil #vinikki #motley crue #motley crue fanfiction #this is bad but im posting it anyway #i havent posted for three months but it doesnt mean i didnt write at that time #it was all bad though #also huge thanks to dee for reading it ily <3

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namelessthirst · 4 years

Text

Hunting Grounds

[ When the hunter of eggs becomes the hunted.

Might actually do a part two to this at some point, i just really like the au, and didnt get to fit in all the story in this part.

Easter bunny!Izuku Midoriya/Reader

1k words and some change

Predator/prey themes, noncon/dubcon (mostly dubcon, transitions to con), creampies, overstimulation, Hybrids(kinda), animalistic behavior, reader decides “fuck it, adult life is already so goddamn weird” and bangs the bunny man, semi public sex, uhhhhhh bunny hot]

You couldn't help the gleeful squeal as you spotted another vibrant egg nestled against the underbrush, nor the roll of pleasure as you heard it plop into your basket after giving it an experimental shake, eager for what treats could be inside.

The staff had to skimp out on the larger eggs this year, but you knew everyone would be happy even without the occasional gift cards. Still, it was a shame, and you knew people were frustrated to be out bid by some church in renting your usual cheap grounds. It was true that there had been quite a bit of rain lately, and it made other locations usually used for kids too muddy, but it was hard to not feel as though it was a jab at a bunch of grown adults wanting their own Easter fun.

This new land wasn't bad, it did have more foliage to work with while hiding eggs! But it was also more expensive than what your group usually aimed for.

Still, you were just glad you got to still hold the event at all.

Even with the unknown area, and it's marked off hunting grounds being different than year's past, you kept on with your surefire plan to get a good helping of eggs.

Many people liked the scramble in the middle, to dive and hurry for anything they could spot alongside the others, but you liked a more peaceful method- it just also happened to yield you a good profit.

The staff liked to hide eggs along the rim of the grounds, and the bright pink flags marking off the limit made it easy to find and figure out where they'd put things.

Plus, it was just so peaceful. The cool breeze, warm sunlight peeking through the trees, and the sounds of nature close.

You didn't peg yourself as much of a nature-lover, but this was nice.

Perhaps it was the lulling effect it all had, that let you ignore the quick trampling of feet, assuming there were deer somewhere nearby.

Maybe if you hadn't been pressed to the ground, tee-shirt brushing with dirt as you peered under a bush where a dark green egg was nested between the branches at its base, you would have heard the snap of a twig merely a few feet away.

You didn't make it but a few inches from under the brush before your rump pressed into something firm, and warm.

With a shriek you jerked away, landing on your side as whatever it was that'd touched you followed suit.

When you peered back, you tried very hard to rationalize.

The man had no ears-no human ears, at least.

Forest green curls tickled what could only be the base of perked and alert rabbit ears- they flicked and turned; doe eyes trained on you with pupils blown far too wide to be normal.

There were marks in the ground where he'd leapt back from your startling outburst.

But movement caught you eye and sped your heart as the man crept forward, hands and toes stretched out slowly. But even the most trepidatious approach couldn't distract you from the sudden realization that this man was completely bare.

The flick of your eyes over the stranger’s semi seemed to only encourage him.

He paused, nose twitching quick before the barest movement of your leg had him hurtling onto you.

His land was graceful, you only felt the pressure of his weight in ways that kept you still.

You could feel strong nails dig into the jean fabric of your shorts; hips being pulled up away from the ground.

On your belly, all you could see was the dewy grass and dirt, heartbeat thunder in your ears and breath found lacking despite the deep gulps you pulled.

There was the sniffing again, nose ticklish over your soft body. You felt a lighter touch, almost curious, before a solid thump came from your side.

You twisted uncomfortably, trying to get a look even if the action had something far too warm and soft brushing your side in a way that made you a bit dizzy.

"What the hell are you on?!"

Your words were paid no mind, only earning the distinct sensation of someone trying to chew through your shorts.

When your hips were dropped back to the ground, you got what could have been a lovely and enticing view of a perky round ass, plush balls shifting ever so slightly behind a weighing boner. A pretty pink hole staring back at you, topped just a bit above with a busy and raised tail.

Were you hallucinating? The ears could have been a trick of the eye, but, that tail was suspended by nothing. Moving, with nothing.

The sound of fabric ripping brought you back out of your hazy thoughts.

Nails you were sure imprinted on your skin even through your shorts dug at the seam that sat over your pussy.

It didn't take much work, teeth and claws ripping through to soft flesh after mere seconds.

The spring air was cool on your once hidden core, trembling as you watched the fluffy tuft at the man's rear flick about, an almost squeaky noise escaping his throat.

Tentative flicks of his tongue sent shivers down your spine, uneasy tickles of pleasure raced up from your clit, warm flesh prodding in as your walls clenched.

With each grind of wet texture beyond what a human could provide, you could feel your heartbeat speed for a different reason.

His sudden shift was quick, almost frantic, as he tried to keep his weight and grip firm on you while he repositioned himself.

You didn't have enough focus to ask yourself why you hadn't tried to bolt as he moved, your mind preoccupied as his warm chest pressed to your back.

Calloused hands patted along your hips, thighs, petting over the mound of your pussy as that tantalizing tongue wetted your neck, nose twitching noticeably against your skin.

It was kind of uncomfortable, being pressed down to the ground like this. Even with the fresh spring grass, you could feel twigs poking your chest and arms.

Yet, as you felt what was unmistakably the flushed cock you saw earlier leave ripples of promise where it ground against your fresh slit, you couldn't pay much mind to anything else.

Seconds dragged on in a way that lost you, a tapered tip pressing over your clit with each roll of oddly curved hips feeling almost like torture.

A frustrated groan was the first sound you'd made in a bit, as you pressed insistently back against the wanting flesh that teased you.

You were almost tempted to yell when everything stopped, tongue gone and hips leant away.

The heat didn't have much time to leak away before you felt the man, the bunny, shift against you, and a long, weeping prick, slide the first couple inches inside.

With the first buck, teeth clamped down on the nape of your neck.

He didn't give you a chance to breathe, every retreat met double in the taking.

Hot, breathy grunts of pleasure rumbled into the pinched flesh of your neck as his tip pressed tight against your cervix. An aim with purpose and need.

It was hard to just keep up, his grip tight and disallowing of you to even meet him halfway, leaving you to choke out encouragement weakly.

Even through the fire of nerves in you, one thought was clear.

You were letting this...this inhuman man, this rabbit man, fuck you.

And with the sudden stilling, arching of his back off you, leaving dents of teeth in your skin, you realized you wanted more.

His cock slipped free when he suddenly fell back on his ass, panting with his cock still tall and twitching, one leg raised and kicking down at the ground every other breath.

Your pussy ached, you hadn't even cum yet. The peak he'd built with speedy thrusts already dissipating.

Laid back ears perked anew at your irritated scoff, and back on he climbed to your dripping hole.

He didn't move from you again, not for a good while.

With each short orgasm of his, he slumped against you, and on you begged for more. And more he gave.

When you finally managed to turn over, you gripped green curls as tight as you had your legs around his hips, unwilling for him to leave until you were well satisfied.

Your greed earned you well at last, even as he whimpered with overstimulation at each plunge into your crushing core, your first orgasm, wet and heavy, had you leaving teeth marks of your own in his shoulder.

The whines of pleasure only grew as you pressed on, cunny trembling on too much. Too much friction, too much stretching, too much filling.

Balls that weren't even big enough to tap against your ass at his best had dumped so much inside you, and only had more to give when your peak spilled liquid renewal on his libido.

Your wispy gasps that tapered off from overstrung moans only fed the new high of your stranger.

You could only wonder his intention as he pulled his sputtering cock from you to rub as much of himself as he could against the sticky wet you'd given him.

The smear of your mixed release didn't last long before he was back inside, feverishly taking you with the heavy clap of a foot against the dirt.

The daylight had been fading for a bit now, and you were sure everyone must be gathering for the cookout.

You were more than satisfied, and he'd finally deflated, both of you laying limply together, the stillness only disturbed by distant sounds of revelry and the occasional nudge of his nose to your cheek.

This time, you heard the snap of the twig, despite your exhaustion.

Someone was near, and at the call of your name, you knew you had to flee.

They couldn't see him, couldn't catch you both like this.

What you had decided was yours, was already sat up alert. A footstep closer had him poised tightly over you, brows furrowed and teeth bared through low grunts.

It took a few nudges, then shoves, at his chest to get him to move off you.

Your legs wobbled as you stood, seed rushing fresh from you to join the spill that had long since cooled on the ruins of your shorts.

The eyes of your bunny were wide, confused, ears turning constantly as he watched you move and listened to the unknown approach.

He followed when you pulled.

'Sore' did not cover how you felt the next day. It did not cover the awkward ache of your spine from sleeping on the floor. It did not cover the scratches of nature, or the headache you had from trying to process everything from the day before.

The stranger you'd brought home last night hadn't woken yet, falling asleep after a heavy meal of cabbage and kind of ruining your couch cushions by chewing and digging at them. Once you'd eaten something, he hadn't let you up until he was unconscious at long last.

Every car that had driven past your house had him awake and peering into the dark.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine! Sorry..."

"Okay, I just...We couldn't find you, just your basket, last night. We were all really worried."

"I know, sorry. I should have said something before heading off. Thanks for finding my basket, though!"

"Its fine. We saved you some leftovers too! We just assumed you were being meticulous like usual, so we packed some away for you. Ribs, biscuits, some cake, and some salad and coleslaw. Sound good? You're welcome to whatever."

You looked over at the lump of green that lay on your living room floor, tucked between torn pillows and cushions, and felt up the stinging mark on your neck with the hand not cradling your phone.

"Yeah, salad sounds great."

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #lemon

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anthropwashere · 4 years

Text

she sang to me a language strange

Cleaned up a chunk of an old NaNo to share. You don’t need to have seen SSoM, you just need to know it gave us tactical werewolves and I lost my whole goddamn mind about that. Post-series chimera!Ed fic where Ed was captured by Creta and things only got worse for him from there.

Warnings: Body horror, gore, loss of identity/control, imprisonment, torture, death, cannibalism.

Word count: ~6k

Ed falls down.

Again.

He keeps doing that. Falling. It doesn't hurt. Or—it does, but not as much as he thinks it should.

He's cold. Numb from the shoulders and hips down. Shaking all over. He's so fucking cold.

Is he cold?

He thinks he’s cold. Or he was. Or he was sick and shaking before this, and maybe he's still sick enough still to be shaking now. Shaking isn't trembling. Cold and fear are not mutually exclusive.

He doesn't know. It’s all grown so blurred.

There are some things that are certain, and final, and inescapable. Cold concrete floors roughened by deep claw marks that bite at his feet. Cold concrete walls marred by deep claw marks as high as he can reach. Higher than that, much higher. Higher than he can hope to reach on his hind legs—

—no.

His two legs. It's two legs. He's got two legs and he's always had two legs.

...Hasn't he? Always had two legs?

No. No, that's all wrong. It's wrong. He's wrong. He feels so wrong. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Half his life. He's gone more than half his life with just the one leg. The leg he was born with—

—the right one, yes, he's always had the right leg—

—and the left….

The left, he's not so sure.

No. No, he is sure. He's sure he's never had two legs—

No.

No, wait. He knows this.

He's mostly always had two legs, except when he didn't, and that was because Winry was—

No, shut up, don't think about her, idiot, don't, she's in danger, she's going to die, it'll be a mercy if all they do is kill her so don't even dare think about her—

His mechanic.

Yeah.

He didn’t have two legs when his mechanic was working on one of them. Working on it, because he's got automail. Had automail once, and gone now. He had an automail leg.

He had automail elsewhere too, didn't he? Before? His arm. The right one? Wasn't it automail?

Yeah. Yeah, that's right, he used to have two automail limbs, a long time ago now. He's only had the one—the one returned, the one still automail—for years now. He doesn't have an automail arm anymore because—

—no names, no names, don't give these fucks anything—

—because he got his right arm back.

Right?

Right.

And—and he got his leg back too, which is why he doesn't have automail at all anymore—right?

No no no nononono, god, please, no, that's not right either.

This leg.

It's not his. This leg isn't his. He lost his leg—

(white space, white teeth, white grin, you beat me)

—a long time ago. That was a long time ago. He was a different man back then. Not a man, not yet. Just a boy who had to grow up too quickly. That was then. He's a man now, and he's got all his limbs again—

—except the leg.

This leg—

This isn't his leg.

They cut this thing off some corpse, lashed it to his thigh, and made him walk on it even though it hurt so badly he blacked out—

But that was before.

Before, when his thoughts were murkier, simpler, hungrier. When he was still more animal than monster. This is now, with him sprawled on the floor, and the guards who are barking at him to get up, and he's laughing at them because they're barking, and isn't that just so goddamn funny?

"Fuck you," he tells them, laughing despite laying naked and shaking on the cold, scarred, concrete floor, which is a mirror of him.

Isn't it?

It is.

A mirror that doesn't reflect him as he was but reflects what they've done to him instead. He is cold, and scarred, which is only one letter off from scared, and he's been scared for so long. Alone for so long too, which is only two letters off from long, and he doesn't know how long he's been down here.

He remembers, belatedly, that most of the guards don't know more than a handful of Amestrian words, so these stony fucks probably don't know what he said. So he says it again, this time in a language they can understand. Their language. The language he used to think was beautiful. The language he used to delight in speaking.

"Va te faire foutre," he says, laughing harder, laughing even as they hit him as they've hit him a thousand times before. But it's fine. It is. It's fine, because they only hit him on his arms and his legs—the leg that's always been his and the leg that isn't his but is still a sore, aching, screaming thing that's attached to him—and he can't feel anything where they hit him, except where he does.

The point was—

He had a point.

Really, he did. He was going somewhere with this.

The guards ignore him, his laughter and his resistance, and haul him to his feet—the foot that belongs to him and the foot that was forced upon him. A knife of fire lances from heel to groin as he tries to use the fucking leg they gave him and he screams again, and he's laughing even still.

God.

This won't ever end, will it? This is it. This is it. This is how it's going to be for the rest of his goddamn life, and he doesn't even have a say in how long that will be anymore, does he? It's just—

—this.

Hard-handed guards and hard-eyed scientists and him, cold and scarred and scared and naked, naked but for the heavy chains that leave his wrists and throat and ankles—even the ankle that wasn't his originally—raw and bloodied. He's so tired of darkness, and loneliness, and the screams that ring down the cold concrete halls. He's tired of asking why and being hit for speaking out of turn and being hit for not answering their demands and—

—and—

—and he was going somewhere with this.

He's going somewhere now. Somewhere new.

Oh, god. The guards are taking him somewhere new.

"Please," he whispers, or he shouts, or he only thinks it and that's why the guards don't say anything or hit him with their rough hands. They just keep dragging him along on his hind legs—his two legs—the legs that aren't his because he should only have the one he can feel things with and the other should be metal, but it's gone now, and he can only feel fire with the one they gave him.

It doesn't make any sense. He can't make any sense of it. His brain is addled. Out of sorts. His brain keeps telling him to fall down and walk on all fours, because that's how it should be, shouldn't it? Shouldn't he walk on all fours?

He falls down again, clumsy and stumbling. His jaw blooms with fresh pain. There's blood in his mouth, hot and pus-bitter, dripping down his chin as he slurs, “S'il te plaît. Je n'en veux pas. Please. Arrêtez. Laissez-moi tranquille. Leave me alone. Stop. Arrêtez. S'il te plaît.”

The guards bark, and they hit him, and they haul him to his feet, and they drag him at last to a cavernous room dotted all over with harsh white lights that do little to chase away the dark gathered in the far-off corners. The lights are all clustered together, highlighting a circular pit in the floor covered with heavy crisscrossing metal beams. A new cage to put him in. A bigger one. Why?

He breathes deep and smells iron.

Blood.

Old blood, settling heavy and clotted on his tongue and in his nose. He gags, choking. The guards don't care. They just keep dragging him along—alone—to the pit. He fights them, but he's been fighting them the whole way here and has only managed to wear himself out for nothing.

He fights for nothing.

One of the guards lets him go long enough to open up a section in the cage, and the other guard pushes him in.

He falls down.

Again.

Farther than before, and before that, and before that too.

It's a long way down.

He lands in a painful heap of his own limbs and something hard and sharp that crunches and breaks apart into pieces that dig deep into his ribs and spine and every inch of his cold, scarred skin. He snarls pain and it comes out too low, the pitch and the echo and the hum of it all wrong, wrong, wrong. An inhuman sound, rumbling in his chest and oozing out between his sharp teeth. He breathes in to make that sound again, louder and angrier so the guards above are sure to know how he feels about this latest development, but it's all harsh white lights above him so he can't even see if they're watching him and anyway the smell is so much stronger down here.

He chokes again. He chokes on old, crusted blood; soft meats gone rotten, soft and shapeless; firm muscle gone rotten too, stiff and shrunken; old bones too.

That's what he's in. He's—

He's in—

Oh, god.

Fuck, no, nonono, no—

This pit. This hole in a hole in a hole, darkness realized, is full of dead and broken and rotting things. He's covered in it. Covered in old gore, covered in old wolves and birds and bears who weren't any of those things, not really, not for real—

—this isn't real, it can't be real, it can't be happening, please, put him back, take him out, he's sorry, please stop, s'il te plaît—

—he's sinking to his elbows and knees—knee that was always his and the knee forced upon him—

—these were people, they were people like him, and they all used to be people and now they're dead and—

—and is he next?

Seriously?

Is this all there is? Is this all it comes to? All this pain, this suffering, this madness? Is this all it amounts to? Why? Fuck. Fuck, please, he doesn't want this, he doesn't want to die, not here, not down here, he doesn't remember why it matters anymore, he doesn't remember what before was like, but he doesn't want to die. He just doesn't, okay? Please, please, not like this, let him out, let him go, oh god, s'il te plaît—

“Ta gueule.”

He flinches, sinking low into the offal, which sounds a lot like awful, but not in the language this strange new person that smells like him but not is speaking. She smells all wrong, sharp and ticking, like hot metal and ammonia, he knows this smell, it's what he's smelled like ever since that bitch—

"You talk too much," the voice of the person who does and doesn't smell like him says. Amestrian. She's speaking Amestrian at him. His language.

He lifts his head from the gore and stares into the white-black dark until a person-shape becomes clear. It—

—she?

Yes, definitely she. She smells like him but not like him too, and somehow by smell alone he knows that she is a she and that's older than him, and stronger too. He drops his gaze because half his mangled brain is screaming at him to show deference, but he drags his gaze back up again because fuck that, so he settles somewhere near her paws—

—fuck, no, fuck, her hands, her feet, pay attention—

—as a compromise.

"Amestrian?"

It takes him a moment—moments, minutes, something—to realize that was a question she wants an answer to. He swallows. Coughs. Swallows again. "Y-yeah. Ouais. Je suis un amestrien.”

She barks laughter at him, unimpressed. "Your accent is terrible," she says, which is funny, because terrible is spelled the same in both their languages but she says it like she's speaking Cretan. She rolls her Rs. She trills instead of growls. It makes her sound more human than she is.

He barks laughter too. "So's yours."

Her teeth are very long and very sharp when she bares them at him in a wide, flirtatious grin. "This is your first time here?"

She's speaking his language, so it's only courtesy he return the favor. Equivalent exchange. What a goddamn joke. “Ouais. Quel est cet endroit?”

"What does it look like?" She snorts irritably. "Non. Smell. What does it smell like?"

He sniffs again. Chokes again. "Mort."

"Oui. I will die, or you will die."

“P-pourquoi?”

She barks laughter again, bitter and weary. She sounds so, so tired. "Because they want it. It is a test."

Her teeth grow longer and sharper still. He smells the beast swarm out of her; hears the pop and groan of her bones, the creak of her tendons, the growl in her throat and stomach. She's a wolf like he's a wolf, which is the same thing as saying neither of them are wolves at all, but neither are they the humans they used to be.

His teeth itch. He swallows again, pretending as hard as he can that he can't feel his own jaw shift and creak. “Quel test?”

She coughs disdain, pointing her snout to the bars high, high above their heads. "I don't know how to say in Amestrian. Le sifflet."

He frowns. Does he know that word? Did he? Did he ever? His head's full of white spaces and white grins on white faces; a thing that is a god he doesn't believe in but knows is there regardless. That place is long ago and far away and out of reach for far too long now. That place once filled his years with nightmares and grief. Now his nightmares are bleak and stifling in a way that makes him yearn for that place—darkness and gnawing cold, clawed concrete and biting metal shackles, his skin splitting open to let the monster they made him come out to play on command—

—or, that's what he's heard from others in the block his cell is in, at least, amid the growls and weeping of the other beasts that aren't beasts, not really. Forced to do the unspeakable. A test they passed, for all that they wished they hadn't—

"Oh," he says.

"You understand?"

“Non. Ouais. Ouais. Je comprends ce test.”

She nods her long, long snout. "It is a test, yes. One of us will die. They make us kill."

“Comment?”

"I said. Le sifflet."

He shakes his head, grinds his teeth that refuse to stay flat and human. “Je ne comprends pas.”

She sighs. "You understand soon. This is my, mm. Fourth time. Second time, it did not work. I stayed here. Third time it worked, so I killed. But still I am here. They leave me here because it did not work once. Now here we are, you and I. My fourth time. Maybe it works again? Maybe I kill you too. Maybe you kill me instead. Maybe that's better. I don't know. I'm tired. My life is finished, over. It is finished. I am just this now. This beast that they made of me. I am what they made me, and I know this is not what I want and that I cannot fix this. So, now I want to die. This is what I know."

She hasn't changed all the way yet. If she had, she wouldn't be speaking. She wouldn't be capable of speech, if she'd changed completely. That's how it is for him, anyway. He swallows again, and in Amestrian says, "I don't want to kill you."

She barks laughter again, harsh and hoarse. "What you want does not matter. What I want does not matter. It is only what they want that matters." She nods again at the ring of harsh white lights above them, a halo, an array that they have been made the focal point of, an array that will act upon them soon.

He tastes blood on his tongue, slick across teeth that are too long, too sharp. Cutting his gums, his lips. His jaw aches. His head pounds. He doesn't know what to do with his fingers, sunk deep into the ripped open remains of someone else's rib cage, in the soft and reeking scraps of lung tissue left to rot down here in the dark.

No.

Not fingers.

He doesn't have proper fingers anymore—

—not ever?

Maybe he used to have fingers but right now he's got paws, stiff and braced to hold his growing, shifting, creaking weight. Claws digging deeper into the rotten meat, drawing out a muskier reek. Maggots squirm between the rough pads where he should have—once had—fingertips and palms. It should disgust him. His empty, empty stomach growls instead. He growls too.

"Who were you?" The she who is not a wolf or a woman asks in the same thick accent as the guards and scientists and alchemists of this hellhole. How did he ever think it was a pretty thing to listen to?

She stands on all fours, hunchbacked and half-made. Half-undone. Fur spills down her back, frames her gaunt face, hides her hanging breasts in shadow. Not fur. A mane? No, a mane is fur too. What's the word? What's the word? He has it too, the same long fur tickling his ears that are still too round and dull and hairless—

Hair. That's the word he's looking for.

She has hair, the same as him because they're people, or they used to be—human. They both used to be human. She's blonde too, matted with old blood. Old kills. She's killed others. She told him she had. She's the one responsible for the mess he's standing on all fours in.

"I asked a question," she growls. "Your name. What was it? Who were you, before this? Who were you, when you were still a man?"

“Qu'importe?” He yowls, yells, yelps—some word with a strong yeh sort of sound to the start of it. His voice drops low and cracks high; it should be a ridiculous, goofy sound he made, but the base of his spine has just wriggled its way out of his skin and he's busy trying to figure out how much that hurt to care. Compared to old hurts, what's something so small as a tail?

The hunched, gargoyle thing that used to be a person just like he used to be a person says, "My name was Renée Poirier. I was a soldier. I served my country. I was proud. Now I am a beast. Now I am tired. I give my name to you. It is yours to keep. I think I will die here, I think you will kill me—"

“NO!”

Her ears, long and straight, flick back in surprise. "No?"

"I won't! Je ne vais pas!"

Laughter drips from between her fangs. "You say this, as if there is still a choice. Tell me, Amestrian, what was your name?"

He really hates how she keeps asking that in the past tense, like she's so sure he's got no attachments left to the man he was before he was made a chimera. How can she be so sure? He hasn't been sure of anything since he was dragged down into this place. He hasn't been sure of anything since….

He doesn't know how long he's been down here. He doesn't even have the small certainty of time left to him, anymore. Time has become so strange, so distant, down here in the dark.

Hair that is fur bristles and itches down his cold, scarred skin. He'll be warm again soon.

He swallows. May as well indulge her, right? "Edward. Elric-Rockbell."

She hums, or she whines, or she growls. Whatever it is, it's a pleased sound. She is made content by the gift of his name. “Enchantée.”

If she's going to speak her language then he doesn't see why he shouldn't speak his own too, at least while he's still capable of it. Control is a slippery, squirming thing. He can't keep a grip on it no matter how hard he squeezes. "I'm not gonna kill you. I wouldn't. I'd never. I'm not that kind of—"

"Kind of what? Man?" She barks again, a bright shock of sound that echoes off the clawed and bloodied concrete. His ears ring. “Tu n'es pas un homme, Monsieur Elric-Rockbell. You are not. You are a beast, and they make beasts do whatever they want."

Scathing. Matter-of-fact. This isn't madness speaking. There is no fervor, no fear. She knows. "H-how?"

"Five times they will bring you here. Five times they will, mm. Make you mad. Insane. Five times you will kill." She rolls her broad shoulders, dismissive. "Or maybe you are lucky? Maybe it will not work even once on you. Maybe I kill you instead, and it will be the next beast they bring here that will kill me."

Fuck. What the hell is she talking about? How can she be so—flippant? About murder? Like it's a coin toss, something left entirely out of their paws—

—fuck—

—hands. Out of their hands. It can't be out of their hands.

Can it?

He shakes his head, feeling off balance by a face grown too long in the snout. "No—"

"This is the way it is." She says it like an apology. Like she's honestly sorry that she might kill him. "Ah, do you hear?"

He does. Heavy boot stomping above and around the ring of harsh light, low voices speaking Cretan. They rattle on to each other, abominably clinical. They should be talking about simple life forms in tiny petri dishes, not people.

Ready to record, one says.

Keep a close eye on the male's left hindquarter, another says.

Bet you a smoke he won't do anything, a third says.

Sure he will. He'll do what any Amestrian dog's good for—roll over!

The lot of them cackle amongst themselves. They sound like any group of coworkers, cracking jokes to kill a little time. They sound bored, and normal, and completely disparate from the cold gray hell Ed's life has been whittled down to.

There's a whine building in his throat the longer he listens, cutting itself open on his long, strong fangs. He understands. His mind, brain, soul, and body are all tangled up and aching and distorted—he's certain he wouldn't recognize himself in a mirror if they put him in front of one—but he understands.

Proceed with the test, a voice high above says.

“S'il te plaît,” he begs the guards high above and out of sight. There's no answer. Of course there isn't. When have they ever listened to him? When has there every been one worthwhile fucking thing any of them have ever—

A scream of noise pierces the air; high and shrill and terrible. It mutilates his train of thought and cuts him as deeply as a scalpel even as he falls down again to cover his ears with bloody paws. His scream joins the noise, is wrenched out of him by the noise, matches neatly with the noise octaves lower, and then lower still as the change is drawn out of him fully. His meager control is shredded, torn from him. He slides away from and out of and behind himself. The scrap of self called Ed is set aside, shelved, buried by new agony and a fresh swell of frothing, burning hate and hunger that are one and the same and he must act, he must move, he must bite, he's so hungry, he's cornered, the she is an enemy and the she must DIE—

"Ah," the she sighs, laying down to bare her neck to his fangs. "Merci."

Merci, he thinks, is one letter and one language away from mercy, and that means something, it used to mean something, it should mean something to him still—

But that is the last clear thought the thing that was once Ed has for a long, long time.

Ed wakes up.

He's been squeezed back down into the human-adjacent shape the bio-alchemists designed for him, clumsy and long-limbed and familiar in the same uneasy way of déjà vu. He's been returned to his cage, weighed down once again by unnecessary shackles. Cold metal bruises his shoulder, his ribs, his hip, his knee. Cold metal numbs his fingers, all ten of them. The five he's always had and the five he gave up for his brother that his brother then gave back. Cold metal numbs his toes too, all ten of them. The five that have always been his and the five that are reluctantly his now. Cold metal gnaws his wrists, his ankles, his throat. Cold metal bars of a cold metal cage that is his only because he's spent so long locked up inside it that it's the closest thing to refuge he has in this place. This cage is his miserable oasis. They so very rarely do anything to him when he's locked up inside it. There's nothing and no one here now. Only him.

Only him and his own whirring, blurring, inside-out screaming thoughts to bite him.

Her name was Renée Poirier. She had been a Cretan. She had been a soldier. She had been a person. They'd taken her humanity from her, but she had still been at least that much.

And now she's nothing. Nothing but past tense.

He breathes too deeply. His stomach hurts, churns, burns. He rolls onto his hands and knees, and the left one screams protest when he puts too much weight on it. He gasps pain, and the gasp becomes a gag that has him lunging for the bars so he can aim his sick out onto the clawed concrete. Red and pink slippery mush splatters loudly, a mess of steaming gore. He remembers the way it had tasted going down—

—hot and raw and fresh—

—and retches again.

He's shaking when he finally stops. The bars swim before his eyes so he shuts them, presses his forehead to the cold metal, groans relief. He's burning up. He's been burning up.

He sinks down, curling up as much as his chains allow. His skin is hot and dry, itching terribly, flaking all over with blood that isn't his. He's still shaking. He was cold, wasn't he? Before? Whenever that was, however long ago that was, before they'd thrown him down into a pit full of dead and mutilated chimera, where she'd been left to die—

He bares his teeth and high, hoarse laughter leaks out of him. Left to die? No, no. She was deemed a failure, left wanting, left to wait, murdered by him. He killed her. He tore out her throat with his teeth and then he ate her—

His gorge rises again; stomach cramping, breath choking. He slaps his paws—

—hands, goddamn it, he's got hands—

—over his mouth. There's nothing left. He really will get sick if he forces himself to puke any more. Just—

—breathe.

Breathe.

Spittle dribbles against his hand. Tears drip off his nose. He holds back whatever awful sound is pressing urgently against his clenched teeth, convinced it would be a howl.

He killed her.

They made him do it.

The made him—

—fucking—

—kill her. They made him kill her. They made him eat her—

He remembers, is the thing.

He remembers.

He went fucking—

—rabid? Insane? Who the fuck knows what. They blew a goddamn whistle and the last scrap of his humanity fled for the hills with its tail between its legs. His brain handed the reins of his body over to the thing that they'd made of him, just like that. Just like she said would happen.

But why does he remember it? Why does he have to remember the tension and spasm of her throat between his teeth? Why does he have to remember the hot spurt of her blood, her last choking breath—

He killed her, he ate her, he killed her, he ate her, he killed her, he ate her—

Over and over and over again, the truth of what he's done runs ragged circles through his head. Two irrefutable facts he can't hide from. He's got the smell of her half-digested meat curdling a foot from his snout—

—nose, fuck—

—and her blood smeared all over his skin. His mouth hurts behind the tight press of his hands. They made him kill her and he has no idea how they did it. The she said—

—no, goddamn it—

—Renée said that they would make him do this again.

Five times.

She said they'd make him do—

—that—

—five times.

He killed her because of that whistle—

—le sifflet, and isn't he pleased to have learned something new down in this hell—

—and if what she said is true they're going to drag him down into that pit four more times. They're going to make him kill four more people.

Or, if her jilted Amestrian conjecture is anything to go by, there's a chance that whistle won't set him off and he'll end up the same way as Renée Poirier. The next time he hears that fucking whistle some other poor fucker could be the one to go rabid and kill and eat him instead.

Laughter seeps out between his fingers despite his best efforts, high and barking and brittle, so he gives up trying to stop it and covers his ears instead so he won't have to hear himself howl.

He doesn't understand. What's the point? What is the fucking point of this? Is this all that's left to him? A fucking coin toss he's got no say in?

He thought—

—he used to think—

—that he could endure this. All of this. Anything these fucks could think to throw at him. He'd wait it out. Ride it out. Grit his teeth and hold steady—

—hold strong—

—through the very worst they could throw at him. Once he accepted that escape was impossible he thought he could survive long enough for the cavalry to come charging in to save the day.

Surely, they're out there now, looking for him. Surely everyone from the Fuhrer down to the newest private assigned out West knows he's missing and is doing their utmost to track him down. What's the point of fame if it can't be put to good use when you've been squirreled away as a goddamn test subject? If he was still high profile enough for Creta to sink their teeth into a decade after he quit the military, then surely Amestris' brass will care enough to hunt him down again. If Creta wanted to catch him so badly, surely Amestris will want him back?

He's certain his friends in the military would raise merry hell to find him. Tear the West region part, and Milos too, track down his last sighting and trace the Cretan railways as far as south as they've taken him. It will take time to find him, but they will. Of that much he's certain. He's sure of it, and of course someone will have sent a message to Xing by now. Al will tear Creta's mountain ranges down to gravel in order to find him, and Mei would sense the ugly tangle of horror and pain the qi here must be, and together they're guaranteed to find him, and then—

—he killed her he ate her he killed her he ate her he killed her he ate her—

—and then.

And then he'll have to look them all in the eye and tell them exactly what he's done.

He's shaking again. Did he ever stop? His hand is still over his mouth. He can't tell if he's bitten himself again; if he'll see a smear of inhuman, iridescent blood and saliva on his paw—

—palm, fuck, why it so hard to remember that?

His other hand is pressed to his side, fingers sunk into the divots between his ribs. His softness sapped away in the mysterious amount of time he's been down here; all that's left is a thing of stringy muscle and too-dense bone. He's off-balance any time he tries to stand up because his brain can't figure out how many legs he's got, and isn't that just so goddamn funny?

He remembers a riddle from a story he read as a kid, in the hard year after their failed attempt at human transmutation.

(white space, white face, congratulations, you've won, what a fucking joke)

The hero of the story approached a sphinx—

—a chimera in her own right, a woman's head on a lion's body, and he wonders if he could figure out how to do the same and laughter peals out of him—

The hero of the story approached a sphinx, right, and she told him he had to answer her riddle correctly, otherwise she'd kill him right there where he stood—

—he killed her he ate her he killed her he ate her he killed her he ate her, they're going to make him do it again and there is nothing he can do to stop it—

—well, no, there's one avenue left to him. He could do what Renée Poirier did. He could lay down in the gore of that round pit, bare his throat and beg mercy, merci—

—no.

No, he can't. He can't.

He wants to see his family again, and his friends too. He wants to see the sun, the stars, green grass waving in a stiff wind. He wants to see wheat fields and mountains and cobblestone streets, the half-constructed branch of Central's National Library that Mustang keeps threatening to name after him. He wants leather bound books and chalk dust, freshly made coffee and cheap perfume and coal smoke. He wants bookstores and greasy hole in the wall diners, cats sleeping in windows, rickety iron chairs outside corner cafes, summer storms, the harm-hued interior of a passenger car, his own bed, jazz music on the radio, an Amestrian newspaper without a single bad thing printed in it. He wants a thousand little things beyond these cold concrete walls and biting steel bars and red meat tearing, dripping, tasting so fresh, so good—

—fuck—

—the sphinx.

The sphinx.

The sphinx asked, "What is the creature that walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon, and three legs in the evening?" And he knows what the riddle's answer is, he remembers it, but he also knows now that the story was wrong. It isn't man. Or, well, it can be, but that's only one side of the coin because here he is.

He's living proof that chimera can answer the riddle just as well.

They're going to make him kill someone else. Renée Poirier warned him, before he—

—killed her ate her killed her ate her killed her ate her—

It's just a matter of time, and he can't. He can't.

He doesn't want to.

Please.

Someone. Anyone. Help him, please.

He can't stop this on his own. He can't stop himself. He can't.

He's going to kill someone, or he'll be killed, and he'll never see another sunrise. He'll never hug Winry again, or hold his kids, or make another trip out to Xing. He's never going to see Al or Emperor Fancypants or Lan Fan or Mei, or even circle back out to Resembool to take the kids to see Granny again. That old goat really is going to outlive him, and isn't that just the funniest goddamn thing?

Ed buries his head in his good shoulder and tries to do anything but think.

#my writing #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #egregious misuse of google translate abounds #if you speak french i am. so sorry.#body horror #gore #one glorious day i'll finally write POLITICAL INTRIGUE AND WEREWOLVES #this will have to do in the meantime

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helpless-lesbian · 4 years

Text

My Idiot

Paring: Violet x MC

Game: Storyscape - Eternal City

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Violence

————————–

~No One's POV~

You treaded along the pathway through the Garden, pretending to work so Bezoar wouldn't scold and punish you for slacking off. You can feel the soft soil between your toes and the sunlight hitting your skin.

Normally this would be relaxing but in your current situation, all you felt was anxiety everywhere you went. You constantly felt the stares of the Caretakers on your back, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted nothing more than to run away from their stares.

Today was your lucky day. No Bezoar or any Caretakers at sight. Page was quietly pulling out weed as ordered while Mudboy was digging holes. Violet, however, was nowhere to be found. You thought that she probably stole a piece of fruit and hid somewhere to eat it.

Your stomach growled at the thought of food and you placed a hand over your belly. It's been days since you ate. Despite being surrounded by lush fruits and vegetables, you weren't allowed to eat anything unless Bezoar allowed you. This was his way of discipline. You were lucky if you even got two meals a week.

Your attention shifted when you heard a woman shouting. You snapped your head up and looked around, trying to spot the person who was yelling. The shouts came from the north of the Garden.

You knew that if you got caught, you would be punished but your curiosity got the best of you. Following the woman's voice, you glanced around to make sure no one will spot you.

You pushed away a bundle of leaves that was blocking your view, spotting a female Caretaker who was shouting. Her back was turned towards you as her head was tilted down while shouting as if she was shouting at someone shorter than her.

You moved closer and squinted your eyes to see who the mysterious person that was being yelled at. You watched as the Caretaker's hand rise up in the air and swing down, making a hard impact on whoever was in front of her.

You flinched as the sound of the Caretaker's hand making contact with skin amplified. The victim let out a yelp before stumbling back and falling on the ground.

Your eyes widen when you saw the figure laying on the dirt, holding her right cheek. Violet, the girl who was known for being a hardass who never showed weakness, was now trying to hold back her tears from a single slap on the face.

The sounds around you began to sound like muffles as your vision only focused on Violet. Your hands clenched into fists, you've never felt this angry. You've been beaten and shouted at plenty of times but seeing Violet get slapped triggered something inside of you.

Out of the corner of your vision, the Caretaker brings her hand up again for another slap. Violet's eyes shut tightly as she waited for the second hit.

Your vision shifted and honed in on the Caretaker as you threw yourself onto the older woman. Despite being a teenager and the smallest out of your group of friends, you slammed your body hard enough to make the woman stumble away from your friend.

Out of instinct, you grabbed the hand that hit Violet's cheek and bit down on the wrist. The Caretaker let out a bloody cry and attempted to pull you off. It only made it worse as you sunk your teeth deeper, allowing your canine teeth to pierce through the skin.

Your taste was overwhelmed with the metallic taste of blood. The Caretaker did what she could to pry you off but nothing worked. You stay latched on until the other Caretakers arrived to rip you away.

You spat out the blood and wiped your mouth with your arm as you watched the Caretaker you bit cradling her wrist while crying.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Bezoar's voice boomed as his heavy figure stormed in your direction. A sinking feeling finally set in your stomach. You were about to get punished.

"How dare you attack a Caretaker! After all, we've done for you! We've taken you in and taught you everything!" Bezoar screamed, his face turning red with anger, "You will be punished for your actions and this time, they won't go as easy."

Your feet began to back up as you watched a group of Caretakers horde around you with their staffs in hand. You back hit a stone wall and all you could do was look up in fear at the faces of the Caretakers.

Hits came in like heavy rain. It didn't take long until you were beaten to your knees and you were cradled into a ball. Their wooden shafts hitting and prodding at you. Kicks and punches soon joined in. It didn't take long for the sound of a whip cracking to echo through the Garden. You lost your voice to scream for help as every hit came after another.

You felt your conscious slip away as the pain hit you all at once like a storm.

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

You woke up staring at the starry night sky. Your body aching and crying in pain. You heard the soft crackling of a fire nearby. You tried to sit up but pain shot through you, causing you to fall back and scream.

"You idiot, don't do that." A voice told you. Footsteps came closer until a figure kneeled down beside your body. Gentle hands place themselves on yours, giving you a light squeeze. The person shifted closer, allowing you to see who they were.

Violet kneeled down beside you, her eyes unable to meet yours as her hands were now tucked on her lap.

"Violet, are you okay? I saw the Caretaker hit you and-" You asked, worried if she was still hurt.

"I didn't need your help." Violet cut you off.

You shut your mouth and stared at her for a few seconds before looking away. Did she not understand that you did it because you cared about her?

"Why? Why would you do something so stupid?! You got yourself hurt!" She said angrily. But she wasn't angry with you, she as angry with herself for allowing you to get beat.

"But she hit you. I couldn't just let her hit you again." You protested and tried to sit up again. You flinched, forgetting that you were still injured.

Violet's eyes were on you now, watching you as you attempted to sit up. You eventually did, ignoring the pain that was clawing through you. Your (e/c) eyes reached her brown ones. They were filled with guilt and pain.

"You shouldn't have gotten in the way. Look what happened to you. I shouldn't have let you interfere," she scolded, trying to sound furious but the shaking in her voice gave it away, "the worst part is, I let you take it. I ran away like a coward."

Her head tilted downward as her eyes fall. You watched helplessly as she aggressively wiped the tears from her eyes. "I knew you were an idiot but I didn't know you were this much of a goddamn idiot," she sniffled.

"And I would do it again," you responded. Her sniffling stopped as she slowly looked up at you. "I don't care that you don't need my help. I want to help. You, Page, and Mudboy mean a lot to me. I would let them hit me again like this if it means keeping you guys safe." You give her a warm smile.

Her eyes widen at your words as her cheeks dusted a soft pink. She quickly cleared her throat and looked away with a scoff. "Whatever. Just try not to get that hurt next time." She grumbled. You smiled, knowing that she wasn't annoyed, just worried.

You look down at your wounds to find them cleaned and dressed already. You glanced at Violet's hands to find them bloody. You felt a warm sensation in your chest knowing that she really does care about you.

"Hey Violet," You spoke up.

"What do you want now?" She replied.

"Thanks for taking care of me." you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. Her body stiffened in response as her breathing hitched. You pulled away to find her cheeks darker than normal as she shifted at her spot. “And I guess I’m the group’s idiot now huh?” you joked.

Suddenly, you felt Violet's lips quickly touch your cheek. Though it was only for a second, it made your cheeks warm and heart quicken. "You're welcome," She replied and quietly whispered the last part to herself, “And no, you’re my idiot.”

You let a huge grin take over as you lean against her for support. You both enjoyed each other's presence, knowing that you both have each others' backs in the future.

Storyscape Tags: @storyscaped

#storyscape #storyscape eternal city #eternal city #storyscape violet #eternal city violet #storyscape fanfic #violet x mc

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kweebtrash · 5 years

Text

Eres Mia (M)

Messy Chapter 8

Pairing(s): OC X Johnny

Genre: College AU, Fuckboy AU, Angst, Smut, a smidge of fluff/awkwardness

Summary: Fuckboys are basically good for one thing. You hit it and quit it- except when his voice draws you in, his body keeps you there, and dumb ass feelings linger making things particularly messy.

Warnings: mentions of drugs/alcohol, talks about suicide, the teeeeniest bit of violence, possibility of emotional manipulation, jealousy/possessiveness

Features: unprotected sex, creampies, rough fingering/finger sucking, oral/throat fucking, a little hint of bondage, rough hair grabbing, squirting, overstretching/gaping, daddy/princess dynamics, choking, relentless/brutal/deep thrusting, a bit of overstimulation/multiple orgasms, also being covered in cum

Word Count: 21,103K

A/N: So explanation about this chapter: It has some cultural references that maybe not everyone will get but I can explain them if anyone wants to send me a question about it. If you haven’t figured it out (or even just made a generalization) Eri is afro-carribean (the exact island is left vague on purpose, but it would be in the latinx part of the cluster). There’s also spanish in the chapter and tbh use google translate and if you still have problems again just message me.

Messy Masterlist Buy me a Ko-Fi Other Stories

The Boys Group Chat

Taeyong: 5

Lucas: what???

Ten: 5 what?

Taeyong: my score with Eri is at 5.

Lucas: HOLY FUCK

Taeil: OHHH HOW THE TABLES HAVE TURNED.

Ten: how?? When??? What???!

Taeyong: last night. Shower. Against the wall. In the bed twice. And our usual against the door.

Lucas: how tf did u manage that??

Lucas: i thought you hated her

Taeyong: i never hated her. It was just the drama and shit

Taeyong: like at the party i just didn’t want a fight to break out. i didn’t want the cops called or anything

Taeyong: so like i kicked her out but it was just because i knew she would have thrown the first punch

Lucas: well you aren’t really wrong

Lucas: i don’t blame you for not wanting the cops to show up

Taeyong: i had under 21 friends there. I didn’t want them to get in trouble

Ten: how did you even manage to get her to fuck you???

Taeyong: she called me actually. She was drunk af but sobered up before she got here

Ten: i cannot believe

Ten: i haven’t even been able to get with her AT ALL lately

Johnny: wtf is going on

Taeil: oooooooffff this is….

Ten: the tea brews itself

Johnny: Taeyong what did you say

Taeyong: i fucked your girl. She came to me instead of coming to you

Yuta: dude this is…

Johnny: don’t go near her again

Johnny: i mean it

Taeyong: dude i’m not scared of you

Taeyong: yall arent even official

Johnny: i don’t care

Johnny: dont touch her

Yuta: johnny quit it

Yuta: you can’t hog her to yourself

Yuta: just like jae can’t hog quinn

Ten: just admit ur jealous and move on.

Johnny: im not jealous

Johnny: you just dont deserve her after the stunt you pulled at the party

Taeyong: clearly i do because shes been thinking about fucking me for a long time

Taeyong: maybe even while shes been fucking you.

(Johnny has left the chat)

Ten: fuck

Yuta: this is getting fucking ridiculous

Yuta: i mean she texted me like when she was with him i think

Yuta: like she didnt care that she was with him and was being cute with me

Lucas: she flirts with everyone

Lucas: do you think she does actually wanna be with him?

Taeyong: who cares

Taeyong: fact of the matter is shes up for grabs

Taeyong: and if I wanna go after her i will

Yuta: WHOA WHOA

Yuta: you mean try and date her?

Ten: taeyong thats not a good idea

Taeyong: i never said id date her

Taeyong: but if shit happens, shit happens

Taeyong: thats all im saying

–

It was strange waking up in bed next to Taeyong. We had never done that before especially since the last time we were together we had to leave the office quickly. He looked strangely innocent when he slept, his shaggy hair ruffled and sticking up in random places and lips slightly pouted. I watched his chest rise and fall with each soft breath for a moment while I tried to keep my head from spinning. This…might have been a bad idea. I was in my feelings for Johnny and I knew that I only hooked up with Taeyong as a sort of rebound/revenge plot. I didn’t want to tell him that but I was sure we were still platonic enough that it didn’t matter. Taeyong wouldn’t make things weird or messy. This would just be a one time thing…or a five time thing. We may have gotten a bit carried away. He was tentative in the shower, making sure that I was still sober enough to be okay. He washed me, helped me wash my hair, and let the heated water run over me to warm me up. And when he slid down to wash my legs his lips met between my thighs and I couldn’t help but give in to his tongue.

He was no Taeil but he knew enough to make me try and steady myself against the slippery tile and grip onto his hair tightly. It was relaxing to finally get off by being eaten out, to just sit back and let him do all the work. It was definitely something I missed. After the shower, we dried off and he put me into some of his pjs (which were tight as all hell on me) and we relaxed in his bed. I got some more water in me and slowly weaned off the rest of the alcohol. Somewhere in the middle of trying to sleep we got lost in each other’s lips which somehow lead to him keeping me against his bedroom wall and fucking me as deep as he could go. Mid morning came and we didn’t want to get up. So of course the next option was to 69 then fuck me into the mattress. Just when I thought I would finally be able to leave he wouldn’t stop kissing me as I got to his bedroom door and we had a proper deja vu moment of last semester.

By the time I actually got home it was late at night and I was sore as all hell. I left him covered in hickies, scratches, and bite marks- my typical calling card- and he left me wanting to sleep for days. I collapsed on my bed unmoving for hours on end and barely making it to class the next day. Johnny was there of course and I tried my best to avoid him like the plague. That was always the hardest part. When we were on our highs, being next to each other radiated chemistry and we would rather pass the time sexting than paying attention. When we were on our lows, everything was ice cold and I detested even being within his vicinity. He still wouldn’t open up to me or even let me tell him that it was okay to cry. He didn’t need to worry about that with me. Of course he wouldn’t listen and we were stuck in a frozen tundra that didn’t let us move one way or the other. I tried my best to instead focus on studying for once. My grades were alright but they could definitely be better and I didn’t want to have to waste more money repeating classes. I spent my nights hitting the books and hoping I could retain enough information to pass. I was holed up in my room as usual when I heard knocking on the front door and i wondered if maybe Quinn forgot their keys. It seemed a little early for them to come home from being with Jae. I set my textbook down onto my desk and padded towards the living room. When I opened the door I hated what I saw.

His eyes were bright red and he reeked of menthol and weed. He leaned against the door frame, a big grin on his face that happiness didn’t seem to be the cause of. “What are you doing here?” I whispered in disbelief.

“What am i doing here?” He licked his lips and chuckled. “What are you doing fucking Taeyong?”

My eyes went wide. “Did he…did he tell you?”

“He told everyone in our chat. 5 times, huh? That a record or something?”

I backed away from him hating how he was acting and being hurt that what I did was blasted over some group chat. I couldn’t believe Taeyong would do something like that. I had stated plenty of times who i had hooked up with but it was on my terms, with my permission, not like gossiping around a watering hole. “You need to leave.” I swallowed hard and didn’t look at him. My voice was too unsteady for that.

I heard the door snap shut and looked up to find him looming over me. “Not a chance. Not until I make you forget all about that stupid bastard.”

He grabbed onto my sweater and pulled me towards him, easily overpowering me to crash his lips against mine. I clawed at his coat, digging into the soft fabric as I tried forcing myself away. I slammed the side of my fist into his chest and pushed him back. “NO! You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to come back into my life whenever you decide to! I’m not something to have at your convenience and I sure as hell don’t need you to keep leading me on.”

“Leading you on? Where am I leading you too?” His hands still had a hold of my neck and shoulders which I could not shake.

I could feel the tears already trying to come forth but i grounded myself, dug deep within me to stop them. “Leading me to you. I always get led back to you.”

“You don’t want to get led back to me.” He laughed. “I’m fuckin’ useless!”

I grabbed at his hands, wanting them off me. “Stop that! I’m not your fucking therapy and my purpose is not to fix you.”

“I don’t want to be fixed! I want to be fucked!”

“And that’s another layer to your goddamn problem, Johnny! Life isn’t all about diving into sex to make yourself forget! You need to reevaluate what’s going on in your life before you put your hands on someone else’s.”

“I don’t want you to have Taeyong on you.” He kissed me, gentler this time. “Or Lucas.” Another kiss. “Or Taeil.” A small lick. “Or Yuta.” He sucked on my bottom lip for a second before kissing me again. “Or anyone else.”

“You cant have me all to yourself. That isn’t how this works. You don’t want me, you only want what you see on the surface. You don’t give a shit about what’s beneath and you definitely don’t want to see it.”

He released me from his grasp and scoffed. “The surface? I’ve let you dig inside my brain more than anyone else in my life. You’re stuck inside there now, you can’t move. You know how sick i’ve felt, how weak i am, how less of a man i am-”

“Save that bullshit, Johnny! It’s not true! I told you it was okay to cry! It doesn’t mean you’re less of a man! It just means you’re a normal human being. Men can cry. Men can show emotion and they should. I just wanted to help…to be there for you.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve always had to be the man. There wasn’t any room for me to cry!” He screamed. “You want to talk about not wanting what’s beneath the surface? You’re already there, Eri. You’ve seen everything I could possibly hate to show anyone.”

“And yet you’re coming to me just so you can be buried inside something for an hour or two. That’s what it’s actually like to feel useless and discarded. I know you don’t fucking care and you never will.”

“This is starting to get messy…it’s a clusterfuck and it keeps growing.”

“You just keep fueling the fire.” I said. “I’m not going back. I can’t. My heart can’t take it. I hate seeing you like this. I hate hearing you like this and I want to help. I really do. But i can only take so much before you start swallowing me whole.”

He grabbed me again, pressing me against the door and trapping me between it and his body. “This is how you help.” His breath was heavy against my neck, tickling the sensitive skin there. I shuddered and failed to squirm away from him. “I know you’re not going to fix me. I can do that on my own, eventually, but right here, right now this is what I want.”

“Well i don’t.” The tears fell and i slammed my fist back against the door, pissed entirely that it was happening again. I shouldn’t be crying over him anymore. “I don’t want to be what you push inside of. You don’t want to know what’s really going on with me. You’d run away from me as much as I want to run from you.”

“You think i’d be scared of what you’ve done? What you’ve been through? Its nothing, Eri.” He grabbed my chin and and jerked my head to the side so he could growl in my ear. “I want you. Raw. Dirty.”

“You want me black out drunk? You want me with a broken hand through drywall? You want me bleeding out in a tub with a knife in my hand? You want me laying on the floor unable to breathe and falling in and out of consciousness? You want me running away from the one good thing i’ve ever had in my life?” My voice trembled again. “You want me hiding who i really am from my family? You want me watching myself be the cause of people’s hurt? Because that’s what’s really raw and dirty. Or do you just want to fuck as always?”

He hoisted me onto his waist suddenly, crushing me now to the point where i could barely breathe. I wrapped my legs around his as he shoved his forehead against mine. “Give me it. Give me all of it, Eri.”

I tried not to kiss him, i really did, but my heart shoved me towards it. My tongue slid out to creep into his mouth which he warmly accepted. It was angry, heated, rushed, and broken- like the entirety of our relationship. I was clutching onto him desperately as if I was trying to shock my system back into loathing him. It didn’t matter if I made drunken mistakes or if he made drugged out ones, every time, we somehow found a way back to each other as if we were tied with a string of fate. “Why?” I whispered when I finally caught my breath. “Why don’t you talk to me? For weeks at a time…it hurts…”

“Because i hate the way I feel about you.” He panted.

I licked my lips and hovered them over his. “How do you feel about me?”

He shook his head. “I…don’t worry about it. I’m faded as fuck right now. It won’t matter what I say.”

“Clearly it fucking does.”

“It’s only gonna get more fucked up between us.”

“It already is fucked up! Were fucked up! This whole shit is fucked up! We were supposed to hook up at the summer party and that’s it!!”

“Yeah and here you are fucking Taeyong and Yuta and whoever else you’d let inside you.”

I slapped him. The first time i’d ever wanted to hit him at all. I would’ve never laid a hand on him especially after all he had been through- i never wanted to be that person. Ever. But he crossed a fucking line and that small dangerous part of my brain was a ticking time bomb. He dropped me then and I fell right on my ass. I scrambled to get up as he stood there motionless.

“Dont…dont ever do that.” He whispered harshly.

“I didn’t want to! But don’t you ever come for who I sleep with! You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to be a hypocrite because you’re fucking jealous! What are you even jealous for? I’m not your girlfriend!”

“AND YOU NEVER WILL BE!”

I felt a stab of pain through my chest that hurt worse than anything I had ever felt before. Was this…was this what Jungwoo felt? Had karma finally come to get me and pay me back for what I did to him all those years ago? It felt like I couldn’t breathe but I could definitely feel the tears flowing down my cheeks like a river. His eyes went wide and he took a step towards me. I took one back before sprinting to my room. I slammed the door shut, pressing myself against it and sliding to the floor.

He pounded his fists against it, begging me to open it. I was afraid he was going to break through the wood with how hard he was rattling the door. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in my thighs, staining my pajamas pants with tears.

“I-im sorry, ok?”

No you’re not.

“I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

Well it is now, so fuck you.

“I don’t know what I really want, Eri.”

I guess…i don’t really know either. Should you even be my boyfriend at this point? What would I do once I had you? Would my fear of love go away? Or would you make it worse?

“I like when we spend time together. You’re cool as fuck but we…we cant be like that. You know that right? I don’t get with people and stay with them. We can only fuck…”

I hate you. Go away. Leave me alone.

“I guess i’m broken or whatever you want to call it but i’m not a charity case. I don’t want you to pity me or feel like you have to take care of me. Like you said, it’s not your job. But for right now…this is how I handle stuff, just like how you handle stuff your way, you know?”

By being a drunk partied out mess, i know. Hungry for attention, starving for someone to care for them, and completely barren of love but wanting to fill that void somehow.

“I’m not fine. I haven’t been fine for a long time. My anxiety never used to be this bad. I never even used to have night terrors or panic attacks. It just got worse after…after the first time i got…you know, what I told you about before. Then college happened and it was so much pressure and I wanted to make my mom proud and happy and take care of her because my dad never did. You know even when i felt so fucking empty around Rixi, i didn’t sleep for 2 whole days because I was studying my ass off for midterms just to keep my straight A’s?” He let out a soft chuckle. “I have a 4.0, hookup with dozens of girls, work three jobs, go to the gym, and try and do my art. When i say that i run on energy drinks and coffee i’m not kidding.”

That’s adding to your anxiety, stupid. And so is the weed. And your inability to FUCKING communicate. Why do you have to be such a stupid dumb….MAN all the time?!

“I know that doesn’t matter to you-”

It does because I know you’re hardworking and care about what you do. You’re a passionate soul and i love that about you. You’re so dedicated.

“But i dont know…i guess I wanted to tell you anyway. I’m not making excuses. I know what I do is my own damn fault but i just wanted you to know.”

I shifted slightly and reached up for the door handle, scooting away to pull it open slightly. I peeked my head through the gap and he looked at me, eyes a bit puffy as if he had been crying too. He wiped his nose and made it seem like he was put together in his typical Johnny fashion. I still didn’t say anything but he crept his hand closer to me and extended his pinky. I looked at it for a few seconds before locking mine around it. He was quiet for a bit, the tension remaining thick and heavy. The quietness was only interrupted by a few sniffles from the both of us. I wiped away at my tears, wanting to remind myself that this was proof. This was what always happened. Either i ended up drunk or ended up crying when it came to him. Or both for that matter.

I truly felt like i should continue to make myself suffer with him. One look of those soft brown eyes and honey-sweet lips would draw me in and his soothing voice would whisper caring thoughts and expressions. I saw the blushes he had when he talked to me, the way he seemed embarrassed or nervous, but there were always underlying signs that proved he didn’t like me. Most blatantly when he said-no, yelled- that i would never be his girlfriend. Logic told me to run. When had i ever put a man before me or anyone for that matter? Masochism told me that I enjoyed the pain of being rejected over and over again and that it was a game. Lust told me that i loved when he got jealous and growled in my ear. I wanted him to tell me that I was his as he fucked me so deep and hard that I couldn’t move. Greed told me that I wanted him all to myself. I wanted all the attention, all the love, all of him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And rationality? That bitch was nowhere to be found.

“What saved you…when you tried to um…kill yourself?”

My head snapped up at the question. It hadn’t been posed to me since I met Quinn three years ago. It was something that I blocked from my brain and never reopened. But this was a test, to see if he could really handle what was fucking wrong with me. I squeezed his pinky tighter and finally croaked. “Daniella. She’s uh…she’s my little sister. I traumatized a 10 year old by bleeding out in a bathtub and she called the police and my mom. She tried to stop the bleeding. She cried but she kept pushing through. She was….so mature in that moment. More than I had ever been. She wanted to be there when they admitted me. My mom didn’t believe what was going on- more so in a sense that she didn’t want to believe that her kid was sick. Just like she didn’t want to believe I was gay at first. Eventually, she saw past it. She saw how much I needed her and how much we didn’t want to lose each other. But yeah…that was…it was Dani.”

“You know, her Quinceanera is in a week and I can’t believe she’s already 15. It’s weird how time flies…how I can’t exactly remember it all.” I continued.

“Are you going? To the party i mean.” He asked.

I nodded. “I have to. I’m like in the…so it’s basically almost like a bridal party. It’s real weird. But they pair us up and we walk down an aisle and Dani will come out with her big poofy dress and everyone will look at her and sing ’Las Mañanitas’ blah blah blah. It’s a precursor wedding and weird tradition I hated. So i never had one. And now, mom gets to put all her spite of her not having one and me not having one into an over the top expensive party for Dani, but you know…don’t help me with my student loans or anything.”

“Oh…sounds like a…journey.” I let out a small laugh and he crept closer towards the gap. I opened the door a little bit more. “It was my mom for me.”

“What?” I whispered.

“I was ready to jump off my school building after I got with her. I would see her everywhere on my social media and around town. I had to hide everything about how she made me feel and I felt like I just couldn’t deal with it anymore. I sat on the ledge for a long time, thinking about it and staring at the ground. Just as I decided I was going to jump, I got a text from my mom. It said ‘hi honey, hope you have a great day at school! I love you a lot.’” He rubbed at his eyes and looked away from me. “I still have it saved on my phone- transferred over each time I got a different one. I look at it sometimes when i feel like utter shit. Then I call her.” He sighed deeply and I pulled him closer to me, the door falling open wider. “Have I ever told you thank you?”

“W-what?” I asked, stunned.

“Thank you. For being there for me. When shit hit the fan basically. You and Jae pretty much helped me through a lot. Is that like…a part of working through this? Admitting when you’ve been helped?”

I nodded. “It’s a start…”

He got even closer and kissed me, our pinkies tightening and lips slow and steady. My will was wavering and I was kicking myself again. It never failed. I pulled away and turned my head away from his. He sighed and kissed my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t make up for a lot of things, Johnny.”

“I know, princess. I know.”

“No, you don’t get to say that word to me anymore. That part is done. It’s only for people who know how to communicate.”

“Ok…” he said simply.

I let go of his hand and moved away from the door. He came through fully, sitting beside me now and set his arm around my waist. He kissed my temple then rested his chin on my shoulder. We stood quiet for a moment, trying to process everything. Nothing had gotten better at all. Everything was more confusing and more painful. I didn’t feel good and I didn’t want him here but at the same time I did. I looked over at his sad eyes, knowing he was truly sorry but still cementing the fact that I would never be his. Hurting was all I was good for and I accepted the karmic punishment.

I grabbed onto his shoulders and his eyes drew themselves to me. I laid nothing but whispers against his lips drawing him in to press himself against me and steal my breath away in a kiss. Gradually, our clothes began disappearing until we were naked in my bed, hands between each others thighs, stroking and thrusting until we were dirty with each other’s release. He didn’t let me go instead opting to grab my hips and keep me flush against me. “I want me on you. Not any of those assholes.”

“I’m not yours…”

“Tonight you are.” He dug his blunt nails into my hips and sunk his teeth into the base of my neck. It hurt with how hard he was biting down but I knew what he was doing; marking me so that whoever i was with next could see the deep bruise he was trying to leave behind. I clawed at his shoulders, whimpering pathetically and about to beg him to stop but he pulled away, pressing softer kisses to the deep marks instead. I shoved his head away seeing the playful smirk he had on his face.

“Ass…”

“You want a bite mark on your ass too?” he asked coyly.

I rolled my eyes and commanded him to get a towel to clean up the mess he made on my stomach. He gave me another kiss before scooting off the bed and heading towards my door. For a moment I thought I imagined it and had to blink twice but i saw him licking his fingers- the same ones that were inside me just a minute ago. He had never done that. Usually he’d wipe them on my sheets or something. I laid back and closed my eyes, tossing away any ideas of what that meant. I felt him on the bed again, gently wiping away his cum off my skin before laying himself between my thighs, his head on my chest. That also surprised me and i wished I knew what the fuck was going on in his head. Was it from all the weed? I didn’t really know how much he smoked before he got here. It could’ve been what helped set off his emotions and express his jealousy about Taeyong.

I wanted to pry at his stupid decisions and actions some more but I was slowly running out of energy to deal with arguing, anxiety, and my mood swings in such a short amount of time. I decided to lay in my self hatred with Johnny on top of me, our breaths flowing together into an easier rhythm. I closed my eyes and set my hand on his head. “Pet my hair.” He grumbled.

“You think that a half fuck is going to solve this?” I said, ignoring his request.

“No. We’re doing what we do best, hurting each other.”

“But why does it have to be like this?”

“Because it’s just who we are, Eri. It’s what we do. It’s how we function together. You want to call it off?”

“Call what off?”

“Being fuck buddies.” Yes was what I should have said. Instead, I shook my head and kept my eyes away from him. “Good…Because I don’t want to stop fucking you.”

“I don’t either…” I said softly. I ran my fingers through his hair now, pushing it back and feeling his sides that were grown out. "Remember when you asked me to feel alive?”

He nodded.

“Do that for me. Maybe me feel like I don’t fucking hate you for what you’ve done. Like i don’t want you more than I need to.”

He stilled against me and didn’t say anything. I could feel him looking at me and when I finally had the courage to meet his eyes I saw that he seemed to be hurt by my confession. Eventually, he mumbled a response. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

"Mostly i hate myself.” I hate myself for loving you.

“Dont, baby…” He turned my face towards his to continue our kiss. “You don’t need to hate yourself.”

“Just shut up, Johnny. Fuck me already.”

“Fine.” He growled and gave quick bites over my breast making me arch against him. I hissed slowly, gripping onto his shoulders and digging my nails into his skin. He morphed his bites into kisses, working to gather my nipple in his mouth to suck slowly but hungrily. Eventually, his kisses got even lower as he discarded my breasts in favor of moving down to the softness of my stomach. A little nibble beneath my rib cage jerked my body towards his mouth, edging my hips into eager swivels. I parted my lips to let out a sweet sigh and a small plead for him to keep going. His tongue dipped into my belly button, making me squirm against the wet heat. I inched my hands back to his hair to return him to my lips and stop his teasing but he had other plans. His hands suddenly came crashing down on my wrists, pinning them to the bed and practically crushing them. I winced at the pain and asked him to ease up but he only snapped at me.

“Shut up and don’t touch me, got it?”

“W-what are you doing?” I asked, nervously.

“Shut. Up.”

I squeezed my eyes shut tight, swallowing hard and full of worry more than sensuality. I tried taking deep breaths but I felt like I was getting more nervous. Johnny was quiet as ever but I could feel his breath tickling against my sensitivity. I licked the dryness from my lips and just as I was about to try and pull away from his hands I felt it. It was small and gentle, just the tip of his tongue working over my clit. My entire body tensed and I remained frozen in place. I feared scaring him, or worse, triggering him. We retreated into minutes of silence that made my heart race with worry. “J-Johnny? A-are you-?”

There were butterfly kisses to my clit before his tongue reached out once again. It covered the entirety of my lower lips, pressing a slick heat over me and gathering the cum left behind from his fingering to trail it back to my clit. He trapped the bit of nerves between his lips, suckling lightly. I knew he was being cautious due to nervousness and unease but it was also amazingly tender and sweet. I dug my teeth into my bottom lip and let out a moan hoping that he would take it as praise and a sign to continue. There was another long pause and my fingers curled in anticipation for more but there was nothing. I opened my eyes and looked down at him.

He was stationary, his eyes glancing over my center and lips trembling. The grip on my wrists got tighter, too tight for even my own liking. “Johnny…you need to let me go.” I said softly.

“No. I-i cant…”

“You can stop now, it’s ok but you’re hurting me. Come up here. Come kiss me, baby.” He looked defeated but saw the pain in my face and finally let my wrists go. I didn’t immediately shake out the numbing feeling and instead waited for him to crawl back up my torso. I held onto him as tight as I could, covering his lips, cheeks, neck in excited pecks. He did it. With me. It wasn’t complete or full or satisfying by any means but it meant so much. “You did so good, baby boy. So, so good.” I cooed.

He hid in my neck and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head quickly. “Don’t be. It was good. A great start, ok?”

“I wanted to try…a little at least so you don’t feel like i did when we fucked in the bathroom at the party. You shouldn’t want to feel alive with me because you’re numb. I don’t want that at all.”

“I just wanna feel good is all…” I held onto him tighter. “I don’t want to feel like i’m going to be thrown away.”

“I-i wont…” He swiftly slipped out of the bed and returned with a condom on. He whispered as he pulled my legs around him, pressing himself at my entrance. “I wont…”

“But you can’t promise that.” I swallowed hard and felt him sink into me inch by inch. The rest of my thoughts were voided by the methodical pace of him stretching me open. He ignored what I had said and instead focused on kissing everywhere he could reach as he thrusted slowly. My hands traced the length of his spine, resting in the center of his back and keeping him close. Inside my head I pleaded for him to not go slow, to not be intimate and stir up more dreadful feelings inside the pit of my stomach. Please just fuck me so I can be reminded of how shitty you are. Don’t remind me of how cute and caring you can be. I’m begging you Johnny.

I knew he couldn’t hear me so of course he didn’t stop rolling his hips to have his cock hit every space within me. He was panting softly, gentle moans mixing in every once in awhile. They sounded so precious and I couldn’t help but bury myself in his lips again. His hand pulled mine away from his back just so our fingers could intertwine. Nonono, stop that. For the love of god don’t do this to me.

He squeezed my hand tight and I felt my tears resurface. This is what scared me the most. Not him leaving or him ignoring me or throwing me away. This Johnny, the human, sentimental, emotional man that could have me fall into his arms (and bed) at the snap of his fingers. I was helpless against him and I just craved more and more torture. He kissed away my tears and nudged our foreheads together. “Hey…it’s okay.” He breathed.

It is not okay. It will never be ok. But he took care of me, stilling every so often to regain his composure as i could feel him throbbing and ready for another release. Worst of all was that I wanted him too. I wanted him to feel good, another hurtful self sacrifice because I cared so much about him. I gave him a soft plea to cum for me, which he took instantly. His free hand slipped between us, his thumb pressing small acts of pleasure into my clit as his other hand never left mine. He only squeezed my fingers tighter while my walls squeezed him the same way. Just at the very end his hips made quicker snaps, hitting the back of my thighs and making my back arch from the mattress. And in one fell breath i felt my stomach heat up and the most comforting sensation flowing within me.

My cheeks flushed as I had never felt anything like it before and wondered what the hell did he do differently. Maybe it was because i was so damn love drunk that it made everything seem better when i was with him. It wasn’t until he jerked out of me so harshly that I snapped my thighs shut. “O-ow! Johnny, what the-”

“The condom broke.” He trembled.

“Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what I had heard.

“Eri. The fucking condom broke.”

I looked down and could see his cum flowing out of me and staining the bed sheets, while the rubber had a slight tear across the tip. Our eyes met and panic slammed into me at full speed. “O-oh my fucking god. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.”

“You’re on birth control right?” His voice was an octave or two higher.

“Well no shit! But it doesn’t magically mean it’s 100% full proof! People still get pregnant while on birth control.”

“I’M FULLY AWARE OF THAT ERI.”

“DON’T YELL AT ME.”

“I’M SORRY I JUST…” I noticed him staring at me which made me more uncomfortable.

“What? What else is wrong?” He shrugged but continued to stare. “Johnny. What is it?!”

“Nothing! It’s just…i mean-”

“Oh, you asshole!!” I flung my pillow straight at his face. “I’m literally fucking panicking and you think cumming inside me is hot!!”

“I’M SORRY!!! I’ve never done it before and it just…looks good, ok?!”

“You are the absolute worse and I CANNOT stand you!” I covered my face that was getting heated up by the second. How could he think about that while I was panicking? How could I think it felt good and perfect when i absolutely loathed cum (and was panicking)? We truly were fucking stupid.

“Hey, we’ll be ok. I know we will.” He said softly, reaching for my hand which i pulled away.

“Easy for you to say. You have the easy way out in case that happens.” I grumbled.

He kissed my forehead and laid beside me. “No I don’t, because I wouldn’t leave.”

I turned away from him, shoving my face into the mattress as I felt his cum sticky between my thighs. “Yeah right…”

“I’m serious….i’m not gonna be like my dad.”

“Alright well, we’re gonna stop talking about this. I’m gonna shower and you can go home so I can die in peace.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re not gonna die. It’s just cum.”

“I’m gay! All I am is dramatic!” I huffed as I felt all flustered now and wanted to get away from him. I stood up and cringed at the feeling of it sliding down my leg now. I awkwardly shuffled to pick up my already cum covered towel just to keep me decent enough to get to the bathroom.

“Can you stop saying that? Because i’m like…not a girl.”

I looked back at him. “Well no fucking shit, Johnny. It’s just a blanket term because you wouldn’t understand everything I identify as. Just roll with it. I don’t have time to explain.”

I grabbed my phone and went to the bathroom, locking the door tight. I tossed off my towel and turned on the water, sitting in the tub under the spray so i could suffer in silence. Eventually i ended up plugging the drain so i could sit in hot water for a bit and try and calm my nerves. I tried calling Quinn but didn’t get an answer, even texted them and still got nothing. They were still probably up Jaehyun’s ass or Taeil or someone else. I don’t know. I dialed again and waited patiently.

“Hello?”

“Doyoung, I need you please.”

“Be right there.”

He hung up as that was all he needed to know that something was wrong. I washed up, making sure to get as much of the cum out of me as possible, then rinsed and dried off. As i opened the bathroom door, Johnny was standing in the doorway, hand raised as he was going to knock. I glared at the lit blunt between his lips.

“’M leavin’.”

“Good. Bye. I have someone else coming over.”

He scoffed. “Wow. Okay. Fuck you too.” He turned away from me and headed towards my front door slamming it harshly behind him.

He made me so fucking irritated with his hot and cold bullshit. I trudged to my room and tossed my towel in the hamper, picking up my discarded pajamas and putting them back on. Around 15 or so minutes later Doyoung was in my room with an absolute cringey look on his face. “Look, i’m sorry but i needed someone to tell. You and Quinn are my closest friends and they’re not here. Please Doyoung…i know it’s gross.”

“You liked it…” he whispered.

“Please don’t remind me. I hate myself completely.”

“Why do you keep doing this, Eri? You are literally worth more than that.”

“I don’t know! I wish I knew. I wish I could just leave him but I can’t. Every time I’m mad, he shows me that side of him that I absolutely love.”

“That’s emotional manipulation.”

“It is not!” I protested. “Well…uh…maybe it is? But I don’t think he would be doing it intentionally? Why would he? He can get with anyone. He has gotten with a lot of people. I don’t think I would be any different. After all he blatantly said i’d never be his girlfriend.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“I cried. Instantly. It hurt so fucking bad.”

“So we’ve come to the conclusion that a) he’s a fuckboy, b) he doesn’t want to be with you, c) he’s emotionally manipulative, and d) he couldn’t care less about what transpired tonight.” Doyoung gave me a shady look which made me shrink away like a scolded puppy.

“Well technically he said he would be there for me and then I kicked him out so…”

“And now you’re sticking up for him?”

“I’m not! I’m just stating facts. Doyoung, i know you’re totally and completely right. But i just…it feels weird. It feels different somehow.”

“I’m kind of sick of giving you advice and you ignoring it. It makes it seem like you don’t even care what I say.”

“No i do!” I grabbed onto his arm, sadly. “I do! i swear! I’m just a fucking idiot. I like to fuck up everything and keep myself down.”

“Why can’t you see that there are better people for you? Even ones that are right in front of you?”

I rested my head on his shoulder and set my hand in his, squeezing tight. “Doyoung, how can I…how can I stop when i love him?”

“It’s not easy to stop loving someone but…no offense- well a little offense because this is going to be hard to hear- you stopped loving Jungwoo because he loved you too much, you can stop loving Johnny because you love him too much too. You can run away and leave without giving him any explanation.”

I pulled away from Doyoung completely.

“I’m sorry for saying that and hurting you, but maybe it’s the kind of shit you need to snap out of it.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “And if you’re so worried about what might happen I can go to the pharmacy for you.”

“I-i just need time to think…” i said quietly.

“Well, you’ve got three days until it’s ineffective-or less effective or whatever. You can let me know ok?”

I nodded and felt him crush me to his chest. I held onto him for a long time, happy to feel a friends pure love rather than the tainted mess from my heart.

–

Johnny’s POV

“FUCKING SHIT!” I threw the beer bottle I just finished against my wall, watching it shatter into pieces. What the actual fuck just happened between Eri and I? Tonight was fucked up- no, beyond fucked up to the point where I just ended up more confused and angry then I was before. I paced back and forth across my room while thoughts zoomed in my brain. I tried to break everything down and figure out what i could so I could attempt to get my mind straight.

I was pissed off at Taeyong. He was such a smug little fuck about hooking up with Eri, blasting it all over the chat. And why were they counting how many times they hooked up with her like it was some sort of game? I didn’t want him anywhere near Eri. She was mi-. I stopped pacing for a moment. She wasn’t mine. She is not yours Johnny. She is NOT yours.

My pacing resumed. He didn’t deserve to touch her. And neither did those other assholes. I wanted her to myself. She’s mi-. As i grew close to the door i slammed my head against it, not too hard but enough to try and get it through my skull that Eri was not mine.

I had told her she would never be my girlfriend because I was angry. I knew it hurt her the second it came out of my mouth and I wished I could’ve taken it back. Our conversation was so back and forth she probably thought I was crazy. One minute I was mad, the other I wanted to be with her, comfort her, be inside her and make her feel good. I didn’t want her to feel like shit because of me but I was failing horribly.

What even possessed me to touch her like that? So slow and gentle? It felt like I was having an out of body experience and I watched who I wanted to be for her come out and take over. It was what I wanted to give her for the longest time. Something more stable to hold onto rather than whatever the fuck I was now. But that didn’t go over so well for my feelings. I was faded and more emotional than ever, a bad combination. I wanted to tell her what I felt for her but i don’t even think i’m too sure myself. Feelings were there but what kind? Did I have a crush? I liked her? Wanted to keep being fuck buddies? Did I love her? My body shuddered at the thought. I had never been in love before so how could I know?

I’ve always wanted to be in love and have someone to care about. I knew familiar love and friendship love but not romantic love. I wanted to take my girlfriend to the beach, to Korea, to visit countries across the globe. Take pictures of us for vacation scrapbooks and eat everything we could ever dream of. Go hiking with her and hold her hand so she wouldn’t trip on a branch and hurt herself. Laugh when we thought of a memory we had together or hold her as she cried. But i was also scared shitless of all of that. Could I even be that good of a person to her? I didn’t want to end up being a carbon copy of my dad. Why would I want to be the cause of my love’s suffering and leave them behind with a kid I didn’t care about?

Fuck.

The stupid condom.

I tossed myself onto my bed and groaned. I was scared of that too. I’m only 23 and work at a fucking coffee shop, what the hell was I gonna do with a kid? I’m sure we were gonna be okay but…it still made me a little queasy. Except for the fact that I thought cumming inside her was fucking hot. I was a complete jackass for thinking about it at a time like that but I couldn’t help it. Like me: worried to all hell and back about the condom breaking, also me: holy hell I want to do it again. I facepalmed myself and let out another frustrated groan. I was ready to just throw myself out a window rather than face my embarrassment and mistakes. Now Taeyong was probably going to be up her ass and I swear to god if he got with her I was personally going to go to his apartment and kick his ass.

I sat up and started taking off my clothes, figuring I could just sleep all this shit away and ignore it. I flung everything to a corner of my room and reached over to shut off my desk lamp. I noticed my little keychain that I had got at the bookstore resting on the desk. I picked it up and shut off the light before snuggling deep under the blankets. I kept the keychain close to me thinking of nothing but Eri as I went to sleep.

A week had passed since that weird half fight/half fuck between us and I was starting to get a taste of my own medicine. I hated not hearing from her and I found myself constantly checking my phone to see if by chance I missed anything. She hadn’t even posted on any of her social media that I followed her on. Whenever I would hang out with the guys at lunch none of them talked about her, not even Lucas. I had no idea what was going on. I tried to keep myself busy with school work but found myself thinking of her more than I needed too. Sometimes those thoughts implanted little sinister buds of sinfully delicious fantasies and in the midst of being hurt and confused about where we stood I was jacking off to thoughts of her more than I needed too. It was multiple times a day, whenever I was at home and it was starting to get on my nerves. I shouldn’t have been thinking about her like that when I was the cause of most of this mess but it couldn’t be helped. I was a stupid slut and would rather focus on that then the pain I caused her. I was in the middle of rutting against my hand and mattress only a few seconds away from cumming when my phone beside my pillow lit up. The brightness in the darkness of my room distracted me and I look at the screen, ready to ignore the notification until I saw who it was from. I wiped my hand on my sheets and snatched my phone up, unlocking it and going to the message.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: hey

I typed in my simple response quickly.

Hey

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: come over

Fuck…did she actually want to hook up?

What for babe?

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: we need to talk.

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: asap

Talk about what?

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: come over and i’ll tell u dumbass

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: I mean it

Give me like 15 mins. Im busy

🦇BatOuttaHell🦇: fine but dont keep me waiting.

I bit my lip and set my phone aside. It made me nervous to think about what she wanted to talk with me about. A small part of me was hoping that I could still get laid and have amazing makeup sex. But first…

–

Eri’s POV

I hated that I had to do this. With every fiber in my entire being. It was definitely up there with one of the worst decisions I would have to make. I didn’t want to talk to him or even make him think that I had forgiven him. I had purposefully ignored him like he had done to me so many times before. Even when he sent me the occasional text I left him on read. It felt good to have that power but I had to cut my reign of terror short when I realized that my problem needed a solution and fast. Time was running out and I exhausted all my resources. I knew I was going to regret this but it had to be done. My stomach was in knots as I waited for him. 15 minutes was a lie, it was over a half hour before he showed up at my place. His hair was damp and he smelled of fresh cologne and soap. I stared at him quizzically when I opened the door. He smiled at me, looking like he was happy to see me while I was mortified to see him. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy either. Just a white crew neck and some skinny jeans and winter coat but he still looked so damn good. Stupid fucker.

“Sooo…” he started, chewing on his bottom lip a little bit. I yanked him into my apartment and dragged him towards my room, slamming the door behind us. “Oh shit, ok.” He grabbed at his shirt, about to take it off when I stopped him.

“No! None of that!” I swatted at his hands. “That’s not what I called you over here for.”

“Oh…” he said, dejected.

I rolled my eyes. “Look, i don’t have any other choice. You were the last person on my list, so don’t like flatter yourself.”

“What is going on? You’re making me suspicious.”

I sighed. “Will you be my boyfriend?” Oh jesus christ no, not what I meant!!

“Excuse me WHAT?!” He screamed.

“AHHH FUCK, I MEANT PRETEND. PREEEETENND. PRETEND TO BE MY BOYFRIEND!!” I tried to correct myself.

“AGAIN, WHAT, AND I CANT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, THE FUCK?!”

“Ugh! Okay okay, back peddling.” I took a deep breath trying not to fuck this up even more than I already had. “Just hear me out ok?”

“You better start talking asap, bro!”

“I need someone to come with me to my sister’s Quinceanera this weekend. I have literally asked every single one of my guy friends and they’re all "conveniently” busy. I seriously need help.“

"Why can’t you take Quinn or something?!”

I sighed. “Johnny, if I show up with a girl as my date my grandparents would disown me and it would make a huge scene at the party and I can’t take that away from Dani. My family has this thing where they obsess over asking me if I have a boyfriend or not. I’m the oldest cousin so according to them I should be married and pregnant by now. My mom tries her best to keep them at bay but if I just show up with someone they will at least be civil for this party. Please. I don’t have anyone else. I wouldn’t be asking you this if it wasn’t a huge deal for me.”

“Well that sounds like a personal problem. Sucks to suck.”

I was shocked that that was actually his response. It was a good effort I guess but I was stuck doing this alone. I hoped to all hell nothing would happen that would ruin this for my little sister. It was completely stupid that my family judged me based on who I loved or wanted to be with, that every question about my life had to revolve around me having a man. It always started with a blanket question, one that seemed innocent enough, but then veered into “when will you get a boyfriend?” territory. Not only that but I still had to be on the down low whenever I was with them. Dani knew and so did my mom who was still working to be supportive but that was it. I knew I couldn’t tell other people in my family. If I went alone I could just suck it up and be miserable the whole time which at this point looked to be my only option. “Sorry to bother you…” I said as i sat down at my desk. I lowered my head onto the top and tried to figure out a way to smooth things over with my family for one night.

“Eri…is this really that serious?”

I raised my head up and looked at him. “Yes. I just want things to go right with this, for her sake. I’m literally the black sheep of the family. I’m darker than everyone, my hair is curlier, i’m queer, i play in a heavy metal band, i’m not ultra feminine, and i’m as far away from traditional as possible.” I tried again to convince him. It was turning out to be more pathetic than I hoped for. “I will promise, like absolutely promise, to be nice and civil with you if you do this for me. Please Johnny?”

“What do I get in return?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Whatever you want. I’m too desperate to fight you on this.”

“Anything I want? You’re serious?” He asked. I could almost see the deviousness going on in his head and instantly regretted it. But I swallowed my pride.

“Anything.”

“Ok. I’ll think about what I want and let you know. I gotta dress up or something?”

“So you’ll do it?” I practically jumped out of my chair.

“Yeah, i’ll do it.”

“Fuck, you stupid bastard! You’re the best!” I threw myself on him, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight hug. “It’s tomorrow night. We have to drive two hours to get to where I live. It won’t end until late so we can get a motel if we’re too tired to drive back.”

“A motel, huh?”

“Don’t even start, please.” I went to pull away but he set his hand on the small of my back, keeping me close.

“Tell me what you want me to do.” He lowered his head towards mine, getting dangerously close to my lips. I swallowed hard.

“W-well…wear something nice and don’t be an asshole. Um…pretend like I’m the greatest thing to ever grace your life? Hold my hand or something…or hold me in general. Follow all my lies and try to remember them. Be prepared to be grilled by every woman in my family and subject to a bunch of sexist and misogynistic comments from my stupid uncles. They’ll be some kids there running around and loud ass music. Um…you may have to dance with me.”

“Oof…I’m not a great dancer.”

“It’s fine, i don’t dance much either. Oh and don’t get drunk. Oh! And don’t let me get drunk. I think that’s the gist of it. I may think of other stuff on the way there. Is that all ok?”

He cupped my face in his hand while the other held mine. He lowered himself to my lips and kissed me gently, barely teasing my tongue with his own and making my heart feel like it was about to burst. When he pulled away my lips kept following him not wanting to let go. He chuckled softly and looked directly at me. “Mi amor, siento que no puedo vivir sin ti.”

I shoved him away. “BITCH, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

He cackled loudly, clutching at his stomach. “Is that “boyfriend” enough for you?”

“Where the hell did you pull that from?!”

“You said it’s a Quinceanera right? I figured I could put my 6 years of Spanish class to good use. How’d I do?” He was still laughing up a storm while I was ready to call off the whole thing. I couldn’t believe he would be able to possibly understand my stupid family.

“How much do you know?” I asked.

“Enough. I’ll mess up every now and again but I think i could pull off a conversation if I needed to.”

“Christ. Ok…If they say something to you just pretend you don’t know anything. I know they’re gonna talk shit and then you can come back and tell me. That’s all we’re gonna do, ok? Ok. I’m gonna throw up.”

“Why? I won’t mess this up, okay? I know she’s important to you. We’ll be civil remember?”

I looked up at him and nodded. “Thank you, Johnny. Seriously.”

He shrugged and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s cool. So what time is my hot date picking me up?”

“Probably around 4, i’m sure I’ll need to help set up and stuff. And help with makeup. We can get dressed at the motel because I do not want to walk in heels in the snow and i also don’t want to mess up my dress. Where I live my mom said that the snow is more melted and they have clearer sidewalks so I should be good there.”

“Alright, sounds good…so…what’s our plan for tonight?”

I raised my brow, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I came all the way here and I figured we might…We could practice for being a couple tomorrow.”

“You’re going to give me a bunch of hickies and I can’t have that.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black. All you do is bite and scratch like a little chihuahua.” He laughed.

I stomped my foot down and huffed. “I am not a little chihuahua!”

“How about I make them where everyone can’t see? Then we won’t have any problems, hmm?”

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips together, hating how devilishly convincing he could be. He was a natural born flirt and it made me want to punch him. I nibbled my bottom lip contemplating if I should really give him the satisfaction. He pulled his coat off and yanked his shirt over his head, showing me his perfectly toned chest and how low slung his jeans were. Asshole. I grabbed onto the waistband of his jeans and pulled him close so we could crash our lips together. He pushed me back onto the bed and crawled on top of me, shoving his tongue past my teeth and coaxing me to moan in his mouth. I grabbed onto his shoulders and shoved him down so I could roll on top of him. “What’s the real reason you were late?” I asked as I dug my nails into his stomach.

“Jacking off.” He grabbed at my tshirt and tried pulled it up but I shoved his hands away and pinned his wrists down.

“I knew it, pig.”

“You act like you don’t do it. How many times have you showed me what you like doing when you’re alone, hmm? When we facetime and I call you late at night?” He teased.

“Shut up, Johnny. You’re so fucking annoying.” I dove my head down to bite at his chest, leaving harsh kisses in my wake. He tried moving his hands but i kept him pinned, liking the fact that he was the one squirming for once. I moved just a bit lower to land a few bites before licking through the center of his chest and up his throat. His entire body practically caved in on itself with how hard he shuddered.

“Fu-fuck…” He licked his lips and tossed his head back, moaning deeply. I blushed as I watched, feeling myself become victim to how good he looked. I resisted the urge to suck on his neck and went back to his chest, taking his nipple into my mouth. I knew this would truly make him squirm but i didn’t expect how hard his hips would buck. I moved my head away from him to over hover his face.

“You’re not being a very good boy are you?”

He opened one eye to glare at me. “When am I ever?”

“I think I should stop. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Oh don’t you play that game with me, Eri! That’s not fair!”

I moved away from him completely and made my way over to open my bedroom door. “Out.”

He sad up with an incredulous look on his face. “You’re kidding?!”

“You’re being bad so you get nothing. C'mon now.”

“I’ll be good then! Whatever the fuck that means!”

I shook my head. “I’ll pick you up at 4, ok?”

“Fuckin’ hell!” He got up, his jeans visibly tighter and pulled his shirt back over his head. He grabbed his coat and made his way out of my room with the biggest pout on his face. Just as he had stepped out of the door frame he turned back to me. “Can I ask you something?” He propped his forearm above his head on the frame and looked down at me.

“What?”

“Besides us freaking out…did you…did you like it when I came inside you?

My entire face felt like it was on fire and took a step back as if that would somehow prevent him from seeing my embarrassment. "I-i-i-i have n-noooo idea what you’re t-talking about!” I stuttered.

“I mean, did you like the way it felt inside you? Like how hot or how deep it was?”

“Please stop talking!” My voice was now a squeaky whisper.

Johnny smirked and ran his tongue over his teeth. “I guess that answers my question, doesn’t it? See ya tomorrow, Eri. And don’t forget, you owe me one.” He winked at me and headed towards my front door, leaving me more flustered than ever.

–

I spent the whole two hour ride telling him about which one of my aunts would grill him the most and which cousin got pregnant first and who’s baby daddy was a complete failure and which of my uncles was most likely to get drunk and cause a scene. I was sure he wouldn’t remember any of it but I was trying to over prepare him for the shit show that was my family. I also needed him to make a good impression so it would look like he was actually happy to be dating me. Fake dating me of course. We checked into the motel first and I spent most of my time being frustrated with my hair and trying to curl it the way I wanted it. It just barely cooperated and i wasted about half a can of hairspray trying to keep everything in place.

My makeup was more softer and neutral than normal to go with my pastel pink floor length sweetheart neckline dress (which made me feel lowkey so pretty). Dani’s theme colors were pink and mint so I was able to at least wear something I would like. Just as i had slipped on my gown i realized there was no way I could reach the zipper in the back. I huffed and squirmed, trying my damndest until I finally gave up. I opened the bathroom door just a crack and peeked out. My heart basically exploded and I wouldn’t normally say that my basement could flood in two seconds but this was definitely one of those times.

Johnny was checking himself out in the large mirror on the other side of the room. He wore black pinstripe pants that hugged his ass like a dream. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled to the elbows and a fitted grey vest covered his torso. He adjusted the black tie around his neck, fussing with it until he seemed comfortable enough. He had an extremely nice watch on one wrist and a silver chain bracelet on the other. A few simple rings decorated his fingers and his black dress shoes seemed to sparkle in the fluorescent lighting. His hair was even freshly faded and his bangs trimmed and slicked back. Lord have mercy I wanted to die. I swallowed hard and took a few deep breaths before I called out to him.

His honey brown eyes shot up to look at me and I gripped the handle of the bathroom door tighter. “What?”

“Could you um…help me zip my dress?”

He sauntered over to me I tried to keep myself within the tiny gap of the open door but he pushed it open leaving me exposed to all of his handsome glory. He found the zipper and slid it up slowly, making sure the fabric didn’t get caught in it. “Do you want me to tie the sash thing too?” I nodded meekly and felt his hands smooth over the fabric under my chest and slide back to gather the ends to tie into a bow. It was such a simple thing to do but it had my body turning warmer by the second. I caught him looking at me in the reflection of the mirror above the sink once he was done. He looked shocked, licking his lips as if he was trying to say something but not being able to get anything out. I turned my head back towards him.

“Do I…do I look okay?”

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, you look alright.”

“Oh…” I said softly. Just alright.

“I mean like you look good, you know? Um…yeah, real good.”

I avoided looking at him as I slipped out the bathroom. I didn’t have that much time left before we had to head over and I still had to wiggle my feet into heels that I was sure would break my ankles as soon as I got into them. I struggled to get them strapped around my ankles, huffing when my boobs got in my way as I doubled over to reach my feet. I sat down at the small desk and tried to angle myself another way but it was still just as frustrating. “Need help with that too?” He asked.

I nodded, defeated and he came in front of me, landing on one knee. He slid my dress up to my thigh and took my foot in his hands, delicately securing the straps around my ankle. I couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella in that moment, even if my so called prince charming was a fuck boy. “Thanks.” I said softly as I stood up. He rose to his feet too and it was weird to almost be face to face with him, instead of staring at his chest.

“Oh, i don’t like this.” He joked. “I’d like you to stay mini sized.”

“Yeah well they won’t be on for long. They’re already killing me. I just need to get through the walk and first dance and then i’m tossing them.” I nibbled my lip for a moment before pressing them to his, which seemed to catch him a little off guard. “Hmm, it’s nice to not have to stand on my tiptoes to kiss you.”

“Hm, let’s hope that walk goes fast. I don’t like those heels either.” He smiled at me and offered his arm. “Ready now?”

I grabbed my clutch from atop the desk and nodded. “You have the room key right?”

“Yep.” We headed out of the room and towards the parking lot to my car. “You know, the pastel pink is really nice with your skin tone.”

I straightened up at his compliment. “You really think so?”

He opened the door to my car and lead me to sit down. “I know so.”

I laughed nervously. “A-are you practicing your boyfriend skills?” I tried to make it sound like a joke but he just shrugged and went over to the passenger side to get in. I swallowed hard and clicked my seat belt into place before revving up the engine. “Oh, remember how I said if I told you my government name I’d have to kill you?”

“Yeah?”

“Well you’re going to hear it tonight and if you so much as ever repeat it you won’t have a dick, got it?”

“Why not? It can’t be that bad!”

“Trust me, it definitely is.”

–

“ERIANNALISSE!”

I cringed. I cringed hard and wanted to shrink away into a minuscule molecule and be non existent. I didn’t even want to look at Johnny to see what he was going to say. I could practically hear him trying to cover up his snickers. I sighed and put on a fake smile as my aunt came to me with arms wide open to capture me in a death grip hug that could snap my spine in half. “Ay, mija! Look at you, you look so pretty!” She paused. “Have you gained weight?”

“Nice to see you too, Titi.” I grit my teeth and tried to ignore her shade. Her eyes went over to Johnny, looking him up and down and squinting her eyes a bit.

“Eriannalisse, quien es este?” She asked who Johnny was.

I grabbed onto his arm, digging my nails into his bicep. “This is my….boyfriend, Johnny.”

He waved and grimaced through my death grip. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Hm…” Was all my aunt said. “Titi Carmen has been wanting to see you. I’m sure she’d want to meet…Johnny.”

“Yeah, i’ll go see her in a bit! I have to find mami and Dani first.”

My aunt kissed both of my cheeks and left to go join the gossiping group of women in my family who all suddenly turned their gazes from their champagne flutes to Johnny and I. I turned my back towards them and looked up at Johnny. “I will literally pay you .25 cents to kill me. Just make it quick.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Eriannalisse. What’s the worst that could happen?” He smirked and laughed a bit which made me frown.

“Johnny, I told you don’t call me that. I’m serious. They can call me that because they don’t recognize who I am as a person. You can’t.”

“O-oh…is it a gay thing? Like one of your gay things that you won’t explain to me?”

I sighed and looked down at my feet. “Yeah, sort of. I’ll explain it to you eventually. Just not now ok?”

He took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Ok, i’m sorry. I won’t say it again.” He leaned down just a bit and gave me a soft (rated PG) kiss which made me smile.

“It’s just hard being around them…I wish it would be a fun time but-” I suddenly heard vicious clacking before arms were thrown around my shoulders.

“ERIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!” I recognized the overly excited voice and looked up at my modelesque baby sister. “I missed you so much!”

I kissed her cheek and turned around to properly hug her. “Hey, happy birthday.”

“You’re like almost my height!” She said, looking down at my heels. Dani was so graciously blessed with being 5’8”, skinny, with straighter hair and caramel skin as opposed to my milk chocolate. Her eyes were the perfect shade of hazel with flecks of green that sparkled perfectly. She was only my half sister as our fathers were different but we were raised both the same, save for the fact that she was a model and I was the throw away. “You look so pretty. I’m glad you’re not in black- Yooooooooooo, who is THIS!?” Her attention turned to Johnny, her eyes wide and mouth practically watering.

“Uh…hey.” he said sheepishly.

“This is my boyfriend, Johnny.”

Dani laughed and slapped my shoulder. “No, really!? Who is he?”

I pouted. “I’m serious. He’s my boyfriend.”

Dani looked at me then stepped up to Johnny. “What’s her favorite color?”

“Pastel pink.” He answered.

“Favorite food?”

“Pizza…and pasta.”

“What instruments can she play?”

“Guitar, and she sings.”

“What’s her favorite anime?”

“Sailor Moon.”

Dani squinted her eyes. “When’s her birthday?”

Fuck, he didn’t know that. I grabbed Dani’s arm, trying to get her attention from ruining our facade. “Dani, can you not grill him please? It’s bad enough Titi Lisa and probably Titi Carmen are talking shit about us already. Also, I haven’t told mom yet.”

“You haven’t told mom yet?! How long have you been dating?”

“It’ll be four months in December.” Johnny added. “We started dating right when the semester started. We have a class together and I thought she was cute so,” He shrugged. “Here we are.”

“Yeah but you’re hot. Eri has never dated anyone this hot before.”

“Well gee, thanks Dani! And i’ve dated cute people before!”

“Yeah cute, not hot. He’s hot. If you’re not going to keep him, I’ll take him.”

“You’re fifteen!” Johnny and I said at the same time.

Dani shrugged. “I mean…”

I held my hand up. “Don’t even go there. He’s like-” How old was Johnny anyway? “Way older than you. Stop being an instagram thot for once. Where’s mami? I need to know when she wants us to line up and start this.”

“I think at 8 exactly, but she’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off. I’ve just been chilling with my friends for now. This dress weighs like 50 pounds and I’m sweating like a whore in church.” Dani fanned at herself and hiked up the bodice of her dress. I looked at her poofy dress that was a beautiful array of soft Monet colors but way too 90’s barbie cake topper. It wouldn’t have been my first choice but I was sure mami wanted it to look as traditional as possible. “Oh, by the wayyyy, I know you have a boyfriend now but mami invited Josue.”

I straightened up completely when I heard that name. Josue was my childhood crush. He was older than me and I never stood a chance with him but we always played together. Once we kissed in my backyard and told me that he wanted to play house with me and be the daddy. I had been in love with him up until I was 12 when he moved away to a different state. “Jo-Josue? He’s coming? Here? Tonight?” I squeaked.

“Who’s Josue?” Johnny interjected.

“Josue is Eri’s big ol’ crush from when she was younger. All they did was play house together and be mommy and daddy and make kissy faces at each other. Then they kissed for real and he touched her chichi’s! But they never lived happily ever after because he moved away.”

“Dani, por favor, why do you have to be like this? I’m just happy to know he’s going to be here. I haven’t even seen him in like…almost 7 years. Besides I’m with Johnny now so it doesn’t matter.” I forced his arm around my waist and he clutched onto it tightly.

“Uh-huh whatever. Have you not followed him on Insta? There’s a lot of nice gym pictures. He hit a growth spurt. He’s like 6”3’ now.”

I swallowed hard. “Really? O-oh wow…”

“Sounds like a tool.” Johnny scoffed. “Ya’ll got beer at this place?”

Dani nodded towards the bar at the back of the venue. “Just fight my uncles off before they drink them all.”

“Cool.” He dipped out completely, leaving me and my sister to be swept away by our mother who had just stepped in like she was out of breath. She hustled to get us all lined up and ready like a bridal party ready to walk down the aisle. I sighed as I stayed in place, shuffling a bit as my feet already started to hurt. My mind started wandering to my childhood crush. Memories started bubbling to the surface; he had been my first kiss, the first to get to second base, and the first person I had wanted to be my boyfriend. He was three years older than me and I didn’t stand a chance with him. But his name was written all over my notebooks until I got my first girlfriend.

I couldn’t help but peek around a bit, wondering if he was already in the venue. I didn’t have much time to investigate as our entrance music started playing and pair by pair we walked into the main dance floor. I was walking with one of my younger cousin’s who I rarely spoke with so I barely paid attention. He had to yank me back a bit when I walked too fast and it made me want to punch him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Johnny leaning against the back wall nursing a beer and watching me intensely. I smiled in his direction, letting him know I was still trying to be civil but he just took another sip and shoved his hand into his pocket. I wondered if he was ignoring me on purpose or if he genuinely didn’t see me. I chewed on my bottom lip almost getting swept up in my thoughts, that was until I saw Dani walking into the room.

Even though I had seen her just minutes ago now that all eyes were on her she looked sparkling and glowing. I’d never seen her look so beautiful before and it brought tears to my eyes that I tried wiping away as soon as they surfaced. I was a proud sibling then. She meant so much to me that I hoped that this day always reminded her of the happiest times she had in her life. We had our ups and downs but for the most part I was always there for her as much as she was there for me. She embarrassed me and I made sure I had to keep her in place before she got too out of hand. Even though I was far away from home now, I knew we would always remain close.

The floor was hers now and we dispersed to let her have the spotlight. I retreated to one of the circular tables while her and our mom shared a dance. It was normally meant for a daughter and her father but since neither of us had them in our lives our mother was the one who deserved to have that dance. I felt a touch on my shoulder and turned to see Johnny sitting behind me at the table. “Want some?” He said, offering the beer which i denied.

“I hate that kind. I’ll leave you too it.”

“She looks nice.”

“She’s a little shit but I love her.”

“I could say the same about you.”

I whipped my head around to stare at him wide eyed. “W-what?”

“I meant like you’re chill! Like i like you. Not like like you but like we’re cool. Uh…you know.” I stammered.

“Right…yeah, um…ok.”

“You wanna dance?!” He said, changing the subject quickly. Dani and my mother had finished their sentimental dance and the dj had switched to some reggaeton/trap mix Dani most likely requested.

“Uh, you mean make a fool out of ourselves?”

He shrugged and chugged down the rest of the beer in a few gulps. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. My cousins were already grinding with whoever they invited or dancing in groups and laughing. We could probably blend in without being too weird. I kicked off my heels and stood up, extending my hand for him to take. I should’ve had a drink before I even agreed to this. My stomach was already in knots and my anxiety was making me feel like I was going to look stupid but he took my hand and we found a spot in a little corner of the dance floor. I stood in front of him waiting for him to make a move but he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. Why the hell did he keep doing that? Was it a nervous habit?

“So…” he said.

“Are you gonna like…move?”

“I’ve never danced to this sort of music. What do I do?”

“Literally it’s the same as rap music in english. You just sorta…” I gestured towards my family. “Grind on each other and act a fool.”

“So you turn around and just like put your ass against me?”

“Oh my God, have you never done that before?”

“Listen I was a dork and went to high school with a bunch of white kids and we like listened to Ke$ha and Britney Spears. What do you want from me?” He laughed.

“That’s unfortunate.” I joked. I turned around so my back was against his chest and I set his hands on my hips. “I’m not the best but I figure I can put my ass to use.” I worked myself back against him, swaying to the music a bit in hopes of getting him to respond.

Instead he laughed nervously and held my waist tighter. “How do people not get boners doing this?”

“I mean that’s what the song 'Too Close’ is about. Don’t tell me this is turning you on already.” I teased.

He lowered himself to face level and turned my head towards his to kiss me. I held it for a bit, enjoying the way the warmth of his tongue flowed over mine until I realized if my mom caught me doing this my ass would be grass. I pushed him back gently. “Johnny! I can’t do that. Behave!”

“C'mon, I at least need to have a little bit of fun while I’m here. And then when we get back to the motel we can-”

I felt a tap on my shoulder then. Johnny and I both looked up to see a tall, absolutely golden, green eyed adonis that looked like he could pick me up and toss me around in an instant. If I could have heart eyes I definitely would. I let go of Johnny instantly, almost pushing him away as my heart started to skip beats.

“Eri!” I knew it was him instantly even if puberty hit him like a freight train and gave him a deep bass-y voice that made my hair stand on end. He opened his arms to scoop me up and crush me to his barrel chest which smelled of high priced cologne. My feet dangled just a bit when he lifted me. “I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Oh my god, Josue…Jesus, you’re huge.” God I hoped he was huge everywhere.

He laughed and I tried not to show how much it affected me. “Oh yeah, I’m really into that health and fitness thing. You really uh…wow. Definitely not a teeny bopper anymore.” He set me back down and adjusted the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“Yep! Got bigger boobs now, haha!” Why did I say that? WHY???

He licked his lips a smiled a bit. “I can definitely see that.”

Johnny cleared his throat deeply. Josue turned his attention to the man behind me. “Oh hey, I’m Josue. Who are you?”

“I’m her boy-”

“This is just Johnny!” I interjected with a nervous laugh. “Just Johnny! Want to go get something to drink? We can catch up!”

Josue flashed his incredibly perfect teeth. “Yeah I’d love that.” He set his giant hand against the small of my back ushering me away from Johnny.

“Eri!” Johnny said sternly.

“I’ll just be quick!” I mouthed to him, letting myself get whisked away. He didn’t seem too happy about that but I could let him sulk for a bit. I was too preoccupied at the moment anyway.

–

Johnny’s POV

That was fucked up. Way more than fucked up and I was pissed off beyond belief. She was the one who begged me to come with her so she would survive her family. Now she was head over heels for some dude she had a crush on years ago who looked like the biggest douchebag to ever exist. He was taller than me and more built, had perfect teeth and no lisp. I wanted to punch him dead in the jaw.

I didn’t know what to do now. If I went after her it might cause a scene which I didn’t completely want. I still knew that this party was important to her sister and unlike her I wasn’t being an asshole for once. I could get another drink and maybe get away with being a little tipsy but her loud uncles were hogging up the space and the bartender’s attention. I grumbled as I sat back down at the table. my arms crossed as I contemplated leaving her and going back to the motel by myself.

"What are you pouting for?!” Dani said as she plopped down next to me, her poofy dress seeming to expand.

“Nothing.”

“Where’s Eri?”

“With precious Josue.” I said bitterly.

“Ah, so he finally found her. I knew he would.” She drummed her nails on the table thinking over her next statement. “You’re not dating my sister are you?”

“It’s complicated…”

“You’re fuck buddies?”

“Yes.”

“I figured as much. She can’t never lie right when it comes to me. So, you’re in love with her then?”

I snapped my head towards her. “Excuse me?”

“You’re in love with her right? I mean that’s the only reason you would be sulking over her because Eri went off with her new papi.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not sulking.” She was definitely Eri’s sister with how she blurted out things without consequence.

“Look, if you want to win her over you need to definitely do something that will make her remember you. Not that I want to hear about my sister’s sex life or even think about her getting p or v action, but if you got something she might like, go for it. And do it before she ends up going to Josue’s hotel.” She craned her neck to see where Eri and that asshole had gone off too. “Looks like he may have already given her his number.”

I looked in the same direction, my anger only getting stronger. They were huddled over their phones, laughing, with Eri casually (but noticeably) keeping her hands on him. I didn’t want to “win her over”. I wanted to stake my claim and tell him to fuck right off. The grip on my biceps got tighter the more I stared at them. “Ay, you got a younger brother?”

I turned my attention back to Dani, a bit grateful that she was distracting me enough to not go apeshit. “What? No? I’m an only child.”

“Wack. But like if you’re not gonna date Eri then likeeee…”

“You’re fifteen! I’m not going to jail nor am I interested.”

“Ok, ok…but like do you have any younger friends? What flavor Asian are you? Chinese? Or like them ones that dance on tv? The um…the Korean ones!”

“Oh my God.” I ran a hand over my face. “Yes I’m Korean. And no I don’t have any friends your age. My only young friend in Toronto is 18, which is still illegal.”

“Dammit. You know Eri be listening to that stuff right?”

I pulled out my phone, wanting her to take a hint that she was now annoying me without being too rude. “Doesn’t surprise me when she fucks half of Asia.”

“All her hookups are with Asian guys?”

“As far as I’m aware. But who fuckin’ knows.”

“Oooohhh I gotta mess with her about that. Guess she trying to get that carribean dick now.” She cackled and slapped my back hard as she got up. “Call me, ok?!” She said as she finally left me to join the gaggle of teenage girls that were her friends.

I rubbed my temples and took a few deeps breaths. I needed a smoke, badly. I looked to see if Eri was still stuck to Josue’s side but they were nowhere to be found. I looked around the dance floor trying to see if they might have gone there. Sure enough she was grinding on him now, definitely not as awkward as she had been with me. She was practically bent over and ready to get fucked by him. Fuck it. I stood up and weaved through everyone dancing to make my way over to her. I stood in front of her, watching as she came up from shaking her ass.

“Can we help you?” Josue yelled over the music to me. I rolled my eyes at him and took Eri’s chin in my hand giving her a deep kiss. She stumbled back a bit and gripped onto my vest. When i pulled away i licked my lips, tasting the slight flavor of her lipstick.

“Johnny!” She exclaimed.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, in his macho voice, trying to one up me.

“Oh, you didn’t know?” I grabbed onto Eri’s waist and kept her close to me. “She’s MY girlfriend. You had your fun catching up right?”

“Eri, you didn’t tell me-”

She looked panicked as she glanced between us. “No, wait- It’s just-”

“Come with me.” I growled in her ear. “Now.”

“Johnny , I swear to g-” I kept my arm around her waist and lead her towards the front door of the venue. When we were in the clear she whipped around to face me. “What the actual fuck?!”

“I should be asking you the same thing! You’re really gonna ditch me to throw yourself on him? After you begged me to come here?!”

“I wasn’t throwing myself on him! We haven’t seen each other in 7 years! So excuse me if I wanted to talk with him.”

“Hard to talk to him with his dick practically in your mouth! What is wrong with you?!”

“Why are you being such a jerk again! You always do this!” She yelled.

“You’re the one being the jerk this time! I’m fuckin’ pissed. When are we leaving?”

“Leaving?! I have to stay here for at least a few hours! Clearly you don’t know how these go.”

“No, Eri, i fuckin’ don’t. But I do know that you going off with someone else while I’m supposed to be your boyfriend blows our entire cover. So either you fucking act right or I can leave right now. You sister already knows were lying.”

“Fuck!” She stomped her foot and sighed. “I knew she would figure it out. She better not tell anyone.”

“I’m pretty sure she won’t have to with you being stupid. Get me my cigs from your purse wallet thingy.”

“Get you-? Get it yourself! I’m freezing and I’m going back inside. And maybe i’ll still be talking with Josue!”

I grabbed her arm and held onto it. “Eri, do you want to go there? Really want to go there?” My eyes caught hers and i could see how hard she swallowed. Her chest was heaving chest a bit and trembling with the cold.

“What are you going to do?” She sniffled.

“Do you want to find out?”

“M-maybe.”

I let her go then opened the door, guiding her back inside. “Then keep it up. I dare you.”

She stayed quiet then but shuffled ahead of me quickly. I realized I had made her walk outside without her shoes on or our coats but it was whatever at this point. I needed her to know that I wasn’t playing games any more. She was mine.

–*

Eri’s POV

I could barely keep up with Johnny’s long strides from the parking lot to the door of our motel room. He continued his little tyrade of sticking by me and keeping me from Josue, never letting go of my hand, or my waist, even when he went through the ringer of meeting more members of my family. Him being pissed off had me pissed off and it didn’t help when my family told me how fat I looked, or asked when Johnny and I were getting married, or why I had spent so much time in college, or even that what I was studying wasn’t going to get me a real job. It made the entire rest of the night absolutely fucking miserable. Not to mention when I told my mother I was going to spend the night in the motel with Johnny instead of driving home at midnight she blew up on me, saying that it wasn’t right and insisting that I stay at the house. I refused to and I had no idea why she still thought I was some sort of Virgin de Guadalupe or some shit. It was another fight to end this magical night. I gave up and just wanted to take a hot shower, put on my fuzzy pajamas on and possibly smoother Johnny with a pillow as he slept.

Johnny barged into our room, not even bothering to hold the door open for me. I didn’t even want to deal with him since I was still mad at my mother for treating me like a child. I went straight to prepping for my shower, tossing my clutch and fake eyelashes on the desk and my phone on the bed so i could plug it in to charge. I unzipped the dress as best as I could without his assistance and shimmied out of it, leaving it a puddle in front of the bed. I didn’t care anymore. Not one bit. After I showered I pulled the too short towel around me and went back into the shared space. Johnny was sitting in the chair, feet propped up on the desk and tie loosened. He was glaring at me and I swallowed hard at the intensity. He dropped his legs and leaned forward in the seat, undoing the first few buttons on his dress shirt.

I tried to ignore the effect he had on me and instead went to my duffel bag to try and find my pajamas. He stopped me as I passed by him, grabbing my wrist and pulling me in front of him. “Ow! What’s your problem now?!” I asked, still trying to clutch onto my towel so it wouldn’t fall.

“This night was complete bullshit. I’m your boyfriend and all you could do was throw yourself onto that guy and embarrass me in front of everyone.”

“I wasn’t throwing myself on him!” I argued again. I hated that he was saying that. So what if I found Josue incredibly attractive and felt like a preteen again as soon as I saw him? That was my business and not Johnny’s.

“You grinded on him, got his number, and had your arms around him for minutes on end. You made me look stupid. I’m your boyfriend, Eri.”

“Fake boyfriend.” I corrected.

“That’s what I meant.”

“Why should you be embarrassed then?!”

“Because your uncles didn’t think that I was man enough to keep you with me. And your aunts talked shit about me all night.” He pressed himself up against me making the edge of the desk dig into my lower back. “You said you were going to be civil and you were far from civil.” He set his hands on either side of my hips, keeping me in place.

“A-ah, Johnny…back u-up.” I whimpered and avoided looking at him but he grabbed my face roughly.

“You wanna try that shit again, Eri? Hmm?”

I could feel his fingers digging harshly into my jaw. “I didn’t do anything wrong! You’re just a jealous prick that-”

He pulled away from me and shoved me back onto the bed, instantly hovering over me. My towel fell open just like my legs and he pinned both my wrists above my head in one of his large hands. I swallowed hard and felt my heartbeat increase. I had no idea what had gotten into him and i was partially thinking about what Doyoung had said about Johnny. Was he actually trying to manipulate me and make me feel bad for being with Josue? I bit my lip as I thought, wondering what his next move would be. “Get off me.” I tried to sound strong but it was a pathetic attempt.

“Open.” He demanded.

“W-what?” What the hell did he want? I figured it out quickly as three of his fingers dove down my throat almost making me gag. I squirmed against him, trying to edge my head away but he was adding more of his weight onto me as his fingers plowed into my mouth. His knee was pressed right into my center, the residual wetness from the shower dampening the fabric. I tried swallowing around the invasion when his knee started to rock into me.

“Suck harder, Eri.”

I didn’t dare look at him. His voice was doing something to me as always. Stirring the pot of emotions and hormones that made me fall into a space of complete submission. This wasn’t like his usual ways though throughout or hookups I could see the dominance poking through. Now he was another person that I was desperate to get to know. I tried my best to suck deeper at his fingers, sliding my tongue around them and providing them all the wetness they hopefully needed. I knew exactly where they were going and i was going to be stretched far beyond my imagination. With his thrust his rings kissed my lips, shocking me with a bit of cold and excitement. I edged my tongue around the silver as best I could given the invasion that took up most of my mouth. Slowly the metal warmed up and I pressed my thighs against his, feeling a tingling throughout my center.

He pulled his hand away sharply, making me cough as his glistening fingers dove lower. Two were rushed inside me making my knees jerk up towards my chest and toes curl. I was already crying out his name, wanting him to slow down just enough for me to catch my breath and adjust but he ignored me. Instead he was working in the third finger, forcing my walls to flex and waver around him. He was already digging my arousal out of me. I could hear it so blatantly echoing in our room. I buried my face in my arm beside my head, still being unable to free my hands though I struggled as much as I could. He seemed to like that struggle as his fingers curled deep inside me, knuckles pressing against my entrance, the rings threatening to push past and fill me up too.

“Fuck, Johnny!!!” I cried out as my thighs almost snapped shut. It was starting to be too much and I could feel myself already crawling towards an orgasm.

“Quiet.” Was all he said as he pulled his fingers out to give me some relief from the pressure. I was throbbing and gaping around the stretch he left behind, my whole lower half practically trembling. He finally let me go and sat down on the bed. He splayed his legs open, unzipping his dress pants and beckoning me over to him. “Get over here.”

I shook my head, raising myself to my knees and shrinking myself away. I wasn’t scared of him, far from it. I was definitely turned on more than anything but I wanted to push him further than he had ever been capable of. He wanted to be a jealous boyfriend that pushed my buttons well I was going to push right back. “You’re being a jerk. I’m not giving you the satisfaction, especially after you decided to barge in there with your giant ass fingers!”

He lurched forward and grabbed onto my arm before I could wiggle away. He yanked me to his chest then gripped the back of my neck hard. Our eyes met before he pulled me close to his lips. “I like it better when you don’t talk.”

I squinted at him, almost in shock that he used my own line against me. “You fucker.”

He pressed me down towards his lap though I tried to resist as much as I could. It was no use as he was stronger than me and I was face to face with his growing length trapped within his briefs. His hand was now digging into my hair keeping me firmly in place. I landed a bite to his hipbone making sure he knew I wasn’t too pleased in the way he was handling me. He hissed out my name and arched his hips, his nails digging into my scalp. I wrapped my hand around his, trying to pry his iron grip away while adding kitten licks to the outline of his cock. That seemed to soothe him a little as I heard him exhale through his nose as he relaxed back against the wall. His nails quit marking my skin and he opted to push my hair away from my face gently instead of trying to rip it out.

I slid his briefs back and guided him towards my mouth pressing kisses down the shaft before licking back up to the tip. Once I got to the tip, I took him in, swallowing his head completely. I shifted my hips to raise my ass higher for him to look at knowing it would tease him. I looked up at him and saw the full pleasure that was written across his face. His eyes had closed, his lips pressed together, and his fingers trailing down to open more buttons on his dress shirt. I popped off him and placed kisses up his stomach with each new area that became exposed. “I can tease that little spot that you like.” I smirked and added a slow stroke to his cock.

“Actually, I have a better idea.” He shoved me down onto my back and straddled my shoulders, his cock now hovering above my face. I couldn’t move with his weight on me and I was trapped between his thick thighs. He tapped my lips with his cock which I absolutely hated. I slapped at his stomach but he remained stoic. He only moved to shove himself down my throat, propping one hand against the wall while the other kept my head in place. He worked quickly to rock his hips against my face making me claw at him. I wasn’t used to this sort of thing, even with all of my experience, and it hurt like all hell. I was trying my damnedest not to gag around him but it was impossible given the fact that he was ramming into my throat. My eyes watered and tears fell against my will. My nails dug into his hips as I silently begged for him to slow down.

He was moaning my name, more than he ever had before, completely lost in the pleasure of torturing my throat. He looked fucking amazing, I had to give him that much, even if I hated what he was doing to me. I loved the way his hair was coming undone from the gel he used, the way his dress shirt lay open and his tie dangled above me like an invitation. The way his thighs stretched out his dress pants was a dream and I wanted to touch every part of him. I reached for the thinner end of his tie, pulling roughly so it zipped up to his throat. He lurched back at the sudden pressure and looked down at me. He must have seen my fucked up state because he pulled out, leaving me grossed out by the messy spit that connected us still.

"Fu-fucker. That hurt” I croaked.

He pulled off me completely before lifting me up to sit in his lap. He wiped away my tears and I buried my face in his neck, clutching onto his vest. He kissed at my cheek, pulling me away from hiding. “You ok?”

I sniffled and nodded. He worked his hands over my sides and hips trying to soothe me more. Of course he couldn’t help himself and gripped my ass tight which made me laugh just a bit. “I’ve never done that before…”

“Really?” He asked, surprised.

“Ok, I’m a hoe but like there are some things I haven’t done before. You have to remember you dick is huge, dude. I’m small.”

He gave me soft tender kisses and tucked my hair behind my ear. “I know, princess. I’m sorry. But don’t think you’re getting away with this shit either.”

I pouted and crossed my arms over my chest. “I stand by the fact that I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Hmm.” Was all he said before he tossed me face down onto the bed. I looked back at him as he discarded the rest of his clothes, dangerously holding his tie in his hand. He mounted me, as I was completely his to take and wrapped the loop of the tie around my wrists, pulling tight. “You like this don’t you?” It was supposed to be a command but I could tell it was mostly an uneasy question and he needed permission to continue.

I nodded and smiled at him. “I like it a lot, daddy.” I gave him a quick kiss sealing my consent. I threw out my rule of not using our titles with one another since he couldn’t actually communicate but in this moment I need him to know that I was his to command and I was giving him as much power as I would allow.

He wrapped the length tie around his fist, keeping a firm hold on it. His other hand jerked my hips up while his knee nudged my legs apart as far as they could go. My ass was raised, arms outstretched, and my body was trembling with excitement. His first thrust was swift and hard. I could hear his hips snap against me and I was barely able to hold myself up in that moment. My arms shook weakly and I dug my fingers into the sheets as my mouth curved into a silent moan. He was almost too deep for me to handle and every slam into me seemed harsher than the last. I couldn’t really keep up. It was overpowering and I wanted to scream my pleasure into the tiny room though I could barely even mumble a word.

My fingers curled as I tried to send tension to my arms instead of my weakening legs. It was useless though and I could feel my stomach tightening. He landed a slap to my ass just as I tried to pull away from him and regroup. I hissed and bowed my head, breathing out his title again. Suddenly, my phone buzzed by my head, the screen lighting up and distracting me. I turned to see who it was and winced. This was the worst time for him to call.

Johnny pressed my head into the mattress and sped up his brutal thrusts. “Why don’t you answer it, Eri? Let him hear how good you’re getting fucked. Tell him who’s really your boyfriend.”

I opened my mouth to say anything but all that came out we’re soft croaks. I panicked when I saw him reach for my phone and I struggled to move to try and block him. “D-dont, please don’t.” I was finally able to say. He let go of his grip on the tie wrapped around my wrists and instead set it around my neck. The call disappeared much to my relief.

“What a shame Eri. Let’s see if he calls back or if he took the fucking hint.” I swallowed hard and nodded, biting into my lip to try and still my moans. He quickly latched his teeth into my neck, sucking deeply like he always did when he wanted to mark me. “Stay on all fours, got it?”

I propped myself back to my elbows as he forced my thighs to rest on the outside of his. I could hear his moan of satisfaction at the sight of me splayed open with his cock stuffed inside me. I wanted to shy away and hide but he wouldn’t let me of course. He resumed his grip on the tie, pulling it taught around my neck and constricting my air flow. My eyelids fluttered and i wondered if this was heaven. Jesus, it felt so amazing even if every muscle in my body felt like it was burning and my insides were a scrambled mess. While he made my back dip by pulling my neck by the tie I felt his other hand slid down from my hips to my wetness, flowing over my clit. I was grateful for the extra attention and wiggled my hips to rock back against him and dive further into his fingers.

His finger started to trail from my clit to dance around my gaping entrance and just like before he pressed the long digit in little by little until it was almost as deep as his cock. I pleaded for him to stop, it was too much, too overwhelming for my overly sensitive walls but he kept working away at my torturous pleasure. That, coupled with his thickness, made the tendons in my legs strain as bliss shot through me. My moans mixed in with my strangled pants as he dared to press a second finger into me.“J-johnny!!” I rasped. “It’s too much!!��

He pressed his body weight harder against me, keeping me pinned so I would have no way from escaping the overstretching. “You’re not going anywhere.” He whispered harshly in my ear, making me shudder. He curled his finger then, the pressure of his knuckles against his cock, and the sliding of his rings against my heated walls made me clench meekly around him. Johnny enjoyed seeing me writhe beneath him, seeing me try and focus on being a good brat when in reality I was starting to unravel into a brainless mess. Nothing had a hold on my attention like the buildup he was creating inside me. I could barely process the words he was saying to me with how fuzzy my senses were. He curled his fingers deeper getting right to the root of my pleasure. The head of his cock was edging as far as it could go within me, his fingers pressed into the perfect spot, and his thumb brought back smalls swipes and circles against my clit. It was a haphazard clusterfuck of intense sensations that all culminated into a harsh orgasm that sent my mind reeling. It felt like my cum rushed out of me, painting my thighs with a deep warmth that was astounding.

I squeezed my eyes shut as my entire frame trembled. My muscles seized, tensed, and finally gave out. I fell forwards, collapsing onto the bed in a breathless heap. My lower half practically felt numb and I tried to concentrate on not passing out. It wasn’t just the physical fatigue, the mental and emotional fatigue of the entire day weighed on me in that moment. My few seconds of recuperation was cut short when Johnny pulled his fingers out of me. I felt another gush then, making me a bit confused as to how wet I really was. It definitely felt different and I could hear Johnny make some remark though his words weren’t registering. He said something else and I nodded weakly, agreeing to whatever he had posed just for me to have the ability to relax soon.

But that was definitely wishful thinking. He yanked me almost to the edge of the bed and continued his brutal fucking. I let him grip onto the back of my thighs as he huffed out growls and moans. He was swelling inside me, making me wince yet encourage him with mumbles that I thought were words. His fingertips dug into me harder and that sweet heat spread throughout my body again. I smiled and relished in the feeling of him pumping into me, slower and slower, until he milked himself completely. I laid there, unmoving and enjoying the way he felt inside me like I always did until I i lost myself in sleep.

–*

Johnny’s POV

I felt her move beneath me and there was a stickiness and sweatiness between us. I groaned as I didn’t really want to move but I needed to break away and get some air. My hand was over hers, my body curled around her, and my cock of course still inside her. It was almost perfect save for the giant wet spot we were forced to lay in because she squirted everywhere. We had both fallen asleep almost immediately after and i just adjusted her in the bed for me to have enough room to spoon her. Now everything made me feel like I needed an hour long shower. I rolled away, letting go of her hand and putting my forearm over my eyes to block out the bright light of the room. How long were we even asleep for?

She mumbled something and groaned, blinking a few times before fully looking at me. “Hey.” She sounded like she had smoked 2 packs of cigarettes a day for the past 40 years and I cringed at my handiwork. She tried clearing her throat but opted that it was too sore and winced in pain.

“Hey…maybe you shouldn’t talk…” She glared at me and I shuffled a bit away so she wouldn’t attack me.

“I feel gross. Why is everything wet? What happened?”

“What do you mean what happened? We fucked?”

“No, no, I know that. But I was so tired at the end-” She paused to rub at her throat. “I felt like half asleep. It was good though but I was worn out.” She laughed softly.

“Well, you’re welcome for that but like…do you even remember your orgasm?”

She nodded quickly, her smile beaming. “Oh yeah.”

“You squirted everywhere and basically we’ve been laying in the soaked sheets because we’re dumb as fuck.”

“Wait…squirted? No, i can’t do that. I’ve never done that.”

“What do you mean you cant do that? You literally did. Twice. The first time when you had your big one and then when i pulled my fingers out. It was like…not how they make it out to be in porn. Like not some weird super soaker spray but like-”

She held her hand up to stop me. “Please don’t describe it any further. I just…holy shit.”

I pulled out of her slowly, never getting used to that amazing feeling. It got me every time. It also sent my cum dripping out of her which was almost as good of a sight as her squirting. “Fuck…”

She wiggled a bit, a look of discomfort on her face. “What the hell?”

“We’ll now we got my cum on the sheets…” I said, partially annoyed. We really had to get them off this bed.

“DID YOU CUM IN ME AGAIN?!”

Her yelling caught me off guard. “Yes? I asked you this time and you agreed!”

“When?!”

“What do you mean when!?”

“I’m sorry if I was too fucked out and tired to freakin’ listen to you blab during sex! But you can’t be doing that! It freaks me out!!!”

“Hey, i asked to cash in my favor and you definitely said yes so I did it. It is not my fault.” I sat up slowly and inched my way to roll off the bed. “Come on. We need to get these off and I think I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Aren’t you worried at all?” She said softly.

“Me? Not really. I told you it’ll be alright. We’ve got everything covered.” It was a lie but I was blinded by how good it felt sexually and I also didn’t want to make her panic more than she already was. I told myself I’d stop after this one last time and not risk it anymore. She didn’t move and I could tell she was overthinking again. I went over to her and scooped her into my arms, holding her bridal style. “I’ll have you get the shower started while I take care of the bed. She held onto my neck and buried her face in my chest as I walked her into the bathroom, gently setting her down in the tub. “You ok?”

“Y-yeah…” She reached up and pulled me in for a kiss that I held for a long time. It wasn’t deep or passionate but more so intimate and warm. I sighed and cupped her face.

“Go, ok? I’ll be right back.”

I pulled away from her which seemed to be getting harder and harder each time. Even if it was just back into the room it felt like a million miles away. I tore off the soaked sheets, glad that the comforter was still mostly dry, and tossed them in the corner of the room. I said a silent apology to housekeeping and hoped to all hell they wouldn’t look at it directly when they put it in the wash. I padded back to the bathroom and slipped in behind her.

“Turn around.” She said and I gave her a questioning look. She sucked her teeth. “I was just about to get the…stuff out.”

“Eri, i’ve literally seen you every which way. Do you really think I care how you look getting my cum out of you?”

“JUST DO IT.”

I sighed and turned around, picking up the little motel bar of soap and ripping off the plastic. I waited for her to finish, getting impatient about being in the cold spot. “Dude, hurry up.”

“THERE IS A LOT OK? You don’t cum like a normal human being!”

“Apparently neither do you, Splash Mountain.”

‘OH MY GOD. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.”

I snorted and looked back at her. “Can I please get under the water now? I’m freezing.”

She switched spots with me and I finally got under the hot stream, thankful to wash away a whole nights worth of sex. My time under the stream by myself didn’t last long as Eri snuggled up next to me, her hair a soaking mess of waves that framed her face and made her look like a painting of a goddess. “Too cold. I want to be next to you.”

“You big baby.” I joked and ruffled her hair. She pouted and poked at my stomach making me squirm away. Our antics made our shower way more fun than it should’ve been, mimicking the perfect time we had in the tub before I freaked out on her. It was almost like a do over and I was appreciative of that fact. Once we were done and dried we curled up, facing one another, under the comforter. And although we were both fatigued, we stood up for hours talking about shit I never even dreamed about knowing about her. By the time the sun rose I was able to realize that one thing was for sure. I was in love with her.

–

We thought everything would be fine after that, and it was between us, but on Eri’s side things seemed to hit the fan one after the other. Their grandpa, who was back on the island they were from, fell ill. Their mother didn’t let them have a say in anything and whisked them away, making them leave school and work behind. There was a looming threat that they could be fired or even lose their financial aid which worried them just as much as their grandpa’s health. Each night they were gone we would facetime just so I could see them. I missed having them beside me whenever I wanted and it wasn’t even about the sex anymore. I genuinely found that I liked talking to them. There was never any judgement and I started to understand why certain things were important to them. Now I had to be there for them and help them stay strong even though I knew they were crumbling.

I was laying on my side, my phone propped against the wall, as I watched them cry. There wasn’t much I could do, or even say, at this point but i remained on the video. They apologized over and over for crying so much but i reassured them that I didn’t care. They let me know that it was okay when I cried and I wanted them to know the same. “I miss you..” They hiccuped.

I sniffed and cleared my throat, swallowing my own emotions. “I miss you too…you know you have to be there. It’s going to be okay.”

“He’s gonna die Johnny. I know it. I visited him today at the hospital and my mom and my aunts just keep putting this weird bandaid on it. They keep thinking he’s going to bounce back and be able to take care of the house and my grandma and he wont. He literally wont. I don’t know why they won’t just fuckin’ say it.”

“They’re scared, Eri. They’re losing one of their parents. It’s always going to be scary.”

“I know that but I hate being the only fucking rational one here. It’s driving me insane. Just look at him and say he’s going to die! He’s just going to die, Johnny. He’s going to…” They burst into another round of tears and buried their face into a pillow, muffling the heart wrenching sobs. I wish I could be there. I wish I could hold them so fucking tight and never let them go. It hurt me to see them like this.

“Baby, look at me, ok?” They moved their head up and wiped at their eyes. “When you come back here, i’ll be here for you ok? It’s going to be hard but I’ll help you get through this. And so will Quinn and stupid ass Lucas and all your other friends.”

I finally saw them crack a small smile which made me feel a little better. “I know…I-” Suddenly, someone burst into their room. I couldn’t make out who it was exactly as the video started to pixelate. They had a conversation that I couldn’t understand but seemed stressed. They grabbed their phone and finally the video came back into view. “I have to go. I-I’ll talk to you later, ok?!” Before I could even respond the video was cut off and I had my own disturbance burst into my room. I shot up in bed, looking at Jae who seemed to be distressed. Great, was everyone around me having issues at once?

“Dude, what the-” He held his cell phone out in his shaking hand and I could see a call from an unknown number going on. “What?” I asked, still confused.

“Talk. Talk now.” was all he said.

I took the phone tentatively and held it to my ear. My body went into shock as soon as I heard the voice that had haunted me for weeks on end. The voice that made my skin crawl and make me want to vomit. What she said next drenched my blood run cold.

“Johnny, I’m pregnant.”

#johnny #johnny fanfic #johnny smut #johnny suh #johnny seo #nct #nct 127 fanfic #johnny nct #nct 127 fanfiction #nct 127 #nct smut #nct 127 smut

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sarcasmrights · 5 years

Text

Brothers at Arms

a gift for @yaboybergara! i thought you and hozier anon might enjoy this c:

EDIT: i just caught up with stuff and uh, since you’re planning to leave nini, hi! i’m actually hozier anon and thought i should play coy. we should stay connected, if you want. otherwise, good luck chief. thanks for all the work you did for us, the grateful and the un.

~oξo~

Glass shines like the billions of stars in the galaxy, twinkling dangerously from the stained carpet. Shane had made the unfortunate decision of trying to pick one up after Ryan, eyes wide, had taken a hammer to Annabelle’s cage. The holy glass burned on his fingertips, leaving blisters and threatening to pucker the rest of his human skin before Shane had tossed it aside, pointedly dodging the rest of the glass on the floor.

“Is there a reason you did that?” Shane had asked, looking to Ryan who looked like he wanted nothing more than to vomit his stomach into the floor. His little believer didn’t have an answer, only furiously shaking his head and tossing the hammer away like it scalded him. There wasn’t much Shane could ask him now, humans could only cope with so much exposure to the other side before they went into shock. A shame, Shane is sure that if Ryan were coherent, he would be absolutely thrilled and horrified to know he’d been possessed for a split second.

“Alright, Annabelle,” Shane says, addressing the doll that has fallen unceremoniously to the floor. Pure evil energy rolls off of it like waves off rocks, enough to make Ryan fall backwards and cut his hands on the glass in a desperate bid to escape. The door to the Warrens’ haunted room slams shut, Ryan ceaselessly pounding on it.

Shane lets him, staring passively before suddenly kicking the doll aside, letting to slam against a wall as an inhuman growl escapes his throat. It’s been centuries since Shane has shed his humanity, has forfeit the many requirements that keep him just nearly human. This body has already been through the cycles, a poor human he’d picked up and is now held together by his black magic alone.

An equally disgusting sound greets Shane, the dark shadows of the room opening two yellow eyes. Shane chuckles, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel. Small burnt black holes appear where he touches it and Shane curses, murmuring something about it being his favorite. A rattle snatches Shane’s attention, one of the knickknacks of the room warbling before falling off of its place on the shelf. Shane sets his jaw and turns his attention back to Annabelle, the demon pooling from the shadows into a corporeal form.

“You know you can’t kill me yourself, so you brought friends!” Shane says, tone far more jovial than he feels. “Lovely! I’ve always wanted to meet a room full of things like me. Monsters that go oogie boogie in the dark.” Shane chuckles humorlessly, calmly reaching out and picking up a little necklace said to make communication with the dead easier. He turns the locket in his hand before tossing it at the yellow eyed demon, watching her fanged maw swallow the thing whole.

“Hungry aren’t ya? Wouldn’t you love a good soul to crunch on,” Shane says and spares Ryan a glance over his shoulder. His human has come to crouching with his back to a corner, eyes darting wildly between artifacts in the room. Still alive then. Good, Shane thinks as he feels portions of human flesh peel back to reveal demonic scales and leathery skin.

“Just gotta keep it that way,” Shane thinks aloud, his voice becoming many. His eyes flicker black as night, a symbol of his status amongst the demon hierarchy. Yellow eyes stare back at him and Shane almost tastes the vitriol Annabelle feels. Even better, he thinks as he draws a long-buried power from within himself. The angry ones fight harder.

~oξo~

Blood. Shane is really getting tired of the goddamn taste of it. Between Ryan shaking behind him and the spirits and demons edging closer to their cornered position, Shane really has to wonder how he came to be here.

With the combined powers of a demon just one rung below him in power and the plethora of cursed objects in the room, the Annabelle demon has enough power to make Shane nervous. There’s a couple of open wounds Shane can feel, not enough magic or strength left in him to patch them up. If he leaves this human body, he’s sure the original man will die the moment his influence disappears. No human walks away from being clawed at by this army.

“Sh-Shane? You okay?” Ryan asks, heavily favoring his right side and blood running down the length of his left arm. If only he hadn’t tried to help, had understood his mortality and stayed out of the goddamn way.

“Yeah, fine,” he hoarsely replies, Ryan flinching at the sound of his voice. If they survive this, there’s going to be a very deep long talk about everything.

Shane gasps as something, some spirit reaches through his human body and squeezes his stomach, winding him as the very real pain runs up and down his spine, forcing him to heave what remains in his stomach. It’s all Annabelle needs as she shoots out for him, arm outstretched and snatching Shane’s mortal throat, digging her nails into his voice box. She lifts him clean off the floor and Shane barely hears Ryan scream. For the first time in his damned life, Shane panics, hand going to her wrist as she squeezes harder and cuts deeper into his source of power. His voice, his everything. The tool he’s used to influence wars and throw entire empires off balance, the one method he’s been able to talk Unsolved into success, how he’s been able to protect Ryan from all the spirits he taunts.

“Fuck,” Shane gurgles, blood starting to pour into his esophagus. The sound of flesh bending and warping, tearing in places it shouldn’t, warns Shane of how little time he has left with his power. His voice will come back but healing, even when encouraged by demonic magic, takes a while to finish. He’ll be next to useless for at least an hour if she tears his voice out and when a minute is too long in this hell hole, Shane can’t even dream of Ryan surviving an hour without his help.

He stares into her eyes, those pus yellow beads that resent him so much. She doesn’t want him, she wants the meat behind him. Wants the soul that came willingly back to the Warrens, the good inside of Ryan is too tempting for them. Ha, if only Ryan knew how he looked to the other side. A great beacon of hope, something that could satisfy them for eons to come.

Without him though, Shane loses everything. Loses the popcorn banter they always have when Ryan invites him over for a movie, loses the way their elbows bump together when they edit videos. He’ll never hear Ryan’s whooping laughter when they answer clever questions for Post Mortem, nor will he get the opportunity to tease him about being scared of every little noise. Fuck, Shane thinks, sure he’d cry if he wasn’t in so much pain. Fuck, fuck! He doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to but for Ryan...

Shane sets aside his pride.

With the rest of his power reserve, Shane opens his mouth and out comes a language that’s primal, more clicks of tongue and teeth than coherent syllables.

“Andrew,” he wheezes and like magic, a wave pushes from Shane, shoving all demonic energy away from the pair. Shane collapses to his knees, hand immediately going to his throat to stop the bleeding. He tries to wheeze but blood only rushes down his throat, Shane spitting a mouthful of it out. As the chaos settles and the spirits are turning their attention back to him, a resounding click echoes in the silence. Shane weakly holds up an arm to shield Ryan from the sound, black eyes turned warily at the door. If it worked, if the summoning really worked...

“Little Shaney,” a pleasant voice croons, slowly turning the door open. Somehow the sound makes his spine rattle harder than anything in the room. Andrew appears, one slim hand holding the door’s handle. He looks just as he does in all the concert recordings and press photos Shane sees on his Twitter, a mop of curly brown hair and patchy beard hairs. He must have summoned him from a performance because there’s a thin shine of sweat on his forehead and his eyes are hidden behind trendy sunglasses. Shane hates his goddamn guts.

“Little Shaney, a warning would have been appreciated. It’ll be hard to explain why I just disappeared,” Andrew says, not a tint of worry in his voice. Shane can tell he’s looking at his throat and Andrew hums, crouching down to grab Shane’s jaw and tilt him this way and that. For a demon, Andrew has too motherly instincts, Shane thinks, sure Andrew can hear him. Shane bats his hand away and flicks his head at Annabelle as she slowly picks herself off the floor.

All other artifacts and spirits of the room have gone stock still and Shane can’t help but appreciate how Andrew makes things simply freeze when he arrives. If he were any less fascinated with humans, Shane is sure there would be many more wars and disasters rained upon them.

“Annabelle,” Andrew greets, talking to her like she’s an old friend. He languidly stands, walking towards her as he takes his glasses off. His arms are outstretched, as if he’s going to embrace the demon.

Annabelle immediately crouches defensively, hissing at the approaching man. Andrew chuckles and looks over his shoulder at Shane, red eyes somehow blinking in a friendly way. However, Shane can see right through his façade, eyeing the rigidness in his spine and the way his grin has a hint of a primal energy in the corners. With a very smug feeling blossoming in his throat, Shane can’t help but think about how fucked everything in the room is.

“Holy shit, is that Hozier?!” Ryan hisses, his good hand on Shane’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Shane resounds, unable to keep the respect from his tone. He really wanted to sound irritated with Andrew but it’s hard when he came to save their lives.

“Hello, Ryan. We should talk after this,” Andrew calls, offering a sweet smile before turning his attention fully to the black Annabelle demon. Shane watches her hiss and try to swat at Andrew, always missing because she pulls back at the last second. She’s afraid of hurting him, Shane realizes. Afraid to hurt a demon so high in the hierarchy but afraid to be smithed by his hands too.

“Annabelle, don’t tell me being in that coffin made you forget!” Andrew calls out, tone still so goddamn friendly. “Don’t you remember? Shane and I, we were born just two days apart. I, from the world’s first love song, and he from the first destructive fire. Course, he’s younger, funny how that worked out...” he calls, looming over her. Shane hears the damnation loud and clear. You bullied my younger brother.

“Annabelle, you haven’t been out for a while so, I’ll just give you a lesson.” Andrew bends over and snatches the demon by her throat, a plea or a hiss silenced by his hand. His red eyes stare deep into her yellow ones, the gap between their powers palatable in the air. “If you are a yellow eyed demon, you are nothing. Not even the gravel under my shoes. Your power scares humans but to me, your powers are party tricks. Black eyed demons outrank you, and I am a red eyed demon. Do you know what that means, Annabelle?”

The demon chokes on something but Hozier pays her no heed, continuing with his lecture.

“It means I am eons stronger than you. It means I can do this,” he purrs and Shane barely has time to shield Ryan’s eyes before the yellow eyed demon simply explodes. Blood splashes across the shelves and walls of the room, chunks falling off and hitting the floor immediately after. Shane almost wants to vomit at the sight of it all and he’s not at all surprised when Ryan does just that, heaving all down the back of Shane’s shirt.

“Sorry,” he murmurs and Shane makes a gesture to say it’s alright since his voice is almost destroyed. They both stand and Ryan looks over to Andrew, who is turning around to meet them. There must be something terrifying because Ryan freezes up and Shane looks over at Andrew, seeing the same friendly smile and the gore running down his face. He takes a step towards him and Ryan, bless him or damn him, immediately moves to stand between them, still clutching his bad arm and shaking to his knees. The gesture warms Shane’s dead heart and it must amuse Andrew since he chuckles and doesn’t immediately squish Ryan’s head like a bad grape.

“Come along, let’s enjoy some sunlight,” Andrew says and breezes past them, out the door from where he came. Shane gently pushes Ryan towards the direction, limping after his “older brother” and hoping Ryan will trail along.

The sun is too bright against Shane’s eyes as his body hurriedly tucks away any demonic parts. His horns retreat back into his skull, his skin does its best to hide his scales and such... He’s still bleeding from his throat.

“Shaney,” Andrew calls and Shane gives him a look before thin fingers run over his throat. All damage there heals up, muscles realigning and skin covering up the patches left from Annabelle’s claws. If he could see down there, Shane is sure he’d see Andrew’s sigil burning before evaporating into nothing.

“Andrew,” Shane addresses, voice back to his normal tone. Hozier laughs and pats Shane’s shoulder, looking over at Ryan behind them. The movement makes Shane’s hackles rise.

“This one, my brother? Are you sure?” Andrew asks and Shane scoffs, not ready to dignify the question with an answer.

“Alright then. Tweet me some time hm? I’ve been told my tweets are rather... meme worthy,” Andrew says and Shane can’t help but laugh at that. Meme sounds funny when Andrew says it, in that sophisticated tone he always uses.

“Ryan,” Andrew calls and the believer in question makes a noise before shuffling over. Andrew greets him with a gentle hand on his head and a soft smile, gazing down at him with such a fondness that it makes Shane’s skin crawl. He looks away quickly, sure the stress can’t be good for his healing body. They must be talking, thought Shane can’t be sure since Andrew is staring so intently at Ryan.

“Well, I should be off. I was in the middle of a concert after all,” Hozier says suddenly and Shane rolls his eyes.

“Don’t forget to clean yourself before you show up in front of people,” he reminds and Andrew’s lips curl into a grin.

“I could say the same to you, Little Shaney,” he says before singing a belting wordless melody, a shimmering veil bending to his voice. Andrew reaches out and throws it open like a curtain, a peek of a stage and rushing applause of an audience bursting through before Andrew disappears through the portal, gone in the blink of an eye.

Shane stares at where his brother was, only broken from his trance when Ryan clears his throat.

“So... demon huh? Black eyed one?” he asks, almost shy about it. Shane can’t help the smile that breaks across his face, sucking in a deep breath and willing all their wounds to heal, a little demonic miracle of his own. Once their skin and blood is back where it should be, Shane hums and clasps his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

#shyan #shyanlibrary #yaboybergara #man i couldnt get this out of my head haha #demon!shane #demon!hozier #drabble

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i-am-parsec · 5 years

Text

It starts not too long after the night we met at your apartment. It’s faint but persistent and, despite getting some strong painkillers after leaving a billion messages in Henrik’s inbox, it doesn’t stop. One cold Monday night, Ana suggests giving me a massage. You’re the only one who I ever allowed to do that so it feels wrong, but I accept. Her hands on my back are harsh, made of concrete, and only make matters worse. I scream at her to stop. She doesn’t yell back; she knows it won’t help. I lay on my bed at night, just contemplating the pain, wondering why I can’t simply vanish into oblivion like you, and the ticking of the clock seems to whisper, “Just you wait.”

Pain gets a friend and now there is Fire on my shoulder, my side, my arm. I’m too proud to ask Henrik for help again and too broke to go to another doctor. I assume that if my body learned how to live without sleep, it will eventually assimilate to the burning too.

Today, Ana breaks into the living room as I mindlessly go through your lawyer’s new barrage of emails, bearing gifts. Esperanza smiles shyly, as she has been doing since mommy stopped smiling at all, and asks what her auntie got her.

A few dresses, a new bag for school, a necklace. Her little eyes shine with old excitement but the light dies when she catches a glimpse of my face. I’ve gone from making her smile to being the reason she won’t smile, from mother to emotional black hole. I turn my face away.

Ana calls my name, warily.

“I got something for you as well.”

A purple blouse. It reminds me of the flowers you got me for our first official date back in Jacksonville. I give my sister something resembling a thankful look and she puts the cloth in my hands. I don’t think we ever went on a date in Jacksonville.

“Try it”, she says with the same glee in her voice as she had when she was helping me get ready for prom. But she wasn’t there for our prom, was she?

“Later, after I shower.” I think I’m being nice enough but Esperanza’s reaction tells me otherwise. Ana is already saying something about ‘leaving mommy be’ when I take off my shirt.

The next thing I know, she’s letting out a scream I for sure will remember.

“Dios mío, what happened to you?!”

Esperanza runs to me for the first time in months. This must be bad. Sister and daughter drag me in front of the bathroom mirror and there it is, furious red, a hand printed on my back. My mind wanders off and I can almost see your hands holding on tight to my body as I ride you, kiss you and smile with you.

That is certainly not the appropriate mental response to what my reflection is showing me.

“I am calling Henrik right now.”

Yeah, good luck getting him to pick-

“Henrik? Yeah, I need you to come in as soon as possible, it’s an emergency…”

Son of a bitch.

When he does arrive, he hugs my daughter, nods at my sister and ignores my gaze. How many times did you ignore my calls? How many times did you talk with her behind my back?

“Please, let me see it, Stacy.”

“If you can look me in the eye for a fucking second, sure, I will.”

“Christ, Dolores, do you swear in front of your daughter now?”

“She can leave if she doesn’t like it, sis, and so can you.”

“Are you-”

“Actually, it would be better if you took Hope outside while I check what’s going on, Ana. I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

She sighs and obeys. My Hope leaves, not before turning around and worriedly staring at me one last time. Even after the door closes behind them, he still avoids my eyes.

“How the fuck are you going to check me, doc, if you won’t even look at me.”

Silent, he walks towards the small sofa against the wall and lets himself gracelessly fall on it.

“Does you left arm hurt? Do you have sudden sharp pain on the left side of your chest? Does it feel like half of your back is burning? Can you not sleep at all at night? Can you feel the pain crawling up and down like razor blades?”

I feel so very cold. It’s the middle of summer.

“Yes…”

He lets out a long groan. His fingers slowly, hesitantly, start unbuttoning his shirt. As he sits there, upper body naked, skin barely glistening under the yellow light, I can almost see in the mess of my brain a beach day, when we were less tired, a bit younger.

“I don’t need to check you,” he murmurs as he turns around.

Hundreds of marks are strewn across his back. Claws, digging deep into his flesh. I wince. I feel the burning laughing at me.

“I know exactly what’s happening to you, but I have no fucking idea why.”

“I’m no doctor but I don’t think figuring out the why is really the most pressing matter here, Henrik.”

“You don’t get it. Generation after generation, it’s only been us. Only the ones who share blood. Plenty of women, wives, have suffered by the side of the men infected with this…thing, but not like this. Not like you. This shouldn’t be happening.”

I’m so goddamn fucking tired of cryptic responses and pointless secrets.

“What is this?! What is happening?! What is happening to me, Henrik?! Stop trying to hide the truth from me like it helps because it clearly fucking doesn’t!”

His eyes are on me but he’s miles away from here. Is he with you? Is that were I'm going too?

“You are infected with the same thing Chase, Jack and I are. You still seem to be in an early stage of it, but it’s hard to tell, because of the symptoms you’ve showing, I’d say it’s ‘spreading’ much faster in your case but I don’t…I don’t know why. I’m sorry. I really am.”

He looks defeated. I move slowly, find a place on the sofa and grab his hand.

“I don’t need you to know it all. I just need you to be here, to stop pulling away from me. Let’s figure it out…together.”

Tears, quiet and plenty, on both our faces.

“Okay.”

I smile. I am tired, in pain, a bit closer to insanity by the minute, and I smile.

For a second, as I let my head rest on his shoulder, there is salt in the air, warmth against my cheeks and I can hear you calling my name, laughing, your feet running through the sand.

My mind is a puzzle scattered in a dark room but every now and then, I find a piece of you.

I will put you back together.

A huge thank you at @novelistgeek for beta reading this chapter and being just a great bean.

#Unaddressed Letters #Chase Brody #Stacy Brody #The Brody Family #do you remember #can you remember #Jacksepticeye #Dr. Schneeplestein #Henrik Schneeplestein #JSE egos #JSE fandom #JSE community

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duncvns · 5 years

Text

Good Boys Don’t Beg (Sub!Duncan one shot)

this was a little idea @lathraios and I came up with about sub!duncan getting gangbanged by some of his coworkers. this was totally self-indulgent and i know i have some shit to write a second part to but i just really needed to get this out of my head before i lost it forever. summary- after one too many times of fucking over his co-workers, they finally have enough and decide to teach the rich boy a lesson

warnings- lgbtq+, sub!duncan, deepthroating, dubcon, gangbanging, pegging, creampie, spitroasting, femme-domme, oral (male receiving), tiny bit of ass eating lmaoo, degradation, humiliation, hate fucking, verbal humiliation, slapping, namecalling, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, anal sex, anal play

(if this isn’t your thing don’t read it. don’t say i didn’t warn you)

words- 2017

Duncan was used to getting what he desired, and fast.

You could say it didn't make him very famous around the halls of The Shepherd Freedom Foundation which he owned more than half of. He was known for being an all-out brat, tossing a fit when something didn't go his way or firing subordinates just because he was sick of looking at them, and his mother and uncle allowed him to.

The Shepherd-boy was gifted at pissing off rich, high-profile businessmen and women, making him rather unpopular at galas and balls, which he frequented often. However, he did attract sexual attention from both men and women, pulling them in like an invisible magnet.

But, after one incident of Duncan suspending the yearly pay raise due and after he let half of the charity accounts down the toilet because they weren't pulling in the funds necessary, the angry and frustrated men and women of the foundation have had enough. They were tired of the sickening games that Duncan was playing. He knew he had control over their happiness and he abused it, not knowing what trouble he could get into.

It was in Shepherd tradition to invite the foundation over to their multi-million dollar mansions for meetings. Annette thought it took more of a gentler approach instead of cramming twenty men and women into a conference room for over three hours to drone on and on about potential accounts.

It was Duncans first time hosting without his mother or uncle and he was excited, to say the least. He could finally show off his impressive home and lifestyle without openly bragging about it. He made sure to fish out the most expensive suit he owned, an impressive Tom Ford one that he purchased with the money he received by not giving out the yearly bonuses.

He made it obvious to everyone in the office that he did receive his bonus of a hearty two million dollars, and they utterly despised him for it.

All of the guests invited, arrived no later than six in the evening, giving them ample time to speak business over dinner. Duncan was cocky as he invited his colleagues inside of his home, mentioning some of the most expensive art on the walls and just how much the impressive mansion cost him.

It was early in the evening and he managed to stir up anger in the seven men and one woman he invited. Little did he know, everyone was expected him to flaunt, and they had the perfect surprise to knock him down a few pegs.

"You see that diamond vase sitting atop my mantle? Yes, that must have cost me damn near thirteen thousand dollars? It's a rare diamond, only ten of them were made. Impressive, no?" He babbled, a shit-eating smirk rested atop his face. The woman watching him flaunt rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her robust red wine.

"Is that supposed to make me jealous, Shepherd?" One of the businessmen questioned, anger laced in his voice. Duncan chuckled, furrowing his eyebrows together slightly.

"Uh... yes?" He flicked his eyes over his angry guests, slightly confused.

"I've had about enough of your bullshit, Duncan."

"You just can't stop running your mouth? Can you?"

"Flaunting around your million dollar cars and rare diamond vases,"

"Playing with our livelihoods like it's a goddamn game of monopoly."

"Wait, what the fuck is going on?" Duncan questions, swallowing the offensive jabs the angry group threw at him.

"We have big plans for you, baby boy." The woman set her glass of wine on the table before stalking over to him, her heels eliciting a steady clack over the dark wood floors. Duncan scoffed at the female, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And just what are you going to do?"

"Such a pretty boy, shame we have to do this. Right, boys?" She quickly became the ringleader, putting up a suffocating dominant stance that even Duncan couldn't resist.

"'S not a shame at all, the cocky fucker deserves it,"

She chuckled dryly, gaze burning deep into Duncan's blue-green irises. Her tight black pencil skirt was slightly tented, something Duncan hadn't noticed the entire night. "Get on your knees. Now."

He sputtered in disbelief, tearing his gaze from her as he shook his head. "What the hell? No!" She shrugged and motioned one of the men from behind Duncan. He kicked the backs of his knees, sending him toppling to the floor where he groaned out in pain.

"You're making this so hard, baby boy." She squatted, combing some of his hair in between her red-manicured fingers. He was pulled up so he was on his knees, heavy breathing making his chest rise and fall rapidly.

"Is this your form of payback?" He spat, eyes deviant as they glared up at her. "You're gonna have your boys spitroast me while you watch? Playing with your pussy as you hear me whine and beg?"

"Bold of you to assume I won't be fucking you too, baby boy." She palmed the decent sized bulge in her skirt, watching as Duncan's eyes bulged from his skull. "Gender roles are very constricting, don't you think? If I want to fuck you, hard and fast, nothing should be stopping me from that." She strode in circles around him, her bony hands tight around the surprise in her panties.

Duncan couldn't deny the dull ache of his hardening cock in his confining boxer briefs as her dominance radiated throughout the room, and throughout him. "Look at me, don't take your eyes off of mine." She demanded, slowly reaching to the hem of her skirt and lifting up the stretchy material. You could see the hard outline of her strap through her sheer black panties and Duncan wanted so badly to look at it. She didn't allow him, however, as she slowly slid her panties down her legs. She took the dense, hard cock in her hand and stroked it a few times, watching as Duncan struggled to not look down at it.

"Whew! Look at that! The boy is even drooling for a fake cock,"

"Real or fake, you know he's a filthy cockslut."

"Open up, baby boy, I'm gonna stretch out that pretty throat of yours." Duncan obediently parted his lips, finally able to watch as she lowered the strap closer and closer to his lips before pressing in softly. He reached his hands over to her thighs for leverage as the rubber slipped down his throat. He gagged around the black toy, stomach clenching painfully as she slowly fucks his throat.

"So pretty, baby boy." She swooned, lowering his mouth on her cock. "We're going to teach you a nice little lesson." The tips of her nails ghosted over his skin before quickly pulling her strap from his mouth, a line of drool seeping from his lips.

"Destroy this slut, boys." She smirked before taking a seat on one of the love chairs, keeping her hand busy by stroking her spit-slick length. The group of men closed around him, leaking cocks red and hard for Duncan's pretty mouth.

Large hands tossed him around as he choked on cock, eyes screwing closed as the man he remembers from finance fucks his throat roughly. His hands were busy stroking off the other horny men, spreading beads of leaking precum around the head of their cock. He was tossed off and choked down onto another cock, tears springing to his eyes as it hit the back of his throat roughly. A low sob ripped from his abused throat as heavy shafts slapped against his face, back, chest. Anywhere they could reach, they abused.

He was reduced to whimpers as she stepped back into the circle, pushing Duncan off of the current cock he was gagging on with her heel. "That's enough," She murmured. "I want him coherent." Her long brown locks framed her structured face beautifully as she tilted her head to the side.

"Undress him."

Busy hands erupted in the circle, ripping the expensive fabric from his red flushed body as he whined, being tossed around like a useless fish. Once she was satisfied in his lack of clothing she ushered the men's hands away, taking a long look at the needy boy whimpering at her feet. Duncan's cock was red and angry, straining against his chest, begging for release. She smirked, bringing the tip of her stilettos to his sensitive cock and gently pressed on it. He bucked up in surprise, a long hiss escaping his raw throat.

"Please, please!" He begged, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

"Say, please daddy."

"P-please daddy! I need to cum!" He whined, pulling away from the jab of her heel.

"No. We didn't get to fuck you yet." She spoke slowly, removing her shoe from her leaking cock. Duncan hissed at the sudden loss of contact, bucking his hips up for more.

"We're gonna fill that tight little cunt up with so much cock, you'll never be able to walk the same again," She leaned closer to his face, her minty breath hot against his overheated skin. She winked before motioning the men to toss him over the couch. He fell heavily, having to claw the modern material to regain his composure. She stalked over to him, strap hung and heavy between her thighs.

She situated herself behind him, parting his cheeks so she could get a look at his tight hole. She moaned lightly, leaning down to lap at it. He cracked out a moan, crying in pleasure as he bucked back onto her tongue. She steadied his hips with a tight grasp, her nails digging into his skin as she pushed her warm, thick tongue into his ass.

One of the men slid his cock down Duncan's empty throat, fucking him roughly as she continued to eat him out, stretching him just enough for her strap to fit inside of him comfortably. She pulled her mouth from him and wiped her face before lining her cock with his spit-soaked entrance and pushing in. He cried out against the man's cock filling his mouth as she rocked inside of him, the stretch searing and hot.

The cock in his mouth was replaced as she quickly built up a rough, hard pace. Fucking in and out of him. He was a mess, cock purple from the need to cum and skin red and sweaty. She fucked in and out of him a couple more times before sliding her cock out of him and stepping to the side. Another man took her place, sliding his dry cock into Duncan's exposed asshole and plowing into him brutally.

"You like this, huh? Little fucking slut, I'm gonna teach you to not fuck with my money," He growled, chasing his high in the fucked out boys willing ass. Duncan's throat was never empty for more than two seconds before it was filled again with even more cock. The domme was gentle, brushing some of his sweaty hair from his eyes as his mouth was stretched and worked open quickly.

Duncan's weak body shook, convulsing with the strength of his orgasm as he spilled all over the couch. She shook her head in disappointment, placing a series of quick slaps to his face. "Good boys don't cum without permission." He whined as he recovered from the stinging pain.

The man fucking into Duncan from behind finally came with a shout, pulling out of the boy's ass, watching as a mixture of seven different loads slid down his ass and onto the couch. Duncan collapsed onto the couch weakly, hissing at the pain of his sore skin hitting the rough white leather.

He pulled his knees into his chest and let out a small, shivering chuckle. He was in disbelief that he let himself be fucked like that. Spitroasted like the whore he was. All he could think about as everybody redressed, was how he could get payback, and if that meant getting fucked raw in his office by seven of his coworkers, then so be it.

tagging- @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @1-800-bitchcraft @icylangdon @langdonsrapture @langdonsinferno @wroteclassicaly @lvngdvns @daaddddysprincesss @sojourne

#Duncan Shepherd #duncan shepherd x you #duncan shepherd one shot #duncan shepherd x reader #my writing #michael langdon #michael x reader #michael langdon x reader

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chibinightowl · 5 years

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole, Chapter Seven

Almost done! A big thanks to @myfavrobin because without you, this chapter wouldn’t have been whipped into shape!

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six

~*~*~

And as in uffish thought he stood, the Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood, and burbled as it came!

Well, that’s one thing the poem definitely has wrong. This version of the Jabberwocky doesn’t burble. It cackles, the sound of which makes nails on a chalkboard seem like the finest symphony orchestra.

Jason comes up with a new name for the creature, one that will probably fit better than he cares to think about once he has a chance to see it.

The Jokerwocky.

Abruptly, he stands and heads to the top of the stairs, his long strides eating up the short distance.

“Are you crazy?” Tim-Cat hisses. He follows and manages to snag his claws in the back of Jason’s jacket before he descends. “The Red Knight could be anywhere.”

“Thought you could sense him?” Jason tries to shrug off the Cat, but he doesn’t let go.

“I can’t. Not him. The Red Queen has done something to his aura. He’s like that dark spot you see if you look at the sun for too long. There’s nothing until he’s right on top of you.”

“That has to suck for you.”

Tim-Cat scoffs. “I have no idea who he is, so yes, it does. Anyway, will you just slow down? This is a trap, in case you’d forgotten.”

He hasn’t. But he’s sick and tired of these goddamned games. “Yeah, it is. But is it for me or for you? The Red Queen doesn’t have a fucking clue who I am, so everything that’s happened since I got here has to be directed toward the White Queen, and by extension, you. Or do the Tweedles get kidnapped on a regular basis?” Dick still can’t quite live down his old nickname of Boy Hostage, no matter how old he’s gotten. No one comes even close to the number of times he’s been taken captive, on purpose or not.

The Cheshire Cat’s grip tightens. “What you’re speaking of is an act of war. There hasn’t been one since the Court of Cards toppled and the Red and White factions took power.”

Yet again, Jason marvels over the depth and richness of the world he’s dreamed up. When this is over (it has to be over soon, it has to be), he might just have to write this shit down, if only for his own amusement.

“I’m surprised your Knight’s death didn’t start a new one.”

“The White Queen wouldn’t let me.” Tim-Cat’s tone says exactly what he still thinks about that and Jason can’t blame him. If the roles were reversed and something happened to his Tim… well, it’s not gonna be pretty.

“I’ll lead then,” Jason replies. “No one here expects me. Just watch my back and take any opportunity you see to grab the sword.”

Tim-Cat growls low in his throat and presses his lips to Jason’s in a brief yet fierce kiss, nipping at his bottom lip with those sharp fangs. “I know better than to warn you about not doing anything dangerous, so don’t do anything stupid.”

Jason grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

~*~*~

There’s something missing when Jason saunters into the parlor like he owns it the place. All the hideously rich furniture and presumptuous paintings are there and exactly as he remembers. Even the curtains match his memories. A surprisingly cheerful fire is laid in the fireplace, glowing warmly against the gloom.

No, what has him stopping short is the annoying lack of anyone in the room besides him.

What the hell is going on?

“I thought for sure she’d be in here,” Tim-Cat mutters behind him. “Why else have a fire when the rest of the house is dark?”

“This is Harley Quinn or your world’s version of her,” Jason replies, cautiously stepping further into the room to look around. “I never pretend to understand what’s going on in that head.”

The Cheshire Cat slinks his way around him and stops, planting hands on hips as he frowns. “What are we missing?”

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

It still echoes from everywhere and nowhere, a disembodied voice that, in an odd way, really does burble. If you called sending shivers down your spine and icepicks into your brain a proper burble. Jason would much rather hear a burbling brook in some idyllic countryside than this shit.

He’s had enough. “Shut the fuck up!” he shouts into the void that is the empty house. “No one wants to hear your shitty laugh!”

The silence is even more disturbing than before.

Tim-Cat wheels around and smacks him. “I swear, you must be mad. That’s the Jabberwocky!”

“Who can die just like anyone else with the right piece of equipment,” Jason retorts. They need to find that sword so they can get the fuck out of this nightmare. “I’m sick of this little game. Besides, I think know where they are.”

The Cat pales. “Where?”

“In the cave beneath the house.”

“The what?”

Jason jerks his head toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“How do you even know…?”

He places a hand on the door frame and looks back at the disgruntled cat. Tim’s tail lashes wild from side to side, the only sign of his agitation. “Because I know the inside of this place like the back of my own goddamned hand.”

To prove it, Jason marches out of the room, across the foyer, and heads deeper into the house, his steps unerringly heading toward a room that in the waking world is Bruce’s study.

It’s almost annoying that it still is when he opens the door. Doubts he had about this being something other than a dream start to dissipate, leaving behind questions over just how fucked up his head really is.

The study is almost pitch black, the only light coming from a freshly cracked glowstick and the occasional lightning from the storm still churning overhead. But all the furniture is as it should be, and Jason is tempted to take a closer look at the pictures hanging on the wall. Is there one of him, locked in stasis as the world moves on around him? Or are portraits here like in Harry Potter and the images come to life?

He’s crossing enough genres that it’s entirely plausible.

Tim-Cat is cautious as he peers around him, eyes luminous in the eerie blue glow. “What is this place?”

A number of answers come to mind, but Jason picks the most honest one. “A place where, for the first time in my life, I was given magic.”

“You’re a magician?”

“Not literal magic,” he explains. “But at the time, it sure felt like it.”

Call him a sap, but Tim makes him feel the same way and not just because of what he can do with his tongue.

Jason digs through his jacket and finds his actual flashlight. No point in hiding their presence anymore, not that they were doing that stellar of a job anymore. “Here, it’ll probably be pitch black down there.”

Tim-Cat holds it up curiously. “What is this?”

“A light that won’t go out.” It’s got the Batman seal of approval on it, it sure as fuck better not go out because of a cheap-ass battery or shitty bulb. “Click that little switch.”

“Oh wow,” the Cheshire Cat breathes as he complies, the strong beam of light illuminating the far side of the study where an old grandfather clock rests tall and proud against the wall.

“Hold it right there,” Jason instructs, crossing the study in a few swift strides to stand in front of the oh-so-familiar clock and adjust the time.

For some reason, his heart starts pounding, the beat loud in his ears. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, maybe it’s the anticipation of finally getting to punch something. Hell, maybe it’s the fact that this dream quest/hallucination will be over soon. Whatever it is, the adrenaline rush is welcome.

Especially since the Red Knight lunges out of the clock entrance as soon as Jason opens it, sword in hand and ready to make his life fucking hurt.

“Goddammit!”

He ducks under the initial strike, hearing Tim-Cat’s surprised shout and not being able to do a damn thing about it as he focuses on not getting sliced with a sword that’s making a very strange noise every time the Red Knight swings.

Almost like…

Jason dances out of the way again, doing his best to stay out of range of the blade that’s going snicker-snack.

“He’s got the vorpal sword!” Tim-Cat cries out, voice laced with indignation and rage. “He’s using my Knight’s sword!”

The outburst draws the attention of the Red Knight. He pauses, gaze shifting from Jason to the Cheshire Cat. A low growl is heard from under his helmet and he lunges to the right to try and get around Jason.

He’s not fast enough.

“Nice try, buddy.” Jason slams into him, trying to force the man off balance enough to trip him, but it doesn’t work. The Knight recovers his footing but tries again to move past him toward Tim-Cat.

Jason feels rather smug that he called it earlier, that all of this is a trap of some sort for the Cheshire Cat, emissary or whatever he is, of the White Queen. “He’s after you, Cat! Get outta here!”

“Like hell I will!” Tim-Cat shadows his footsteps, keeping the light aimed at the Red Knight as he bounces around the room, as much at ease on the furniture as he is on the floor.

Once again, Jason wishes he had his own hood with him. The protection it provides would even the odds as the vorpal sword gives the Red Knight a much longer reach. He’s at a disadvantage unless he can get in close. Faster than conscious thought, he analyzes the Knight’s movements, his armor, looking for a weakness. He’s good, Jason will grant him that. Very good. What he needs is a distraction, something to make his opponent sloppy.

That gives him an idea. “What the fuck’s got you riled up, huh? Pissed off about your pet kitty?”

Behind him, Tim-Cat makes a strangled sound. “What are you doing?”

“What I do best.” Jason avoids another swing and instantly ducks low, trying for a leg swipe that fails as the blade follows after him. He rolls away and bounces back to his feet. “That was me, fucker. What kind of owner are you, leaving a poor, defenseless Bandersnatch out in the rain?”

The Red Knight doesn’t say a word, but his breathing grows more ragged and his swings more and more erratic the longer Jason runs his mouth. Despite that, he doesn’t provide an opening, his offense seamlessly blending into defense the few times Jason attempts an attack.

And then it's there.

But the opening isn’t there for him. It’s for the Cheshire Cat.

Tim-Cat leaps from his perch on the desk, claws extended, leaving the flashlight behind. He lands on the Red Knight’s back with a feral howl, slashing at the material comprising the Knight’s armor. “Give it back! Give it back!” he growls, sending shreds of metal and fabric everywhere.

Jason is momentarily startled because those very same claws were digging into his shoulders this morning, but then he’s moving, taking that step into the reach of the sword and grabbing hold of the Knight’s wrist, wrenching it wide and away from him.

They struggle for control, the Knight not completely out of the game yet even with the Cheshire Cat still wreaking havoc from behind. The Knight tries to redirect them, crowding closer to the still open doorway leading down into the cave, but Jason plants his feet, adjusts his grip, and sends the helmeted man head over heels.

Tim-Cat jumps gracefully from his back to land on his feet, pivoting smoothly to kick the vorpal sword out of the Knight’s hand. “If this sword belongs to anyone, it’s me,” he hisses, picking it up while staying well out of reach.

Jason can’t fault that logic, but he’s got other things to deal with. He’s quick to follow the Red Knight to the floor, pinning him and making a point to drive his knee into the shredded remains of what looks like a flak jacket. There’s no time to question the material, out of place as it is in this dreamscape, as the Knight finally makes a sound, a harsh grunt that turns into a growl.

The cowled helm turns toward the Cheshire Cat. “Mine,” a deep voice rasps out.

“Nice try, asshat,” Jason replies, digging his knee in harder to force another pained grunt. “But that sword belongs to the White Knight.”

Technically, it probably belongs to the White Queen, but he has no plans to get between Tim-Cat and Babs when they try and figure that out.

“Mine,” the Red Knight says again, this time trying to inch his way along the floor toward the Cheshire Cat despite being immobilized.

“Single-minded, aren’t cha?” Jason comments. He has his hands full trying to keep the Knight still. The big man twists and squirms just like he does whenever Dick or Bruce manages to pin him on the training mats. Dick, the annoying fucker, likes to sit on him.

“He sure is,” Tim-Cat replies. He carefully tucks the sword into his belt and picks up the flashlight, shining it in the Knight's face. “This is the first time any of us have managed to get this close to the Red Knight. The White Queen will be generous in her reward if we find out who's under that helmet.”

“Whatever, just make it fast. I can't secure him without your help.”

“Mine,” the Knight growls, sounding more frustrated than before.

“That shiny piece of metal doesn't belong to you, big guy,” Jason replies, adjusting his grip while contending with a wild buck from the man beneath him. Looks like he's not the only one on an adrenaline fueled high. “This’ll be a lot easier if we tie him up. I got cuffs and zip-ties in my outer pocket. Grab ‘em for me, will ya?”

“I have no idea what a zip-tie is,” Tim-Cat states, but he gamely digs through Jason’s pockets anyway.

“You’re doin’ just fine.” Jason guides his partner through how to use the sturdy, Bat-approved, pieces of plastic. Once the Red Knight’s absolutely wicked gauntlets are removed, his hands are easily secured. However, when the Cheshire Cat tackles his legs, the bound man doesn’t make easy for him.

“We could just kill him,” Tim-Cat snarls after a near miss with a heavily booted foot. “For all we know, he’s the one who killed my Knight in the first place.”

The callousness takes Jason aback as he finally releases the Red Knight and kicks him solidly in the ribs to keep him from moving. The knees of his uniform are wet and tacky with blood. “You mean you don’t know who killed him?”

“The White Queen never told me who it was.” Tim-Cat’s voice takes on a sorrowful tone before firming once again. “Maybe she’ll let me have this one’s head.”

Jason rests a hand on the Cat’s shoulder, forcing him to look up. “Hey. Far be it for me to tell you not to take your revenge, but I just gotta point out a little something.”

“What?” Tim-Cat asks warily.

“Revenge won’t bring back the mome-raths.”

The Cheshire Cat chokes back a sob, brushing away tears that suddenly glisten in his bright blue eyes. “You’re right,” he says after a moment. “You’re completely right.”

“It happens sometimes.” Jason shrugs, then nods toward the Red Knight who has finally stopped squirming. “Let’s unmask him.”

He straddles the broad back and feels around for the hidden catches in the helmet while Tim-Cat holds the light steady. Oddly enough, they’re in the same place he has them on his own hood.

Jason’s guts suddenly feel like lead and his hands tremble faintly as he draws off the Red Knight’s helm. It can’t be. Even his brain won’t do that to him.

Right?

Tim-Cat gasps and drops the flashlight, falling to his knees as his already pale skin loses what little color it had.

The Knight coughs and raises his head, glaring balefully as he tries to buck Jason off him again. “Mine,” he growls, eyes locked on the Cheshire Cat. “My Cat.”

Jason knows without even looking who the Red Knight is, who he’s been fighting since he leapt out from the clock. The irony isn’t lost on him.

He’s been battling himself.

Okay, so his subconscious really is that jacked up because what the fuck? This is so much deeper than Jason wants to explore, not right now when he’s so close to the end.

Tears are streaming down Tim-Cat’s face as he falls to his knees before the bound Red Knight. “What happened to you? I can’t... I can’t sense you!”

Jason shoves his own feeling about everything to the side to deal with later. He’s got an idea thanks to another Wonderland-themed villain back home. “Even without the helmet?”

The Cheshire Cat doesn’t even spare him a glance. “No,” he replies after a moment.

“Hmm...” Jason removes a glove and runs a hand through the Knight’s matted hair. Just above his left ear, he finds a small lump that shouldn’t be there. “Gimme that light, would ya?”

Tim-Cat numbly complies.

The Knight doesn’t like any of this and continues to struggle toward his cat.

“Hold still, would ya? If I’m right, I know why you’re not in your right mind anymore.” Jason angles the light over the bump and pushes away the hair as best he can.

Sure enough, there’s a scar, about an inch long and as thick as Tim’s pinky.

“What is it?” Tim-Cat asks, rousing himself from his grief. Considering what he said just before they unmasked the Knight, he’s probably feeling like a complete and utter ass.

“Something was done to his head. I’ve seen this in my world before, but always with hats.” Jason frowns and runs the pad of his finger lightly over the spot. There’s no give. “I can feel something under his skin.”

“Get it out,” Tim hisses.

“I’m not exactly prepared to do brain surgery, Cat. This could be right under the skin or have wires all over his brain. I don’t about you, but do you really want him to have permanent brain damage if I’m wrong?” He quietly shudders at the memory of Mad Hatter Brucie. The last thing he wants is to turn any version of himself into that.

“Then we need to get out of here and return to the White Queen.” Tim-Cat rise smoothly to his feet. “We have what we came for. Help me carry him.”

The thought of lugging the Red Knight all the way across the garden isn’t appealing in the slightest, but Jason can’t see another alternative. “I don’t want him fighting us the whole way,” he says instead. “Think you can calm him down? He’s reacting to you instead of the sword. I think...”

It’s vaguely reassuring that the Knight won’t take his eyes off his Cat. Even out of his mind, he knows the one he loves most. Do he and his Tim have this kind of bond? That’s actually kind of terrifying now that he thinks about it, but also rather reassuring.

“That’s easy enough to test.” Tim-Cat hands him the vorpal sword. “Now give me some space.”

Jason juggles the sword and the flashlight momentarily and stands, leaving the Knight to squirm around on the floor.

Sure enough, the Knight completely ignores Jason and the sword. “Mine,” he says again and tries to inch his way toward the Cheshire Cat.

“Was his vocabulary more extensive before all this?” Jason asks, trying not to be a complete and utter dick.

“It was.” Sadness etches itself across Tim-Cat’s face as he kneels again and brushes a claw over his Knight’s cheek. The large man presses against the touch as best he can. “He was the finest poet in the White Queen’s court.”

There’s a quiet dig there, but Jason pointedly ignores it. His Tim has no problem with how he speaks, fuck you very much. “Okay, let’s find something we can bind his back with and get the hell outta here.”

He glances toward the still-open clock and the dark abyss beyond. It’s like a gaping maw of nothingness, waiting to swallow anything that gets trapped in its grasping claws. A chill breeze moves the stagnant air in the study, damp and with a metallic tang that he knows all too well.

Blood.

Closing the door seems like a good idea. A really good idea. Keeping the light aimed away from it, Jason lays a hand on the grandfather clock and pushes with exactly the right amount of force learned through night after night of racing Bruce down to the cave after dinner so they could get ready for patrol.

It doesn’t move.

Frowning, Jason shoves harder.

Still nothing.

Tim-Cat looks up from his Knight. “This is the Red Queen’s castle. She can do whatever she wants in here.”

That much is obvious. Jason abandons the door and crosses the room to the window, his strides long and hurried. He’s starting to feel trapped. Trapped in this house, in this world, betrayed by his own mind.

He needs to get out of here. He needs to wake the fuck up.

One of the curtains is ripped from the window, heavy and dusty, but Jason doesn’t think the linen closet off the laundry will be any better and he doesn’t dare venture back upstairs to see if the house morphs back into Arkham Asylum or remains Wayne Manor. The Knight isn’t cooperative unless Tim-Cat is where he can see him, whispering soothing words and lightly caressing his cheek as Jason tends to his back.

There’s an almost childlike quality about the man. Innocent in a way, at least when he has what he wants.

Jason is self-aware enough to recognize he’s seeing a certain aspect of his personality here, one that never has a chance to appear these days. Or does it? He spares a moment to think about their quiet afternoons when they first wake up, where both of their guards are down, still muddled by sleep. Their video games and movie nights. Hell, even the occasional food fight when they both are feeling particularly sassy and are making dinner together.

What’s interesting to see is that each memory has Tim associated with it. Is he the key that fits into the lock that shields and protects that part of himself that had so few instances to reveal itself as a child?

When he wakes up, he’s got a hell of a lot to think about. Maybe he’ll even take the time to do it.

Jason sighs and finishes the quick dressing for the jagged slashes ripped into the Knight’s back by his lover’s claws. Those are going to hurt later and he’s sure the Cheshire Cat already feels guilty as hell. He rips another curtain from the window for the makeshift sling they’ll need to haul his dream-self around in. Considering the distance, they’ll need it, especially since the Cat insists they can take turns once they’re out of here.

“Assuming we get out of here in one piece,” Jason says in a low tone, glancing at the grandfather clock. It’s been deathly quiet since the Red Knight emerged from the stairwell leading down to the cave and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Tim-Cat follows his gaze. “I would sooner die than lose my Knight again,” he states evenly, almost as though he’s making a vow.

Jason frowns, but doesn’t poke. For all that this is just a dream, it’s sure as hell masquerading quite nicely as reality.

The Knight doesn’t like being so close to Jason once they get him into the sling but settles once Tim-Cat shushes him. “Mine,” he repeats, glaring at Jason.

“I know, buddy. I know. Don’t worry, I got my own Tim.”

It’s slow going as they make their way out of the room, even after stripping the Knight of most of his armor and weapons to lighten the load. Apparently even dream versions of himself are heavy as fuck. The vorpal sword is now sheathed and strapped at Jason’s waist. The argument that Tim-Cat should just teleport and take it directly to the White Queen fell on deaf ears.

“She tasked you with returning it, not me.”

Damn logic.

When they reach the foyer, it’s completely dark, the fire from the sitting room no longer burning cheerfully against the gloom. The darkness feels more oppressive than before. There’s a weight to it, one that drags and bites at his ankles with each step he takes. Jason swallows hard and gamely continues on toward the front door, the flashlight illuminating the way.

Something is watching them, waiting. Biding its time. He’s been in the game long enough to know.

Tim-Cat senses it too but doesn’t move from his spot at Jason’s side and keeps the light aimed on the door. His ears are upright, alert and twitching from side to side trying to pick out where the attack will come from.

They’re just a few steps from the door when the house itself groans, loud and low as the very foundations shake around them. Jason staggers, almost falling to his knees as the black and white tile cracks around them.

A voice speaks up, echoing around them so that it appears to come from everywhere.

“Ja-son. Jaaaa-son. Come out, come out wherever you are. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!”

Jesus Christ, he’d know that voice anywhere, even without the insane laughter at the end.

“Move.” Jason all but shoves his way forward and grabs hold of the doorknob.

“He’s been released!” Tim-Cat sounds frantic, eyes are wide and wild, neck craning as he tries to look around everywhere at once. “Oh, White Queen, the Jabberwocky is free.”

A second voice joins the cacophony, higher pitched, and no less mad.

“HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE! Puddin’ wants to play!”

Jesus fucking Christ on a goddamned crutch. He’d almost forgotten about Harley. This dream has definitely reached nightmare-level proportions. He tries to open the door.

It’s locked and won’t budge.

“Fuck.” Jason yanks out one of his guns, ready to shoot the damned lock when the Knight speaks up.

“Sword.”

“Huh?” He looks over his shoulder at the Knight. They really could be twins, mirror images of each other.

“Sword,” the Knight repeats, gaze intent and oddly lucid compared to earlier.

What the hell does he have to lose? Jason holsters the gun and draws the vorpal sword instead. “Here goes nothing,” he mutters, silently praying he doesn’t break the sword on the lock. Swords aren’t exactly designed to break down doors.

Another chilling round of laughter echoes through the house and it shudders again. “Jason. Jaaaa-son. Why are you running away? You’re so much fun to plaaaaay with.”

Fuck. No.

Jason swings the sword, the downward stroke cutting right through the door with an audible snicker-snack.

“Again!” Tim-Cat and the Knight both cry out.

Another swing and the vorpal sword cuts through the wood like silk, the snicker-snack growing louder and louder with each stroke.

Jason sheathes the sword and kicks at the warped wood. Thick panels fall outwards, and Tim-Cat rushes through the gap, turning to pry at the loose boards to widen hole for him and the Knight.

The Jokerwocky’s and the Red Queen’s cackles grow closer. Jason can just imagine the Joker prowling the halls of Wayne Manor, rictus grin wide and those yellow eyes sharp with intent. To him, this is when the Joker is at his worst, because there is a keen intelligence behind that gaze, one that knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t give two fucks about it.

It’s the expression he wears when all he wants to see is the world burn.

“I have a crowbar with your name on it, little birdie. Which do you prefer? Forehand? Or backhand?”

Fuck this shit.

Jason takes a couple of steps back, puts his head down, and charges toward the door. The Red Knight shouts with unbridled glee as they crash through and onto the wide portico beyond.

Full night is upon them and the storm has mostly passed, leaving nothing but a full moon and hazy starlight to see by. The cool dampness from the rain is welcome in his lungs after the dry stale air of the house. Everything is still, nature herself cowering in fear over the presence of utter evil.

From outside, it looks like Arkham Asylum again.

Jason breathes deep but doesn’t stop moving. “Come on. We’re sitting ducks out here.”

Tim-Cat lopes down the stairs with easy grace, the flashlight leading the way.

Behind them, the house groans and the Jockerwocky’s cackle turns into a howl of rage.

“You’re not playing fair, bird boy! If it’s a whoopin’ you’re awantin’…”

They’re almost to the hedge when the bolt of lightning comes out of nowhere to strike the overgrown path behind them, knocking them to the ground. Jason struggles to regain his feet, but the Knight is heavy and is fighting against his bonds once again, groaning incoherently in Jason’s ear.

Tim-Cat bounces back up and rests a hand on his Knight. “I’m okay,” he soothes. “We’re going to be okay.”

Jason is seriously starting to doubt that. “Was that the Red Queen or the Jabberwocky?”

“I’ve no idea but get up and keeping moving. If we can make the garden, we’ll have a better chance at escaping.”

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA

It sounds even closer than before.

Jason crawls his way upright and glances over his shoulder.

Standing on the wide portico before the broken door is the Joker. At the same time, it’s not as he seems to morph into some demonic hell beast before settling back into the more familiar human form. If Jason were to hazard a guess, it’s almost as though he can’t make up his mind over what form to take. The one from his worst nightmares or the one he expects to see given the situation.

His breath seizes in his chest.

The Joker can’t decide on a form because his own mind can’t figure out which is more terrifying. This hallucination is clearly gearing up for some epic climax and has stalled because his own subconscious doesn’t know what it wants to be afraid of more.

He’s in complete control if he can just make a fucking decision.

Jason strips the shoulder rig carrying the Knight from his shoulders and lowers the man to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Tim-Cat asks as Jason cuts the bindings from the Knight’s feet. “We need to run. Now.”

“Yeah, you do. And as strong as you are, you can’t carry him alone.” Jason gives the Knight a firm look. “Listen to me, buddy. I know you’re in there. I know what it’s like to be trapped with no fucking way out. But there is always a way. Don’t stop fighting whatever it is that’s in your head. You have your Cat back and he’ll do his damnedest to help save you. Listen to him and you’ll soon be free.”

That odd clarity returns to the Red Knight’s, no, the White Knight’s eyes. “Mine,” he says, glancing at Tim-Cat.

“He’s all yours. I have my own waiting for me back home.” Jason helps the Knight stand and Tim-Cat takes his hand.

“You’re going to fight the Jabberwocky.” It’s not a question and they both know it.

“Yeah, I am. He’s been in my nightmares long enough.” Jason draws the vorpal sword and salutes the Cheshire Cat and the White Knight. “It’s been real, Cat. Now go and save your Knight.”

Tim-Cat nods solemnly. “Maybe you’re not quite the asshole you’d like everyone to believe.”

Jason smirks, knowing it’ll get under the Cat’s skin because it sure as hell does with his Tim. “Keep telling yourself that.”

The Cheshire Cat returns his smirk and rises up on his toes to kiss the corner of Jason’s mouth. “Don’t die.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Nodding, the Cat takes a firmer hold of his Knight and together, they disappear through the tunnel in the hedge.

Jason takes a deep breath. He really hopes he’s right about this because if he’s not, then he’s just signed his fucking death warrant for the second time. There’s no waking up from this, not if it goes south, fast. Raising the vorpal sword, he walks back up the path toward the house and the still flickering Joker. Harley is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn't mean she isn't lurking around, waiting for her own chance to strike. No use worrying about it now.

“Okay, you piece of shit. You wanna dance? Let’s dance.”

#chibinightowl writes #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Jason in Wonderland #JayTim

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punishandenslavesuckers · 6 years

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Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes up in a grave by the road ten years after he died. Things have gone a bit wrong since then and he might be the only one who can set things right… since it’s the Mighty Nein themselves who’ve gone wrong. AU: Where Molly comes back to yell at his super-powered Level 20 friends. (AO3 - part1) (AO3 - part 2) (AO3 - part3) (AO3 - part4) (AO3 - part5) (AO3-part6)

Molly opens his eyes.

The first thing he’s aware of is the splitting jag of pain in the back of his skull, radiating from a molten point of impact near the top of his head. He’s secondly aware of his broken right arm which shoots a bolt of screaming heat up his wrist to his shoulder socket. For a dizzy moment there’s nothing but the pain. Thirdly, he realizes he’s lying in a thin layer of watery mud, silt sliding around his body about half a foot deep and soaking his clothes and hair. Water is misting cool against his face.

His vision clarifies slowly, the sound of rumbling somewhere in a muffled distance and overhead there is a thin strip of daylight nearly half a mile away, shining through the gap between the two dark walls of ocean water. Too dizzy to panic, Molly registers that he’s been relocated somewhere far along the road of the Crushing Deep and he can’t remember anything about how. Nothing but fangs and wind.

Molly groans and rolls over. Hissing and gritting his teeth against a myriad jolting of broken bone, abrasions and bruises. His arms are scraped, his clothes ripped, rather like he had to grapple with a cheese grater… or a dragon with thousands of sharp, armored scales that was trying to hold him in its claws. Molly’s aching head suggests he fell hard enough to knock the details out of his brain, but at some point he was dropped here.

The question is for how long.

He paws at his hip.

The scimitars are there. He digs into the satchel belt Nott gave him, pulls a vial of healing potion and uncorks it with his teeth and downs it. Shudders as the heat slides across his broken and bleeding parts and knits them shut, mending calcium and marrow until his broken arm aches, but functions. He tosses the vial, tries to stand… falls back to his knees, shivering with adrenaline. His tail curls instinctively around his right thigh, a shudder sliding though him. He feverishly congratulates past Mollymauk on being paranoid enough to sleep in full gear while he surveys the dark, watery corridor around him.

He’s alone.

He looks behind him – there in the far distance is the light of the shore, the size of postage stamp from afar.

He looks ahead of him – the walls of water close like an arch so no sun can penetrate from above, turning the rest of the road into a dark tunnel leading into a deep, freezing blackness. All around him, he can see shadows moving in the dark waters, like humongous fish in an aquarium… but looking nothing like any fish or beast Molly’s ever seen.

“Oh bloody hell,” Molly whispers.

He forces himself up. He can’t stop shivering. He’s shaking so hard his teeth are chattering, but he doesn’t feel any cold, just the neutral warmth off Nott’s enchanted earrings as he turns and trudges toward the shore. Every step is unsteady, shivery with adrenaline. He folds his arms around him to stop the shaking. It doesn’t work. Through the raw, driving instinct to keep moving, he still has a moment of shining, hysterical clarity just long enough to think: Being dead must have been less stressful than this.

Then Nott’s voice comes bursting in his ear: “Molly! Don’t worry! We’re coming for you! Are you okay?” Then at much higher, louder volumes, “YOU CAN REPLY TO THIS MESSAGE!”

Molly shakes off his immediate heart-stopping terror at being yelled at via Sending. Then he hisses, “I’m in the Crushing Deep. I’m not hurt but hurry the fuck up.” He glances at the dark waters on either side of him. “I don’t know where that dragon went or why it dropped me.”

Then, while he’s counting his words to determine if he has enough to add more, a voice directly behind him says, “I’m right here.”

Molly hasn’t been in a fight for ten years technically. That doesn’t stop him from spinning around and slamming his right-handed scimitar to the goddamn hilt in the speaker’s gut. Blood bursts cold over his fist, dripping heavily from his knuckles, the blade humming with a terrible joy that Nott hadn’t warned him about. It surges a brief warm glow through Molly’s body, sliding like fingers through lines of muscle. But that warmth is nothing in the face of the cold, hollow dread.

Because the speaker still looks exactly like Yasha.

She tilts her head, glances at the blade in her stomach, then grins at Molly through bloody human teeth.

“Not very smart are you? Jumping out of a dragon’s claws mid-air.”

Molly slams the second scimitar up in her ribcage and wrenches, gets a satisfying huff of pain from the shape-changer.

He hisses, “Stop wearing my friend’s face!”

The monster ignores Molly, ignores the blades in her belly, grabs Molly’s jaw in two hands, and yanks him forward, slamming her mouth against his with such force his lip splits and blood floods him mouth as the thing with Yasha’s face drags a ravenous tongue between his teeth. She kisses him vicious, catching his lip between her teeth. Molly immediately rips both blades out and carves her flanks open in gaping, bloody holes. She ignores that… but when he wrenches back, she lets him go staggering.

“None of fucking that!” Molly spits blood, baring teeth.

“You didn’t hesitate.” Not-Yasha grins. “I’m surprised with you, dead thing.”

“I’m not dead,” Molly snaps, backing up, blades in a defensive cross.

“You’re a dead thing tethered here on thread spun by gods,” says Not-Yasha. Her sides are knitting back together. “There’s power in that. Power you can eatif you’re hungry enough.” She’s walking toward him, forcing Molly to back away. “I could eat you alive over and over. Until your gods give up on you and leave you a corpse at last.” She smiles and blood floods black from her mouth. “Unless they don’t. We could consume you forever, Mollymauk. Imagine.”

“Fuck off,”Molly says in Infernal to mask how gut-twisting terrifyingthat possibility is. “My friends are coming to kill you. I hear they’re strong.”

“But you’re oh sofucking weak.” Not-Yasha moves toward him again, slowly, unhurried. “They can’t protect you. Obviously. What could I do to you before they get here? You’re nothing except a thing that won’t stay dead.” Her hand comes up, spread toward him. “But before I take you to him… I need you to–“

Molly whips the scimitar across his body, blinding fast, then jumps back and to the left.

Monster-Yasha stares at the sudden bloody stump at the end of her wrist. “Hmm,” she says. “I’m going to take your guts out one at a time.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Molly hisses.

“Did you really think your orc brat was the only one bound to the Great Serpent?” She smiles and the smile becomes lipless, taut across the skull. “You should fall to your knees, dead thing. Your gods can’t protect you here.”

But before Molly can process the horrifying implications, there’s a gun shot. The monster’s head snaps back, a burst of red mist flowering from the skull and Not-Yasha staggers back a single step, her neck arched backward with the hit, but she does not fall. Molly jerks around just in time to see Nott, crouched in the road with a dimension door sliding shut behind her, as she lines up another shot and screams, “SHEILD, MOLLY!”

He activates the spell and drops to a ball with his hands over his ears. Nott fires again. She hits Not-Yasha as she starts to come back up (her body twitching horribly, splitting apart like rotten fruit peeling open–) and the shot detonates. The blast is so powerful, it ignites the air and the entire road is fire and super-heated steam, the kinetic force sucked the barrier bowed around Molly’s body. The air super-heats, so hot his bare skin blisters.

“AGAIN! SHEILD AGAIN!”

Molly brings up the other sword, activates the spell and the second wall comes up and for a split second through the smoke and steam, Molly sees something massive erupting upward in horrible jerking bursts of bone and flesh. Then she hits it with another explosive shot and this time the force is so powerful Molly is pinned flat in the mud, his shield like a bell jar on top of him, keeping out the fire. The spell sputters, flares, then dies… and the road is seemingly empty.

Molly levers himself up onto his hands and knees where he retches for a moment. His hands are sunk to the wrist in silt and fine sand, slithering sea-life writhing in the mud beneath his fingers but he’s too busy hacking up a lung to notice or care. He shakes his hair out of his face, grabs for his scimitar –

And that’s when the ground beneath him shudders.

“Oh fuck,” Molly manages before five massive claws burst from the sand and close over him in a gargantuan fist. Molly has just enough instinct to lunge for the largest visible gap between the thumb and forefinger before the dragon’s claws snap shut around his lower body. Then he’s being yanked upward with such velocity the world blurs. He sees things in wild snap shots, the water, his own forearm braced against mottle blue-white scales, the underbelly of a beast.

Pain flares through the bones in his legs and pelvis, shooting across every nerve, but he can’t focus on that. Molly’s moving so fucking fast he can’t see, being jolted, vertigo yanking his stomach out through his throat as the ground rushes and swings wildly away. He feels the mithril chain shirt is digging through his ribs, but even so he finds enough air to scream as loud as he can:

“NOTT! SHOOT IT! JUST SHOOT IT—!”

A bullet slams into the trunk of the dragon’s arm somewhere at the elbow… then detonates. The bullet blows the entire center out of it. Then, blasted free of the main body and spraying burning cold blood, it begins to fall… with Molly still gripped in its dead hold. He tears loose, driving his boot back into the fist holding him until a giant claw comes loose, then he launches straight forward, ripping free and then he’s falling free. The wind roars, tearing across his ears, the momentum ripping at his clothes and –

“Molly!”

Yasha materializes in the air directly beneath him and he slams into her chest, solid as a wall and driving the air straight out of him, but her limbs close around and the field of her levitation seizes hold of him. Then they’re rocketing backward together. Yasha wheels in reverse, downward, then spins around to right them before she comes to a messy, skidding landing in the briny mud. Their boots drag in the sludge, then they’re still on the ground.

“Good catch,” Molly pants, untangling himself.

He looks up over his shoulder and there, wheeling in the air between the watery canyon walls, gleams the flying bulk of a massive blue-black sea dragon. Dark and serpentine, born on leathery wings and magic, its eyes gleam luminous yellow, slit up the center, and even now are fixed on Molly. The back-draft of its wings like hurricane winds, batter and tear at hair and clothes. Blood pours from the severed stump of its right arm.

He snaps his fingers and both of his lost scimitars reappear in their sheathes at his hip. As he pulls both free, he shouts over the wind, “You wanna kill that thing or what?”

“Stop getting knocked around and I will,” says Yasha. Her eyes flare suddenly bottle blue and burning. She flips her weapon into her hand, gripping it two handed before planting her feet and launching with such force the mud bursts away from the point of liftoff. Molly immediately races back toward Nott who is screaming something like “GODS DAMMIT! WHY IS IT ALWAYS LIKE THIS?” and reloading frantically.

Molly reaches her, flips his blades across the back of his neck, and drags – feels that familiar burn of metal splitting and separating skin. Radiant fire ignites along the edge, like his blood is ignition fluid and the whole blade immediately goes up in light. The rite latches onto his soul, part of his very life force living now in the swords and it’s terrifying and comforting all at once. Then he’s standing side-by-side with Nott the Brave and for the first time things feel familiar.

“Just like old times,” Molly shouts over the monstrous eldritch roaring.

“THIS IS NOTHING LIKE OLD TIMES,” Nott screeches.

She fires again at the pinwheeling form of the dragon. It currently snapping its massive jaws, its enormous serpentine neck lashing back and forth at Yasha who, in the split second that it took her to move, rockets past and lumber-jack hacks her blade five feed deep into an armored shoulder. Molly feels the air shiver. There’s a flash. Then a boom that shakes the sea as a massive bolt of lightning strikes the blade like a rod, conducting holy blue fire directly into bone.

The dragon screams. Writhes in agony, electricity crackling all across its form, then in a frenzy it grabs Yasha with its one good hand. Claws her from its shoulder. Then it throws her straight through the water wall with such force Yasha hits it like concrete, the surface bursting a geyser of impact, before she vanishes deep into the horizontal sea.

“Bitch!” rumbles the dragon, spinning in the air to look down on the gunslinger and Mollymauk.

Even at nearly 100 feet away, Molly can see the vindictive gleam in its predator stare. Then the beast rears its head back, a sudden sluice of sea water spilling over from draconic jaws and Molly hears Nott whisper, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck –!”

Molly, not thinking very clearly at his point, just snarls “FUCK YOU!” with all the Infernal hate he can gather and feels a blood vessel tear open along his neck. The dragon’s yellow eyes immediately blacken and run with darkness just in time for Nott to yell, “DRAGONS CAN’T BE BLINDED, MOLLY!” and the beast unleashes a blast of tidal waters from its throat.

Time freezes for a spilt of a split of a second. Molly thinks – Shit, this is exactly like the last time I used a Blood Maledict.– and then the water that most certainly was meant to hit them head on like a crushing geyser… misses by about ten feet and the water slams into the wall of magical ocean to their left, bursting and frothing up against the arcane barrier and flooding the ground behind them in a massive arc up the Demali road. The water is freezing cold as it rushes back downhill, soaking Molly up to his knees and nearly knocking Nott from her footing.

The dragon is shrieking and clawing at its face. It hits the earth behind them on all fours, roaring, “WHERE ARE YOU?!” It thrashes its head, spitting water and screaming, “YOU MEWLING IMP! I’LL KILL YOU! I’ll KILL YOU!”

“I’ll be damned,” Nott hisses, then grabs Molly and starts hauling him fast back toward the shore. “Run, run, run! If it gets close, it will definitely see us! You lucky fucking bastard I can’t believe that worked!”

And they sprint like hell away.

“Where’s is Caduceus!?” Molly yells as they run.

“That godsdamned dragon attacked him while we were sleeping!” Nott, Molly notices, sounds like she’s in tears. “We had to stabilize him before coming after you. I don’t know if he’ll be able to help us!”

Behind them they can hear the monster still roaring and cursing Molly in a slew of Draconic and Common.

Then there’s a thunder clap. A flash of blue light ignites the air around them. Molly’s pulse skips and he spins just in time to see Yasha erupting from the sea wall like dark screaming meteorite and slam into the dragon’s ribs. She’s yelling. Her voice echoes down the road, blood-chilling and psychotic, as she impacts and drives her sword over and over and over into the dragon’s flank like an assassin with a dagger except it’s a longsword composed of black metal and lightning.

Suddenly the phrase, ‘I’ve killed dragons before’takes on more meaning as a singular solo action.

The dragon is screaming and rearing away from the hideous one-woman onslaught. Yasha gets in two more blows, goring a massive, gushing flap of muscle open under her blade before the great drake rears up, roaring, and bats Yasha off like a cat smacking a mouse. Yasha rockets to the ground, smashing into the it. Then, before she can move from the impact zone, the giant sea dragon darts forward…. and snaps its jaws down on her. Mollymauk’s world goes absolutely cold around him. The dragon rips its head back and forth like a Rottweiler with a hare, brutalizing and snarling, then it hurls Yasha’s broken form to the side of the road where it hits in a crumpled twist of necrotic wings and shredded armor.

There she lies still.

Molly is screaming before the deed is even done. “YASHA!”

Nott grabs his wrist top stop him the second he tries to run back.

“No! Wait, Molly! WAIT! She’s in a Battle Trance! She’ll be fine! Just –!”

“I don’t bloody believe you!” Molly cries.

Nott looks stricken for just a moment, then seems to accept that. She reloads. “Fine. Get behind me.” She kneels down in the road beside him and lines up another shot. “Yasha will get up. I promise.”

She fires twice and the both shots detonate across the dragon’s armored chest, one tearing more deeply into the wounds already inflicted by Yasha, blowing a fresh geyser of blood from the beast. But Molly isn’t looking at that. He’s looking at his friend who lies dead in the road, torn and broken, her skeletal wings bent like crushed origami in the mud, her arms limp and twisted around her. Molly registers despair as a rising ache inside him – new and different from all the dread and terror leading up until now.

“She’ll be okay,” Nott says again. “It’s okay, Molly. The cavalry is coming. I know it!”

Molly, confused, starts to say, “Who’s the caval–?”

And then Caduceus Clay materializes at Molly’s side.

Molly jumps. The cleric glances at him. His eyes are entirely composed of soft green light, burning like twin stares trapped in his skull. There is plant-life growing rapidly across his armor, moss and lichen spreading and flowering, thin ferns unfurling from chinks in the plate armor and spiraling up into his pale pink mane. He stops for just a moment to touch Mollymauk’s shoulder and Molly feels an infusion of warmth through him, a light sinking into his skin like sunshine into a flower. It inhabits him completely, like someone embracing every part of him at once and Molly can’t catch his breath.

“We’re not alone out here,” says Caduceus.

Then he turns his attention to the dragon, points his staff directly at the ground… and the earth erupts.

A shunt of living wood the length and thickness of a ship’s mast slams up through the massive ribcage, spearing and driving through with such force, the creature leaves the ground and is hung momentarily impaled by a rapidly growing cedar tree. It’s branches and canopy expand with unnatural speed within the chest cavity of the creature, threatening to crack the bowed bone structures out like a fist opening inside a corn husk.

“NO!” The dragon is screaming, writhing, still alive somehow. Blood sprays from its mouth, from its perforated ribs but still it screams, “NO NO NO!”

It seizes hold of the great tree beneath it in one massive claw and with an unfathomable brute strength, it tears the entire trunk into two splintery pieces. Caduceus flinches, like he felt the blow and the dragon falls to earth on four gargantuan legs. Bleeding, still speared by the head of the tree, its branches lodged inside its chest cavity, bone gleams bare along its flanks. It’s missing one arm, drooling blood and sea foam. Psychotic, pain-feverish eyes turn on the three of them in the road and its gaze seems to punch through Molly’s soul.

“The Leviathan,” it gargles, laughing, “will have you all.”

Caduceus throws out his free hand, palm out, and pink light gathers in his fingers. He whispers something and the word pulses through the ground like a tremor and instantly thousands of vines spiral up from the mud, spraying sand, and lash themselves around the dragon’s limbs. But the bulk of the beast is too enormous and it pulls free of them, begins to advance up the road toward them.

“The Sea will swallow you whole!”

“I’m out of artillery!” Nott fires two shots directly into the dragon’s armored head, briefly knocking its skull aside before it rears back, snarling. “Clay!? Any other word from Melora?!”

“I can do something,” Molly whispers. “I think… I think I can try something.”

“No, Molly!” Nott sounds terrified. “It’s a fucking dragon! You won’t get lucky again!”

Caduceus surprised, stares at the tiefling besides him even as an ancient dragon thunders down on them. “You’re much braver than I imagined you.” His soft firbolg features kind of wrinkle. Even possessed by divine fire, it makes him strangely young as he murmurs, “I’m sorry for all of this.”

The dragon is howling, “UK’OTOA WILL CONSUME THE WORLD!”

And Molly grips the swords, feels them sing through his palms, and easy as muscle memory he leans his shoulder back into some previously untouchable membrane, suddenly tangible against his skin. He pushes through it, like you shoulder aside a veil, and side-steps through into another dimension. Time hits him like a heavy velvet curtain, smacking into and enveloping him… then it slides off like silk and he stands free and alone. The world around burns and blurs gray and white, the edges of everything fuzzy and static – Caduceus frozen in the attitude of looking down at him, Nott crouched there in the muddy road with her weapon.

Molly turns, arcane winds rushing silent around him.

He can see the dragon. Black in the strange hyper-contrast of the realm around him, moving in slow motion, one claw raised in mid-stride, the mud spraying up around its massive footfall as it begins to spring forward at the cleric and gun-slinger before it. The world is silent, utterly soundless around him. But there’s a vibration in his skull and that vibration leave a hum inside him and the hum is telling him to move, move, move.

So he moves.

He darts down the road. The water on the road separates under his boots, sprays in real-time as he touches it, then slows as he passes from contact until a thirty-foot trail of frozen sole-shaped footprints are left in the slowed waters behind him. And Molly is sprinting. Lungs burning, fast as he can, the scimitars blazing white in his fists as he reaches the dragon, still hung over him and moving so slow it may as well be holding still and he knows by instinct he has just moments. Just seconds to do this thing.

He’s directly next to the dragon’s left foreleg, like a black tree trunk beside him and sure as he knows how, Mollymauk swings both scimitars one after another directly into the ankle and the blades cleave through like a butcher’s knife through beef. Blood sprays, slows, hangs in the air and Molly spins and swings again just one more time and this time the blow slams clear through…

… and the world snaps back into color and time.

The dragon’s forearm cracks in half instantly as their full weight comes down on the limb and Molly dives right just in time to narrowly avoid being crushed. The dragon hits the ground skidding on its chest, both forelegs dismembered and dragging bloody beneath it. Molly hears shrieking. Thunderous roars as he stumbles up, running toward the water wall as the road behind him is suddenly full of thrashing, screaming dragon. Maimed and howling. Molly shoves himself back again the sea wall, the ocean soaking his shirt from behind. The magic slides up his back, shivering on skin, but all he sees is the dragon.

Its tail lashes wildly, slamming into the earth near him, whipping and slicing through the water over his head, soaking Molly where he huddles, heart hammering in his throat while the giant creature surges unstoppably through its death throes. Molly knows it’s dying. He knows because he can see where the branches of the tree have rammed up through the dragon’s back, fully penetrating the chest when the beast fell forward, driving the stake fatally deeper with its own momentum.

“Molly!” Nott is yelling from somewhere, but he can’t see her. “Molly where are you!?”

He stays frozen, pressed against the water. Anticipating the random blow that will kill him, knock him again into that black void where no memory survives. Again the tail lashes near him and he cries out, closing his eyes.

“Molly?!”

“C’mon,” Molly whispers, to who he’s not sure, “C’mon. Give me a bloody break.”

He feels something slam into the ground nearby, the shards of rock spraying across his cheek. He hears the dragon choking, a horrible deafening sound like all the steam going out in a forge and the gargle of blood and sea water. He smells it. Smells the blood soaking his boots in the salt water. He’s past the adrenaline smooth rush where the chemical makes him instinct and on to the part where it leaves him shaking. He stands there, back against the sea, swords burning in his hand, just waiting stock still and whispering…

“Don’t you fucking dare. Don’t you bloody fucking…”

There’s silence. Silence.

Molly opens his eyes.

The dragon is dead. It’s laying there, still, a gleaming black and blue mountain of armor and bloody limbs. He can’t see its head from where he’s standing but the great dome of its flank is still – totally empty of breath. Molly stares. His heart hammers clean in his chest, keeps beating. And for a single, shining moment Molly’s just standing there with radiant fire in his fists, and there is something so fucking familiar, so goddamn innate about this that he knows it down to his veins that this body has stood over monsters before. Down to the blood in his veins he knowsthis…

… and then he feels the water displace at his back and before he can react, a soaking arm hooks around his waist and a hand cased in barnacles clamps over his windpipe... and Fjord says in his ear, “Don’t move.”

And pulls Molly back through a portal in the water.

“CAN YOU NOT?!” Molly is yelling before he’s even through the portal. The dimensions tear around him, a warping of reality that blinds him instantly and for a moment Molly feels his brain lock, unable to comprehend the quantum ripping around him and with a sudden violent jolt through every cell in his body, it ends. He comes to a stumbling stop, staggering, boots hitting solid ground as he jerks free the warlock gripping him. He spins away, bringing the still blazing scimitars up between them. “Stop fucking dragging me around! All of you! Bloody back off for a breath!”

“Molly,” Fjord starts to say, holding up two hands, palms spread toward him. “Molly. Listen to me.”

“No! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Molly looks wildly around, finds himself standing in… some kind of limitless space, water up to the ankles of his boots. The liquid beneath him shimmers like an oil with dark shifting reflections, seething shapes mirrored in an iridescent infinity on all sides of him. A horizon-less dark extends forever in all directions and the only point of distance at all, is Fjord, standing in front of him. There is nothing but the watery dark, Molly, and Fjord who is begging him, softly:

“Please listen.”

“Stay away from me. Why did you bring me here?”

“I tried to warn you. Godsdammit, I tried. I have a minute here.”

Molly backs away, swords still up. “No. No bloody way. You don’t get to do this too. You don’t get to sweep in at the last second like a fucking –!” Molly sputters, panic and rage stealing all coherence for an instant. “What’s the matter with you? What happened? What did you do?”

“I made it too powerful, Molly. It came through the dimensions and it was gonna consume my home. I had to do something. I said it could have me if it would just stop.” Fjord laughs, but it’s a ragged exhausted sound. “How long has it been since it took me? Do you know, Mollymauk?”

“A… a few years I think.”

“Really?”

“The others tried to rescue you.”

“I know. Have you seen Jester?”

“No.” Molly swallows. “No one has.”

Fjord nods, his eyes drifting shut, like hearing it is a relief he’d been waiting on. “Good,” he murmurs. “Good, okay.” He opens his eyes again, manages this lopsided kind of grin, almost rueful. “It’s really good to see you, Molly. You know that? I just… I honestly can’t believe you’re really here.” The smile vanishes. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this is how we meet again.”

Molly hedges a moment. “We’re still friends, right, Fjord?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth.”

Molly feels bile bite the back of his throat. “How long do you have?” He’s shivering. “How long before your patron comes?”

“Only for a minute more. Molly, I’m sorry. You died ‘cause y’all trusted me to look out for you and I didn’t. I tried to do better after that. Thought I did. Saved the world and all that but now…”

Molly lowers his voice. “I’m glad my death was a such a learning experience for all of you.”

“I don’t mean it that way.”

“Fjord,” Molly whispers, “why did you bring me here?”

“I can’t bargain with him anymore. I don’t have anything left to give,” Fjord says. “He wants you.”

Molly’s guts clench like there’s a fist in them. “What does that mean?”

“Just don’t… don’t fight it, Molly.” Fjord’s eyes glow yellow. “I’m so sorry.”

Molly backs away, a red ache opening through him and the ache is dread, so familiar to him now it feels like he’s never been without it. “Fjord?” He gets no response, raises his voice, desperation in his throat like an Infernal reverb. “Fjord! Don’t—!”

Then thing that’s living in Fjord looks at him.

The gaze cuts through Mollymauk like a blow. It cleaves through his head like red iron through ice, tunneling a burning hole in his psyche and Molly screams because there is literally nothing else he can do. Every muscle in his body goes taut and he nearly bites his tongue in half as an immediate grand mal seizure tears through him, but he’s horribly somehow still on his feet, standing there while his body goes into a series of agonizing convulsions. He drops his weapons and they extinguish.

There’s nothing except the pain. The grind of his teeth, his every muscle cramping so tight it’s like they’ going to snap like violin wire across his skeleton. It hurts. His hands are locked at his sides, fingers curled into helpless claws as his spine bends backward, his eyes rolling in his skull until he can’t see anything. He’s just… stuck there. Somewhere between dying and not-dying and he can’t even fall down. He can’t scream or speak anymore. There’s just dark and heat and the muffled sound of his voice trapped in his throat.

He barely feels it when Fjord’s hand settles around his windpipe and at the back of his head.

“Gods I’m sorry,” Fjord says, his voice hollow with horror. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Don’t come back, Molly. He’ll keep doing this if you don’t. Just go.”

Fuck you, Molly thinks. Fuck you, I don’t know how this works, gods dammit–

Fjord snaps his neck.

go to part 7

#critical role #the mighty nein #mollymauk tealeaf #mollymauk #caduceus clay #cr2 #long post

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