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her-satanic-wiles · 6 months

Text

Day 31 - Halloween

Monster Fucking, Ghost!Papa Emeritus III x Plus Size!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 14.2k.

Warnings: Teratophilia/monster fucking; graphic depictions of blood; graphic depictions of death; graphic depictions of beheading; detailed grief; major character death; death of a loved one; haunting; public sex; teasing; fingering; vaginal fingering; not actual dubcon, but dubcon elements (a character’s hand gets grabbed and squeezed during a scene, but the character has no idea what’s going on); groping; nipple play; public cunnilingus; squirting; hurt/comfort; partner worship; praise kink; vaginal sex; piv; possessive Terzo; implied depression;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog @saturnhas82moons @starscream-squarepants

Author's Note: Hello, lovely!

I just wanted to take this time to thank you profusely for your support every day this entire month. It has honestly meant the world to me that you're taking the time out of your day and enjoying my content.

I wanted to give an extra shout-out and super thanks to @da-rulah for not only beta reading a bunch of my fics and making sure you could understand my droning, but also giving me inspiration when I needed it and helping me workshop ideas on days when the list just wasn't working out for me.

Also major thank you to @copias-sewer-rat and @sodoswitchimage for constantly being in my replies and reblogging the fics and just generally being gorgeous people. I appreciate you two so much for consistently hyping up the fics.

One final thing before I let you enjoy this final piece, I just wanted to double check that you've read the trigger warnings and are comfortable enough to proceed. This is dark fiction, horror based with graphic depictions of poor mental health and physical violence, and I want to make sure that you're aware of this before you go ahead. As this is dark fiction, I will be rating it 21+, so I kindly ask you to respect this rating.

Thank you so much,

Mel

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You sat in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of your shattered world. Your body was cloaked in his clothes, his suit jacket that he’d intended to send down to laundry hanging off your body. His scent lingered on the fibres, comforting you even if it was just momentarily, and his Grucifix hanging from your neck and resting against your soft breasts, a small weighted comfort that you couldn’t liken to his touch - it was too cold.

The suffocating weight of grief consumed you, its tendrils winding around your every thought and breath. The image of his lifeless body, his head cruelly severed from his shoulders by the unforgiving hand of the Ministry’s authority, replayed relentlessly in your mind, tormenting you with its vivid brutality. The look in his lifeless eyes haunting you to this day every time you closed yours. The feeling of Cardinal Copia’s hands on your body, trying to shield you from the horror you were never meant to see. The sound of Imperator’s voice claiming pity for the fallen Papa as she stepped away from his pooling blood so her shoes wouldn’t soil. Her hearty tone of congratulations aimed at her estranged son, while you wept on the floor, reaching out for Terzo’s lifeless body.

With trembling hands, you reached for the Ouija board, the only thing you had left to reach Terzo. The board felt cool and smooth under your fingertips, its letters and numbers arranged in a circle, an eerie portal to the unknown. You had heard the whispers, the warnings about meddling with forces beyond your understanding, but your need to speak to him, to find any sliver of solace in this maelstrom of despair, drowned out the cautious voice within.

The room fell silent as you placed your fingertips on the planchette, your breath caught in your throat and mind silencing itself in order to fully focus on the task at hand. You closed your eyes, trying to summon the fragments of his memory, his voice, his touch, anything that could guide your hand. Your voice, shaky and grief-laden, calling out to him in the abyss. Your soul was crying, begging, screaming for anything from him, nursing a heart that broke further with every second that passed, every second that he didn’t make his presence known to you. Tears began to well in your eyes, the hopelessness overwhelming your senses. “Terzo, please!” You begged to the open air, eyes pointed skywards even though you knew Heaven wasn’t his final destination. “Come back to me.”

A sense of unease crept over you, the air thickening with an unseen presence that seemed to seep through the cracks of your fragile reality. The planchette shuddered under your touch, then began to move, its deliberate motion spelling out words that echoed like whispers from a distant, forbidden realm. The tears you were shedding as the planchette moved froze alongside your blood, as your eyes focussed on the board in front of you, unbelieving it was actually moving.

Your heart quickened as the letters formed a message, disjointed and cryptic, a reflection of a presence that both frightened and thrilled you. The room grew colder, shadows dancing along the walls, and you felt a chilling breath on the nape of your neck, as if unseen eyes were watching you from the darkest corners. Despite the mounting terror, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go, to sever this ethereal connection with the one you loved.

A sudden gust of wind extinguished the lone candle, plunging you into absolute darkness. Panic surged through your veins, but even in this black void, the planchette continued to move, etching out words that seemed to emanate from a place beyond the realm of the living. It was then you’d realised that in your panic, your hands had left the planchette, breaking your physical connection to the board, and yet it was moving now of its own accord; spelling out messages to you that were shrouded in darkness. The darkness hid the messages from you, but the deafening silence made sure you could hear every single scrape of the wood against the board.

The room seemed to pulse with a palpable energy, a presence that surrounded you, enveloping you in a web of otherworldly sensations. You realized, with a dawning sense of dread, that this connection you had forged was not just a bridge to the afterlife, but a gateway to something far more sinister, a realm where the line between the living and the dead blurred into an indistinguishable haze of terror and despair.

“I close the bridge!” You shouted, your voice trembling with fear. “I close the bridge. Goodbye.”

You forced the planchette to the goodbye in the bottom corner and ran for the lights. Your fingers fumbled in the darkness, searching desperately for the light switch. When your trembling hand finally found it, you flicked it on, and the room was once again bathed in an artificial glow. You squinted, your eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness, and as the shadows receded, you realized there was nothing else in the room. Only you, surrounded by empty walls that seemed to close in on you, suffocating your already fragile spirit. But your eyes fell upon the board, the planchette still sat atop “goodbye” as though nothing was wrong - as if your feelings of dread were unfounded and childish, as if it was taunting you.

A sense of profound isolation settled over you, deeper than anything you had ever felt before. The stark emptiness of the room now felt like a reflection of the void within your own being, the absence of your beloved Terzo amplifying the desolation that threatened to engulf you. There was a hollowness that echoed through the air, a palpable absence that seemed to seep into your very bones, reminding you that you were utterly alone in your torment.

A sudden chill swept through the room, the hairs on your arms standing on end, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something lingered in the shadows, something that watched and waited, biding its time. The light, once a source of reassurance, now seemed feeble, unable to dispel the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow you whole. It was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted, revealing a sinister undercurrent that had always been there, just beyond the reach of your perception.

You realized then, in the harsh glare of the light, that the Ouija board had not brought you solace, but had opened a door to a darkness that threatened to swallow you whole; and as you stood there, surrounded by the emptiness of the room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had invited something insidious into your life, something that hungered for more than just a fleeting connection with the world of the living.

In the subsequent days, the unsettling occurrences began to multiply, each one chipping away at the fragile facade of your sanity. Objects would shift from their original places, relocating themselves without any logical explanation. A book left on the table would inexplicably appear on the shelf, a photograph moved from the mantle to the bedside table. You knew you hadn’t done it, yet there was no one else in the confines of your home within the Ministry walls.

The air itself seemed to thicken with an otherworldly presence, a feeling that someone, or something, was always lurking just out of sight, watching your every move. Whispers, barely audible at first, began to weave through the stillness of the apartment that didn’t resemble your roommates in the slightest, indistinct murmurs that insinuated themselves into your thoughts, sowing seeds of doubt and fear. You strained to catch the words, but they remained just beyond the reach of comprehension, leaving you with a deep sense of foreboding.

Footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, faint but unmistakable, as if someone were pacing just beyond your line of vision. You would hear them in the dead of night, when sleep eluded you, or in the quiet hours of the morning when the world outside was cloaked in silence. Your heart would race as you threw back the covers, expecting to catch a glimpse of an intruder, but there was never anyone there, only the lingering echo of something that defied rational explanation.

Taps, like a Morse code from an unseen sender, would break the silence, their rhythmic pattern reverberating through the walls. They came at odd hours, disrupting the stillness, a persistent reminder that you were not alone, that there was an entity that defied the boundaries of the physical world, teasing and toying with your senses. You would rush to investigate, your pulse thundering in your ears, only to find empty rooms, devoid of life, devoid of any explanation for the inexplicable phenomena that haunted your waking hours.

As the days bled into nights, and the nights stretched into an endless cycle of unease, you found yourself teetering on the precipice of reason, questioning the very fabric of reality. The once-familiar spaces of your home had become a labyrinth of uncertainty, each creak, each whisper, a reminder that something beyond comprehension had taken root in your life, and it showed no signs of relenting.

One night, as the moon cast its pale glow through the window, you woke with a start, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. Your gaze fell upon the figure standing at the foot of your bed, shrouded in shadows, yet unmistakably possessing the same contours, the same silhouette as your beloved Terzo. Your heart quickened with a surge of hope and desperation, but as your vision adjusted to the dim light, a sinking dread replaced the initial flicker of relief.

The figure exuded an aura of malevolence, an energy that seemed to twist and contort the familiar features into something twisted and sinister. The shape resembled Terzo, yet its essence felt foreign, an imposter donning the guise of your lost love, a specter that mocked the memory of the one you held dear. There was no distinctive features on his face - simply just a shadow of him watching you as you slept.

A sense of primal fear rooted you to the bed, rendering you incapable of movement, your voice trapped in your throat, stifled by the weight of the moment. You tried to convince yourself that it was a trick of the shadows, a manifestation of your own grief-stricken mind, but the palpable presence before you defied any rational explanation. It was as if a malevolent force had seized upon your deepest longing, your most profound sorrow, to manifest itself in the form of a distorted, twisted version of the one you yearned for.

As the figure lingered there, its gaze boring into your very soul, you sensed a wave of darkness emanating from it, tendrils of a presence that seemed to seep into the fabric of your being, infecting you with a terror that transcended the physical realm. The air grew colder, the room suffused with an oppressive weight that threatened to suffocate you, and you realized with a shudder that this entity, this phantom masquerading as Terzo, harbored intentions far more sinister than mere visitation.

You dared not speak, dared not move, as the figure loomed over you, its form shifting subtly, as if it reveled in your fear. It was a twisted reflection of the one you loved, a corrupted specter that had breached the boundaries of the afterlife, determined to torment you in ways that transcended the limits of mortal comprehension.

Despite every instinct screaming for you to remain still, to avoid provoking the sinister apparition, you couldn’t resist the primal urge to banish the darkness that threatened to consume you. With trembling hands, you fumbled for the switch, and as the room flooded with light, the menacing shadow dissipated like smoke in the wind, leaving behind only the faint echo of its chilling presence. Relief mingled with lingering dread, as you realized that the source of the terror was not just the unknown, but a darkness that dwelled within, a darkness that threatened to devour you whole.

You arrived to work the next morning, throwing yourself down on your chair in the office you shared with the new head of the church. Your body was exhausted beyond belief. Your lack of sleep had caught up with you, manifesting itself as dark circles around your eyes. Cardinal Copia looked at you, faux concern in his mismatched eyes, those very eyes boring into your soul to try and figure out the sickness plaguing you. “Is everything okay, Sorella?” He asked, his voice cautious.

The way you looked at him was deadly: the very epitome of ‘if looks could kill’. His presence was a stark reminder of the night that had claimed Terzo’s life, a cruel twist of fate that elevated this thing to a position that rightfully belonged to your beloved. The clutch of animosity wound tightly around your heart, each beat a reminder of the seething hatred that consumed you, wishing that it was him, not Terzo, who had met a gruesome end.

You forced yourself to endure his presence, the facade of civility barely concealing the churning storm of resentment that raged within. Every word, every gesture from him was a reminder of the irreparable loss, a wound that time could not heal. And as you bore the burden of his company, you couldn’t help but silently wish for a reversal of fates, for the one who was truly deserving of a fate so dire to be the one occupying the space that he callously usurped.

You sought comfort in his arms when you found Terzo’s blood spilling from his neck for no other reason than he was the closest person to you. You remember how long you rotted in your bed for after Terzo’s death. How you would sell your soul to any willing customer if it meant Terzo could come back and hold you in his strong, capable arms just one more time. If it meant you could get a proper goodbye.

The rage you felt when you had finally finished rotting was terrifying. It was if your body had been set ablaze by the very fires of Hell that had taken your beloved from you. For the first time in two weeks, you left your bed and stormed to Imperator’s door, intending on introducing her to the world of pain that she’d thrown you into. Luckily for her, she wasn’t there. But her office was.

The rage that had been simmering within you for so long finally erupted, surging through your veins like a torrential wave. You couldn’t contain the flood of emotions any longer, the injustice, the sorrow, the burning desire for retribution all gathering into an overwhelming, burning, red-hot inferno that propelled you into action. Without a second thought, you stormed into his Imperator’s office, the bitch who had been instrumental in orchestrating the events that led to Terzo’s tragic end.

You overturned her meticulously arranged desk, the clatter of papers and office supplies a symphony of your fury. The framed photographs that adorned her shelves met the same fate, crashing to the floor in a cacophony of shattered glass and splintered frames. You spared nothing in your path, fueled by a primal need to lash out at the source of your suffering, to make them feel even a fraction of the pain that had consumed you since that fateful day.

The very act of desecration, of defiling a space that represented the sanctity of another’s life, only served to stoke the flames of your vengeful rampage. You tore through the room with a fervor that bordered on madness, each item, each trinket, each cherished memory of a life you would never get back meeting a violent end at your hands. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the visceral release of the anguish that had festered within you, and you were determined to leave nothing unscathed in your wake.

Your punishment: removal from your job at the Ministry’s beautiful library and thrown into Copia’s cramped office space as his only personal assistant. As if she couldn’t twist the knife any further.

If Copia was the one who benefited from Terzo’s death, his sick and twisted mother was the one who orchestrated it with his waste-of-space father trailing behind like an ancient, lost child. Sister Imperatrix of the Ministry with the power of a Prime Mover - no - the power of a Papa. Ordering the execution of the only light in your world and the result was now sitting there in ridiculous paints reminiscent of a rat’s skull, in Papal robes that were magically whipped up in the short time between Terzo’s death and Copia’s concave where all cardinals voted for him with an overwhelming majority. You wondered how many strings Imperator had to pull in order to get her pathetic son into the top spot.

“Everything is fine.” You responded, curtly. You didn’t want to give him the time of day, especially now that you were severely sleep deprived.

“Is something bothering you?”

Your eyes that had finally drifted from his face turned back to his, head turning slowly as if to ask him if he was serious. The look on his face told you that he was. “I said I’m fine.”

“That’s no way to speak to the head of our church, is it, Sorella?” A woman’s voice asked from the door. Imperator.

You saw red. “Oh I can get much, much worse.” You stood from your desk, raging eyes fixated on the face you were so desperate to rearrange. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Copia stood, too. He rushed to your side and put his hands on your shoulders. “S-Sorella, please. Calm down.”

You shook him off. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“Ghouls!” Imperator shouted.

“No, Sorella, please! She’s still grieving.” Copia pleaded. “Leave her be.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!” You shouted. “How dare you stand there barking orders when this was never meant to be your position in the first place!?”

You saw two Ghouls enter from the second room, one of them belonged to Terzo. The bastard even took one of his Ghouls! The other one was new, fresh out of training.

Imperator, “Escort Sorella ____ to-”

Copia interjected. “The library! I… I have a l-list of books for you to get for me, Sorella.” He rummaged through the drawer of his desk frantically looking for a small piece of paper with his list. He handed it to you, almost flinching at your gaze, but his eyes were pleading with you to obey. “Please, Sorella. It’s urgent.”

You snatched the piece of paper out of his hand and sighed sharply. “Fine.” You stormed passed him and headed straight for Imperator, barging passed her and smacking your shoulder against hers. “Move.” You snapped, before slamming Copia’s office door.

The library breathed with an eerie stillness that seemed to whisper of secrets long forgotten. As you stepped through the labyrinth of towering bookshelves, the soft shuffle of your footsteps echoed like a solemn requiem, the silence wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. A sense of foreboding settled in your bones, each creak of the floorboards beneath your feet a sinister murmur that taunted your senses. The subtle flicker of the overhead lights cast grotesque shadows along the rows of books, distorting the familiar into monstrous silhouettes that seemed to leer at you from the corners of your vision.

Amidst the oppressive silence, a faint murmur began to weave through the air, distant whispers that curled and twisted like wisps of smoke, reaching out from the fringes of your perception. You strained to discern the words, but they remained just beyond the threshold of your understanding, an indistinct sound that hinted at a presence lingering just beyond the realm of the living. Your heart quickened, a drumbeat of mounting apprehension, as you tried to dismiss the inexplicable sounds as mere figments of an overactive imagination. But as you continued to gather the books, the whispering seemed to grow more insistent, more insidious, as if the very walls of the library were conspiring to confound your senses.

A chill slithered down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you became acutely aware of a gaze fixed upon you, unseen yet palpable, like a weight pressing down from above. You turned, your breath catching in your throat, and there, mere inches away, stood the ghostly apparition of Terzo. His form wavered in the dim light, a translucent specter suspended between the worlds of the living and the dead. His eyes, hollow sockets that seemed to bore into the depths of your soul, emanated a sorrow so profound it threatened to swallow you whole. A blood-curdling scream tore from your lips, reverberating through the library’s cavernous expanse, as the books slipped from your grasp, their clattering descent a discordant symphony to the nightmarish encounter that had shattered the illusion of normalcy, plunging you into the unrelenting grip of a horror that defied reason and reality. You fell to the floor yourself, staring up in horror at the sight.

In that fleeting moment, the veil of horror that had enveloped the encounter seemed to unravel, revealing a facade that had concealed a prank orchestrated by the mischievous spirit. The shadows that had loomed large in the corners of the room now appeared benign, mere illusions conjured by Terzo’s playful spirit. The whispers that had chilled your spine with their ghostly murmurings now sounded like echoes of a shared joke, a spectral trickster reveling in the intricacies of his spectral jest.

You sat there, shaken and bewildered, as the ghostly apparition of your beloved Terzo exuded an air of lighthearted amusement, the weight of the previous horrors lifting with each flicker of his ghostly form. His eyes, once filled with a haunting sorrow, now sparkled with an impish delight that hinted at the lingering essence of his vibrant personality. It was as if he had found a way to bridge the gap between the worlds, to offer you a glimpse of his enduring spirit, and he used it to fuck with you.

“Sorella!” A voice sounded behind you, making you turn to look at the Sibling, looking on at you in concern. They reached out to you. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I-I’m fine, thank you. I just-” You turned to look at where Terzo was standing to find that he’d disappeared again. “Lost my balance. Heavy books and all.”

“Here, let’s get you up.” The sibling pulled you to your feet and helped straighten your habit, before bending to pick up your books for you. You didn’t recognise them from when you worked here, they must have been your replacement. All the while, you stood there, dumbfounded by your encounter with Terzo’s apparition, apprehensive to fully believe what you’d just seen. It must be the grief causing you to hallucinate.

“Are you okay?” They asked once they saw the look on your face. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just having trouble sleeping, is all. Thanks.” You took the pile of books off them and went to walk away.

“Listen, people talk… and they’re talking a lot about you, these days. The other librarians - well, they filled me in on what I missed before I was hired here. I remember seeing your face every time I came in here and, well, wondered where you went. They told me everything. I… I’m sorry to hear about Papa Terzo. It hurt us all to hear of his passing, but you were much closer to him than the rest of us.”

“I don’t want to be rude, but I really need to get these back to the Cardinal.”

They nodded. “Just, if you need a friend, I’m always about and available for a listen. And we have loads of books on grief… if you need them.”

You nodded awkwardly. The relationship you shared with Terzo was particularly unusual for a Sibling of Sin and a Papa, especially when that Sibling wasn’t the Papa’s Prime Mover. You cast your mind back to the very start of your relationship, how you instantly became famous for being Terzo’s favourite whore: the one to lock down the fuck boy. Now you were his grieving widow in the eyes of the Ministry, and their looks of pity as you passed them in the corridor didn’t escape you. Nor did their sad, little whispers commenting on your demeanor, or appearance. Though this Sibling seemed kind, there was no doubt in your mind that you’d be unable to trust them as far as you could throw them. Confide in them and your business would be all round the Ministry by tea time. Instead, you thanked them for their kindness, gathered the remainder of your books and threw them on Copia’s desk, announcing to him that you’d be taking the rest of the day off. Any protests he had died on his tongue before he had the chance to utter the words. Despite his authority over the church now, he was still as cowardly as he used to be.

As you stepped through the threshold of your home, the faintest hint of Terzo’s cologne wafted through the air, infusing the space with a familiar warmth that enveloped you like a long-awaited embrace. The fragrance, a delicate blend of musk, cedar, and coffee, carried with it a sense of comfort, a poignant reminder of the one you had loved and lost. It wrapped around you like a soothing blanket, dispelling the remnants of fear and uncertainty that had clung to you since the spectral encounter at the library.

Each inhalation brought forth a flood of memories, of moments shared and cherished, of laughter and tenderness that lingered in the very fabric of your being. It was as if Terzo’s essence had found its way back to you, a gentle presence that sought to reassure you, to offer solace in the wake of the day’s unsettling events. The scent, once a haunting reminder of his absence. Tears welled in your eyes the moment the door closed, and you collapsed onto the floor, sobbing into your hands until a headache formed. Exhausted and emotionally spent, you eventually fell into a fitful sleep right there, at the entrance of your home, the cold floor beneath you a stark reminder of the emptiness that now pervaded your life.

As you stirred back to consciousness, the darkness that surrounded you seemed to press in closer, enveloping you in a shroud of impenetrable blackness. You had no idea how long you’d been asleep for, but you recognised the familiar ache in your back from hours spent in an uncomfortable position, and the moonlight shining through the window gave you an indication. You’d been dead to the world for a while. Despite the ache, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, remaining parallel to the floor in your misery.

A sense of palpable presence lingered in the room, an intangible weight that settled upon your consciousness, evoking a feeling of being watched, yet not with the malevolence that had haunted your previous encounters. Instead, it carried an air of quiet companionship, a spectral reassurance that you were not alone in your moment of vulnerability.

Though the shadows obscured the source of the presence, you felt an inexplicable warmth, a gentle energy that seemed to radiate from the very air around you. It was as if a benevolent spirit had taken residence in the room, offering a silent solace in the wake of your ceaseless mourning. In the stillness of the night, you found a strange comfort in the notion that Terzo’s spirit, in whatever form it had taken, lingered close, a silent guardian watching over you in the darkest hours of your grief.

The weight of the encounter at the library and the haunting scent of his cologne now seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of peace that settled within the quiet space between heartbeats. It was a moment of communion with the unknown, a shared understanding that transcended the limitations of the mortal realm, offering a glimmer of solace in the infinite expanse of your sorrow.

In the stillness of the night, with the enigmatic presence as your silent witness, you allowed yourself to surrender to the gentle embrace of sleep once more, secure in the knowledge that even in the absence of the tangible, the spirit of Terzo would continue to watch over you, a silent sentinel standing guard over the shattered fragments of your grieving heart.

The sensation of a gentle touch, a warm pressure on your shoulder, stirred your emotions back up, more tears beginning to form in your eyes. In the darkness, you could almost see Terzo sitting beside you, his presence a soothing balm to the ache that had settled deep within your soul. His hand, though insubstantial, carried with it an unmistakable tenderness, a gesture of comfort that transcended the confines of the physical world.

That hand travelled from your shoulder, tickling your bicep and holding onto your hip as he so often did when you lay in bed together, naked and exhausted from a night full of passion. His scent, as it did then, enveloped you entirely now. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. “Why did you scare me?” You asked.

As the gentle spectral touch of Terzo’s hand gradually dissipated, a newfound sense of courage welled within you, buoyed by the lingering reassurance of his presence. The memory of the Ouija board, once a source of trepidation in the wake of recent spectral encounters, now resurfaced with a renewed sense of purpose. Though the thought of delving into the ethereal realm had initially filled you with a sense of dread, you now felt a resolute determination to connect with Terzo once more, to bridge the gap between the living and the departed in a bid to seek solace and understanding.

With a steady resolve, you retrieved the Ouija board from its place, the weight of its wooden surface a tangible reminder of the mysteries that lay beyond the veil of the known world. You positioned it before you, the letters and numbers now aglow with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. The planchette, a conduit to the realm of spirits, beckoned to you, and you placed your fingertips upon its smooth surface, ready to invite Terzo’s spirit into the sacred space between the living and the dead.

The room seemed to hum with a quiet energy, the air charged with an anticipation that transcended the physical realm. You closed your eyes, allowing your thoughts to coalesce around the memory of Terzo, your love for him pulsing through every fiber of your being. With each deliberate movement of the planchette, you sought to establish a connection, to bridge the gap that separated you, to invite his spirit to commune with you once more. In the hushed stillness of the night, you whispered his name, the sound carrying on the breath of a fervent prayer, a fervent plea to transcend the boundaries of mortality and find a semblance of peace in the communion of spirits. You lit candles, and called out to him.“Terzo?”

Anticipation coursed through you as the planchette stirred beneath your fingertips, its smooth surface gliding across the letters etched onto the Ouija board. The movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if guided by an unseen force that resonated with the very essence of Terzo’s spirit. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering with a mixture of trepidation and awe, as the planchette continued its mysterious journey across the board.

Yes.

“Is this actually you?”

More movement, only to bring you back to the same word: Yes.

“If this is you, then tell me something only you would know. When did you first realise you loved me?”

O-B-S-E-R-V-A-T-O-R-Y.

The Ministry prided itself on knowledge and spared no expense when it was being built all those millennia ago. The library itself was a stunning space, and one of your favourite locations to be in, but the observatory was next level. The room was circular and made of white marble, with Italian columns spaced equidistant between the large wall high windows. There was a short ledge between the walls and the perfectly domed glass ceiling for structural reasons, but that was also covered in long, rectangular windows so more light could get in. There was an arched door on the other end of the room that led out to the balcony, which allowed for complete unobstructed stargazing if one so wished. On the other side of the room, right near the entrance was a white, leather, curved sofa that extended the length of the wall, with desks on wheels that allowed for extra work space.

Terzo caught you during one of your shifts, laying on the wooden ground with your ankles crossed and your hands resting on your stomach. A pillow was beneath you head yet your eyes were open. You were taking a break and had come to bask in the sunset. He’d opened the door quietly so as not to disturb you and continued to watch you for a few more seconds before he spoke. “Ah, Sorella. We don’t pay you to sleep on the job.” Because of how empty the room was, his voice echoed a little giving it more power than he intended.

The sound of his voice scared you and you sat up sharply, turning your head quickly before you locked eyes with him. There was panic reflected there, like you’d been caught misbehaving by Satan himself - but you’d essentially been caught by your boss’ boss’ boss slacking. You stood quickly. “I’m so sorry, Papa! I was just taking a quick break.”

He laughed at you, not cruelly, just because you were cute. “Va bene. You looked like you were having a great time, sì?”

“Sì.”

“Dimmi i tuoi pensieri.”

“Hm?”

He chuckled softly. “The Italian lessons are going well, I see.”

“I start tomorrow.”

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You sighed and looked back at the sunset, but he continued looking at you. “Just having one of those moments where you stop and take stock and appreciate what you have. Italian sunsets are something else, aren’t they?”

No words were needed at this moment, just a soft noise of agreement. He hadn’t realised how quiet the room was until you looked back at him, and your eyes met. In the light of the sunset you were truly breathtaking. He shook his head and took a small step away from you, pulling himself out of whatever spell you’d bewitched him with. But it didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, he was falling head over heels in love with you.

It really was him. A sense of frustration washed over you. “Why the fuck did you scare me like that?”

F-U-N-N-Y.

“Fuck you!”

S-U-R-E.

You rolled your eyes. This was a typical Terzo conversation, and usually it would end with him on your body, or as he would prefer, inside it. “Nice try, dipshit. You’re dead. That wouldn’t work.” Your final sentence took on a sombre tone, your excitement washing away and replacing it with sadness. Your brain had forgotten that little detail all too quickly, and the reality was about to come crashing down around you. The sound of the planchette moving distracted you, temporarily at least.

W-A-I-T.

“Wait? Wait for what?”

Nothing.

“Terzo? Wait for what?”

You waited for a little while longer, trying desperately to regain the connection you just had with him, but it had vanished. Terzo had disappeared.

In fact, he remained gone for three days. There was nothing. No cruel jumpscares, no smells, no sounds, no touches. Not a single thing from him. You left the board out just in case he wanted to talk to you while you were at home, but the planchette only moved at your touch and not his. The cold shoulder hit you like a shock to your system. Finally, after weeks of being without him, you’d made contact with him. For days he’d been around you - even if it was at the expense of your sanity. And now all of a sudden there was nothing - it felt like you’d been thrown into ice cold water and left to fend for yourself.

But Terzo said wait. And so, wait you would.

This was your first Black Mass since Terzo’s execution, and so it felt weird sitting in the large chapel of the Ministry after so many weeks away. Of course, as you expected, all eyes were on you as soon as you walked in, the congregation whispering to each other to spread the news of your arrival like wildfire. In order to keep yourself as private as possible, you chose to sit in the back row, and as more and more Siblings and the Ghouls of previous Papas filed in, you realised they all didn’t want to sit beside you… the exception being Terzo’s Ghouls,who had also suffered a great loss.

Moss threw himself on the pew next to you, gripping onto your hand like a friend would. You weren’t sure if you could consider Terzo’s Ghouls your friends, but it was nice to have a familiar face. “It’s good to see you here today.” He said, softly.

You nodded. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t want to be here today. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to come back.”

“Small steps. Papa would hate for you to become a recluse.” He squeezed your hand in an attempt to comfort you further, and encourage you to keep this up. “This is already a huge step. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Moss.”

The entrance of the Clergy Officials, garbed in their varied black and red regalia, sent a ripple of apprehension through the congregation, marking the imminent commencement of the Mass. Everyone stood out of respect, but you and the other Ghouls remained seated in protest of the Clergy’s actions thus far. Stream had explained it to you a while ago: during the mourning period, they would remain seated. You observed with a simmering contempt as these figures, each a pillar of the dark hierarchy, took their seats, their presence casting a formal cloud over the gathered worshippers. Their eyes, shrouded by the dark recesses of their Cardinal makeup, seemed to linger with an unsettling scrutiny, as if they could discern the innermost secrets of those in attendance.

Following closely behind the officials, with an air of regal authority, came the figures you despised the most: Copia’s parents, Sister Imperator and the idiotic Papa Nihil. Their commanding presence exuded an aura of foreboding power, their very essence a testament to the malevolent legacy that had entrenched itself within the heart of the Church. The smirk etched across Sister Imperator’s face as her gaze met yours sent a chill down your spine, the shit-eating expression on her face threatening to engulf you in a suffocating shroud of dread. She was so sure she’d won whatever war she had fought; she was so sure she was invincible. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, a potent mixture of anger and indignation boiling within you, demanding release in the face of her insidious mockery. The weight of her disdainful gaze seemed to sear into your very soul, a silent reminder of the hierarchy of darkness that ruled over the congregation.

Beside you, Moss, sensing the uproar of emotions raging within you, placed a reassuring hand on your arm, his touch anchoring you to the present moment. His silent gesture of solidarity implored you to remain composed, to resist the urge to confront the Imperator, whose every calculated move seemed designed to provoke and unsettle.

And then, with a quick stride, Cardinal Copia entered the hall, his visage an unsettling blend of awkwardness and authority, as though he had to keep reminding himself of his position. As he ascended the dais to lead the congregation in the unholy proceedings, you felt a surge of revulsion, a potent mixture of hatred and disdain directed at the figure who now wielded power in the name of the malevolent forces that governed the realm of darkness, and his lineage who had taken a comfortable seat on the wooden pews of the front row.

Copia had always seemed somewhat pathetic to you, a character whose uncertainty and timidity had once been palpable, but it appeared that he had undergone a transformation of sorts, now imbued with a newfound confidence that emanated from his position as the leader of the dark congregation. He was introverted and not conventionally attractive, which meant many members of the Ministry had it out for him. Rumours about him spread like wildfire, and all of them were more unbelievable and cruel than the last. Before all of this, you refused to believe them, and couldn’t understand where they came from. But now? Now you’d believe them just to spite him. Given how much everyone loved Papa Terzo, no one could imagine him being deposed by… well… a Cardinal who didn’t really have any friends. He often stumbled over his words and spoke quietly, had terrible posture and a gaze that always lingered for moments too long. A wallflower tasked with taking command of a congregation. He never should have stood a chance, yet there he was, making speeches and reading texts, shunning Catholicism for its evils while he was speaking with the voice of hypocrisy.

The congregation, an eclectic mix of followers, now hung on Copia’s every, quiet, word, their devotion to the sinister doctrines palpable in the eerie silence that pervaded the hall. As he intoned incantations and recited dark liturgy, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease, a discomfort that mingled with your disdain for the man who had once been a mere annoyance but now held a position of dark power.

A shiver coursed down your spine as the sensation of a presence lingering behind you tugged at the edges of your awareness. With a mounting sense of anticipation, you slowly pivoted to steal a glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to find the spectral form of Terzo standing there, his gaze fixed upon you with a reassuring warmth. However, to your disquieting realization, there was no one there, no discernible figure or apparition to account for the palpable energy that seemed to permeate the very air around you.

As you turned back to face the front once more, you carried with you the unreal comfort of Terzo’s spiritual presence. The mysterious energy of the room seemed to shift, imbued with a faint glimmer of hope that defied the darkness that threatened to consume it. You felt the hairs on your body stand on end, electrified by the energy now surrounding you. A weight appeared on your shoulders, not too heavy to burden, but heavy enough to remind you that he was there. You felt feather light touches on your bicep as Terzo’s scent filled your mind and clouded your senses, soft grazes against the sensitive part of your neck - a favourite spot for Terzo when he was alive, he loved to hear you gasp.

The gasp that left your body at that moment was loud enough to disturb the people around you, causing them to turn and look at you in alarm or concern. You nodded and mouthed a silent apology to appease them, but Moss’ eyes still lingered. He said nothing, but you could see that a question was bubbling in his throat. Meanwhile, yours had the ghostly feeling of Terzo’s lips pressed against the skin, tormenting you in front of all the Siblings. This would usually be the part of the proceedings where he’d whisper sweet nothings in your ear, remind you that you needed to be silent or people would suspect something. But you knew him well enough to know he’d claim you in front of the entire congregation if he saw fit to do so. Lucifer, how you wished you could hear him right now.

The feeling on your bicep ended, only to be replaced by fingers pawing at your clothed clitoris, rubbing deftly over the fabric simply to torment you and tease you. You released another gasp, this time repressed enough to disturb only Moss, who was now staring at you intensely. Your toes pressed against the marble floor to keep yourself sitting upright as your thick thighs parted involuntarily, granting better access to Terzo’s phantasmal fingers. Terzo, of course, took advantage of this - you could almost feel the rumbling of his chest as he chuckled at you for being so desperate for him, during Mass no less.

The fabric of your panties never moved or shifted, visually it was as if nothing was wrong, but you felt Terzo’s fingers much more solidly on your clit, as if he’d moved the fabric to the side and was now making direct contact with the bundle of nerves, set alight for the first time in weeks. He applied more pressure with each circle he rubbed into your folds, before you felt his fingers dip inside you.

You were so wet and ready for him, and despite him beginning with two fingers, your body was feeling no pain. There was the familiar stretch that you loved, but none of the delicious bite that accompanied it. Your mouth fell open with the unbridled pleasure only his fingers could bring, with the way they tapped upwards immediately and hit against your g-spot in a way that almost had you screaming out loud if it wasn’t for your hands against your mouth, muffling your cries to absolute silence.

“Sister,” Moss whispered from beside you, “are you okay?”

You simply nodded in response, not trusting your voice to answer for you. The hand that wasn’t clasped against your mouth flew to Moss’ open hand and began to squeeze, searching for comfort. Your hips had shifted, pressing your covered clit against the wooden pew, gently rocking them back and forth and rubbing yourself against it for the extra stimulation. To Moss, it just looked like you were in pain. He didn’t see the way your nipples were erect and rubbing against the lace of your bra, and he certainly couldn’t hear the way your wet cunt was succumbing to Terzo’s fingers, ebbing you ever closer to an intense orgasm at the back of Black Mass, your fingernails digging into the meat of Moss’ hand.

Knowing that you hadn’t orgasmed in so long, and knowing what Terzo’s fingers were capable of, apparently even in death, you knew that what was building inside of you was going to explode at any given time, and it would overtake your entire body. You had to go. You had to leave before he made you cum.

“I h-have to g-go!” You whispered to Moss, straightening yourself up and quietly running out of the Church. In your haste to escape, you didn’t notice the way Moss and the other Ghouls were staring at you - and you certainly had no idea that Copia had witnessed your escape.

The sunlight glared onto your face as you made your getaway, looking around the courtyard frantically for shelter or somewhere you could cool off. Terzo’s fingers had retracted from your cunt, but you could still feel him on your body. He wasn’t finished with you yet. Ideally, you’d make your way back to your home and deal with this there, but as you stood outside trying to force your clouded brain to make a plan, you could feel Terzo’s body pressed against yours, his hands running all over your soft body, grabbing at you as he saw fit. He pulled at the fat of your hips, squeezed your pillowy breasts, rubbed your hidden nipples between his fingers as he groped you for his own pleasure -and perhaps yours. Your body felt like it was on fire wherever his touches landed.

You just let your feet carry you round the back of the Church to the quiet gardens. This would do - it would have to. You felt Terzo’s hands back on your body, pushing against your shoulders and pinning you against a nearby tree. You still couldn’t see him - you had no idea where he was or what he was planning as his hands disappeared. That was until you felt extra wetness press against your panties. His tongue. Oh, fuck, his tongue. It laved over the gusset of your panties, savouring the taste of your wetness and rubbing you over and over again. Your panties fit you perfectly, but in this moment, in this desperation with the feeling of Hellfire burning your entire body to a crisp, it felt like too much. They needed to be off of you; and so, in a frantic movement, you pulled them off your body and threw them somewhere onto the grass, leaning back against the tree and spreading yourself open for your spectral lover, who dove back into your folds like a man starved. He began roughly licking and sucking on your clit as your hips bucked wantonly against his ghostly face, providing you with as much stimulation as he could to get you to climax as quickly as possible. He seemed just as needy as you.

Your hands were itching to tangle in his locks, desperate to tug on the black strands and push his face into your cunt. You needed to ride his face and take what you needed from his tongue, but there was nothing to see - nothing to grab. You needed to grab something. So, you pulled your habit up over your breasts, exposing your voluptuous body to the elements and any lucky passerby, and pulled and tugged at your nipples through your bra, whining at the sensitivity. Your moans after that fell naturally, easily, just as they always did whenever Terzo was in-between your thighs.

“Fuck, Papa! Just like that. Please.” You begged to the air, pulling at yourself hard. “I’m so fucking close, Papa! Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Oh, fuck!”

You felt his mouth suction against you harder, the vibrations of an unheard growl shocking you and making you scream a little louder. It felt incredible to have his magical tongue lavish you in pleasure once more - almost intoxicating. You needed this. You needed him. You were so close. Just a little more - just a little longer.

Yes.

Yes!

With one final suck of his mouth on your clit, and a particularly hard tug from your fingers, your orgasm struck you, hitting you like a freight train and knocking the wind out of you. Your lungs burned with the need for oxygen, but your entire body cramped and froze as your orgasm took control, filling you with pleasure that started at your cunt and ran all the way through your body, nerve-endings screaming at the exertion, and cum oozing out of your cunt and running down your thighs as the majority of it flooded the ground and the tree’s exposed roots beneath you.

When your orgasm subsided, you were exhausted. It had been so long since you had one, let alone one of that strength. It was in the haze, you’d realised what had just happened. You realised that your cum was dripping down your legs and that your entire body was exposed. You realised that you were alone. How you’d kill to have Terzo’s arms wrapped around you right now, to tell you how good you’d been for him, to tell you how much he loved you as he always did when you were recovering from his onslaught. Before you had the chance to break down against the tree you’d just been pinned to, you picked up your panties from the grass and trudged all the way back across the Ministry’s grounds, knees like jelly, and threw yourself on your bed once you arrived home.

In the days that followed the unsettling encounter during the Black Mass, the memory of Terzo’s spectral presence lingered like a ghostly echo, a haunting reminder of the unbelievable nature of his existence beyond the realms of the living. His touch haunted you as though he was still there - the places his fingers and mouth had been still burned through to your soul, and had you touching yourself in the darkness of your room in an attempt to recreate that feeling. It didn’t matter how many times you orgasmed at the thought of him, how much your own fingers traced against your skin, it didn’t feel the same. It never did - even when he was alive and away on tour. The longing to see him, to feel the warmth of his touch, to hear the timbre of his voice, gnawed at the depths of your being, leaving an ache that seemed to seep into every crevice of your soul. The inability to bridge the gap between the real and the ethereal only served to magnify the sense of loss that pervaded your every waking moment, casting a shadow over even the most mundane of tasks.

Each passing day brought with it a relentless yearning, a longing that refused to be assuaged by the fleeting memories and spectral encounters that punctuated the fabric of your existence. The knowledge that Terzo’s spirit lingered just beyond the veil of perception served as a bittersweet solace, a faint glimmer of hope in the vast expanse of grief and longing that threatened to consume you whole. Yet, the inability to fully connect with his essence, to share in the tangible manifestations of his love and presence, left you feeling adrift in a world that seemed to have lost its vibrancy and meaning.

As you navigated the mundane rhythms of daily life, the ache of his absence remained a constant companion, a silent echo of a love that transcended the limitations of mortality. The void that Terzo’s departure had left in your life seemed to expand with each passing day, a cavernous emptiness that defied the passage of time and the distractions of the outside world. In the silence of your solitude, you grappled with the enigmatic nature of existence, with the elusive threads that connected the realms of the living and the dead, and with the unyielding longing for a connection that surpassed the boundaries of life and death. There must be something you could do…

The library welcomed you with its familiar hush as you stepped through its hallowed doors, seeking respite from the ceaseless agitation of your own thoughts. The soft rustle of pages turning and the faint murmur of distant conversations enveloped you, offering a semblance of comfort in the labyrinth of towering bookshelves that lined the expansive halls. With a determined resolve, you navigated the aisles, the scent of aging paper and polished wood a soothing balm to the turbulence that churned within your restless soul.

As you perused the countless volumes that adorned the shelves, your fingers traced the spines of books that promised insights into the enigmatic realms of the afterlife and the mysteries that veiled the boundaries between the living and the dead. You delved into the intricate narratives of spiritual encounters and spectral manifestations, each page offering a glimmer of understanding, a fragment of solace amidst the haunting echoes of your longing for Terzo’s presence.

Amidst the neatly organized rows of books, your fingers alighted upon a weathered tome that seemed to emanate an aura of ancient mystique. As you withdrew it from the shelf, the book revealed itself to be a relic of another era, its faded leather cover bearing the weight of countless years and the touch of countless curious readers. The rich, earthy scent of aged parchment and ink enveloped you, infusing the air with a sense of timelessness that seemed to transcend the confines of the library’s walls.

The cover, weathered and worn with the passage of time, bore intricate embossments of ethereal figures and swirling mists, hinting at the enigmatic knowledge that lay within its pages. Traces of gold leaf, faded but still resplendent, adorned the edges of the cover, their faint glimmer serving as a silent testament to the book’s storied past and the wisdom it held. Your fingertips traced the embossed grooves, the texture of the leather yielding beneath your touch, as if imparting a tangible connection to the ancient mysteries that the book sought to unveil.

As you dared to open its timeworn pages, the delicate rustle of aged paper echoed through the air, each turn revealing a tapestry of meticulously inked illustrations and intricate script that danced across the parchment. The words, etched with a precision that spoke of a bygone era, seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, their meaning transcending the confines of language and time. The sepia-toned illustrations, rendered with a meticulous hand, depicted ghostly apparitions in various states of ethereal existence, their forms wreathed in shadow and light, their spectral presence an enigmatic blend of the tangible and the intangible.

The weight of the book in your hands seemed to grow heavier, as if bearing the weight of the knowledge it contained, the essence of countless narratives that had woven themselves into the fabric of its pages.

As you delved deeper into the pages of the ancient tome, your eyes alighted upon a ritual that promised to bridge the realms of the living and the dead, to summon forth the spectral essence of those who had departed from the mortal plane. The words, etched with an archaic elegance, seemed to beckon to you from the faded parchment, offering a glimmer of hope in the face of your relentless longing for Terzo’s presence. With each line that you perused, a sense of anticipation bloomed within you, a fervent desire to transcend the boundaries of mortality and connect with his spirit once more, even if only for a fleeting moment.

The ritual, intricately detailed with symbols and incantations, unfolded before you like a map to the ethereal realm, its instructions offering a pathway to channel the energies of the unknown and summon forth the ghostly apparition of your beloved. Your fingers traced the ancient script, committing the intricate steps to memory, each syllable resonating within the depths of your consciousness, a whispered promise of reunion and communion with the spirit that had once been your guiding light.

In the back of your mind, you remembered the Sibling you encountered the last time you were here and how they reminded you that people talk. You knew that whoever was at the front desk would talk about how you’d borrowed a book about apparitions and ghostly rituals. So, you did the next best thing: you took a series of photos for each of the pages, allowing you to keep the information close to you and not get caught in the process.

You made your way from the sanctum of knowledge that was the library, the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, driving you forward on your quest to reunite with Terzo’s spirit, even if only for a fleeting moment. The path to the Ministry’s ritual supply shop unfolded before you, each step a testament to your unwavering determination to see the ritual through to its completion. The bustling corridors and busy hallways seemed to blur into the periphery of your consciousness as your mind remained fixated on the sacred task that lay ahead.

Upon arriving at the ritual supply shop, the air seemed to thicken with a palpable sense of mystique, as if the very atmosphere resonated with the esoteric energies that permeated the space. The shop, adorned with an eclectic array of mystical artifacts and arcane paraphernalia, offered a glimpse into a world that existed beyond the confines of the mundane. The soft flicker of black candles cast an ethereal glow, while the sight of crimson paint, rich and vibrant, beckoned to you with a silent promise of the ritual’s imminent fruition.

With a focused determination, you gathered the necessary materials, each item a vital component in the intricate dance of summoning that you sought to perform. The vibrant red paint, symbolizing the blood that pulsed through the veins of life, and the stark black candles, emblematic of the shadows that cloaked the realms of the unknown, spoke to the potent energies that the ritual sought to harness. Each item you procured held within it the potential to bridge the chasm between the worlds, to beckon forth the spirit that had eluded your grasp, to offer a glimpse of solace in the enigmatic communion that lay beyond the boundaries of mortal comprehension.

With the ritual supplies in hand, you felt the weight of the imminent encounter with Terzo’s spirit settle upon your shoulders, a burden that mingled with the fervent hope that guided your every step. The journey back to the confines of your abode seemed to pass in a blur, as your thoughts remained steadfastly fixed on the ritual that now loomed on the horizon, promising to unveil the secrets that lay veiled between the realms of the living and the dead. You were going to see him tonight - you’d make sure of it.

As the cloak of night enveloped the world outside, casting the surroundings into an eerie shroud of darkness, you stood within the designated room, a place now transformed into a sanctum of otherworldly intent. The air seemed to thrum with an otherworldly energy, charged with the anticipation of the ritual that was about to unfold. With a steady hand, you traced the intricate lines of the Satanic pentagram in vivid red upon the floor, each stroke a deliberate invocation of the esoteric forces that lay dormant within the confines of the symbol. The pentagram, a testament to the unyielding power of the occult, now bore the weight of the ritual’s purpose, serving as a conduit between the realms that sought to unite the living with the departed.

At each point of the pentagram, you placed the black candles, their flames flickering with an ethereal luminescence that cast dancing shadows across the room. The soft glow of their light lent an otherworldly aura to the space, imbuing the ritual with a solemn reverence that transcended the mere act of conjuration. As you knelt at the center of the pentagram, a profound sense of purpose enveloped you, the incantation poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to breathe life into the ancient words that had beckoned forth spirits for eons.

With a voice that quivered with a potent blend of determination and trepidation, you began to intone the incantation, each syllable a whispered invocation that resonated with the pulsing energy of the room. The words, spoken with a fervent reverence, seemed to weave themselves into the very fabric of the air, each verse carrying the weight of ancient wisdom and the fervent desire to bridge the gap between the worlds. In the flickering light of the candles and the crimson hue of the pentagram, you channeled the essence of your longing, the fervent plea to summon forth Terzo’s spirit, to invite him into the sacred space that now pulsed with the promise of communion between the realms of the living and the dead.

As the final syllables of the incantation lingered in the air, a profound stillness descended upon the room, punctuated only by the soft flicker of the black candles and the radiant glow of the pentagram that now seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. And then, amidst the charged silence, the figure of Terzo appeared within the confines of the sacred circle, his form transparent and wreathed in a soft, ethereal blue aura that pulsed with the rhythm of the spirit realm. His presence, though you were unable to touch him, cast a spectral light upon the room, his essence a haunting blend of the familiar and the enigmatic.

You gazed upon him with a mixture of awe and longing, your senses heightened to the subtle nuances that marked his spectral manifestation. The transparency of his form, a mere echo of the physical solidity he once possessed, allowed you to see through him, to discern the faint outlines of the room beyond his spectral figure. Yet, in the ethereal light that bathed his essence, you found a familiarity that transcended the limitations of the physical world, a connection that pulsed with the enduring bond of love and longing that had persisted beyond the confines of mortality.

Though you couldn’t reach out to touch him, the echoes of his presence seemed to weave themselves into the very fabric of your being, his voice carrying on the subtle currents of the air, his gaze meeting yours with a silent reassurance that transcended the boundaries of the spectral plane. The scent of his cologne, now an intangible whisper that lingered in the space around you, evoked a potent wave of nostalgia and longing, intertwining with the enigmatic aura that surrounded his ghostly form.

You couldn’t touch him, but he could touch you. He saw the tears in your eyes and ran outside of the circle, hands cupping your cheeks and looking into your eyes. There was life in his despite his current form, much different to the last time you saw them. “Tesoro!” He breathed, throwing himself down to the floor to your height to offer you some comfort as you felt all of the emotions a person could possibly feel all at once.

You sobbed. Relief flooded your body along with the pain of the grief you’d felt for all this time. The accumulation of all the agonising days rolled into this one meeting, and the shattered pieces of your heart began to stick back together piece by piece, starting with when you saw him standing there just moments ago, and continuing passed the sound of his voice calling for you.

You felt his lips trace ghostly kisses all over your face, starting at your forehead and working all across the expanse of skin, even moving his hands to get to your cheeks. For once, his paints didn’t transfer onto your face as it rubbed against you - and there was something so sad in that; something so heartbreaking in the notion that it would only be your makeup you’d be washing off your body tonight, and not his too. That you wouldn’t hear him come into the bathroom and laugh at your complaints every time his black paint stuck to your cheek and stained it temporarily. You’d give anything to have that just one more time.

“I m-missed you so much!” You wept into his spectral clothes, but your tears dripped onto the floor. You felt his arms wrap around you, but your own hand slid through his body and rested on your own when you tried to grip his arm.

“Lo so, amore mio. I have been with you this whole time.”

“Why did th-they do that to you? I d-don’t understand.”

He looked at you with sadness in his eyes. “You won’t understand. You don’t know everything, yet.”

“Then please explain it to me.”

He sighed. “Non posso. It is not the right time, and I am not the right person to do it. But I need you to remember that my brothers and I were not the only victims here. Besides you, there is another who lives and suffers daily through no fault of their own.”

“What does that mean?”

He shushed you and kissed your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. Non pensarci. Just enjoy this moment while we can, hm? I cannot be here all night.”

You nodded, but cried again. “Did you feel any pain?”

“No, no, no, tesoro. Do not torture yourself with my death, especially not now.” He kissed your lips in an attempt to kiss away the grief. “I need you here with me, now, sì?”

You nodded.

He kissed you again. The kiss was soft, yet full of passion, dripping with the love and adoration he felt for you even in death. You longed to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss and show him just how much you missed him, but what you had would have to do.

Despite the tender moment, despite the sweetness you were experiencing in his presence, you needed something more - something stronger. He’d done it before, you craved him to do it again. You let out the faintest of whimpers as you kissed him, and he picked up on it immediately, deepening the kiss and pulling you flush against his spiritual body.

His hands, like before, began wandering over your body, roaming over your curves and caressing you sweetly, tentatively. He slowly moved forward on his knees, pushing you down onto the cold wooden floor and hovering above you, his lips still attached to yours. One hand propped him up, the other ran from your knee, up your thigh and rested on your hip, your legs parted out of habit to allow him to kneel in between them.

“Tesoro,” he whispered, breaking the kiss and allowing his lips to travel across your cheek, to that sensitive spot on your neck, “the only woman I ever loved. The angel amongst the devils. Even in death, I yearned for this moment.” He kissed your neck, revelling in your gasps and sighs. “Will you undress for me, amore mio?”

He pulled himself away from you and watched you stand, undressing yourself slowly for him. You looked at his eyes the whole time, but didn’t begrudge the fact that his eyes were travelling everywhere. He watched your hands unzip your habit, darkened and hooded eyes watching it pool at your feet. Your bra was removed next, Terzo’s mouth slightly agape and almost drooling at the sight of your breasts falling free of their confines. He groaned deeply, a noise coming from the back of his throat, so low it sounded like he was purring.

He loved your body more than anyone else did. He loved the plush softness of it, how it jiggled when you moved, even slightly. How even repositioning yourself on the couch could get him harder than anything else in the world, just because your thighs would splay against the cushions, and your tummy would jiggle with the force of you sitting down. There were so many times he wished he could paint, because he would have painted you over and over again like you were Michelangelo’s favourite subject. It saddened him to know that this would be the last time he would ever get to see you like this, but at least his soul could rest happily in Hell with Lucifer as this being his final memory.

When you removed your panties, Terzo groaned. “Oh, bella!” He bent at the waist, allowing his forehead to touch the ground, his hands slamming against the wood of the floor. What followed was a string of Italian sentences you had trouble discerning at your low-level, but the way he was talking made you believe whatever he said should be written in a book for the rest of time. He was worshipping you, the very ground you walked on, playfully in true Terzo fashion, but no less insincere. His reaction to seeing you completely bare for him had you giggling, your previous tears long gone. He got to his feet and charged over to you, cupping your face in his hands when he reached you and pulling you into a desperate kiss. “Come, lie down for me.”

Once he had you spread out for him on the floor, he lavished you in kisses again. His lips and his tongue ran wherever they could, savouring every inch of you until there was nothing left to be explored before finally settling on your cunt. He began gently licking and sucking on your clit as your hips bucked wantonly against his ghostly face, providing you with as much stimulation as he could to get you to your end. This time, he wasn’t rushing his work. This time he was making sure to appreciate you, dining on you like a 12-course experience where each bite was a culinary masterpiece - because you were a masterpiece.

Your hips bucked at the sensations he was bestowing upon you, hands still desperate to tangle in his hair and frustration clouding your mind when you realised you couldn’t.

This time, you could hear every single noise his mouth was making against your pussy, the suction, the sound of his saliva swiping against your sopping folds. He worked you like it was his job, hitting every single spot to have you singing for him, writhing beneath him, driving him crazy. In a desperate need to do something with your hands, you moved to your nipples again, pinching, pulling, adding to the onslaught that his mouth was putting your clit through. His hands were clutching onto your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin there, but leaving no marks as much as you both wanted him to.

“Papa, I’m so close!”

He growled into your cunt, not wanting to stop and have you lose the feeling. You knew he wasn’t going to make you hold back - not this time. He wasn’t going to play with you, or torture you in the most delicious of ways, you both craved each other too much.

“Your tongue feels so good, Terzo! Fuck! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-”

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave crashing against the rocks of a cliffside. One of your hands moved to your mouth and got caught beneath your teeth as you bit down, your body freezing with the intensity of it. Drool spilled from your open mouth, your eyes glazing over and rolling back into your head. Your hands tightened where they were, forcing you to bite down hard on your finger and pinching hard on your nipple. Your lungs refused to fill with air, and your back arched off the floor. Your mind became filled with dizziness from the way your body was convulsing as a result of the intensity, even your voice could no longer work.

As soon as your body relaxed, Terzo detached himself from your core and crawled up over your body, frantically kissing your lips when he reached them. “Always so good for me, hm?” Another kiss, this time his tongue entered your mouth. “Cumming so well on my tongue. Amore mio, I cannot wait.”

“I need you inside me. Quickly, please!”

Terzo nodded dumbly, his hand fiddling at his crotch. Seconds later, he pushed inside of you, stretching you out to make you fit him perfectly inside. You always did. You were always so perfect for him, made specifically for him. To ruin him, to strengthen him. And he was made for you, to offer you pleasure beyond your wildest fantasies, have you seeing stars as you cum around his cock. He fit inside you just right, always hitting your cervix in the most delicious of ways and dragging against your walls, making your body feel alive in the most primal of ways.

Usually, Terzo would wait for you to adjust to his size; but like with his fingers there was no pain with the stretch - no need for adjustment. So instead, when he didn’t see the familiar look on your face that told him everything he needed to know, he just began to move. The first thrust was a tender motion, but it was so strong you felt like you were going to pass out. Without a moment’s hesitation, your hands collided with the ground as your fingers searched for something solid to hold onto. Normally, you would go after his back. Terzo yearned to see the red lines in a mirror that represented your pleasure and to feel the scratch of your nails against his skin. The second felt exactly as good. The rhythmic yet soft movements of Terzo soon picked up speed, leaving your brain turning to mush and your lungs gasping for air. The third thrust had you rolling your eyes back.

The feeling got more and more intense the more he thrust. Your screams, which initially served as a release for your bliss, were no longer effective. As much as it was possible, your back arched off the ground to accommodate him deeper inside of you. Now that his hips were moving more quickly, you were going crazy even more than before. You were completely oblivious to the way you appeared, how perfect you looked all red-faced and sweaty beneath him.

You were living artwork carved by Lucifer, made for pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. You belonged in his bed, lounging lazily as he spoiled you, worshipped you, gave you everything you could ever possibly want. Your body, all curvaceous and plump, jiggling beneath him with the force of his hips. Your thighs wobbling at the movements, your breasts, heavy and full, nipples begging to be played with and sucked into his mouth. His eyes enamoured by the way your tummy shook with the rest of your body, he could no longer resist. He bent down and placed kisses wherever he could: between the valley of your breasts, all over your chest, your sternum.

“Touch yourself for me, tesoro.” He told you, his voice shakey but gentle. “I want to watch you.”

He sat back on his knees and followed your hand as it moved downwards to your clit, thrusting hard when he heard your scream of sensitivity as your fingers made contact. Terzo knelt between your legs and let your hips buck to meet his movements. His gaze was fixed on your face, and the picture of you stretched out in front of him like his favourite meal made his cock twitch inside of you. He gripped your waist for leverage and watched your hand rubbing furiously at your clit, desperately trying to reach another orgasm. He bit his lip at the sight of you - you were so beautiful. You belonged to him; his perfect girl, laying there with her hand on her pussy and his cock slamming into her. It was almost too much to bear.

You had to cum first. You had to. There was no arguing. He needed you to cum again. “That’s it, tesoro. You look so beautiful right now. Taking me so well. Cazzo! You gotta cum, amore. I don’t know how much more I can take. You feel so good! Cum for me, tesoro!”

It didn’t take you long to do as he said, your second orgasm hitting you just as powerfully as the first. You screamed as your fingers moved faster against your clit in an attempt to keep up with both Terzo’s cock and your own orgasm, hips bucking to chase the pleasure. Though you were in the throes of your own orgasm, you fought with your own body to keep your eyes open and your brain focussed so you could watch Terzo reach his own. His hips thrusting erratically inside you, his brows furrowed, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt was creaming at the sensation, running down your body and gathering on the wood. His mind showed him images of the way your juices used to gather at the base of his cock when he would ravish you over and over again. It was that thought that had him orgasming, burying himself deep inside you as he came.

You were always enraptured by the face he made when he came; mouth hanging wide open, a dark look in his eyes that told you he was the only one who got to do this to you. That you belonged to him and no one else. His hands gripped onto both of your hips tightly, as though you’d try and run from him before he had the chance to finish.

When he finally did, and both of your bodies had finally stilled, you both remained where you were in silence. You allowed the quietness to bathe you both in an intimate moment where only your eyes connected as you calmed, savouring what you both knew would be your final moments together. He pulled out of you, making you both wince at the feeling. His borrowed time was coming to an end and you both knew it.

A lump formed in your throat again when you heard the sadness in his voice. “Would you dress yourself for me, tesoro?”

You nodded and slowly dressed again, this time the lethargy was your way of procrastinating. When you put your habit back on, he’d have to leave. When you were dressed and decent, he’d walk back into the pentagram and his soul would return to Hell where he was supposed to remain. “I don’t want you to go.” You said once you were dressed, tears spilling from your eyes and fingers playing with your habit.

He stood from his position on the floor and walked over to you, kissing your forehead. “Amore mio, it brings me solace to be with you, if only for this fleeting moment. I’ve watched over you, felt your every sorrow. But my time here is ephemeral, and Lucifer wants me back.”

“Fuck what Lucifer wants! I can’t bear to let you go again! I still feel your absence every day, and it’s like a piece of me is missing. Dead.”

Terzo was crying, now, too. Eyes glassy and glistening as he wrapped his spectral arms around you and let you sob into the air where his shoulder should have been. “You must find the strength within you to carry on, tesoro. I will always be with you, in the whispers of the wind, in the warmth of the sunlight, and in the quiet moments of your solitude. You are not alone, and you never will be.” He took your hands in his. “But you have a life to live, and you must do it without me now.”

“But it’s not the same without you here. I ache for your touch, your laughter, your presence beside me.”

“I know, tesoro. But remember the joy we shared, the laughter that echoed through our days. Hold onto those memories. They’re the threads that bind us, even across the chasm of existence. You carry a piece of me within your heart, and I, yours.”

You nodded, even though you were still wanting to clutch onto him and never let him go. “I love you, Terzo. I will never forget you.”

He sniffed. “You better not forget me, or I’ll send Hell’s legions to come remind you.”

“Why can’t I hit you?”

“Lucifer has favourites, clearly your Papa is one of them, hm?” He paused, taking in your appearance one last time. “You were the very breath I breathed, amore mio. Towards the end, you were the only thing that I got out of bed for, the only reason I carried on. Love is too weak a word to describe my feelings for you. You are my sanctity, my guiding star in the night sky, the very life in my lungs. Your laughter is a symphony that resonates with the very essence of my being, echoes with a melody that reverberates through the chambers of my heart, a melody that I wish to cherish for all eternity. My heart will forever be yours.

“But, one day, when your heart no longer belongs to me-”

“Never gonna happen.”

“I want it to. I cannot bear the thought of you alone, pining after me for the rest of your life. Tesoro, you are young. Your beautiful heart still has so much to give. Don’t squander your life waiting for a man who can never return. One day, when your heart no longer belongs to me, I hope that the echoes of our love linger as a bittersweet melody, a testament to the timeless moments we shared in the embrace of a love that once knew no bounds.” He kissed your lips one final time.

Through wracked sobs, you echoed him, forcing the words out of your mouth because you knew you’d regret it for the rest of your life. “Goodbye, Terzo.” You wanted more to come out of your mouth. You wanted to tell him just what he meant to you, how his love made you a better person, how he was everything to you, too. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you get the words out. “I love you - I always will. I-”

“I know. Goodbye, ___.”

Terzo backed up into the pentagram, his eyes never leaving you. It could have killed him a second time to watch your heart break once more, shattering into a million pieces on the ground as you finally got to say the goodbye you both deserved the first time. Through blurred vision, you watched him blow you a kiss, before disappearing from this realm altogether, only to exist in your memory. From now on, his voice would only come through a speaker from the videos fans took at concerts, his face would forever remain unchanged and unaltered in the pictures on your dresser.

You fell to the floor, your heartbreak doing as much as it could to commit him to your memory before it faded and time began to heal your wounds. One step at a time. One day at a time. One day, you’d heal from this, but for now, all you could do was let yourself feel.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

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cerealmonster15 · 2 months

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listen people can have their differing opinions that’s cool I just Personally Feel Like it’s just so mean to be yelling that feedback such as likes on posts and a kudos on fics are “useless”. What do u mean. Why. are ppl not expressing their feelings in a way that makes them comfortable ? ?

Like I Understand i guess in the sense of you don’t get to hear peoples opinions. I also feel kinda lonely and stuff when it’s quiet feedback but calling anything useless sounds so WEIRD to me ??? What is the goal. And also yea they do something still I’m pretty sure????

Take ao3. Isn’t sort by kudos an option on there? If your goal is to be seen more or whatever then if people are looking for high kudos fics, then people giving ur fic a kudos isn’t useless yeah??

And then tumblr. People keep saying “likes do nothing here there’s no algorithm” or whatever but that’s not really fully true. On your standard dashboard, sure, likes “don’t do anything” to move a post around on there. BUT that’s not the only place people find posts. If u are looking in the tags for posts, im p sure the default is to sort by popular posts. That’s, as far as I understand, a TOTAL NOTES count. Likes are included. Likes help ur posts her higher in that “popular” zone. I have several posts that have ended up in there in some small ship tags BECAUSE of all the likes, which does still have people seeing those posts now and then when they’re in the tag.

AND I’m pretty sure it’s a similar mechanic for the for you page. I’m sure we think people don’t use that feature but I’m pretty sure people do/ maybe new users. This is more of a theory on my part lol buttttt. I’ve noticed a few rare times where I’ve made an addition to a reblog on someone else’s post, there will be a stretch of time sometimes where random people that Do Not Follow Me keep liking/reblogging the post via my addition. WAY more times for it to just be a stray person wanting it from my addition without comments under (and I don’t think people do that when they’re only liking the post lol). And the few times I’ve accidentally had my for you tab on, I believe it does show via other people’s reblogs lol. So that’s just my way of saying total note count INCLUDING LIKES probably does put posts in peoples eyes on the for you tab / my experience tells me people do use that feature so it’s not just sitting there dusty lol.

Anyway I like mostly understand why people want reblogs and comments, like I do prefer them too bc I like when people tell me what they r thinking (however sometimes people do not add their thoughts in the tags either and that is just how it is!). And I also understand some people maybe just don’t know that others like that kind of feedback and need to hear it first to feel encouraged. I think I just personally do not like the tone that a lot of posts have when they talk about it. When ur calling likes useless bc idk it’s not the right kind of feedback u wanted so it’s inferior ?? 😭😭😭 I also feel like that intense vibe like, idk if this makes sense or if other people felt it too, but it negatively shifted my own perception too? Like. I thought likes were fine. But now with how intense people are about them and not meant if likes bc they just don’t count in ur eyes, now when people like instead of reblogging, I just think of all those posts and I’m like “hmm ok is my post bad did I make a bad post bc everyone says the likes aren’t good so if I’m getting likes I made A Bad Post. It’s Pity Feedback” <- which is SO unhealthy and also tbh has a lot more to do with my own issues that are just getting influenced here so it’s not all on those posts lol. I just Also Have Extra Issues 🫡

Ok jeeze I don’t wanna sound soap boxy tho so I’m NOT letting people rb this aJsndjfcjfjfjcjfj and ppl can absolutely have different feelings and opinions about the situation it’s fine. this is just. how I feel ✌️

#I don’t wanna invalidate how ppl feel about it #and I hope ppl won’t invalidate how I feel either lol …#it just makes me SAAAAAAD it bums me out #I dont wanna feel like it’s all a numbers game #I just wanna share sillies :(#IT JUST FEELS HARSH!!!!!#sometimes I like a post so I can reblog later with tags #but I don’t always remember to do it #and then I’ll see a post that’s like #YOU HAVE TO REBLOG DONT LIKE AND RUN #and then I’m like well. I was gonna like and come back #but o don’t want u to get mad at me #but I don’t have time to add tags rn #so I guess I will just not interact at all ????#it’s way too stressful. why are there RULES 😭😭😭😭#and this is all coming from someone who reblogs and comments like mad. I go crazy #I am not a likes and kudos only person lol #but. it is in defense of them. don’t we all share our love differently #is that a crime 😭😭😭😭#ok I’m fully distracted I gotta go bye

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shine-reblogs · 6 months

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Submachine Legacy: additional commentary (Monoliths, Shattered Quadrant, and other details)

Apparently I am NOT done talking about this game, lol. To see me talking about the main levels + optional ruins, check my previous post. Beware of spoilers.

General comments

I must comment on the map/menu/however this is called because I noticed (rather late) on my going back and forth the details literally surrounding each level. Namely, how level 3 and 'break the loop' are in the middle a spiral, I assume to symbolize the loopy nature of the locations. Level 6 is in the middle of an octagon, kind of like a shield, which goes well with it being the defence systems of the Submachine. Level 7 lays in the middle of many more concentrical circles, which I'm guessing has to do something about it being the Core of the Submachine. And level 8 rests against seven parallel lines, which goes nicely with you jumping through the seven main layers in that level.

I may be, once again, reading too much into details, but I think it makes enough sense and I like it. Kind of wondering now if level 9 shouldn't have something special about it too as the Knot.

Anyway.

Monoliths/Secrets

So, I was right in the end that we'll have to come back to this with the navigator, but wrong in the we actually can't take the navigator with us and must jump back and forth between levels (so much going back and forth). Anyway, this gives us new tidbits of Submachine lore (which is nice).

This goes on in the Lighthouse. Love how the fact that different versions of the game exist is being incorporated to the lore.

Finally figured how this one worked out. Turns out in the end the Loop did have a layer coordinate thingy (which I started suspecting when I didn't find one at level 7 either) it just was hidden as a secret. Kind of a pity, since I liked the idea of loops being something that maybe existed outside/beyond layers maybe. It's not like I had a lot of time to think about this/develop it into a proper theory, so it's not like I was super attached to it either, so it's fine.

Lots of portals but no notes in level 4 (that I remember, I binge-played the unlocking Monoliths and it's kinda blurry what is from what level. Should have named the screenshots, lol). BUT! We finally can unlock that door from Sub4, which was satisfying.

Level 5 is as in 4, meaning no notes found. But again, I like how you could finally see what was behind that closed door though!

Lots of goodies in level 6! It was nice to get extra content while also keeping the 'secret' notes we had in the originals. Go hunting lore.

I love this. I love the note talking about the significance of 32 when it's something we've all collectively lost our minds about. I love this xD

Here we got the same notes we did in the originals, but as a matter of fact I did not remember the one screenshot here and WHAT?! If I weren't so sleepy right now I'd be talking about it probably (as it is I am surprised I can write anything with a semblance of coherence right now, may my insomnia fuck off and leave me alone).

I'm gonna be very honest, I needed the help of the very kind people making guides on Steam for this because I had all the secrets but couldn't figure out how to access the secret room (previously I got the opposite problem, could access the portals but didn't have the secrets to power them). The notes are the same that we had in the originals.

And last but not least level 10, were I thought there was only one secret area but there were two! I thought it wa really cool that you use the pearls and stone cubes for this.

The notes here seem to be more or less the same as the originals, but thw wording has been changed some and we're also being teased about the Engine which has me vibrating.

All in all, nice little extras! Shattered Quadrant will come in the reblogs when I get to play it (yes I know I'm slow playing. Do not judge me)

#submachine #submachine game #submachine legacy #shine is random #shine posts

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kvnghs-archive · 1 year

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just gotta have a lil real dump here for a min.

i don’t feel very wanted/needed on this platform anymore. it feels like my ideas and muses have run their course and no one is interested in what i have to offer. conversations to start the most basic and simple plots are often one-sided, ending before they even begin, or just left on read with nothing to ever come of it. i need to discuss plots, characters, etc in order to even have the motivation to be here to write, and i’m not getting much of that anymore (unless i write a specific canon male character on a solo blog, but we’ve learned our lesson there). when i started here, regardless of who i was writing (canon or oc) i would always get random questions about my muses in the inbox. just dumb little things that people were interested in — what’s their shampoo smell like? do they sleep with the closet door open? socks on or off at night? simple things...ya know? that makes such a difference to me, that someone thinks my silly little muse is interesting enough to know some funny little facts about them. now it just feels like people are only in search of a plot device to insert into their story and not the actual character they’re writing against. i want to know about your muses. i want you to tell me their morning routine, i want to know the dumb little things my muse would know too. i crave the interaction the rpc is no longer giving out freely like it once did.

i am slow, and i very much understand that, but the reason i am so slow is because the rpc as a whole is failing. people have decided it’s not worth reaching out anymore because they’re being ignored, the elitism and cliques are once again getting out of hand with the drama, and it’s just kind of a sad place to be when you’re not in one of those cliques. especially you 30-somethings out here trying to start drama with kids like it’s high school...but that’s a whole different and very long post for another time. anyway, what used to be an escape to enjoy with people in my hobby is kind of just a depressive place to be now. i don’t feel the excitement for my muses, i don’t feel like people are here to learn anything about my muses, and i’m very much starting to feel like a pity party. while i am fully away this is also my bad mental health speaking, at the same time it’s also not.

edited* what happened to the support the rpc once had? is it only applicable if you have the correct aesthetics and use the prettiest graphics? i can’t use photoshop very well, but i like to think i can write okay, so why do my graphics dictate how you see me as a writer? i don’t care if your promo is pretty, i want to support you so i’m going to reblog it. the rpc is not as supportive as it once was and you cannot tell me otherwise. i rarely see promos cross my dash ( mine have less than 10 notes, and it’s me and like one other person most of the time...it literally hurts my feelings to spend time on something that gets completely ignored and i am not sorry about that ), people aren’t commenting and communicating as much as they once were, and i think it’s completely skewing the rpc as a whole. the same goes for edits, is it hard to like a post someone spent time on? you can unlike it later if you need to clean your likes, but sometimes people just like to be acknowledged for something they’re excited about. i have been so excited to post something like an edit or what i thought was interesting about my muse, or just fun that other people might think was cool, to only be met with crickets on the other side. it’s disheartening and not what the rpc is supposed to be about.

i’m complaining to myself as well, because i’ve stopped being as interactive with the dash as i once was. but as i said before, after time and time again of being shut out, ignored, and even blocked after speaking to someone...can you really blame people for no longer reaching out?

anyway, sorry if you came in to read this. i’ve been very much struggling here, and thought making harley would help, but it’s only further solidified that feeling. i’m really trying to navigate around it, but i’m not even sure where to start with people anymore. like i’m almost afraid to even reblog things from people anymore because they’re so adamant about reblogging everything from the source, not messaging first, and not even following them first like? isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing here? idk, the rpc has lost its luster and i really miss the community we used to have here.

so anyway...if you’d like to talk about our muses, plots, etc, i’ll do my best to ask random questions, send asks, make edits, and all that jazz as long as it isn’t one-sided. my ims, ask, and disco are always available though i do miss (or just never get) notifications sometimes so don’t hesitate to boop me. i’d just love to find some more writing partners to bounce ideas back and forth with. i have either lost contact with most of mine over the years or they stopped writing all together unfortunately. :/

disco: shiny shitbag ✨#6427

#( mun shit. )#gotta get the vent out somewhere before i explode #i am just sad with how the rpc has essentially closed itself off #and i've been here for a decade to watch the slow decline into isolation #this was a lot #tbd

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thicccsimp · 3 years

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Show A Little Gratitude

Summary: You discover a new kink with Bucky after making a bad call during a mission.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1,967

Warnings: 18+ Smut. Explicit Sexual Content. Degradation/Humiliation Kink. Boot Worship. Oral Sex (M Receiving).

A/N: This was written for @whisperlullaby‘s 700 Follower Challenge! Congrats on reaching such a cool milestone and thank you for creating such a fun challenge!

I’d like to thank @celestial--valkyrie and @tuiccim for beta reading this for me and helping me put the finishing touches on this piece! I appreciate you both so much! Any and all mistakes are completely my own.

I appreciate any feedback any of y’all would like to give me. Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog if you feel inclined too.

Tiny Tags: @sweeterthanthis @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

“What the fuck were you thinking!?” Bucky's tone cuts through you like a knife.

“I already told you.. I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear Buck? I was fucking wrong so just drop it,” you snap back at him. You try to hide behind the bravado of your voice, but your face burns with embarrassment. Bucky has been on your ass the entire way back to the compound, not even letting up when Steve clears his throat and fidgets awkwardly, silently trying to express how uncomfortable the situation makes him. This isn’t the first time you’ve seen your boyfriend angry at you over a mission, but it is the first time he’s ever done it so publicly; normally he waits until the two of you were back in your shared room before letting you know how upset your perceived bad call made him feel.

Bucky takes a few hasty steps towards you and stops just a few inches from you; his body radiating heat and a faint musky scent that makes you instinctively clench your thighs together. “You don’t get to tell me to drop it. You could’ve gotten yourself killed if I hadn’t been close enough to step in and save your ass. You should be thanking me. Not copping an attitude. If you don’t want to get shit for fucking up, then don’t fuck up next time.” Bucky practically spits back at you.

You shift on your feet nervously for a second, your eyes flicking over to Steve, who is still hastily trying to gather his things so he can escape you two, he meets your eyes for a second and the look of pure pity he gives you makes your face burn with humiliation. You angle your head up to look into Bucky's eyes only to notice his signature shit-eating grin playing at the corner of his lips. In that moment, you aren’t sure what comes over you but you find yourself immediately getting wet, you drop your eyes from his in an instant, staring down at his boots. Your face grows even hotter as you try to figure out what the hell is going on with you. Bucky just spent nearly an hour demeaning you, in front of Steve no less, but you can’t help finding his smug demeanor about the whole thing unbearably attractive. You hear Steve utter an awkward goodbye and note his footsteps quickly fading away as he exits the jet. Unsure of what is coming over you and feeling the sudden need for a cold shower, you immediately turn on your heel and head for the exit only to have the door slam shut in your face.

You hear his boots heavy on the floor as he slowly makes his way towards you. He places a firm hand on your shoulder and quickly turns you around to face him, he lightly grips your jaw and angles your face up to stare at his own. “I didn’t say this conversation was over, Doll. In fact, I think I’d like that ‘thank you’ you owe me.” Bucky's voice now missing the vitriol it had moments ago, a playful sense of derision now filling its place. “Do you remember our safe word?” The words fall from his mouth like molasses, thick and slow.

You feel yourself clench around nothing and your heart rate skyrockets, unsure of what’s to follow if Bucky is reminding you of your safe word. “Gravity,” your voice comes out smaller than you intended but the heat between your legs speaks volumes to your true excitement.

Bucky gives you a quick nod of acknowledgement before releasing his grasp on your jaw, placing it on your shoulder and giving you a little shove down. You obediently drop to your knees and go to undo his belt when he gives your hand a sharp smack as soon as you make contact with his buckle. “Oh no. I didn't say to do that Doll. You haven't earned the privilege of touching my cock yet. You want something in your mouth? Here.” His voice was harsh and gravely as he roughly grabs your jaw, squeezing it tight enough to force your mouth open before shoving in two fingers. The cool vibranium runs smoothly against your tongue as you lightly begin to suck on his fingers. Looking up at him through your eyelashes as he tsks his tongue at you a few times and shakes his head “I’m going to need that thank you first,” his tone is almost mocking as he pulls his fingers from your mouth; his eyes expectant and his smirk devilish.

You gnaw on your bottom lip a bit and bat your eyelashes up at him, your voice cloyingly sweet when you speak. “Thank you”

“Thank you for what?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Thank you.. for saving me.. sir,” you’re sure to put extra emphasis on your last word knowing how it drives him wild.

A small growl escapes him as his tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick his lips. “You know... I don’t think the sweet talk is going to cut it today, no. I think I have a better idea,” he drops down to kneel, one knee on the ground, his other foot planted firmly on the floor in front of you. He reaches his sleek metal hand out and wraps it in your hair, grabbing firmly near the root and pushing you down until your cheek meets the floor next to his boot. Your body protests at the sudden force for a moment but you quickly give in, letting him position you as he pleases. “Well.. go ahead Doll.. lick my boot.” His tone is so degrading and stern, it sends a shiver up your spine and you squirm slightly between his grasp in your hair and the floor.

You look up at him as best you can, your eyes wide in shock; you can’t believe what you had just heard but even more than that you can’t believe how much you actually want to do it. You’re suddenly grateful for the cool floor against your cheek as you feel your face heat up once again with embarrassment. You never thought being humiliated like this would do it for you, but your soaked panties clearly spoke for themselves.

“Well get on with it. It’s not that hard to show a little gratitude is it?” Bucky jeers at you, pulling your attention back to his boot just inches from your face.

You let out a shaky breath before lifting your head off the ground just a few inches as you maneuver your face just above the toe of his boot. You close your eyes and slowly swipe your tongue across the top of his boot, the faint taste of leather dances on your tastebuds. You can’t help but let out a quiet breathy moan, you have never felt so completely dominated in your life and you love it.

Bucky bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes rolling back slightly at the sweet sound that had just escaped your mouth. Looking down at you with your face against his boot, your eyes shut in pleasure is enough to nearly send him over the edge. “That wasn’t so hard now was it Doll? In fact, you seem like you’re finally learning your place. Do it again.” He growls out the last few words, his grip on your hair tightens as if to punctuate the certainty of his order.

You moan again, louder this time spurred on by his demand and without hesitation you run your tongue over the top of his boot not once but twice. Your willingness to comply takes you by surprise but it’s quickly forgotten as you feel your swollen bud throb even harder. You clench your thighs together as tight as you can, desperately seeking out even the smallest amount of relief for the burning hot need that is aching between your legs.

“Fuck” is all Bucky manages to say as a moan tears itself from deep in his chest. He suddenly yanks on your hair harshly, pulling you away from his boot and back up onto your knees. Hastily returning to his feet all while never letting go of the ironclad grip he has in your hair; using his other hand to make quick work of his belt buckle and fly, pulling them down just low enough to let his erect cock spring free from them. “I’d say you’ve earned the privilege, Doll. Show me just what that dirty little mouth of yours can do.”

You lick your lips needily in response as you wrap your hand around the base of his hardened length, and then lick him from his head down his shaft then back again before wrapping your lips around him. You swirl your tongue around the top, savoring the salty taste of the precum that was dripping from him already before you take him further into your mouth. You begin to bob your head back and forth, hollowing your cheeks, working your hand around what isn’t in your mouth. You hear the grunts and moans that start to come pouring out of Bucky's mouth in response. You start to pick up the pace when you feel him beginning to thrust his hips, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, you gag a little around him as he pushes himself into your throat. Your grip on the base of his cock releases as you bring your hands to claw lightly into his thighs, still covered in the rough material of his black tactical pants. His hold in your hair keeps your head fixed in place as his pace quickens, pushing himself deeper with each stroke until your nose meets his pelvis, the zipper of his pants biting into the skin of your chin. He stills himself for a moment, buried deep in your throat, you can’t help but gagging again as your eyes begin to water. Bucky looks down at you, his pupils blown with desire, nearly swallowing his blue irises whole. Breathy curses flow freely from his mouth as he takes in the sight of you, feeling your throat contract against his cock. “That’s my Doll… I knew you could take it all. You look so fucking pretty like this, do you know that?” He coos at you before he begins to move again, quickly establishing a brutal pace as he fucks your face relentlessly. You moan and gag around him, tears begin streaming down your face and saliva drips from the corners of your mouth, you feel utterly used in the best way possible. You love knowing that it’s your mouth that he’s taking his pleasure from. Your face is beginning to go numb when you feel his hips sputter, he moans out your name and gives a few more sporadic thrusts before you feel him spill his warm seed down your throat. You swallow every bit of down as he removes himself from your mouth and his grip on your hair finally releases, you greedily suck in the air your lungs had desperately been craving before looking up at him, giving him a proper view of your fully fucked out face. He takes a moment to appreciate it while he tucks himself back away and buckles his belt, before finally offering you a hand to help you stand up. You take hold of it, using it to keep yourself balanced for a moment, your knees a bit wobbly after kneeling for so long. Bucky looks down at you, his eyes filled with adoration but his smile as smug as ever.

“I knew you’d like that... Now let’s get you inside, I’m not done with you yet.”

#whispers700challenge #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes reader #bucky reader insert #bucky reader #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #thicccsimp

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randomingoftherandomness · 3 years

Text

No 31 Wenzhou - WOHDaily’s Summer Event August 2021

A/N: First and foremost, I want to thank @wohdaily for organising this. Then, to everyone who has read, liked, reblogged any of the little ditties I have written, thank you for sticking with me this month. The past few days, having this to concentrate on, has helped me immensely while I’ve been stuck in a liminal state of being.

But stretching a little further, this fandom of ours, is stronger than people think we are. We are stronger than even we ourselves think we are. If you’re reading this and somehow wondering, ah, is it worth it to love something so much just to have it hurt so bad when things go wrong? Please take this as a sign to know that anything done in love, is never a waste.

To all my beloved fellow Shanren 🗻❤️ Please always love with all your heart and with all your being. Please always stay mad and crazy and passionate about the things you love. Please always keep smiling, always stay healthy. Please be, above everything else, kind to yourself and to others.

This may be the last ficlet I write for awhile. I’m going to go concentrate on my health for now. I don’t know what will happen next but I know that this isn’t goodbye. I’ll be fine. We all will be. I’ll still be on the mountain, I’m just going into hibernation for a bit to get better. I’ll still be here so if anyone ever needs to talk, my DMs are always open for you. Until we greet each other again, I send to you, wherever you are in this big and blue and wonderful world, all my love.

okay okay this author’s note is too long and too sappy haha! enjoy the story!

~Gab x

Based on this WOHDaily’s Prompt List

–

“Is the weather really that hot or are you just happy to see me, Ah Xu?”

Zishu bats at the wandering hands patting lasciviously on his sweaty arms and glares at his husband. Grunting as he does his best imitation of a rock rolling away from Lao Wen. Yet, any sternly quality that he was trying to project was significantly lessened by the way his lips are lifted in a fond smile he can’t quite repress.

“In the grand scheme of all your sweet nothings, you silver-tongued devil, that was really dismal. It’s pitiful. You’ve lost your touch.”

Lao Wen chuckles in reply, kicking out his bare legs as he takes the spot on the floor next to him. In this weather, the floor carries the dubious distinction of being the only measure of relief left in the ceaseless war against the lingering heat.

It was as if summer was clinging on to the minutes, the hours, the days, holding on to every vestige of warmth before she inevitably relinquishes her death grip on the land and gives way to the incoming chill.

Summer, Zishu thinks uncharitably, was a right old bitch sometimes.

Zishu shuffles away to put some distance between his body and Lao Wen’s. He shifts himself and lies as still as a corpse, letting his mind still and quiet. He wants to imagine that if he was particularly still, he might be able to trick himself into believing that there was a wind or a breeze where there is none.

“It’ll be autumn soon,” Lao Wen remarks from beside him. The syllables of the sentence are uttered in a soft lilt and Zishu can’t help twist his body to lie on his side, cheek pressed to the cool ground as he looks up at his Lao Wen. “Another summer has come and passed us by.”

“And after autumn, it’ll be winter. And then it will be yet another year together,” Zishu says, tilting his face up when Lao Wen reaches over to tuck away the stray fallen strands of hair. He holds his Lao Wen’s gaze, marvelling in the way he knows without a shadow of a doubt that this man here loves him, has loved him and will love him, more than life itself.

“Seasons change, yet here I am with my soulmate,” Lao Wen murmurs, eyes curving sweetly as he smiles. “The perfect place to be.”

Zishu laughs softly, catching Lao Wen’s hand to press down in the space between them. Yes, the seasons change, the world turns and moves on without stopping. But what does the world matter to men like them who do not value it?

Lifting Lao Wen’s knuckles to his lips, he gently rubs his kisses to each dip and valley. No matter what the world may bring to their door, no matter what happens, right here, next to his soulmate, this is the only place he should be.

#wohdsummer #gab writes stuff #word of honor #wenzhou

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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One Night🌙6

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series), nocturnal playtime, unwanted touching.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: I’m working on more drabbles and Eye of the Storm! But for now, enjoy some Andy.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your appointment went as well as it could have. The doctor ran bloodwork and several other tests as Andy nodded knowingly as if to say ‘I told you so’, which he also did aloud several times after. The drive home was a reiteration of what you should, and more enthusiastically, what you shouldn’t do.

It was really starting to feel like he believed you were an actual child. Your own father had never talked to you in such a way. You couldn’t say the same for your mother but even she could reel it in long enough that you didn’t feel like a complete moron. Andy just seemed to latch onto every mistake you made and sink his teeth in until he tasted blood.

And like the teenager he treated you as, when you got back to his house, you stormed up to the guest room and slammed the door. You fell onto the bed and screamed into the pillow. Oh yeah, that long lost adolescent rage returned. Then it all drained from every inch of you and you rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

You could hear Andy below. You listened to him moving around, the decisive click of his polished leather shoes. He climbed the stairs and you heard him stop outside your door. He sighed and retreated to his own room. Your day off an you’d spend it like this; raging at your new warden.

The knock on your door made you flinch.

“Hey,” Andy’s voice sounded decisively through the door. “I’m going into the office for the rest of the day. I’ll be in around six.” He paused and the handle jiggled but didn’t turn. “You know where everything is.”

You didn’t answer him. You waited until he left, the footsteps on the staircase, the front door, the soft rollover of his car engine. You sat up and pulled out your phone. A single voicemail; your parents’ number.

“Hey, kiddo,” Your dad’s voice rose from the speaker. “Your mom wants to know when you’re getting the rest of your stuff.” A slight pause and a cough. “You know I don’t care and you take your time but if she asks, I told ya to come get it… Love you.” The line buzzed. “And your mom loves you too but she’s just as stubborn as you, you know? Well, anyway, uh, bye.” Another glaring silence. “Oh, and it’s still my house. I’ll be happy to see ya, kiddo.”

You saved the message and dropped your phone to bounce on the mattress. You put your head in your hands as you tried to resist the overhwelming swell of sadness that overcame you. You didn’t care about your stuff and you couldn’t bring it here. You wouldn’t. Sell it, toss it, you didn’t care.

You sat up and dropped your hands to the bed in defeat. You were such a fuck up.

🌙

You avoided Andy for a few days. You found excuses to stay in your room when you weren’t working and even spent a good deal of time in the backyard, weeding the overgrown garden. It didn’t matter. Autumn was close and most of the plants were dead. It must have been her job, or maybe a cherished hobby.

Aside from Andy’s prickly nature, she made it harder. That stranger; Laurie. You were an imposter in her place; usurping her as she laid in a hospital entirely unaware. You only knew what the press put out. He never said much about it. Did you really expect him to? All he ever spoke about was you, the baby, and everything you did wrong.

After a rather long day at work, made longer by your suddenly returned appetite and the smell of cinnamon and coffee, you returned to the house and found yourself back in the yard. You sat at the patio table and scrolled through your phone.

Felicia wanted to meet up the next night. You hadn’t told her yet. If she took you for drinks, as she always did, she’d figure it out pretty quickly. Well, why were you hiding it? You wouldn’t be able to for much longer. You already felt a little bigger, wider at least. Would it be so bad to tell? To not be alone?

You swiped away her text and bit your thumbnail. You’d think about it and send your answer before you went to bed.

The screen door clattered and you sat up straight. You looked up as Andy emerged and strode across the deck. He had a beer in hand and placed it on the glass table as he neared the other side of the table. His tie was gone, his top button undone, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows.

“Here you are,” He said as he pulled out a chair and sat. “How was work?”

You shrugged and turned over your phone. “It was work,” You sat back and crossed your arms. “Do I ask you? Is that the right thing to do?”

He chuckled and popped the cap of the beer and took a swig. “Well, it was an exciting day. Had a defendant attack the judge. Didn’t get very close but a they took him out,” He turned the bottle on the table. “He got me good on his way out, even if he missed my face.”

You let your arms fall to rest over your stomach. You didn’t know what to say. Did he want pity? Surely you couldn’t relate to his courthouse crusades.

“Well, that sounds… scary.” You offered.

“It happens. Not a lot but you can never predict people,” He took another gulp of beer. “What are you doing out here? It’s gonna rain soon.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at the grey clouds. “I never minded the rain much.”

He was quiet as he picked at the label of his bottle. His toe tapped and he pushed his shoulders back.

“Your mother came to see me,” He said gently. “Said something about tossing your stuff out on the lawn.”

“Shit,” You winced. “She shouldn’t have--”

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“And say what, exactly? She made her feelings about me pretty clear.” You played with the case of your phone as you turned it over. “My dad called me but… I don’t care about all that shit.”

“We can go get it. It’s not--”

You laughed and shook your head. “Why? You’re so eager to erase my former life, why would you care?” You threw your hand up and planted your elbow on the table. “It’s just books. A few stuffed animals. I never really could afford much of value. The poor pauper girl.”

“I never--”

You stood and slid your phone into your pocket. You still wore the plain black shirt and matching pants from work. Your fly was half undone to relieved the pressure and your shirt had caught in your waistband. You pulled the hem down and pushed in your chair.

“I’m hungry. I’m going to get changed and make something to eat.” You said.

You left him there and went inside. After slipping into some leggings and a loose tee, you swept into the kitchen and surveyed your options. Some linguine with chicken and spinach. That didn’t sound too bad.

You pulled out a chicken breast and the cutting board. You put the water on boil and heated the frying pan. You started to chop up the chicken into chunks as you heard the back door. Andy appeared and set his bottle down across from you as he stood on the other side of the island. It gave a hollow clink; empty, already.

“So, what are you making?” He leaned on the marble.

“Pasta,” You answered curtly. “You have any hot peppers? Hot sauce?” You opened the fridge. “I wouldn’t mind something spicy.”

“Check the door,” He said. “You must be past the nausea. You know, I always heard the cravings were the worst part. I never really considered pickles anything to drool over but---”

“Stop, please,” You interjected as you turned back with a jar of banana peppers. You could dice them up and mix them into the sauce. “It’s miserable. All of it.”

He sighed and stood straight. He rounded the counter and opened the cupboard. He added oil to the pan and it crackled. He put it back and turned to grab the spinach and rinsed it in the colander. He set it on the counter and turned back to watch you slice the chicken.

“You gonna keep this up?” He asked.

“What?” You set the knife down and dumped the chicken into the pan and washed your hands..

“You gotta try to meet me halfway,” He turned.

“Meet you halfway? Andy, christ,” You spat as you stirred the chicken and seared it. “How much more can I give you?”

“Bit of courtesy, maybe,” He said. “I’m trying here but you won’t even--”

“There you go again, speaking to me like a child. I am not a child. Let’s start there,” You pointed at him with the spatula. “You should know that.”

He considered you, his blue eyes drifted then returned to you. He gave a small smile. “I definitely know you’re not a child.”

“I’m serious.”

He nodded and exhaled. “Alright, I’ll try to ease off.”

You squinted at him. “I really wanna believe you will.”

He scoffed and brushed past you. He went to the fridge and grabbed another beer. He flipped the cap off and leaned against the door.

“I’m a lawyer. I can’t help it.” He shrugged. “But for the sake… of the baby, I’ll take my foot off the pedal. A little.”

“Cool,” You set the spatula down. “So you won’t mind if I go out tomorrow night. My friend Felicia wants to have dinner.”

“Dinner?” He repeated. You raised a brow. “Yeah, fine. That sounds like fun.”

“Great,” You smiled and grabbed the linguine noodles. “And you know, you’ll get a night to yourself. Win-win.”

🌙

You texted Felicia after dinner and for the first time in a while, you felt excited about something. So excited you found it hard to settle down. A bigger problem because you had an opening shift the next morning and you were already constantly exhausted.

You laid in bed and tossed and turned. You stared at the ceiling, then rolled over and stared at the window, then tried laying on your stomach until your leg fell asleep. It was at least an hour of endless turmoil, trying to force yourself to doze, before you just resigned to blinking into the dark.

You listened to the gentle spatter of rain. As always, Andy was right. It was really annoying. You sighed and peeked out the window as the rivulets streamed down the glass. The moonlight shone through the droplets in silver orbs. You turned onto your side and counted them, hoping it would coax you to sleep.

Then you heard it. At first, you were certain it was nothing. The wind, maybe. But it continued, steady, slowly mounting. The heavy breaths coated with sultry groans. You froze and craned your head to look over your shoulder as you listened. You’d left your bathroom door open without thinking and could hear a little too much through the one at the other end.

You dropped your head back to the pillow as the voice continued; deep and drawn out. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on; what the only other person in the house was doing. Andy was only human after all. Well, you’d fucked him almost on sight. You were no saint. Yet it felt so wrong, hearing him like that. Worse that as you closed your eyes, you could only imagine him in the other room with his hand…

You pulled the duvet over your ear and pressed your head to the pillow. You felt a tickle between your thighs and squeezed them together. Ignore it, just listen to the rain. But his voice only got louder and louder until it finally peaked in a sharp grunt. Your lips parted and you shuddered. He was done, thank god.

It was silent for a few minutes, all but the gentle patter of rain. Then the bed groaned through the wall and soft footsteps. You were tense as you listened, moreso as you heard him near the other side of the bathroom door.

Shit, he had to clean himself up and…

The door opened and you heard his feet on the tile. He let out a growled and cranked the sink on. Your door was still wide open. It sounded as if he was right beside you as the water flowed and his breathing evened out. He turned off the faucet but lingered in the bathroom.

Then he stood in the door to your room. You could feel him there, looking at you. You were thankful your back was to him. Slowly, he crept closer and you felt him looming over you, just at the side of your bed. Your nerves were on fire, every hair on your body was on end.

The blanket moved just a little as he tugged at it. You made yourself stay still as he paused, waiting for you to react. He let out a long breath and yanked harder to dislodge the duvet from under you. You squeezed your eyes shut, terrified. You should say something, do something, tell him to fuck off!

He bared your leg and the cool air raised goosebumps along your skin. Your shorts offered little coverage and had ridden up your ass. He let the blanket rest on the other side of your leg and his fingertips grazed your calf and thigh. He touched your ass and pressed more firmly against it.

Then suddenly he recoiled. You heard him swallow and he pulled the blanket back over you. He turned and retreated into the bathroom, your door clicking closed behind him, the second which led into his own room. The silence was pierced by his muffled voice.

“Shit.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #fic #series #defending jacob #dark fic #dark!fic #one night

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americasass81 · 3 years

Text

Love In The Wild

Warnings:- Fluff, M & F Smut (nothing too graphic), Very, very, very Mild Stalker Behavior, Mild Coarse Language, Teasing, Kinda Friends to Enemies to Lovers. Do not read if any of these warnings are upsetting. All mistakes are my own. Feedback and reblogs are welcomed.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Pairing:- softish!Brock Rumlow x Named Female Character

Author’s Note 1:- Okay so this is once again a very special piece for @saiyanprincessswanie as she faces into yet another surgery. Good luck Missy and know that all our thoughts are with you. Hope this lifts your spirits and helps make you smile. {PS:- I also included a little Frank trivia in this but I’m not sure if anyone else will spot it}.

Author’s Note 2:- Thanks goes to @firefly-graphics for creating the included Floral Leaves divider. Please go check out Daisy’s work and pass on some love.

Author’s Note 3:- This is also my first time writing for a Named Character and I hope it works okay.

Synopsis:- Meeting a stranger in a place that holds a special place in your heart may be the key to unlocking your future happiness.

Word Count:- 5,378

Sitting out on the porch of the dining area as the morning sun shone its rays towards the ground and the early risers milled around the area, you wished you could wake up like this every morning. Nature was in full bloom all around and listening to the adults chatting while the odd child ran around enjoying their little freedom, you truly felt like you had come home. Finally feeling like yourself again, this trip was simply about reconnecting with nature and finding joy in the little things. Finishing up breakfast, you walked back through the lobby of the lodge and smiled as a small child skipped up to you and handed you some freshly picked wildflowers before running off back to her parents after you thanked her. Sniffing the flowers as you continued on back to your room, you remembered when you too held that child-like innocence and wondering where it went, you hoped that she at least would be someone who could hold onto hers.

Arriving at your room, you opened the door and stepping inside, placed the flowers in a glass of water before picking up the activity pamphlet and looking down the list of activities. Oakridge may have been a nature park, but that didn't stop it from having an impressive choice of activities for those that weren't exactly interested in the great outdoors. Deciding however that you would take advantage of the glorious morning and enjoy a hike along by the river flowing down from the mountains, you dressed accordingly, pulled out your hiking poles and headed off at a leisurely pace. Placing one foot in front of the other, the wind through the trees touched your soul and as you headed along the hiking trail you swore you could hear the voices of those that came before you reaching out across time and space to deliver the peace you had long since sought. Losing yourself in the wonder all around you, step by step your cares melted away as the sound of the nearby river and the local forest creatures reminded you why you were here in the first place.

Bending down to examine a rare plant, while taking a drink from your water bottle, it seemed that a higher power however had something else in mind for you when the sound of a branch snapping off to your right sharpened your senses and focused your attention firmly on your surroundings. Turning towards the sound as a burly, gruff looking man appeared before you, you figured him to be yet another park visitor until he opened his mouth and you identified him as nothing more than an annoyance.

"Well, well, well cricket, imagine finding you out here. You lost? I thought for sure someone like you'd be holed up back at the lodge with a hot chocolate and a nice book." he quipped and all you wanted to do was reach up and slap him. As it was you instead simply ignored him and walked away in the hope he would get the message.

Hope was not to be your friend in this scenario however as he easily caught up to you and began to point out all the ways in which the surrounding woodland was too dangerous for a delicate thing such as yourself. Breathing in the cool crisp air as you ventured further up the hiking trail, you did your best to ignore this intruder into your peaceful activity, but this task proved impossible as his next statement reached your ears. Asking if it was even safe for you to be outdoors and if you could tell the difference between common woodland plants and poison ivy, you finally had enough and rounded on him. "Now listen here you annoying little insect," you spat as he simply stood there looking at you as if enjoying your reaction, "I'll have you know that as a landscape architect this fragile little thing is far more capable of being outdoors than the likes of you."

Looking you up and down however with a smirk you would later come to enjoy, he simply took a step closer and asked what exactly a landscape architect was. After relaying in detail what exactly it was your job entailed, you finally had enough when he voiced his opinion that no such job actually existed and you were nothing more than a gardener. Losing all patience with him and taking in your strategic location, you smiled a glorious smile before placing your hands against his chest and leaning closer towards his ear. "You know what dickface, maybe my work doesn't sound like a real job, but it does give me the strength to do this," and with one powerful push and a huge amount of luck, the stranger found himself sitting in the river as you laughed and walked away from him.

Gazing after your retreating form as the river continued to flow around him and a few more visitors neared his location, he removed himself from his current location and heading back towards the lodge decided that your fiery spirit was definitely something he had to find a way to explore. Finishing off your hike before heading back to your room to freshen up, you hoped the rest of your trip was free of that arrogant stranger while you figured out what to do with the rest of your day.

Stripping off and stepping into the shower in another part of the lodge, Missy's stranger thought back on how he had landed himself in this position. Sure he thought it funny at the time to sneak up on her having secretly loved her from afar over the years, but seeing it from her point of view it probably wasn't the smartest move. Still he had to admit that fire in her was something to behold and he couldn't wait to see what fun they could have together. For now he set aside his desires, dressed quickly and casually and headed to his truck for his weekly trip to the city to pick up the few essentials he couldn't live without. Driving along with his reliable radio blasting his favorite music, he tried to figure out how best to make it up to his precious girl and so, once reaching the city, his first stop was the flower shop to begin his campaign.

Walking into the bright airy premises, it always amazed Brock just how successful this place had become. Browsing until the last customer completed their business, he then headed over to the counter where the owner and his oldest friend stood waiting with her usual smile. Explaining to Samantha the predicament he had landed himself in, she told him it would have been wonderful to see before she finally took pity on him and made up a special arrangement of roses, lilies and tulips. Agreeing to call back for them on his way home, he paid the bill then headed off on his other business hoping that this gesture would help thaw his beautiful little cricket. Two hours later, having finished up all that he needed to do and collecting the flowers with a warning from Samantha not to screw things up, he drove back to the park somewhat more chipper now that he had parts of a plan in place. Parking in the employee car park, he took the flowers to the reception desk and asked Annie to place them in room 37. Then returning out to his truck to begin removing his purchases, he waited to see if his apology would be accepted.

Stepping out of the shower feeling totally invigorated after your wonderful hike and the glorious shower, you dried off, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and stepped out into the living area to be greeted by a beautiful bouquet of freshly cut flowers. Looking around the room and finding nothing disturbed, you went to the door and peeked out into the hall and not seeing anyone around, shut the door and headed back towards the coffee table. Looking at the arrangement before bending down to inhale their heavenly scents, your eye caught the card poking out between the flowers. Reaching out to pluck the card carefully from the vase, a mixture of emotions worked their way through your body as you read the words displayed before you.

Rummaging around in the recesses of your mind for any explanation for the words staring back at you, your hand dropped the card and you contemplated throwing the vase, flowers included, at something when your mind latched on to the early morning events. Not knowing how the stranger had found out your name or which room you were staying in, the sheer audacity of him to think that you should be sorry for dumping his smug ass in the river made your blood boil and erased the peace and pleasure of the morning's activities. Still as you tried to calm down and remember that you were here to enjoy yourself, you instead decided to throw away the card and pretend the beautiful flowers were simply part of the room's decor. Finally happy with your decision, you picked up the activities pamphlet once again and glancing through it decided that the afternoon art class might be just the thing to distract you from the arrogant stranger who twice now had intruded on your peaceful vacation. Heading off back down to the lobby, you stopped by the cafe for a brownie and a coffee before asking for directions to the art class. Being told how to get there by the polite guy behind the counter, you paid for your items, left a generous tip and headed off towards your next adventure.

Talking to Annie and discovering that the flowers had indeed been delivered to the correct room, Brock sat in his office trying to figure out what miscommunication had occurred this time round. Having watched you grow up and mature through the years as you visited the park, first with your parents and then sometimes on your own, he knew you to be a kind and thoughtful soul so he had to figure in the half day that you had been here you couldn't have that many people to apologize to.

Ringing through to reception, he inquired as to what the occupant of room 37 was up to, but when no one was able to shed any light on the matter, he figured he would simply have to allow the whims of fate to hopefully bring you back to his presence. Finding himself particularly frustrated at the events taking place around him with little to no control over them, he headed off to the lodge's gym to try and work off some of the tension making itself at home in his muscles. Of course he could use the equipment in his own quarters, but his parents had taught him that not only should he know how everything around the lodge worked, he should also keep himself in the trenches and thereby better understand what their guests and visitors needed and thus help cultivate an all-round better vacation experience.

Heading off to the gym fifteen minutes later, all thought of working out was pushed from his mind however as he passed the art room and got an eyeful of the exhibition within. Sure he couldn't see much of the naked male model below the assembled easels, but he could clearly make out Missy's ethereal form sitting on the far left gazing at the man before her as her hand moved back and forth across the canvas. Remembering his parents words and seeing an opportunity to spend some extra time with you, he gave up on his workout, moved away from the door and taking out his phone, dialed Elaine and told her of a change of plan for the art class. Then heading to the changing rooms, he stripped down, slipped on an available robe and waited for Julius to be dismissed.

Sitting around and fine tuning the drawing you were working on while the instructor Elaine explained that another model would be taking over, you were the only one shocked when a new guy took the podium and removed his hooded robe to reveal the stranger you had dumped into the river that morning. Choking on the couch that caught in your throat, your cheeks heated up as your eyes focused in on his package and he winked over at you when his eyes followed your gaze. Giving a jerk of his hips that he was certain you had seen by the way the pencil dropped from your hand and how flustered you had become, he smiled to himself as he got comfortable and continued to be the bane of your existence for the next hour until Elaine called time on the class. Removing your drawings and ducking out quickly from the room, you made for the nearest exit and breathed in some lungfuls of much needed air. Meanwhile back in the art room as Brock thanked Elaine and Julius for letting him sit in, he now took pleasure in the fact that he clearly had an effect on you.

Heading off back to your room when your breathing was once again under control, you tried to figure out how this stranger, whose name you didn't even know, always showed up when you were trying to forget about him. Deciding now that the remainder of your evening was a total bust, you headed to the dining room for dinner before retiring to bed with a good book. Ordering the pasta and following Russell, the maitre d to a table by the window, you then ordered a delicious red wine and set your sights on the evening view beyond the glass. Watching families taking photos, couples and strangers getting to know each other around a campfire and children running around being children, you were pulled out of this wonderland when a waitress appeared with your wine.

Meanwhile, walking into the dining room to check on things as he liked to do, Brock caught Jennifer leaving your table and the view that greeted him took his breath away and tightened his pants. Discreetly bringing your glass to your nose and inhaling the pleasant aroma, you sniffed a few more times, taking longer each round. Finally pressing your lips to the glass, you took a sip and allowed the rich bouquet to settle gently in your mouth. Holding it carefully on your tongue as the flavor assaulted your taste buds, you were so wrapped up in your own little world, you had no idea that your actions were being so closely observed by someone who couldn't help but wonder how it would look and feel to have you pleasure his cock the way you did the wine. At last coming out of his fantasy as you swallowed the liquid inhabiting your mouth, Brock excused himself from Russell's presence and headed off back to his quarters, vowing one day soon to recreate the vision he had just experienced.

Thanking Jennifer once she delivered your meal, you tucked into the delicious spaghetti not knowing that your earlier actions had been interpreted as a glorified sex act. Still eating in peace and enjoying every single bite, you headed back to your room afterwards and curling up with the latest romance novel, lost yourself for a few blissful hours in its pages before laying down in bed and closing your eyes. Hoping that tomorrow would prove a more relaxing day, you had no idea as you drifted off towards sleep that somewhere under the same stars and roof as you, a dark haired, hazel eyed walking god was currently using his hand to relieve the tension a day in your orbit had fostered within him.

Waking the next morning feeling fully rested, you showered, dressed and decided to forego breakfast in favor of a little kayaking. Figuring that no strangers could upset your day out on the water, things took a quick nose-dive when you arrived at the kiosk to discover your mystery stalker doing sit-ups on the ground a few feet away. Deciding you were sick and tired of this complete arse ruining what was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, you swiftly headed back to the main lodge and stood in line at reception to be assisted. Finally approaching Annie, you explained to her that while it was not your intention to cause trouble, a guest was causing you to feel very uncomfortable and you would appreciate it if management would do something about it. Assuring you that the matter would be dealt with, you told her you would be in your room awaiting their response. Half an hour later however everything you thought you knew evaporated like steam when you opened your door to discover your strange stalker standing before you.

"Hello Missy, I heard you were looking for me. Mind if I come in?" he asked with a little smirk, though he made no attempt to move forward.

Standing looking at him with your hand on the door, you quickly found your voice as your senses returned to you. "Yes I do mind actually. You have spent the last twenty-four hours showing up everywhere I've been and as a result I have reported you to management. Now, I don't know how you got my name or what made you think I asked to see you, but it would be best if you left before the manager arrives."

"Well in that case, how about I do you one better and get the owner?" he asked before reaching out his hand to you. "Brock Rumlow at your service. You really don't remember me?" he asked with slight disappointment evident in his voice.

Flitting your gaze back and forth between his face and his outstretched hand, the cogs began turning in your mind and a vision appeared before your eyes of you as a child playing on the swings with a boy a few years older than you. Reaching out your hand to shake his, your voice began working again as you asked him for identification before stepping aside to grant him entry.

Closing the door behind him as he walked over to the couch and made himself at home, a thousand questions assaulted your brain, but you figured the best course of action was to order something to calm your nerves before dealing with the hunk of muscle before you. Waiting for the drinks to arrive, you took a seat on one of the chairs opposite and played with the hem of your top while Brock occupied himself with admiring just how flustered his presence made you.

Eventually getting up to answer the knock at the door, he thanked the waiter and poured each of you a glass of wine before offering you yours. "Here cricket, this should help with those pesky nerves." he grinned before sitting back down on the couch.

Taking a huge gulp from the glass, you then set it down on the table before facing him. "I wouldn't be nervous if you didn't keep stalking me. And stop calling me cricket." you snapped.

"You never had a problem with it when we were children." he interrupted. " What's happened Missy? Where's that carefree, nature loving girl who stole my heart when I was twelve years old?" he asked, now moving closer to you.

Looking up at him as the sands of time shifted and took you back to that memory, you smiled slightly at the image of that tender boy who had shown you so many wonderful sights around the park. Pulling yourself back to the present and the now grown up adult in front of you, you no longer saw the stranger who was out to ruin your vacation. "I guess she just needed someone to show her the way back." you answered shyly as you topped up your glass and sat down beside him on the couch.

Catching up on all the things that had happened in your lives through the intervening years, two bottles of wine later found you and Brock stretched out on your bed talking through why both of you were still single. Explaining that he couldn't find anyone to capture his attention or understand his love of nature, you were shocked to realize that you too had a similar experience.

Opening your eyes a few hours later to discover you had fallen asleep on your bed in Brock's arms, you thought once more of the fun you had as children and the feelings that friendship had nurtured within you. Sure you would never admit as much to him, but the love he had for nature and the care and generosity he showed to everyone around him were qualities you had looked for in potential boyfriends. Looking at his sleeping form, you had to wonder if fate was playing a hand in your love life right now but swiftly shoved that thought aside when a pair of hazel eyes met yours and a hand reached up to cup your cheek.

"Hey there Missy, you're a sight to wake up to." his groggy voice greeted and you couldn't help the giggle that left your lips as he pulled you closer and threw his leg across yours. Closing his eyes once again as you snuggled into his strong chest and warm embrace you drifted off once more wondering how a childhood acquaintance could stir such feelings in you all these years later.

Finding yourself jolted awake an hour later, Brock once more showed you all his favorite parts of the park before dragging your tired body back to his rooms and ordering up some dinner. Watching you eat while you told him more about your job and your deep seated desire to leave the city, he couldn't help himself when you raised your glass to have a sip of wine. Telling you of the vision he had the evening before as you sat in the dining room, you gulped down the beverage as your eyes moved along his body and your mind traveled places it hadn't been in a really long time.

Continuing on with your meal as Brock dropped hint after hint about what he'd like to do to you, you gave as good as you got even though your panties gave away the fact that he was clearly winning. Finally finishing up your meal, Brock rose from the table and holding out his hand to you, asked if he could show you the other place that owned his heart. Agreeing apprehensively as you expected him to lead you to his bedroom, you were both shocked and surprised when he opened a hidden door and led you into the most glorious personal library you had ever seen. Covered in floor to ceiling bookshelves with double doors leading out to a balcony he conveniently told you connected to his bedroom, the two comfy chairs by the fire along with the beautiful mahogany table completed the look.

Taking your hand and leading you further inside, your eyes scanned every inch of the room as his hands and lips began roaming over your delicate skin. Moving up towards your ear as your head fell back against his shoulder, the words whispered by his glorious lips sent a shiver down your spine. "Tell me to stop Missy or I'll make you mine forever."

Thus far too lost in the majestic splendor all around you to take much notice of the look of pure adoration Brock was sending your way, Missy now turned around in his arms to face the man who was slowly working his way into her heart. "I . . . I can't Brock. This vacation was meant to be about me finding time to relax and rediscovering what was missing in my life." you breathed out as his lips and hands continued to play your body as if they'd known it all your life.

"I think we've both discovered what's been missing in our lives, cricket." he whispered, though the acoustics in the room allowed you to hear every word perfectly. "Let me worship you the way you deserve and if I fail to rock your word, you can go back to the city and forget this ever happened."

"And otherwise?" you questioned, wondering where his thoughts were leading him.

"If I deliver," he smirked, "you come live out here with me. We're not far from the city anyway, you said you hate it there and it sounds like your career allows you to work from anywhere." he reasoned

Thinking over this proposal you had to admit, you were intrigued. Living in nature and working away from the city sounded like a dream, but to also have someone like Brock dangled in front of you as a potential lover, now that just seemed like icing on your cake. Trying to think as his fingers began worming their way under your top, your breath hitched and all coherent thought left you as Brock zeroed in on your tits.

"Of yeah." you breathed out as his fingers kneaded your bra-covered mounds and his lips made themselves in the sweet juncture between your neck and shoulder. "That feels so good. Please don't stop." you moaned out as your fingers found their way into his hair.

Pulling back slightly to work your top off your body, it was now his turn to moan at the glorious sight standing before him. With two perky mounds delicately wrapped in midnight blue lace, he couldn't help but give voice to that old saying. "You know, it's been said when a lady wears lingerie this sexy, she expects it to be seen."

Giggling at this remark as his hands moved down to cup your ass, you leaned forward and taking his lower lip between your teeth, bit it gently before moving your hands along his t-shirt covered abs. Feeling the chiseled structure beneath your fingers, Brock looked amused as your brow furrowed while you thought about what you wanted to do next. Leaning forward to place his forehead against yours, Brock didn't help all that much as he tried to egg you on. "Go do it Missy, you know you want to."

Moving your hands once more along his stomach, you winked up at him before placing your hands in front of his throat and successfully ripping his t-shirt down the front. Squealing as this shocked Adonis picked you up and laid you on the rug in front of the fire, it was now your turn to be surprised as his lips descended on your left breast and his hand grabbed hold of the right. Moaning and writhing beneath him as his own incoherent babbling joined you, all sound was replaced with incessant giggling as he began rubbing his stubbled face along your body. Continuing until you were a laughing, tear stained mess, Brock then moved back up your body to worship your breasts the other way but this time his free hand began to work on your jeans. Moving your hands to help him out, he bit into your flesh and when you yelped and slapped his arm playfully, he grabbed hold of your jeans and pulled them apart.

Now kissing and licking all over your panties, he couldn't hide the smirk at the noticeable moisture present there and as his tongue worked you closer and closer to the edge, you screamed to the high heavens when he moved back abruptly and pulled you from the floor. "Blast it Brock, what are you doing? I didn't tell you to stop."

"I know Missy, but maybe you'd treat me to a dance before I ruin you forever." he said as he walked away towards a sound system you only now just noticed.

"No no no . . . You can't. Brock. Do me." Missy whined as he paused to glance over his shoulder to gaze on your near naked form.

"Oh my sweet cricket, how could I deny you anything?" he asked and you would later suspect that all he had been waiting for was you to give in to your desires. Walking back towards you, he lifted you up and this time placing you on the table, began rubbing his jean-clad crotch against your panties. Watching you lose yourself all over again, you decided you had enough however when he leaned forward and kissed your lips before leaning up on his elbows and telling you it was getting late. Finding the same strength you had the previous day, you reached forward and swiftly undoing his belt, successfully maneuvered his jeans and boxers down his legs before reaching out to grasp his semi-hard dumbstick. Hissing as your fingers closed around his shaft, you swatted his hands away as you sat up and began running your hand along his member while it was now his turn to moan above you.

"Oh fuck cricket. Where'd you learn to do that?" he asked as you flicked your wrist before moving down to cup his balls.

Giving a squeeze as you ran your tongue along his neck, your hand returned to his cock as your lips settled by his ear. "Wouldn't you like to know. Now, do you know what to do with that thing or would you like me to show you?"

Laughing that he was getting to see more of that fire he so admired about you, he swiftly removed your panties and running his fingers through your folds, was not at all surprised to find them and you were utterly soaked. Replacing those same fingers with his cock, he moved it back and forth along your pussy a couple of times before plunging it and his fingers into your flower and mouth. Smirking at you as you just lay there, breathing through your nose as he used you how he saw fit, you now knew how it felt to be stuffed to the point of pain and it felt good. Finally removing his fingers from your mouth, you gave voice to the pleasure he was pulling from you as he flipped you over and held your legs as his plunging rod pushed you nearer and nearer to that glorious finish you knew was just within reach. Instinctively knowing you needed a little more, he first decided to have a bit more fun.

"You feel that Missy? Feel what you do to me? Is this what you pictured yesterday as you sat in class ogling my package?"

Biting down on your lip both to keep from crying out at the building pressure and to not answer his question, you stopped being capable of much when he wrapped your legs around his waist, pulled you almost off the the table and held your waist with one hand while his hips pistoned into you at a faster pace. Now grasping the table as best you could while chanting his name over and over and over again, you were shocked that you didn't pass out when his fingers connected with your clit and your walls clamped around him as a powerful orgasm flowed through you.

Whimpering from over-stimulation as he continued to chase his own release, you came once more before you realized Brock still hadn't finished. Begging now for him to stop, he promised you could give him one more, which is exactly what you did as his balls clenched, his thrusts became erratic and you both came to the feeling of warm streams hitting your walls while your release gushed around his still twitching phallus. Easing himself out of your still trembling flower, he picked you up bridal style and carrying you gently to the bedroom, continued into the attached bathroom and turning on the shower, proceeded to wash you both before tenderly laying you down on what felt like a bed of clouds. Whispering words of love as he held you close, you drifted off to sleep in the arms of your childhood friend who years later reminded you that the dreams we dream as kids sometimes do come true.

Tagging: @saiyanprincessswanie

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dimensionwriter · 4 years

Text

My Little Buddy

Part 4

M! Orc x F! Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three

Warning: None

Word Count: 3531

Description: You bump into your crush, but he has a child?

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Please leave a like, reblog, and comments. I really love to look at the comments on these stories. It helps motivate me.

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The cool wind blew against you gently as you walked down the concrete paths of the strip. Lots of tall dark bricked buildings loomed over you, blocking out the rays of the sun. High pitch tweets of birds followed by a low croak ringed all around you in harmony with each other. Today was the perfect day.

Since it was the day of the block party, you decided to give yourself a day off. It was a rare thing to do because you owned a shop and you understood that closing the shops for a day results in a small dip in income. But one day couldn’t hurt that bad.

You woke up bright and early to go over to Eveline’s Bakery shop. The entire time while you sipped on your tea and ate your pastry, she was going off on all her plans for tonight. It was so cute seeing her tiny deer hooves stomping around from her excitement. To be honest, you were looking forward to tonight only for a certain orc.

You weren’t even a hundred percent sure he was even going to show up tonight. His shop has been closed for the last couple of days and you haven’t seen him around at all. If only you could call him and ask where he was. But wouldn’t that be clingy? You barely knew the man for a month and here you are getting too attached. It’s just a simple crush. You just have to be calm and mature about it.

“It’s okay, little guy.” Your ears picked up a deep voice. However, it wasn’t no normal deep voice. You know that voice so well. The softness to such a powerful voice only belongs to one person.

You shuffled towards where the sound was coming from while being as quiet as you could. Turning the sharp corner, you were met with the sight of a large back covered with a black linen jacket. Strands of black hair escaped from under his beanie and blended into his jacket.

“Vyzer?” The kneeling man’s back tensed up before he turned his head towards you. There were those lovely brown and white eyes you loved so much. A tiny blue hue was painted on his cheeks as his eyes drifted down for a second before coming up slowly. “I knew it was you.”

“Oh, hi,” he whispered. A smile spread over his face allowing you to see the broken tusk with the golden cap. Even with all his flaws, he is still the most beautiful orc, hell creature, you have ever laid eyes upon.

A small sniffled from underneath him brought his head back down. Vyzer began to whisper small things that you couldn’t quite catch. Getting a little curious, you peak around him.

On the concrete ground was a tiny orc with the chubbiest cheek you have ever seen. His skin was that same pretty green just like Vyzer above him. His baby blue eyes were shining brightly as fresh tears fell from them. He was wearing a tiny sweater with a pair of black overalls. The fabric on his left leg was rolled up to reveal a scrape on his knee.

Reaching towards your handbag, you zipped it open in search of that certain object. You gently push away the samples of fabric inside and avoid the containers of needles. At the bottom was a small container with a red plus on the top.

“Here, you use,” you whispered, kneeling down right beside Vyzer. The kid glanced at you with slight uneasiness in his eyes. To respect his boundaries, you scooted back a little so Vyzer was more in his view.

Vyzer looked over at you to see you holding out two bandaids. These even had dinosaurs on them, which you felt the kid would like a little more. Hopefully.

“Thank you so much,” he said with that smile again. The way his eyes crinkled slightly from his cheeks to the way his entire body seemed to rise with it. He was just glowing with pureness.

Vyzer’s giant hands seem to be so careful with the bandaid as he peels away the wrapping paper. A tiny chuckle escaped from those pretty green lips as he saw the designs on them. He pulled off the paper and placed the tiny band aid on the wound.

“Does that feel better?” he whispered, rubbing the top of his knee. The kid gave a curt nod as he wiped his eyes. The top of his cheeks and under his eyes were a light blue from his tears, but his face made it look like he was trying to toughen it out.

“I forgot to warn him around the crack in the sidewalk,” he explained turning towards you. Oh that darn crack. Most of the owners here have been trying to get the sidewalks repaved for years, but it still hasn't happened. “Oh, introductions. I always forget. This is Benny.”

He gave you a small smile and a tiny wave. Vyzer unrolled the bottom of his overalls and gave a small pat to his leg. Benny’s tiny hand latched onto Vyzer’s jacket as they both got up.

Do you ask? Benny looked extremely like him and he is clingy to him like a son would. You assumed he was single, but you never asked. You should have really asked at the beginning before you fell for the guy and found out he has a family.

"Wow, I can really see the resemblance between you two." You hid your fallen smile by slowly getting off the ground and dusting your knees.

You could feel your heart shattering. All those moments you two spent laughing and getting closer was just nothing more than a worthless dream that you were forcing over your life. He never said he was single, but there you were flinging yourself on him. He probably was only still hanging out with you because he was pitying you.

"Resemblance?" He looked down at Benny with a confused look. His eyes shifted over to you before widening with realization. "No, no, no, no. I'm single, very single with no kids. This is an old friend's son. Not mines."

The slight panic in his eyes made butterflies explode in your stomach. He was not only single, but ‘very single’. It was like he was indirectly telling you that he was looking for someone and you prayed that his eyes were on you. Because you know your eyes were only for him at this point.

“Well that is quite a coincidence. I happen to be very single too,” you teased giving a wink. Blue exploded onto his face as a smile appeared on his face. Tip of his left ear wiggled a little. He’s too cute. You can’t.

Vyzer’s eyes drifted away from you to Benny. You glanced around Vyzer’s muscular forms to see that Benny was tugging on his jacket sleeve. “I’m hungry.”

His blue eyes widened slightly as he fluttered his eyelashes at him. Vyzer’s shoulders dropped a little and you could see him cooing at the kid. Note to self, Vyzer is weak to puppy eyes.

“Yeah, we can get something to eat,” he spoke with that soft voice as his giant hand gently ruffled the child’s black hair. Benny smiled up at Vyzer before reaching his tiny hand up to grab it. His tiny hand could barely wrap around two of Vyzer’s fingers, but he looked so happy to hold it.

“I apologize for asking this. But do you know any good place to eat? I’m still new to the area.” The question would have been fine to ask. However, when said person leans over to whisper the question into your ear before leaning a few inches from your face with those brown and white eyes shimmering, it becomes a problem.

Your lips parted to say something, but your brain had turned to mush. He smelled so good. A wave of pinecones with some vanilla in it invaded your senses.

“Oh, umm,” you took a step back trying to clear your head,” There’s a diner nearby run by a fae named Cyda. They make really good lunch food.” You pointed in the area the diner should be. Maybe a block or two from where you are.

“Does that sound good, Ben?” Vyzer asked, squatting down again. Benny quickly nodded his head and tugged Vyzer’s hand in the direction. You know that the tug probably didn’t have much strength behind it, but Vyzer still allowed himself to be pulled.

Well, guess this is the part where you leave. You shouldn’t be this sad to leave his side since you might get a chance to see him tonight.

You begin to turn away when a whine makes you stop. Glancing in their directions, you could see Vyzer staring at you. A tinge of a blush was making its way onto his face. Was he the one that made that sound?

“Apologies. I assumed you were.. I thought you were going to be eating with us. I understand if you’re busy, but if you’re not- no pressure- you can join us.” Hope was swimming in his eyes as he stared at you.

It didn’t even take you a full second to get right next to them. Did you probably look a little desperate? Yes. But it was worth hearing Vyzer’s little happy squeak.

“Come on, slow pokes. I’m hungry,” Benny whined. He tightened his grip on Vyzer’s hand and tugged a little. His chubby green face turned to you before his tiny hand wrapped around your fingers. With both of your hands in his tiny baby hands, he pulled you towards your destination, with a little of your help.

When you arrived, you led them to a booth in the back that had a moveable table, so Vyzer wouldn’t be squeezed into a tiny area. You slide in first with Benny beside you and Vyzer near the outer edge.

As you settled in, Cyda flew over with the menus and handed them out. One look at the menu and Benny was pretty much chanting chicken tenders. He looked so happy at the thought of getting to eat chicken tenders. Too bad it was short lived.

Vyzer hunched down to Benny’s height and began whispering in his ear. “You have to remember what daddy said about your tusk. You can’t have any tough food or they’ll hurt worse, bud.”

Two baby tusks were barely poking out from Benny’s lip as he frowned at the opposition of his chicken tenders. His arms crossed around his small body as he began his silent tantrum. Was it bad that he looked so adorable pouting?

“What about some..” Vyzer pulled the menu down towards Benny. Benny didn’t even look as he continued to pout. “Chicken tortilla soup. You love chicken soup.”

There was a hint of hope on his face as he turned towards Benny. Benny's bottom lip begins to quiver a little. The tantrum was about to evolve. Did you… did you help him?

“Yeah I guess it’s not the same as chicken tenders. How about this? Today we can get some soup and later get a big bowl of ice cream.” You could see Benny’s resolve dissolve as a giant smile appeared on his face. “Then the next time you visit, we can get you as many chicken tenders that tough little body can handle.”

Vyzer gave that soft smile to Benny. Lifting his giant hand, he ran it through the kid’s hair before ruffling it. They both seem to be radiating at how the situation played out. Vyzer’s eyes were almost closed from how hard he was smiling and he looked… proud of how he handled it.

Did you find it attractive how he handled that situation so smoothly? Yes. It just made him look so soft and considerate of others. Not to include like a slight dad.

Cyda flew over and took all your orders. You decide to get a plate of pasta to warm you up since it was slightly chilly in the diner. Some weak waves of heat were rolling off of Vyzer, but since you weren’t right next to him, it wasn’t that effect.

Maybe if the two of you have an aligned free day or lunch, you can swing over here again. The two of you cuddled up in a booth together as you shared a meal. Small little flirty comments flying between you two and watching his forest green skin turned that light blue. Then he’ll see you shiver and ask if you’re cold. You’ll deny it, but snuggled up against his side to feel his warmth. It’s better than any jacket.

“Hey, you okay?” Something warm was pressed against your arm. You unknowingly leaned into the heat as you glanced at the voice. Vyzer’s fingers massaged into your skin languidly. “Are you cold? You got goosebumps.”

You were about to dismiss the obvious, not wanting to bother him. However, Vyzer seems to have an idea on his own. With a slight blue blush rising on his cheeks, he picked up Benny and placed him on his lap. His brown and white eye couldn’t reach yours and he patted the space right next to him.

“If-If you’re cold.. I’m warm and thought you could… if you’re comfortable,” he stuttered turning more blue the longer he tripped up his sentences. You couldn’t lie that you weren’t getting flustered yourself. You were tempted to pinch yourself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

Letting out a slight fake cough to calm your nerves, you scoot over in the booth into the side of Vyzer. A muscular arm wrapped hesitantly around your torso to cover your more in it’s warmth. You couldn’t even feel a single breeze of the air condition with all the heat coming off of Vyzer.

The conversation started back up after a while of flustering silence. Benny was actually quite talkative, being the first one to break the silence. He asked who you were, how you knew his ‘Uncle’ Vyz, and about this town. It was cute seeing the kid curled up into Vyzer as he told stories about when Vyzer used to stay nearby.

You learned that Vyzer used to stay in their village before leaving for here. Even back in the village, he used to make teddy bears for all the kids and play with them. Benny admitted that he was mad when he left, but said that he looked a lot happier here than in the village. At that, you could feel Vyzer tense up. Did something happen in the village?

Cyda fluttered over with the dishes floating behind them. A smirked slide on their face when they saw you tucked in the corner of Vyzer’s arm. You didn’t say a thing, but your glare was hopefully threatening enough.

“A tortilla chicken soup for the boy. A turkey sandwich for the toy maker. And pasta for the fabric supplier.” They hand everyone their respective plate. Small comments of thanks and how good everything looked flowed from the table to Cyda. They beamed at the compliments before fluttering away a little. They stopped and turned back at the table with that smirk. “Anything for the happy family.”

Vyzer and you froze at the comment causing the fae to giggle before leaving. Benny didn’t seem to question it as he reached for the spoon. You could feel Vyzer glancing over at you, but you weren’t calm enough to look over. Did you guys really look like a family?

“Just ignore them. They’re quite the jokester,” you forced out while reaching for a fork. You took the risk to glance over at Vyzer to see he was staring at you with a completely blue face. Strands of black hair were escaping from his beanie littering across his beautiful skin. Even with the giant scar running across his face, he looked so pure and untouched.

“Yeah,” he squeaked out while tearing his gaze away from you. He grabbed his sandwich, but didn’t take a bite. Instead, a giant smile appeared on his face with the tip of his left ear wiggling.

For a while, no one said anything as everyone munched down on their food. You were enjoying your pasta, but slowed down when you felt something staring at you.

Turning to your left, Benny was twirling his spoon in his soup as his blue eyes stared down your pasta. You could feel the hunger in his gaze as his lips pouted.

Pasta is soft, right? Parents have fed their kids pasta based food when they were teething. So, tusk pain should be the same as teething. Pasta won’t even touch his tusk if he were to eat a little.

Sneakily, you shoved some pasta on the fork and brought it towards Benny. His eyes widened as he glanced at you with an unsaid ask of permission. You gave a curt nod before pushing the pasta towards him.

His tiny fist wrapped around the fork as he shoved the pasta in his mouth. A happy hum slipped out of his mouth as he chewed frantically on the soft food. He looked so much happier with the pasta than the soup.

“Benny, you think you can help me finish the pasta? It’s a little more than I thought I could handle,” you whispered to him.You slide your plate over to him and he happily refilled the fork with the pasta.

A few forkfuls of pasta later and his mouth was covered in sauce. He didn’t seem to notice as he continued to eat the pasta with a happy smile on his face. The twinkle in his eyes never went away as more sauce was spread on his chin.

Reaching to the dispenser at the edge of the table, you felt Vyzer’s grip on your side tighten. You tried to not jump at the sensation as you focus on grabbing some napkins. You lean back into Vyzer’s side causing him to look over at you.

“Just getting a few napkins for Benny,” You explained. You brought the napkin to Benny’s mouth and gently wiped away the sauce covering it. He stopped eating for a second to allow you to get all the gunk off his face. “He seems to really be enjoying the meal. We will have to come here again, don’t you think?”

You turned towards Vyzer with a smile on your face. It felt nice to go out with people. It’s been a while since you allowed yourself time to just get out and relax. Even if it’s with your crush and his friend’s son, it was still nice.

“I-I.” Your head tired in confusion at why Vyzer was stuttering over.

But you didn’t have time to ponder over it when something was pressing against your lips. It was the softest and warmest thing you’ve ever felt. You were hit with that vanilla smell again causing you to lean into the touch. A giant hand made its way to the side of your face as it pulled you even closer.

“Oh hell yeah!” A voice screamed causing you to jump out of Vyzer’s embrace. His hold on you tightened as you both looked at the voice. Standing a few feet away was Eveline with her thumbs up. Her tiny deer tail was flickering around happily as she stared at you two. “No, don’t stop on my hold.”

Vyzer glanced over at you with panic in his eyes. The blue was coming up his neck and making its way to the tip of his ear. “I’m sorry… I gotta go.”

He reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet. He didn’t even count the money as he threw a couple of bills on the table. His arms unwrapped from around you and held onto Benny. He jumped up and scurried from the area.

“See you tonight,” Eveline yelled to Vyzer as he sped walked past her. He gave her a quick nod before disappearing out of the restaurant. You were left to stare at Eveline with a disapproving glare.

“Okay, I promise you my intentions weren’t to make him leave. I was just trying to embarrass you,” she explained trotting over to you. Her white hair was once again pulled in pigtails giving her the appearance of an innocent child. But you knew the evil that was within.

“I can’t believe you ruined my first kiss with him,” you whined, putting your head in your hands. The kiss was so soft and gentle, the same as Vyzer. You just wished it lasted a little longer.

“Sweetie, the way that man looks at you like you are the light of his life, I can bet my hooves that that won’t be the only kiss you two will share,” she comforted, rubbing your back. “Not to include who knows how tonight will go.”

The party. You forgot for a second about tonight. You were looking forward to it, but now you were really looking forward to it. Tonight would be the end of the flirting qualm between you two. You will make sure of it.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I'm not going to lie. I got flustered about 3 times while writing this and had to stop to breath. Think I'm off my game for writing fluff.

This story question is 'What would you like to do with Vyzer at the party?'

526 notes · View notes

kanene-yaaay · 3 years

Text

Tickle me, princey

Kanene’s note: This fic is basically: Virgil is a bratty Lee, Roman is a competitive Ler and none of them are going down without a fight xDD.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Virgil and Ler!Roman (Kind of. Because there is almost no tickles here, just teasing). Human AU.

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have about 2.500 words of Roman and Virgil just being teasy beans. ‘w’)b.

* PLEASE CHECK THIS AMAZING ART! IT’S INCREDIBLEE! <33

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Do something crazy today, take a good rest, be kind (especially with yourself) and drink water! Byeioo!~

[~*~]

Roman cleaned his hands on his jeans before stretching his back and sighing in relief when a small ‘pop’ came from it. The pal from the nearby library was a cool person – not that he would ever allow the other to hear this, because, damn, people who called Roman cocky definitely haven’t met them yet – but equally precise in get on his nerves with as few words as possible, even though the florist didn’t care that much as his dramatics discourses tried to convince everyone he did.

Besides that, they was Patton’s friend and even more important, they made an accord with the Flower Shop’s owner and Roman was the one in charge to deliver their biweekly floral arrangement to the library’s decór. However, today Roman managed to win their discussion and therefore a couple of podcast episodes read by them (What? Their voice was quite nice!!).

Roman ignored the small ring of the door’s bell as he entered the Flower Shop, looking around to be sure there was no clients before taking his position behind the balcony, internally thanking how chill Patton was with his employees using phone during the shift as long there wasn’t no one near, especially as he unlocked his screen and a new notification popped in front of him.

Butterflies went immediately crazy on his stomach.

[Message from Panic! At Everywhere]

[P: Hey. So, are you still ok?]

Virgil kicked his blanket out of his bed, already feeling a tad of giddiness spread across his body, a small smirk finding its way to his face without him even realizing. Today was the day. Since when he and Roman talked on the last week about boundaries to be sure nothing had changed and decided Saturday as a good day for their session the one with purple hair couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander, picturing and re-picturing what would happen, even though Roman always insisted to never tell him his plans, wanting to keep everything as a surprise, which definitely didn’t help at all the excitement running on his veins.

Their session.

Their tickle session. It was only eleven in the morning and Virgil could already feel his skin tingle just by imagine Roman’s fingers grazing, dancing on it, carefully looking for all his weak spots both knew so well before coming with an entire new technique that would make the other (almost, barely, hardly) want to jump out of his skin so he could escape from the maddening tickly sensation.

He was going to love it.

Also, it didn’t help that he spent the previous night and its following morning consuming all his favorite tickle content, dying on the spot (and on the reblogs) and skyrocketing his lee mood to the mountains.

Nevertheless, he tried to play nonchalant as answered the other’s new message.

[Message from Dumb(o)]

[D: Yes.]

[P: Cool.]

[D: You?]

[P: Yep.]

[D: Glad to know, Blushy Bug. Try to not alarm all of our neighborhood with your squeals and giggles before I get there, okay? ~

D: And yeah, plu-e-ase, continue with your so delightful tags on your reblogs, okay, Tickle me Emo? I’m learning so much new information with that. If only I would have an opportunity to use all of them today…]

Virgil snorted, one hand trying to hide his face as he attempted with all his might to ignore the flames taking over his cheeks as the teases sank and the memories from the day he conquered this nickname emerged from the deeps of his mind. So, Princey was already so over his head with being the ler this time? Thinking Virgil would be hiding his face on the pillow, squeaking and tittering helpless? Well, he would have a big storm coming, then.

Virgil got up, his footsteps leading him to the clean desk in the room, moving some of the objects so carefully chosen in order to get the perfect picture. Every single makeup brush lined, gleaming under the lens of his camera, away enough so the viewer would be able to realize all their individualities but close enough to create an impact.

Two can play this game.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent an image]

Roman clicked on it, eyes going immediately wide as he quickly slammed the cellphone’s screen on his red apron, his gaze running from a place to another to be sure no one was near or had seen the conversation or noticed the way his smile went from an ear to another.

[P: Nah. I’m too occupied choosing the perfect tools for today… I mean, there are just so many options, ya know? I especially prefer the smallest ones, their bristles softly running on my ribs, tracing their way across my tummy to get to the other side… yeah. That is the good stuff. Or maybe we could be experimenting the biggest ones today, letting them tease that spot right under my chin, the softness engulfing all the nerves… ]

Roman took a deep breath, realizing the other still typing.

[P: Anyway, don’t make a big deal of this, ‘kay? I know your imagination can be very fertile but try to not alert Patton with all your blush and twitching. You know he is a curious guy and will want to know why you’re so smiley. ;)]

“Pai amado, (Dear God) he is going to kill me.” Roman crossed his arms, using all his will to no start wiggling them to nothing, a sudden urge to sing some nursery rhymes making him begin to humming quietly as attempted to gather enough concentration to type a proper, cool reply.

[D: Is that so? So, the big, badass Virgil Storm is excited to get all his tickly-tickle-tickles today? Is he excited to become a so helpless, so adorable mess of giggles and squeaks? To be teased and tickled until he can do nothing but give me those lovely snorts and wiggly-wiggles? ~

Awww. So cute. ~]

[P: Yeah, I am. So what? Wanna do something about that, Sir Sing a Lot?

Ops, I forgot you’re at work rn. Tsc. Such a pity. Well, guess I will have to kill some time by looking at your precious collection of feathers, see if I find something interesting there.]

[D: You just wait for when I get home.]

[P: :)]

Virgil laid his phone at his side, hiding his face on the mattress, kicking just like he was some teenager in love from those generic movies. The squeals bubbled out from his lips, smiles blooming. He knew he probably was just digging his own grave, but, ha, as if he would fall without a fight. Plus, imagining Roman trying at every cost to keep a straight expression while reading his texts and then struggling to continue his work just as if nothing had happened, with that cute, excited smile planted on his face made a proud wave of power – and joy - hit him and that was a bonus which was worth it.

Then his phone vibrated, indicating a new notification and a new flood of shivers as he unlocked his screen, freezing for a couple of heartbeats with the length of the message.

[D: A poem for my dear Knightmare. ~

Once upon a time

There was a wiggley-wiggly lee

That just a few pokes

Made him giggle with glee

Some scribbles here

Some scratches there

You can tickle-tickle

He is ticklish everywhere!

What, you don’t believe me?

‘That much cute he can’t be!’

Well, then allow me to demonstrate

All the beautiful sounds he can create!

Give a few prodding on his ribs

And a quick digging on his hips

Some brushes on his toesies and feet

And don’t forget about these helpless pits!

(And hey, psst, if you squeeze his sides

The cutie, squeaky, wiggly lee,

Will be squealing in a happy delight)

This neck is also asking for tickly-kisses

He always denies, always desire

Add to that some teasy whispers

And watch his cheeks be set on fire!

Once upon a time

There was a bratty, smug lee

That just a few tickle teases

Can make him a blushy mess

Just like now, you see!]

[…]

“Have a nice day. Thank you for coming!”

Roman waved to the client who got out from the Flower Shop, taming the smugness which threatened to take over his features as he realized that even though an hour had passed, no answer to his last text had arrived yet. He was perfectly aware of how weak Virgil was for any sort of rhymed tease and a whole poem – not his best, he had to admit – dedicated to him? He could almost see the other shrieking, hiding his red face on the pillow, lost in a mess of quiet peals of laughter and curses. His smile got even bigger, swelled in pride. And, well, if he couldn’t help it but push his luck a few inches further, his fingers already halfway to typing a small, itsy bitsy, new tease to his favorite emo lee, how could someone really blame him?

[D: Oh, sorry. Did I make the scary Virgil too much flustered to talk? Awww, I will miss your sassy remarks deeply and sing a ballad in your honor at the funeral. ~]

He snorted at the amount of time the symbol of ‘typing’ appeared and disappeared on the conversation, using the ten minutes he took to be answered to organize a few sales signs on the glass in front of the store, gaining a dance on his step as the one-worded sentence shone on his phone.

[P: Bitch.]

[D: I have no idea of what you’re talking about. Is that something I said? I feel wounded.]

But a new thing popped up.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a video]

[P: :)]

It seemed like hours passed, even if he knew the downloading probably didn’t really take more than a few pieces of minute for him to hit the play.

The focus of the camera took a few seconds to adjust, the image trembling and shaking before going still, the crystal clear form of a small light brown, slightly spiked feather twirling between Virgil’s index and thumb locking his eyes on the screen. A quick, quiet sigh could be heard before the tickle tool descended to the palm extended on a desk, stopping by Virgil’s pulse.

The bristles grazed the skin there as the feather began to move on slow strokes, going from the left to the right, left and right, left and right… calmly making its way up, changing to small swirls as it contorted the form of the hand, giving to each finger a light tracing before concentrating on the palm, drawing a spiral which approximated inch by inch to the center. If Roman wasn’t so quiet, - even holding his breath, - maybe he wouldn’t be able to listen the incredibly low, contained huffs of laughter on the background, a soft snort escaping and making both hands tremble as the bristles hit the center of his hand, dancing around the spot for a bit.

When it stopped, the tool was placed on the desk and then the camera started to move, stopping on Roman’s so very well-known golden with silver details box. Its lid laid next to it, letting its entire content to be proudly shown. The explosion of colors from the most diverse large, small, pointy, fluffy feathers took over the frame, however, a tiny piece of paper placed on the exact center of them was what captured his attention. The lens zoomed and focused, making him able to read the quick message written there.

“:)”

And then the screen went black. The video was over.

Roman could feel his face being almost split in half by his grin, his fingers hitting the table top in complete frenzy since they hadn’t to hold the device anymore, curling and uncurling as the one who couldn’t just stay still started to bounce his right leg, ignoring the redness he felt crippling down his neck.

“Roman?”

He fully shrieked. Both him and Patton startled and jumped a few centimeters in the air with the sudden sound. The florist slapping his own hand on his mouth, trying with all his inner strength to stop the bubbly giggles which flooded non stop from his lips

“Sorry for the scare, kiddo,” the shine on his eyes free of any guilt as Patton bit his own knuckles proved the contrary, especially when the rest of an awed squeal escaped from his lips, only making the other to giggle harder, eyes closed, blush deepening and nose scrunched. “Aww, your giggles are so cute!”

“Shuhuhush!!” The Flower Shop owner just smiled fondly, withholding his comments and patiently waiting for the other to recompose himself. When Roman looked at least a tad calmer he decided to make his decision to talk to him clear.

“I’m glad you’re in a good mood, Ro! I just wanted to remember today’s shift is already over. I need a bit of time to organize everything before the painter comes so we can discuss the new design of the Flower Shop. Thank you so much for the ideas, by the way! I can’t wait for you all to see the result! It will be so pretty!!” Roman’s wide eyes were enough of an explanation of why he wasn’t ready to go yet, probably having forgotten about their last month conversation. Although, the surprised look was away in an instant, a shine taking over his glare before he softened, locking his eyes with Patton.

“Of course, it will be, Patty-cake! With my magnificent ideas and your good taste, I really don’t think any other result besides wonderful and perfection will be possible!” He squeezed Patton’s cheeks and his friend stuck out his tongue at him, winning a quick poke on his ribs that made him squirms and yelp, quickly tittering and waving the other with his hands.

“Now shoo-shoo, go enjoy your afternoon!”

A devious smirk gleamed on Roman’s expression for a second. “You can count on it, Padre.” But then it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you, my mighty hero in a shiny armor! May the universe let our destiny align again in the future.”

“See ya, kiddo!” He replied, his tune also full of joy, watching the one with red hair going away, a happy bounce on his steps.

[…]

Virgil picked the phone in the first ring. “Roman, something happened?”

“Nope,” the purple lover sighed in relief, all the tension getting out of his body and being replaced by confusion, “nothing happened except that a handsome, incredible someone got out from his work earlier than expected and might be heading his home by now.”

That made Virgil shot up, biting his lower lip, butterflies freaking out. “No.” It was his whisper.

“Oh, yes. ~” Roman practically purred on the speaker. “any last words, my dear, defenseless Giggly Storm?”

Virgil just giggled and Roman had almost forgotten how that sound only was enough to spread an explosion of a warm, good feeling on his chest. “Aw, and here I was thinking I would have at least some challenge today. ~” He continued to tease.

Silence.

“Go check your messages, Princeypie.”

And then he hung up. Roman fondly rolled his eyes, running to check the new notification on their conversation.

[Panic! At Everywhere sent a photo]

It was Virgil, sitting on his bed criss crossed, one elbow resting on his thigh as he took the picture on the body mirror on the other side of the room, a strong blush very visible on his face half hidden by the device, wearing a short and Roman’s red crop top. A new message popped right under the photo.

[P: Get your butt here and tickle me, Sir Sing a Lot.’]

This emo was going to be the death of him.

[D: Aww, I don’t even get a smile?]

[P: You gotta work for those, Princey.]

Virgil definitely did not jump nor yelp as he heard the low, dangerous tune of an “evil” laughter echoes in the house coming from the living room, the sound of the front door being closed making his flight instincts kick in.

“Oh, don’t worry.” Virgil was already halfway to the most far away room where he could escape, trying to keep his reputation as he heard another set of footsteps quickly getting ground and following right behind him. Laughter and squeaks mixed in the air.

“Because I will.” Roman answered.

#Very teasy #Teases #Lee!Virgil #Ler!Roman #Virgil is a brat and Roman is one as well #Ticklish!Virgil #Sanders Sides tickles #Sanders Sides tickling #Kanene's Fanfic #Kanene's Art #Kanene's fic #Brief self tickles #Feathers #blushy bois #Writing this kind of fic is very fun and sdfghertcvgbhn kind of silly as well #Virgil: Tickle me// Roman: Okay// Virgil: *NYOOOM*#I still don't know how to tag this dfghjsdfghdcf #I feel like my writing is a bit weird nowdays but yeah I'm still proud of this!

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prettyinsoulpunk · 3 years

Note

Hi, what’s the story with peterick and the teddy bear? Could you link the original post please? 😄

Hey :) There is not really an original post for it (assuming you saw the ask I got?) but that was in reference to my tags on this post that I reblogged a few days ago.

I don’t think I’ve ever posted the story, so here you go!

This happened after one of the shows during the Save Rock & Roll tour, which was the first time I saw FOB after the hiatus ended. I was a bit emotional of course (I mean, weren’t we all???) and I wasn’t expecting any of them to come out and meet fans after, since that’s literally never happened at any FOB show I’ve been to in the past. Or not that I ever noticed, since normally they offered meet & greets before their shows.

So anyway, I’m really glad I decided to check because when I went around to the side of the venue, Patrick was out there meeting people. (He did that all during his Soul Punk tour, so I was hoping he might continue that once FOB was back together.) He was on complete vocal rest, so he couldn’t talk or anything but he was giving out all the hugs (!!!) and of course, we could still talk to him.

So as I’m standing there waiting for Patrick, Pete and Joe both came out for a bit. Fast forward to a few minutes later where some girl had given Pete a teddy bear, which he immediately said he was going to name Patrick 😍

(He also kept hitting Joe with it, and Joe threatened to run it over with their tour bus 😂)

Finally it was my turn with Patrick, and suddenly I got so emotional that I started to tear up a bit. I tried to at least play it cool (yeah, okay, I failed) so I made a bad joke about how uncool I was and Patrick laughed and hugged me. He still couldn’t talk, but he did (jokingly) sniffle loudly and pretended to wipe his own tears away.

That’s when Pete leans over, hits me over the head with the teddy bear, and says: “You better not make Patrick cry too, that shit will haunt your dreams.”

That made Patrick and I both laugh, and Pete said something about how pitiful it is when Patrick is sad, but I didn’t hear exactly what he said since one of the venue security was talking loudly near us.

But Patrick’s reaction to the teddy bear thing was to put his arm around Pete and give him a squeeze. (!!!!) Then he turned back to me with this funny expression like as if to say: “Sorry, Pete’s kind of an idiot, but he’s my idiot.” or at least, that’s how I interpreted it. 😍 So yeah, it was just a ridiculously cute moment!

Random side note:

The entire time they were standing there together, they could barely go more than two minutes without touching each other somehow. On the arm, on the shoulder, Pete tickling Patrick, Patrick shoving Pete, Pete occasionally whispering something to Patrick, and then sometimes just communicating with each other solely through facial expressions, even though Pete was still able to talk. It was like they were speaking their own language though, and I just love them so much. 😭

So there you go! :) Sorry that got a bit long, but the random extra details are what made it such an adorable moment. 😍

#Peterick #Pete Wentz #Patrick Stump #Fall Out Boy #replies #personal #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH #this moment will forever live rent-free in my mind

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dunedan-estel · 3 years

Text

Someone's Sunrise (OC X Terra)

Pairing: Aegis x Terra Genre: Fluff Warnings: Talk of injuries (correction: frustration over injuries) but nothing detailed - only mentioning where the injuries are and the impact they've had (in minor detail relatively speaking). Words: 1, 347 Requested: Yes, by @roxyas Prompt 63 from the sensory prompt list - Indigo skies just before dawn. Tagging: @crqstalite!

Note: Not sure how close this remained to the prompt, but I hope you guys enjoyed it! I may do another version from Terra's POV (same prompt, different story). My current situation was apparently self-projected onto Aegis a-whoops XD But sometimes you just gotta let it out. Also, some terrible flirting I am very sorry.

Post KH3!

Once again, sorry if the read more doesn't work! Comments, reblogs, replies, comments in the tags, and dms about this work are welcome" Requests for further Terraegis fics (with as little angst as possible!) are welcome :)

Aegis nearly tripped down the final flight of stairs at four in the morning - for the most part, her injuries from the battles at Keyblade Graveyard a month and a half ago had healed, but there were still a few muscles in her left leg (her dominant leg and, unfortunately, the most injured foot to top it all off) giving her issues. A misstep at the arch of her foot had caused her to tense and exhale in pain, which thankfully lasted for a minute at most. The tension in her leg, however, made it buckle when the back of her thigh went. Fifteen minutes of laying down on the floor with closed eyes and measured breathing weren’t what she had wearily traversed the four flights of stairs for.

Why is it always me this year….

The limp which had gone just the day before returned momentarily (yet another thing for her to be grateful for this last day), impeding her attempt to get a drink, preventing her from being able to reach for her coat of choice effectively without falling into the coat rail - the opposite of grace but the number of coats saved her from having any further injuries.

She sat with a heavy sigh. Finally… After awkwardly waddling through the front door, then to the nearby shed (nothing old and decrepit, it was no different to the rest of the castle) to retrieve a bench cushion, then traversing ground that wasn’t as flat as she remembered. Her foot was happy to not have any weight on it and she was thankful she could finally breathe.

Aegis looked at her Gummi Phone - 6.30 am, half an hour before the sun began to rise. Perfect timing. She turned off the device and nestled into her coat - whilst it was possible a little too thick for when the sun was out, the nights were starting to get colder, humidity dropping, cool winds picking up. too cold to be without anything on her arms - when the rind picked up enough to remind her autumn was coming.

And she had spent all summer recovering, unable to do anything but wallow internally in self-pity and complete frustration that she was still unable to fast walk - her favoured speed.

"I didn't think I'd find you out here." Aegis' body jumped, startled, too absorbed in trying to stay warm she didn't hear anyone. Terra's voice was the first thing she heard that cut through her focus. There was an amused smile on his face, heard through his next words. "Did I startle you?"

At this point, Aegis had pressed her right hand over her heart, her forehead on the table, whilst she breathed measuredly to calm down her heart. Still, she was amused by the situation, laughing at herself. "A little more than a startle, dear. Caught me unguarded." She straightened and pushed her fringe back over her head - though it quickly fell back down in front of her face - all be it splayed. Terra sat to her right, his hand placed on hers. “Did I wake you? I tried not to…”

“I was already awake.”

“You were?” A hum. “Not fully.”

“Oh.” She took a sip of her drink (peach and raspberry flavoured water), an attempt to mask her embarrassment. “How long?” “About… ten minutes. Heard you come back into the room - Are you blushing?” She shook her head. “No. Why would I?”

“Yes you are.” “Uh-uh. No.”

Terra grinned. “You are very quick to disagree.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side. “What are you bashful over?” “Nothing….” Aegis’ voice was muffled, she buried her face into his side, breathing as controlled as usual whilst her heart was pounding.

“Is it because you were.... Being very sweet to me?” Aegis grumbled. “Am I closer to knowing?” Okay… hm… is it because you kissed my forehead before you left?”

“You smiled at me and I thought it was cute because you were asleep but you were awake, and I pulled the duvet up because you looked cold but you were messing with me…”

Terra’s grin didn’t fade. “I was trying to entice you back into bed.” His voice lowered a little, chest rumbling. If she had lifted her head, he would have spoken against her temple.

“You flirt.” She prodded his chest. “You know… you could have pulled me back into bed.” She tilted up her head. “That would have worked. And less effort.” “I’ll remember that for next time you go to watch the sunrise.”

Aegis tilted her head at his words, raising a brow in confusion. “How’d you know?” Terra gave her a look and she recalled a number of dark times in her life. “I told you it helps me didn’t I?” He hummed - a yes to her question. “My mind’s not been functioning the best this past month, I’m sorry for forgetting things I’d normally remember.” “You’re too hard on yourself.” Terra squeezed her close. “Injuries have always been hard for you.” “I know it’s silly - it’s not like it’s debilitating anymore, but… I want to do things. I want to run and fast walk, jump, go about my day, you know? But I can’t and it’s so frustrating. How my foot was healing so well and then it just hit that part where day by day feels so so little has changed. I can’t get comfy, the mornings are so hard… I know it’s going to take a long while, but I’m so tired and angry and anxious and depressed about it.”

Aegis felt Terra’s fingers at the ends of her hair. He was quiet for a little while but when he did speak, his voice was quiet, measured, like he was thinking more miles than he could process. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

Aegis shrugged. “Wouldn’t solve anything. Complaining over my own misdemeanours isn’t me. Even if it was, Aer worries more than he lets on and I’ve worried him enough these past years.” She managed to weave her arms around his torso. “Like you.”

The sigh Terra released wasn’t heard, but she knew of its existence from the rise and fall of his chest. “Keeping it inside… makes it worse.”

“I know it’s just... “ She sighed this time. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to about things for so long, always looking out for others, I’ve just… got to get used to having people again. But I don’t want to bog people down with my injury when everyone’s together again, happy and smiling. I’m happy, really. It’s just when I stand up that it just… comes back.”

“Let me take care of you. No more hiding.” The familiarity of words she always told him - verbally or written - made her warm. Aegis was used to speaking from the heart, never expecting people to listen, that she never thought they’d be remembered or sent her direction. “Okay.”

“I mean it, Aegis.”

“I know.” She sat up enough to look up at Terra, her chin placed on the plane of his shoulder, with a smile. “I hate being fussed over, but I missed you’re fussing. It’s always comforting. Like….”

“Like…..?”

“The sunrise. When I’m not doing well, mentally, physically, whatever… it’s like the night. Maybe there’s stars and a moon, maybe it’s too cloudy to see, maybe it’s raining, maybe it’s clear skies and beautiful but still…. Dark. And cold. Frosty, maybe. But,” Aegis moved her right arm to lean on Terra’s shoulder, the backs of her fingers grazing his cheek like she was still in disbelief that he was back. “you check up on me, no judgement, doing whatever you need to, and it’s like the sun coming up through the night sky. Even if it’s raining, or cloudy, it’s never dark. I can see miles in front of me when in the middle of the countryside, miles all around me. I momentarily forget my pain, because I’m okay.”

Terra’s forehead was pressed against hers a split second later, his voice no more than a whisper. “You’re my sunrise, too.”

#my writing #kh terra x oc #cataegis (aegis) x terra #aegis x terra #terraegis #cataegis (aegis)#kh terra #kh terra fic #kh fanfic #kh fanfiction

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staticscreenwriting · 4 years

Text

Skin deep - Chapter One || B.H.

Synopsis: Billy survived the battle of Starcourt but is left with a body full of scars. Scars that remind him of the pain he had to go trough and the horrible person he has become. In order to forget about all of that and move on, he wants to get them covered up. Good thing Hawkins has a brand new Tattoo studio and the girl who works there might just be the help Billy has been looking for.

A/N: I needed a TattooArtist!Reader x Billy story so I wrote one and you know me, I can’t keep it short and simple. There will be several parts to this. Don’t ask me about an updating schedule because I don’t have one. I try my best to be consistent but I make no promises. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated.

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Billy’s palms are clammy as he steps out of his car. His eyes wander towards the sign hanging above the door, welcoming him to “Little Bear Tattoos” as an American traditional bear face grins back at him.

This isn’t his first time getting a tattoo, by all means, he shouldn’t be as nervous as he is. But things are different now. Everything is different. Things change after you almost die because you sacrificed yourself to an otherworldly creature to save a little girl.

He had just turned 18 when he got that stupid little skull inked onto his arm. That’s now just a little over a year ago but it seems like a lifetime has passed since then. Sometimes, Billy thinks, sometimes It feels like that was another person altogether. That dumb little boy who thought he knew shit. The one that paraded his tattoo around like a complete and utter douchebag. He thought it made him look rough and cool and dangerous.

In retrospect, it just made it more obvious that he didn’t know shit about anything. Not life. Not death. And most definitely not about what it means to look rough and cool and dangerous. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just relish in ignorant bliss. Most of the time he tries not to think of the past though because thinking of the past means thinking of all the things lost that night in July. Most of all himself.

Back then, getting a tattoo was easy. Now, it feels like the entire world is resting on his shoulders. It feels like he can barely keep it all from crashing down on him.

The bell above the door chimes as he steps inside the tattoo parlor. It’s a relatively small shop but it looks clean and the walls are covered in framed drawings of very intricate designs. If those have been drawn by this place’s artist, he’s in good hands.

A fluffy little brown dog is lazily resting on a pillow by the shop window and only raises his head as the sound of footsteps approaching fills the room.

“ Hi, welcome to little bear. “ a cheery voice calls out to him as a girl steps out from behind a curtain leading to some backroom. She has a big radiant smile on her face though it exudes a certain warmth that only genuine smiles do.

“ Hi uh — I was wondering if you have a free spot. “

“ Hmm… that depends. What are you wanting to get? “

To be quite honest, he hadn’t really thought much about it. All he wanted was something to cover up the ugly scars still streaking most of his body. When before, he felt a certain kind of pride whenever he passed a mirror, now it sends a sharp pain straight to his heart. Everything about him, from the perpetually tired look in his eyes to the scars, it’s al a reminder of the bad things he’s done. And the worst part is that he can never talk to anyone about it. Ever. No one will understand but the people who’ve been there, and though he and Max are getting along much better now, he still doesn’t fancy having long profound conversations with her about his demons.

“ I uh — I’m not sure but it needs to cover something.”

“ Old tattoo? “

Billy swallows audibly “scars.”

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expected from her but a casual “Okay, we can figure something out. “ is not it. Though he avoids wearing short sleeves these days, whenever someone manages to catch a glimpse of his damaged skin he got 1 of two reactions. Either people started regarding him with pity or disgust and he honestly wasn’t sure which was worse. At least those disgusted by him left him well enough alone and didn’t hold a million questions they expected him to answer in great detail.

“ Let’s sit down and we can talk about some things you like and see how we can incorporate those into a tattoo. Also, I would have to take a look at the area you want me to tattoo and see how bad the scarring is just so I can take that into consideration when designing the piece. Scar tissue is harder to tattoo but don’t worry, I promise I can do it. “

“ You’re gonna be tattooing me? “

It seems like a dumb question but honestly, Billy hasn’t met or seen that many female tattoo artists in his life and this girl seems to be about his age. That’s not something you see every day.

“ Yup. I’m (Y/N), this is my shop. Now, do you want something to drink while we discuss the piece? I got all kinds of sodas, I got water and I got non-alcoholic beer.

“ Dr. Pepper? “

“ Good choice. Coming right up. “

She walks behind the counter with the cash register and reaches into a small fridge taking out two cans of Dr. Pepper before leading him towards a little seating area by the window.

The fluffy little dog lifts his head once again regarding the two of them with only mild interest before plopping back down.

“ Oh, you okay with dogs? I can take him to another room if you’re uncomfortable. “

Billy shakes his head. Nah, he loves dogs. Always wanted one but Neil, being the miserable bastard he is, never allowed the kids to have any pets. Too much work, too much responsibility. What an asshole.

Though Billy is never going to admit it, the bedside drawer, that was once filled with issues of Penthouse magazine, now holds a bunch of self-help books and magazines dealing with topics of PTSD and trauma. A lot of them mention getting a support animal whether that be a specially trained dog or just a hamster to keep you company. It makes sense, it gives you someone who listens to you vent about all your problems and insecurities. If only his dad cared enough about his mental state to reconsider his stance on pets. Then again, when has Neil ever cared about him?

“Nah, it’s fine don’t worry. He’s cute.”

“Thanks. His name is Bear and he’s kind of the mascot of this store.”

There’s a twinkle of pride in her eyes while she talks about the shop and her dog. Something Billy is infinitely envious of. Everything he’s ever felt any hint of pride in is gone. His car. His looks. All of it.

“Okay so tell me a little about yourself. Is there anything you can think of that you’d like to get inked? Any interests, hobbies? Maybe you wanna tell me a little about yourself.”

Back before, when things were different, Billy would’ve packed as much ego enlarging words and compliments into it as possible. Would’ve mentioned his car and his most satisfactory performance skills in the bedroom. But now, he hardly knows who he is these days.

“ Um … my name is Billy. I’m 19, I’m from California. ‘Bout two years ago my dad packed us all up and had us move out here to the end of the world. Then … things happened.”

“You miss California?”

“Every day. The thought of going back one day is the only thing that keeps me fucking going. I miss the ocean. I miss surfing. I miss home. I miss all of it.”

She looks at him intensely for a moment, sizing him up, contemplating her next words. He can almost see the creative gears running in her head.

“Alright. I might have an idea. I’d have to see the area first though.”

He expects pity in her voice though there is none. Her words are comforting and warm and calm. Billy wonders how often she has to deal with clients like him. Those who come to her with painful and ugly reminders of their past.

His hands are shaking as he pulls off his denim jacket and reveals his left arm to her. The skin is streaked with scars. They’re the same paths that used to wind up and down his arm in inky black hues like poisonous vines. Now they’re a faded pink but that doesn’t mean he hates them any less.

Billy can feel his heart beating in a fast rhythm as anxiety floods his system. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe -

“Okay how big would you want to go,” (Y/N) asks, her voice gentle and soothing and her eyes switching from his arm to his eyes. She doesn’t ask him what happened and that’s a relief.

“As big as you can. I know you can’t make it disappear but I’d like as much of it covered as possible.”

“ I won’t be able to do an entire sleeve today but if that’s something you want we can start with a bigger piece on your upper arm today and then work our way to a full sleeve in the future?”

“Sounds good. I just want the scars gone. I need them covered.”

“Well my guy, you’ve come to the right place. It’s my specialty. You’re in luck too, I’m free all day so depending on your pain tolerance and the trauma of your skin, we might even be able to finish the first piece today.”

Pain tolerance, he wants to scoff at that. What he’s been through, the pain and the anguish and the emotional trauma, nothing will ever compare to that. Not even close. He’d get a 100 tattoos all at once and it still wouldn’t measure up.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

“Cool awesome! Imma go over to the drawing board and you can feel free to keep yourself entertained in the meantime. We have an arcade machine in the back. There’s records in the corner if you want to listen to some music. I’ll even let you choose.”

“Is that an honor?” Billy asks, a small smirk on his face. Every once in awhile a flicker of the person he used to be shines through. But then it’s gone and he’s left as this shadow of his former self.

“Oh you have no idea.”

As (Y/N) settles behind a big wooden table and starts scribbling away, Billy wanders over towards the corner of the studio. A bright red record player is resting on a sideboard surrounded by several boxes filled with vinyl records. They’re sorted by band name then chronologically. There’s all kinds of genres too. AC/DC and Judas Priest but also Stuff like The Mamas and the Papas and the Monkees.

“Anything, in particular, you wanna listen to? Kinda hard to make out your taste with this selection. There’s … everything.” Billy calls out to her, leaving through the records.

“What can I say? I like a bit of everything. Don’t like to limit myself.”

Old Billy would’ve raised his eyebrow and asked her if that extends to her love life as well. But old Billy is gone and so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I know it seems like just your kinda music, but maybe stay away from the hard rock. Maybe something a bit more mellow.”

He hasn’t really listened to a lot of music since … well since everything. He mostly sleeps or reads and sometimes when it’s a good day he even attempts to do a bit of writing. It’s nothing spectacular but it’s - something. An outlet really. The stories vary from an autobiographical retelling of the incident to silly tales of young boys going on space adventures. It's a way to get lost in the save parts of his mind. The ones that can create make-believe worlds and happy thoughts. Not the ones tainted with gruesome images of the past.

The opening notes the Monday Morning by Fleetwood Mac fill the air and Billy doesn’t miss the smile tugging on the corner of (Y/N)’s lips.

“Nice. Didn’t really think you were a Fleetwood Mac fan.”

Billy shrugs his shoulders casually “they’re a classic.”

He sits back down in the seat by the window, watches as the clouds pass the sky and the people go about their day. That’s until a furry little ball of fluff settles down in his lap and demands to be cuddled.

“Oh hey, you.”

“Sorry about that. Bear does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. He thinks everyone is only here to pet him. If he bothers you just set him down.”

But he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, combing his fingers through the curly brown fur fills Billy with a sense of calm and it grounds him a little. He really needs to adopt a dog for himself.

“It’s fine. No bother.”

Time passes with Billy cuddling the dog and ever so often glancing over at (Y/N) while she’s working on the sketch. She’s drawing then erasing then redrawing. Copying then throwing it away then doing it all again. All the while she’s dancing along to the music. There’s a lightness about her that Billy wishes he could possess. Even before the Stacourt situation, he never had this unbothered lightness about him. That’s just not the person you turn into when you grow up in a house with Neil Hargrove.

A light drizzle falls outside and Stevie Nicks sings along to it and life feels … almost peaceful right then. Billy lives for these small moments of normality. These glimmers of what life used to be.

“Okay, I’m ready. Wanna have a look?”

There’s a bright smile on her face as she looks at him and waves the sketch around. “I think I nailed this one. I hope you’ll like it.“

Billy can see that she actually means it. It's not just a silly phrase she’s tagged onto her sentence. She’s genuinely nervous for him to see it.

Bear follows Billy as he walks toward the counter, a smiley (Y/N) watching their every move. There’s something about how passionate she is about her work that makes Billy both happy and sad. There used to be things in life that he was passionate about. His car. His clothes. The music he loved. Now it’s all dull and trivial and he’s lost. So damn lost.

His eyes wander towards the sheet of paper. Delicate black lines run across the page, swirling and arching and creating a beautiful composition. It’s a lighthouse. A tall and sturdy one. It shines it’s light out into the distance to guide the ships safely around the sharp edges of the cliffs. It’s a beacon of safety and hope surrounded by the rough sea and crashing waves.

“I thought it was a nice symbol, you know. Light in the dark. Guiding ships to safety.” (Y/N) explains. She’s biting her lip nervously and Billy thinks it’s insanely adorable. This piece is perfect, to think she’s uncertain and nervous about his reaction …

“I tried to incorporate the ocean and the crashing waves. You know, as a reminder of your life in California.”

Billy is speechless for a moment. Everything he wanted. All the ideas swirling around in his head. She put it down on paper, made them visible. And he didn’t even have to voice them. They were all just mushy gray clouds in his head, non forming a coherent picture. Just a feeling. A feeling of peace and belonging. Of being strong when everything around you tries to push you down to your knees.

“Do you like it? I can change it if you —“

“I love it!”

Her mood immediately changes after hearing those words. As if a switch is suddenly flipped and sunshine floods her face. Her eyes light up and her smile widens.

“Okay perfect! Wanna get started?”

“Sure, let’s do it!”

The black leather chair is soft underneath him as (Y/N) puts the stencil onto his skin. She has a soft gentle touch which only matches the tone of her voice. Very calming. A complete opposite to the rest of Billy’s life.

“Okay, so it’s not gonna be pleasant since I have to tattoo over scar tissue. If you wanna tap out or take a break just let me know.”

He’s fairly sure that whatever pain he’ll have to endure, it will be nothing compared to what he’s already been through. Pain has a completely different meaning to him now.

“I’ll be fine.”

And he means it. Not just about the tattoo, about everything. It feels like this is the first step into a new life. One that won’t be determined by his past mistakes. By the trauma.

The buzzing sound of the tattoo gun fills the air and (Y/N) starts pulling the first few lines. Short strokes. As if to test his pain tolerance. Her eyes wander up to meet his, a silent question shining through them.

He grants her a nod. One of pure determination. One that says, without question: “I’ll be fine!”

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence. There’s just the humming of the machine and the raspy voice of Stevie Nicks to lull them into a soft tranquility.

“ I’m not gonna ask about the scars but can I ask about the skull on the other arm?”

Billy lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Sins of my youth really.”

“ Oh geez, that makes you sound so old. You’re what, 19?”

“ Almost 20.”

“ See. You’re still in the prime of your youth!”

Billy shrugs his shoulder as she dips the tattoo gun back into the ink. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel like he’s in the middle of his youth. He feels so damn tired. He never got to be a kid. Never got to be a teen. Always wandering in between it all, lost and disillusioned with no one there to guide or help him.

“ How old are you?”

“ Just turned 20 a few days ago.”

“And you already have your own shop. That’s impressive.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I ever wanted to be. Worked my ass off. Spent all my free time at my cousin's tattoo studio up in Carmel. He taught me everything I know. Worked after school and on the weekends and then when I graduated my cousin gave me a little loan and I had enough to open the shop. He believed in me when no one else did and it means everything to me. Hope I make him proud. I just always felt like this is what I'm meant to be. An artist. And this way my art gets immortalized on people’s skin and in some cases it can help them overcome difficult times in their lives. I hope I can make even the smallest change in people’s lives. “

It doesn’t get lost on him, that she doesn’t mention her parents. Something must be up there but it sure as hell isn’t his place to ask about it. Families, he knows quite well, can be a touchy subject.

“Well, you’re definitely making a change in mine.”

“Yeah?”

She looks almost bashful as the question tumble from her lips.

“Yup. I … I need to make those scars disappear. They — they remind me of the worst time in my life and of a version of myself I never want to be again. Having you cover them for me with this art piece that’s so fucking cool, it means everything.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

There’s a connection there, one he can neither grasp nor explain. It’s like she understands parts of him he doesn’t even put on display. And it’s both scary and exciting. And maybe, he understands parts of her she’s not aware she’s putting on display either.

“Okay. I’m done!”

There’s an infinite sense of pride exuding from her words. Billy wishes there was something in his life that he was good at. Something to let him be proud of himself.

“Wanna take a look?” (Y/N) asks with the most radiant smile playing on her face.

“Absolutely!”

His legs are stiff from sitting in the chair for so long but he can’t wait to see the finished piece. Slowly he walks towards the full-length mirror, (Y/N) hot on his heels.

His eyes fall onto the artwork now permanently inked into his skin. There are vibrant shades of blue and dark black lines. The sea is alive, it’s unforgiving and rough. But there’s the light from the lighthouse, the hope, the safety. It’s all there’s and it’s beautiful. Where there used to be ugly pink scars thick and burning, there’s now a beautiful painting. The scars are gone. The pain is gone. All that’s left is beauty and hope.

He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheek until she hands him a tissue. His first reaction is to wipe them away and pretend they weren’t there in the first place. A Hargrove man isn’t allowed to cry. Not in front of people anyway. Especially not in front of women. Hargrove men are bitter and numb. They’re stoic. Silent. Angry. Above all they’re sad.

But isn’t that the person he wants to leave behind?

So he lets himself feel it. Lets the tears fall as if it were nothing.

Maybe this can be the next step into becoming the person he wishes so desperately he can be.

“I take it you like it?”

“I love it.”

And he hugs her. Pulls her close and tight as if he’s known her forever. She reciprocates the hug in no time. Softly oats him on the shoulder.

She smells like flowery perfume and clean cotton. Soft. Sweet. Intoxicating

“I can not thank you enough.”

“Billy, trust me this means as much to me as it does to you.”

He doesn’t disagree with her but he’s sure that’s not true. It means everything to him.

They talk for a little longer then he pays her, way too little if you ask him. She deserves way more and he suspects that some kind of personal sympathy plays into the price. But he’s not one to argue. Not when he’s sure he’ll come back. There are more scars. More pain. He’s not fixed but he’s at least a work in progress now.

She takes a few Polaroids of his tattoo, to put on her wall. To show people she can cover scars. Can help them. Help fix them. Make them feel less broken.

“They’re burn scars.”

Billy finds himself sharing a piece of his story. One he’s kept so close to him, sometimes he almost wondered if it was true. But it is. And there are more reminders all over his body. It feels right to share it though. She helped him cover part of it, without judging. Without questions. She deserves to know.

“Huh?”

“My scars. They are burn scars. Not — not from the outside but from the inside. Like fire going through my veins. I uh don’t know how to explain but that’s what they are. You can tell that to your clients. That you covered burn scars. That you’re that talented. “

For a moment she just stares at him, a deep sense of affection shining from her eyes. It’s comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. But he lets himself feel it. He promises himself to let himself feel the good things even if they seem scary.

“That’s … hey, would you like to grab some dinner with me? I could really go for a burger at the diner round here. It’s real good. “

And with the way she smiles, how the hell is he supposed to say no to that.

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way!”

The sun hangs low above the horizon almost dips behind the line to vanish and make room for the moon but not quite yet. They step out into the dawn, Bear pattering alongside them his leash grabbed tightly in (Y/N) hand.

As hues of red and pink and orange surround them and dip the world into a golden haze, Billy feels like maybe this is the way. Maybe this is his path leading into a new future. With less pain. Fewer scars. More color and more smiles.

And maybe a beautiful and talented girl and a little dog by his side.

#billy hargrove x reader #Billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic

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novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

#su #su future #greg universe #steven universe #su fanfiction #su fanfic #my writing stuff

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idabbleincrazy · 3 years

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Go Out with a Bang Ch.3

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<--Chapter Two

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel

Word Count: 5691

Warnings: Smut, Sire/Childe dynamics, Vampire dynamics, bottom!Spike/top!Angel. Body worship, Hand job, Oral, Cum Eating, Rimming, Anal fingering, Anal, Claiming Bites, Blood drinking, Submissive Spike, d/s undertones, scratching, coming untouched, emoporn, smidge of angst, they’re both a pair of saps

Summary: Angel does things his way and Spike asks for something he never thought he could have.

A/N: marathon sex once again got thrown a bit off-course by the muse, who decided a Claim was necessary for more future drama. i swear i will get bottom!Angel in this fic if it kills me. “Tá tú mianach, William, mo mhaité. Always, forever. Agus tá mé mise, go deo na i gcónaí. (You are mine, William, my mate. Always, forever. And I am yours, forever and always.) mo ghrá (my love) ~ Irish Gaelic translations according to the internet ~

Feedback fuels my creativity! If you like my work, plz reblog/comment!!!

Angel was on the bed, sitting back against the headboard, when Spike finally came out of the bathroom, his still-wet hair a mess of curls, rivulets of water tracing down his sculpted chest as he crossed the room. Angel mirrored the leer Spike cast over at him, his cock already twitching in interest as Spike sauntered over and stood at the foot of the bed. Spike’s leer grew as he caught sight of the items perched on the bedside table, wondered if more than the lube would get used before they left the suite.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this, Spike. Naked and still half-hard as if we haven’t just gone two rounds in less than an hour.” Angel patted the bed. “Now, are you going to come over here, or am I going to have to come over there? Take into consideration whether you want to come again tonight before you decide; it’s not beyond my capabilities to leave you so desperate for it you’d barely be able to look at me without moaning but still well within fighting form, and you know it. Just like you know I don’t need you to come for me to do things my way...your choice.”

Spike’s eyes flashed a molten gold and he let out a low groan as he climbed onto the bed, his smirk turning sultry as he straddled Angel’s legs and slunk up the bed, his gaze not leaving Angel’s until he was sitting astride his hips. Angel grinned approvingly and Spike couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as Angel’s hands made their slow way up his thighs to grip tight at his waist.

“Have I told you how much I love these bloody big hands on me, luv?” Spike moaned softly and rocked back on his knees. “Fuck, Peaches, show me. Show me how you wanted to fuck me, how you wanted to claim me.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to fuck you, did I, Spike?” Angel growled and pushed up quickly to roll them over, settling between Spike’s legs as they fell open against the mattress, and bracing himself over the length of his body to thrust his groin over the blonde’s. His voice was husky, gravelly yet honeyed at once. “What I want, William, is to make love to you. All we’ve done these past few months is fuck, I want to give you what I’ve been denying us both. What I’ve wanted to do for over a century.”

Spike let out a choked gasp at Angel’s hushed words. The soul flared in his chest at the prospect and the demon pushed against his ribcage in remembrance of the way Angelus used to reduce him to nothing but whimpers and monosyllabic pleading with his soft touches and slow thrusts. He rolled his hips, a shock of electricity zipping up his spine as his hardening cock slid against Angel’s.

“Christ, Liam...yeah, fuck, want that, luv.” Spike’s voice was already pathetically close to whining as images flashed in his mind. He fought to focus on the here and now, knowing he needed to get himself under control or it would be over before Angel even kissed him. “Love me, Angel, please.”

“So beautiful, my Will, my lovely boy.”

Angel dipped his down and pressed his lips to Spike’s forehead, trailing a path of soft, fleeting kisses along his hairline. He hummed quietly as he felt Spike relax further into the mattress beneath him, looking down to confirm that Spike’s eyes had indeed closed just as he figured the gesture would cause him to.

“My gorgeous Childe.” Angel kissed each closed eyelid in turn. “Perfect William.”

Spike fought back a sob as it rose in his throat, blunt teeth sinking into his tongue to keep from saying something he’d berate himself for later. Angel’s lips worked along his left cheekbone, feather-light against his skin.

“My sweet, pale prince. You were always a breathtaking sight, Spike.” Angel turned his head and kissed over his right cheek, determined to cover as much of his skin as possible with words of praise as his lips caressed him. “The moment I saw you, I understood just what our dark princess saw in you. Knew why our Dru sought you out. You complimented her so well, in nearly every way. Her dark, fiery beauty contrasting against your porcelain, angelic complexion.”

Angel felt a soft purr beginning to rumble in Spike’s chest and the corners of his lips tugged up in a pleased smile. He lingered by Spike’s ear, content to draw out the moment.

“The way your temperaments balanced each other out. Drawn to you like a moth, she was, and so was I. God, how I’ve always regretted I hadn’t been the one to find you. Been the first to taste you.”

“Sire…” Spike tried to turn his head, desperate to capture Angel’s lips with his own, quell his words before he drowned in the desire welling up in him. “Fuck. Luv, oh Christ, luv, please.”

Angel took a small pity on his Childe and pressed a light peck to the skin below his ear before shifting himself up and claiming his lips. Spike’s mouth opened readily for him, eagerly welcoming the sweeping strokes of Angel’s tongue over his own. Angel could still detect mild hints of hops, wheat, and whiskey lingering behind the more heady essence that was pure Spike, a mix of cigarette smoke and lust, combining sinfully with the barest traces of his own blood as he explored his mouth.

He ran his tongue over Spike’s soft palate and along his teeth before probing teasingly over his gums, pressing softly against each nub that hid his fangs. Angel smiled into the kiss as he felt Spike’s fingers winding into his hair, the heel of his palm digging gently into the back of his head to urge him closer. Spike’s other hand wound around his back, fingertips tracing lightly over his tattoo, a small moan starting at the back of his throat. Angel swallowed the soft sound, grinding his hips down against the pliant body beneath him to draw out a breathy gasp.

“Angel, fuck”, Spike panted against his lips, hands still clutching at him as he arched against the solid chest pressing him into the bed, as if he couldn’t get close enough to him. “More, need more.”

Angel nipped lightly at Spike’s bottom lip briefly before tilting the blonde’s chin up to press wet kisses along the bolt of his jaw, tongue and teeth trailing over the sharp line of bone and pale flesh.

“Jesus, I’ll never get enough of this, never get enough of you, Spike. Eternity isn’t long enough to take my fill of you, the way you feel, your scent, your taste. Mine.” Angel pressed his lips fleetingly to the point where his angled jaw melded into the slender line of his throat, hips bucking forward at the vibration of the soft moan Spike let escape. “Always been mine.”

“Ye-yeah, yes, all yours, luv. Your boy, Angel, your Will. My Sire.”

Spike tilted his head further back against the pillow, bearing his neck for Angel’s ministrations and let his eyes flutter closed, sinking into the feeling of Angel’s broad body pressed against him, at once too much and not enough. He wanted so badly to roll them back over and slam himself down on the stiff cock he felt brushing teasingly over his own, wanted Angel bucking up into him as he rode him into oblivion.

For so long he’d wanted to hear his Sire talk to him like this again, and now he didn’t know how much longer he could listen without sobbing out. Didn’t deserve it, the words, the love, the lips and teeth pressing cool, stinging blooms along his throat. Done too much bad, lived too long in the dark to be the light Angel proclaimed him to be. He bit his tongue to keep back his protestations, dug his fingers in deeper to prevent his hands from pushing him away.

“Your Liam, sweet William.” Angel nipped his way down the column Spike’s neck, avoiding his still tender siring mark on the curve of his shoulder before sweeping his tongue over and up the center of his throat, blunt teeth clamping down on Spike’s Adam’s Apple with just enough pressure to make him gasp, steely-blue eyes startled open to flash amber as Angel looked up at him. “Your Angel, yours.”

Angel bit back the epithet of Sire he had felt compelled to tack on at the end of that sentence, Spike’s claiming mark tingling on his neck, the shared blood in his veins sparking cool heat through his body, the word pressing at the back of his throat. They belonged to each other now, fully, completely, Darla and Drusilla’s eradicated scars no longer binding either of them to anyone but the other.

He worked his mouth along the other side of Spike’s throat, hips still working maddeningly slow against his. Angel inhaled deeply as he nosed along the curve of his neck, the delectable scent of Spike’s arousal prominent, even under the herbal notes of his fancy body wash and the slight salt-tang of sweat created by the exertion of Spike’s self-control. He let out a soft growl of lust-driven hunger as he laved his tongue over the dip of his clavicle, lapping up the bead of sweat from the hollow.

“Gonna taste every bit of you, Spike, want to know that you still taste as delicious as my memory insists.” Spike whimpered and his fingers clenched tighter as Angel shifted his body downward, quick nips of blunt teeth work a trail across his collarbone. “So far, the consensus is that my mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. So much better than any mere memory, my sweet boy.”

“Christ, luv...you’ll be the death o’me yet.” Spike shivered beneath Angel as he pecked and licked his way down his chest. “Not even started on the good bits and ‘m already bloody ready to shoot off like a fuckin’ geyser, Peaches. Didn’t realize by ‘take your time’, you meant you were gonna cover every soddin’ inch of me with your saliva and teeth marks.”

“Mm, don’t try to pretend you’re not enjoying every second of the attention.” Angel breathed a soft chuckle against Spike’s sternum as he kissed between his pecs. “Consider this making up for all the too-quick fucks these last wasted months. Never should have denied you this, ever. If you really don’t think you can control yourself, again, the handcuffs are modified to be vampire proof.”

“You really do have all the best toys, don’t you, pet? Gonna miss all these perks.”

Another chuckle.

“I’ll let you take those and whatever else you think will fit in the Viper before we leave here for good. Now, be good for me and let me do this, for my sake if not your own? Still not above tying you down, but I rather like having your fingers digging and scratching at me, all needy and desperate. Like you said, Spike. Vampires like a little pain with their pleasure.”

“Oh, God…” Spike arched his back as Angel turned his head to lave his tongue over his nipple, suckling the pebbling bud between his lips and scraping his teeth tortuously over it. “Fuck. Yeah, okay, luv, I’ll be good. Wanna be good for you, Angel.”

“Thank you.” Angel turned to work the other nipple to a rigid peak, watching Spike’s face as he came to a decision. He shifted to hold himself up with one arm, letting his free hand slip between their bodies. “Want me to make it easier, give you a reprieve?”

His hand wrapped around Spike’s leaking cock and Spike shuddered out a broken groan as he stroked him slowly.

“Please, yes, oh luv, please! Lemme come, Liam, so soddin’ close.”

“Then come, Will. Let me see that beautiful face as you spill over for me.”

Spike was wound so tight already, despite his two previous climaxes, that Angel barely had to swipe his thumb over the pre-cum-slick slit, fingers twisting around the swollen head of his cock, and his body locked up, ropes of cum surging out to land on his stomach, lukewarm spurts cool on friction-heated skin, lips flushed and frozen in a silent cry of pleasure. Angel watched with lust-dark eyes as Spike came, demon purring deep in his chest as he saw his William there, open and bare, saw the pure wanton ecstasy in those stormy blue eyes before they slipped closed, dark lashes striking against the pale skin of his cheekbones. He squeezed the still-hard cock lightly, relishing the plaintive moan that fell from those parted lips, his fingers trailing up the long shaft to collect the final drops of cum as Spike’s orgasm tapered out.

“Look at you, three times you’ve come for me, and still aching for more.”

Spike’s eyes fluttered open in time to see Angel raising his fingers to his lips, a groaning gasp wrenched from his throat as his Sire sucked the digits clean. Angel collected the cum on his tongue and surged back up Spike’s body, lips crushing together bruisingly as he licked into his waiting mouth. Spike eagerly sucked the taste of himself off the thick, probing muscle with a growl.

“Want us to always taste like each other, lovely Childe.” Angel felt abnormally breathless as he panted against Spike’s lips. “Smell only each other’s scents twisted together.”

Spike hummed in agreement and nipped at Angel’s bottom lip before letting his head fall back against the pillow, his body lax, arms falling to the bed as he gathered his wits.

“Do love it when you get all possessive on me, pet. Makes me all kinds of tingly.” Spike wriggled teasingly beneath Angel’s bulk, eager to get back to it. “Thanks for that, Angel, ready for the rest of that time-takin’ if you are. Just don’t go startin’ all over, we’ll be here all bloody day ‘n night.”

“We make it through this battle, and we’re going to spend an entire twenty-four hours in the first bed we fall into.”

Angel pressed a final kiss to Spike’s lips and slid back down to continue his exploration of the lithe body beneath him. He nipped and licked his way down Spike’s stomach, tongue swirling around his navel, his eyes flicking up to Spike’s face as he dipped his tongue into it provocatively. Spike’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to dig his fingers into Angel’s ungelled hair and shove his head where he wanted it, raised his arms to shove them beneath the pillow under his head instead. Angel smiled appreciatively at the gesture and moved to suck a mark into his hip.

“You really do want to behave, don’t you Spike?” Angel lifted his head a bit to admire the bloom of color rising beneath Spike’s skin. He looked up at him, admiring the unusual restraint the blonde was showing; he had fully expected him to lock his legs around his head and squeeze, growling, until Angel had taken him into his mouth. He shifted himself between Spike’s legs, hands coming up to soothe over his thighs, sensing something unsaid in those lust-hazed eyes. “I won’t press the issue now, Will, but whatever’s going on in that head of yours, we will talk about it eventually.”

“Thank you, luv. I will, I promise, just not today, yeah?”

“Not today.”

Angel shoved down his curiosity and dipped his head back down, refocusing his attention on the pliant flesh laid out before him. He flicked his tongue out, flattening the muscle as he licked over coarse honeyed curls. He slowly worked his mouth between Spike’s legs, carefully avoiding his cock as he licked away the last traces of cum.

“Fuck, always such a tease, Angel. Don’t you ever change.”

“You’re just lucky we’re working within a somewhat limited timeframe.” Angel nipped at the inside of Spike’s thigh, his hands urging his legs further apart as he settled down flat against the mattress. “Seriously - twenty-four hours, you, me, naked. No distractions, no sparing a single thought for anything beyond whatever room we’re in.”

“And you call me insatiable.”

“Well, you do always claim I made you in my image. Like Sire, like Childe, sweet William.”

“Da...please.” Spike whined softly, hips wiggling despite his best efforts. “Touch me.”

Angel hummed and smirked up at Spike with a sly wink before pressing the barest of kisses to the tip of his cock.

“Hand me the lube. And you don’t need to tuck your hands away, Spike. Told you, I like it when you’re tugging and pulling at me.”

Spike dropped his hands from under his head and retrieved the tube of lubricant from the bedside table. He handed it over to Angel and bent his knees up towards his chest to give him easier access as he popped the cap and squeezed a decent-sized drop of lube onto his fingers.

As he rubbed his fingers together to warm the gel, Angel dipped his head back between Spike’s legs. He briefly suckled a light mark into the thin skin of Spike’s balls, chuckling at the gasping moan he exhaled before leaving off to trail his tongue further down. He slid his free hand under Spike and lifted him slightly, laving his tongue down his perineum and pushing between the firm globes of his ass to lick over the furled ring of muscle.

“Christ! Been a bloody age since you’ve done that, Da.” Spike’s hand found its way into Angel’s hair, nails scraping softly over his scalp, and he shuddered at the vibrations of Angel’s rumbled groan against the hidden flesh. He fought back the urge to buck down against the soft mouth that worked over him, choosing instead to drive Angel as desperate for it as he was. “Tell me, luv, your boy taste as good as you remember?”

Angel answered with a low, hungry growl and Spike yelped as he scraped blunt teeth over the sensitive skin around the clenched muscle before pulling away, his nose trailing up the inner curve of his thigh. The hand beneath Spike retreated to wrap around his cock, sliding slowly along the long shaft as his slickened fingers replaced his mouth.

“Just as divine as ever, Will.”

Spike moaned as Angel pressed the pad of one finger against his rim, relaxing into it as he slowly pushed the thick digit past the ring of muscle. Angel eased his finger in past the second knuckle as he took his aching cock into his mouth, tongue flicking over the tip to collect the pearl of pre-cum that beaded there.

“Gods, luv, Angel, so good.” Spike tightened his fingers, tugging at Angel’s hair as he restrained himself from bucking into the cool mouth that began to bob along his cock, the old obedient William of the past rising close to the surface as Angel worked him open. “Missed this. More than I ever bloody thought I did.”

Angel purred around his cock, thrusting his finger quicker as he felt the tight hole begin to loosen around it, his own cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. Spike’s free hand came to clutch desperately at his shoulder, nails scratching enticingly at his skin as he moaned, his hips pressing down against his probing finger.

“Fuck, please, Da, ‘nother, gimme another. Wanna feel you, Liam.”

Angel glanced up, his mouth still working over the throbbing length, and met with the dark gaze of his Childe, a groan rumbling in his chest at the need he found there. He took Spike’s cock further down his throat, his nose nuzzling into the coarse curls around the base as he eased another finger into his slick hole. Spike whimpered as Angel thrust his fingers deeper, crooking them as the pads found that bundle of nerves. A spurt of pre-cum coated his tongue as he rubbed over his prostate, soon easing up to start scissoring his fingers as Spike’s legs began to tremble. He hollowed his cheeks around his cock and suckled at the tip as he continued the tortuous preparation.

“Angel, luv, please! Too close, Sire...Da, please.”

Angel growled lustily at the sobbed pleas falling from Spike’s lips and released his cock with a lewd pop, his fingers still working within him as he lifted himself back over Spike’s body. He cupped Spike’s face with his free hand, his lips crushing to the blonde’s as he slipped a third finger into him, the slide quickly becoming easier as he thrust slowly.

“Being such a good boy for me, sweet Will”, Angel rasped against his lips. “Begging so pretty for me, instead of snarling and snapping at me to be done with it. Ready for me, my beautiful one?”

“Christ, yes, Da! Please, Liam...Angel, fuck-oh, sod it all, make love to me?!”

Angel’s groan hitched in his throat at the plaintive sentiment and he eased his fingers from Spike’s loosened hole, feeling blindly for the lube as he kept his gaze locked with his Childe’s. Out of sheer will, he managed to slick his cock up with one hand, the other braced against the pillow as he lined himself up. He watched Spike’s face closely as he pushed in slowly, forcing his own eyes to stay open as the tight warmth enveloped his aching cock. Spike’s lips fell open on a silent gasp, back arching and eyes flickering from blue to amber and back again as Angel bottomed out.

“Jesus, Spike”, Angel groaned out, his hips stilling as he felt the tight muscle ripple and clench around him. “Always so perfectly tight for me, my boy. Oh, William, no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with you this way.”

“Too long, I know, Da. Christ, I love you, Angel. Love feeling you like this, fillin’ me up so bloody well.” Spike’s hands gripped at Angel’s shoulders now, tugging him close as Angel wrapped a hand around his thigh. He nipped softly at Angel’s lips, kissing him languidly as Angel hesitated. “C’mon, luv. Need you to move now, please, Sire.”

Angel hitched Spike’s thigh up to wrap around his hip, his hand sliding down to grip at his waist as he began a slow pace. Spike moaned softly and clutched him tighter as Angel thrust into him, lifting his other leg to lock his ankles at the small of Angel’s back. Using the position for leverage, he pushed down to meet Angel’s thrusts on every upstroke, the tilted angle of his hips allowing the head of the thick cock stretching him to drag over his prostate.

“Bloody hell, Angel,” Spike groaned, one hand scratching sharp nails along Angel’s back as the other trailed up to card through his hair, his body moving in rhythm with Angel’s thrusts. “Right there, luv. Fuck, not gonna last, ‘s too much, feels too good.”

“I know, Will. Jesus, I was so stupid, so fucking stupid to keep myself distant from you for so long.” Angel kept his steady pace as he kissed and nipped his way along Spike’s jaw and dipped his head to nuzzle at the curve of his throat. His voice was muffled against the pale skin as he continued, unable to face his Childe as his tone threatened to turn sorrowful. “Oh, God, Spike, I’m so sorry. Please, William-”

“Shh, hush, luv.” Spike gently stroked his fingers through Angel’s hair, letting a soothing purr rumble through his chest. “Must I keep remindin’ ya? No sorrow, Liam. You’re forgiven; I forgive you. Look at me, Da, please.”

Angel slowed his pace minutely as he lifted his head to look down at Spike; Spike smiled up at him, and it was his William he saw there, the time between then and now gone as Spike urged Angel’s lips down to his. Too soon, Spike broke the kiss, his cool lips trailing softly along his jaw to press feather light below his ear.

“I’m gonna ask you somethin’, but I don’t want you to freak out over it, alright, luv?”

Angel stilled his hips, wishing he could see Spike’s face as he whispered but knew better than to move his head. He bit back a moan when Spike nosed at the spot behind his ear as he waited for a response.

“Okay, hmm, anything Will, ask me anything.”

Spike’s hold on him tightened, as though he were afraid that Angel would disappear from his embrace as soon as the words left his lips. Angel could smell a hint of fear threading between the still-strong scent of arousal that wafted off the blonde, so he returned Spike’s gesture of comfort and purred softly in encouragement; whatever his Childe intended to say, it was obviously of great importance to him to hold his tongue as nothing ever did.

“It’s okay, Spike, I won’t freak out. Don’t hide on me now, my glib Childe.”

“Will-will you...Angel, will you Claim me?”

Angel gasped softly and finally pulled back to look at him with wide eyes, thankful for a heart that didn’t beat and skin that didn’t flush to give him away.

“Spike...William, are you sure you know what you’re asking me? The Claim is-”

“Not to be taken lightly, I know, Da.” There was a nervous tremor to his voice as he spoke, his eyes pleading and earnest. “Wanted it for a long time, Angel, since before you got your soul, even. I may have loved Dru, but you were the only one I ever wanted to belong to that way.”

“The Sire mark was one thing, but if I do this now, with the battle looming...I don’t know if I should Spike. It will put you at risk, it’ll put the team, our family, at risk.” Angel shifted his weight and cupped Spike’s face, fingers tracing lightly over his cheek. “I want to, Jesus, how I want to, but even if you Claimed me back, I don’t know if I could bear the target it would put on your back. If the Partners send any vampires after us, they’ll know, and they’ll head straight for you.”

“Luv, you think I haven’t considered that? That I haven’t considered how it’ll vulnerate us as much as it will help us keep track of each other?” Spike’s voice was thick with held-back tears, his hand raising to cover Angel’s, squeezing. “Angel, I have faith in you, in us; I don’t wanna leave it up to bleedin’ chance that there’ll be time later to do this. We don’t know if there’s gonna be a tomorrow for any of us, and I’d rather meet my last death knowin’ I finally have all of you, that I gave you all of me. Please, Angel...Da...don’t deny me this, not now, after everything.”

Angel closed his eyes and let his face shift, his fangs extending. He dipped his head down and pressed his forehead to Spike’s, rubbing the ridges of his brow soothingly across the smooth skin.

“Seems I can’t find it in me to deny you anything, anymore, my beautiful Will.” Again the word Sire weighed on his tongue as he sighed heavily, the mark on his neck tingling. “My Spike. I love you too much.”

“Liam, Angel, I love you, too.” Spike kissed Angel deeply, avoiding his fangs with long-practiced precision. He dug his heels into Angel’s lower back, urging him forward and pulling a groan from Angel’s throat as he clenched around his still-seated cock. “C’mon, Da, make me yours, and yours alone. Claim me, Angel.”

Angel broke the kiss and slid his hands under Spike’s back, clutching the blonde to him as he started to thrust again, his cock hard as ever. He buried his face in the curve of Spike’s shoulder, inhaling deep and letting the scent of him fill his senses, that hint of fear gone as arousal surged.

“Tell me when you’re close again.”

“When it comes to you, luv, I’m always close. Oh, Christ, yeah, faster, Da.”

“Mine, you’re mine. Tell me, Spike, need to hear you say it. Oh God, William, my sweet, infuriating, lovely boy.”

“Yours, Angel. Only yours, always was. It was always you I came back to, sittin’ there at the back o’my mind. Your boy, Da, heart, body, and bloody soul.” Spike keened as Angel pumped his hips faster, bucking down to meet the deep thrusts. “Fuck, ‘m close, Angel, so close. Do it, please, Da!”

Angel pulled away from Spike’s neck and settled him back against the pillows, his pace steady as he bowed his head over Spike’s chest, his lips brushing softly across the skin over his heart.

“Tá tú mianach, William, mo mhaité. Always, forever. Agus tá mé mise, go deo na i gcónaí.”

Spike sobbed softly at the words, his body shuddering as Angel sank his fangs into his pale flesh and sucked that first mouthful of blood from the wound. The demon in him purred as the soul wept with joy as the Claim took hold, a shock of electric heat surging through him as Angel drank.

“Oh, gods, Angel, yes!” Spike’s hands cupped the back of Angel’s head, holding him to his chest. “Gonna come, luv, can’t hold it.”

Angel thrust his hips harder, his own climax bearing down on him as Spike’s blood filled his veins, the heady taste of it and the rush of the new bond that fused between them crashing over him like waves on sand. Every nerve wound tight, his body seizing on one last harsh thrust as he buried his cock deep within Spike’s clenching hole, ropes of cum spurting lukewarm as he clutched at the pliant body beneath him. He eased his fangs from the wound, rough tongue lapping over the punctures to clean the trickle of blood from the pale skin as it closed.

Spike came with a loud cry as Angel filled him, white light sparking across his vision as he rode the waves, coming harder than he ever had in all his long years. His fingernails scraped across Angel’s scalp as his muscles clenched, friction-heated cum splashing across their stomachs as his cock twitched between them.

“Angel! Oh, fuck...Christ, luv. Thank you, Da, thank you.”

Angel gave Spike’s chest one last lick and nosed his way back up to the crook of his shoulder, his orgasm finally petering out. Nosing along his throat and raining soft kisses across his clavicle, Angel murmured a quiet mantra of ‘mine’, his demon feeling a sense of peace Angel hadn’t thought possible to obtain. He could still feel his soul, though, so he let Angelus have his moment, content that the world was not yet in danger of him.

“All yours, luv. Forever.”

Spike whimpered mournfully as he felt Angel’s softening cock slip out of him, his own cock twitching feebly at the feeling of his dead seed slowly seeping out of him. Shifting back into his human visage, Angel quieted Spike with a loving kiss before rolling off of him, slender fingers reaching to tug him back into his embrace. Angel smiled down at Spike and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m just going to go get a washcloth.”

Spike relaxed into the mattress as Angel disappeared into the bathroom, body near-boneless and tingly, his mind fuzzy and sated.

“I need to draw you like that someday, Spike, all splayed out, hair mussed and curly the way I always liked it”, Angel’s voice was light and teasing as he returned to the bed with a damp cloth. “You always did look way too beautiful when you were completely fucked-out, my sweet William.”

Spike harrumphed sleepily, hissing soon after as Angel wiped the cloth over his sensitive cock. Angel chuckled and made quick work of cleaning up their spend and placed a chaste kiss to the bend of Spike’s knee before straightening back up from the bed. As he went to toss the soiled washcloth in the hamper, Spike found his voice.

“Be a peach and grab my smokes from my jacket, will ya, pet?”

Angel rolled his eyes, glad to see the Claim hadn’t changed Spike’s nature the way he’d heard often happened. He wouldn’t be his William without the snark. Angel disposed of the cloth and sidetracked into the living room to retrieve the pack of cigarettes and lighter from Spike’s duster where he draped it over his chair. He shook one out and lit it up as he rejoined Spike on the bed, taking a drag before handing it over to him and setting the pack on the bedside table.

“Thanks, luv.”

The pair of them shared the cigarette in easy silence, Angel feeling his demon curl up to rest in its cage, content with the proximity of his mate. Spike stubbed the butt out in the crystal ashtray Angel kept on the table and turned to face him.

“Christ, Peaches, you’ve shagged my soddin’ brains out and it’s still daylight. Must be a new record.”

Angel laughed and looked over at the clock.

“Still got about six hours till we need to leave.” Angel felt his eyelids grow heavy and with a soft sigh, pulled Spike into his arms, draping his slender frame half-across his chest. Spike clucked his tongue in indignation and tried to scramble away but stopped as soon as Angel let out a displeased growl. “Sleep, Will. We’re far from finished here, and you’ll need a bit of rest after the Claiming. Behave, mo ghrá.”

“Ya know, all that sappy talk’s fine while you’re buggerin’ me blind, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna put up with it elsewise. Even my poet heart can only take so much of that molasses.”

“Spike, will you just shut up and get some sleep?” Angel tugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I thought the Claim was supposed to make you more endearing? So far, you’re just as impossible as ever.”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way, ducks, admit it.”

“Sleep Spike.”

Chapter Four-->

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@thewhiterabbit42 @prose-for-hire @highonbandcandy

#angel: ts fanfic #buffyverse fanfic #spangel #spike/angel #spike #angel #lemon

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