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adnauseum11 · 3 months

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Unexploded Ordinance (John Price x Reader)

You and John navigate the process of moving in together. John is pleased you are home.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex MDNI

If the end of this chapter feels a bit abrupt it's because I split it in two to keep it from being a ridiculous length. You can expect the next chapter to pick up where this one left off.

Still not completely happy with this chapter but in the interest of not circling the drain forever and moving forward I'm posting anyways lol yolo

feedback welcome!

When John hasn’t returned from his call before you are done eating your breakfast - and polishing off the last of the raspberries - you take yourself to the bathroom to shower. He’s waiting for you in the living room when you finally emerge, feeling a bit more like yourself. He’s clearly lost in thought, your hand on his shoulder finally knocking him back to the present.

John is easy to talk into moving more things today, on your impromptu day off. When you arrive back at the apartment, he checks the door before he lets you enter, satisfied it’s been undisturbed. You immediately bicker with him about your furniture and what pieces will stay or go. You can tell he’s pleased when he wins the debate between the couches, you being partial to your vintage re-upholstered and wildly heavy chesterfield sofa. It’s too short for John to lay down on, forcing him to bend his knees and isn’t very comfortable, truth be told. It’s a gorgeous deep green velvet that draws the eye but otherwise isn’t overly practical. You pout about having to give it up until he gives over on your books entirely. He’s consistently bitched about moving your personal library, filled with heavy anthologies from your university days. They’ve been dragged from pillar to post over the years and you’ve refused every less than subtle suggestion to sell them. He doesn’t even try to make you choose which ones to keep, sighing deeply in resignation and asking how many boxes you think it will take to pack them all. This earns him the hardest hug you can muster and a rain of kisses he has to crouch for, chuckling lowly.

You make a trip back to his place with your clothing, the colourful array of fabrics making John’s limited selections seem all the starker by comparison. It brings you up short, seeing your things beside his in the wardrobe. You get caught up wondering what the hell you are doing, agreeing to this. You don’t get very far in your spiral before John finds you, kneeling surrounded by folded t-shirts. You’re jealous of his ability to seemingly pick a course of action and execute it without the self-doubt that swamps you occasionally. If you hadn’t known him as long as you have you would say it’s something he learned in the military, but you’re pretty sure that’s all John.

His presence steadies you again and you end up making another trip to collect your hairdryer and various other products needed to make yourself presentable for work tomorrow. Most of your everyday use items and valuables are safely rehoused in John’s flat by the time you are ready to throw the towel in for the day. You agree to go to the pub around the corner for dinner, neither of you feeling like cooking. On the walk down, John’s big hand stays on your lower back, keeping you close as you wander down the street together. It’s quiet at the pub, early in the week meaning the clientele are mostly regulars. You get your choice of seats and John steers you to a booth against the back wall, tugging you to sit on the same side as him.

He questions your half-baked plan to quit your job while distracting you from giving an answer, his hand creeping over your thigh and shoulders, bracketing you against him. You finally cross your legs, pinning his warm hand between your thighs so you can formulate a coherent response. He presses a smirk against your temple and listens as you complain of your treatment this morning, and then just in general. You've had a volatile few days and vent your spleen accordingly.

He removes his hands from your body when the food arrives, creating a tiny sliver of space between you on the bench seat. John hums sympathetically at your complaints but finally convinces you to get through the rest of the week before you submit anything in writing, pointing out you should probably update your resume first at minimum. You grumble but reluctantly agree, his even-keeled approach to the situation a better tactic than your instinct for dramatics.

John’s level head only seems to extend to your choices because by the time you’re out the door and on the way home he’s truly unable to keep his hands to himself. Twice on the short walk back he’s pressed you up against the wall of a nearby building, his hands cupping your face as his eager mouth finds yours. You make out like teenagers until you can feel the cold creeping into the tips of your ears, a gentle push against his chest enough to back him off temporarily. You’re getting better at reading John in this state, how his eyes glaze with want and his focus narrows. You finally resort to threading your fingers with his to keep his hand from constantly drifting over your ass, wrapping yourself around his arm to make him behave.

You open the door using your key, John too preoccupied with working his hands under your jacket and shirt. His big body corrals you against him, kicking the door shut after wrestling you through it, almost not giving you time to get your key out of the lock.

“Fucking hell John.”

You breathe out as he spins you around, your arms going around his neck automatically. He kisses you hungrily, his palm cupping the back of your head. You feel the thump of the wall at your back, his hand leaving the back of your head to shove your coat off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it and push at the thick lambskin jacket he’s wearing, slipping your hands under it to grip his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, his lips finding yours again almost immediately. You can feel desire vibrating through his frame, his thigh working its way between yours. Before he can overwhelm you completely, you push back against his chest.

He's breathing hard, confusion mixing across his face as you flatten your palms against his chest and push, reversing your positions by backing him up against the opposite wall. You have to go up on your tip toes, gripping the back of his neck to tug him down to kiss you again. He’s got his hands full of your ass, too preoccupied to catch on to your intent until you're slipping out of his grasp, sliding to your knees in front of him. Your nimble fingers have his belt undone and his jeans open before he can process and stop you, hissing out your name as your fingers wrap around his twitching cock.

You smirk to yourself and wrench a deep groan from his chest as your lips close around the flushed head of his cock, your eyes locking on his face. His cheeks and throat are flushed with the same shade of red as his cock, his blue eyes now nearly black, his pupils dilated with desire. He looks so intense it sends a thrill through your belly that you’re capable of affecting him like this. You swirl your tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum and slide your palm up the wiry hair of his firm abdomen, pushing his shirt up.

John growls lowly, his fingers burying into your hair, gripping close to the roots. He doesn’t try to direct your movements, content to let you work him over however you see fit but the gentle pull on your hair sends flashes of sensation down your spine. The muscles of his stomach jump at the drag of your fingers on his cock as you squeeze the base, sucking on the tip deeply, making John’s fingers clench in your hair. You lift off him and press his erection against his belly, running the flat of your tongue over the underside before teasing his balls with the tip of your tongue.

That has John rocking up onto his toes, hissing your name again followed by a curse. You can’t stop the pleased smirk that slides across your face and wrap your lips around the tip again, focusing your tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside. You can feel his cock twitching, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter with a moan. You let his shirt drop and cup his balls, lapping at the tip intently.

That seems to finally push John beyond his limit and he firmly tugs your hair to pull you off him. Your scalp tingles and you hum in disappointment but John’s already got a hold of your arm, lifting you to your feet again.

“C'mere love, I want to be inside you when I cum.”

He growls lowly, making you shiver, backing you down the hallway to the bedroom with predatory intent. The look on his face makes your stomach quiver in anticipation, your insides going molten.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00

#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #john price cod #john price #friends to lovers #john price x f!reader #john price x you #moving in together #falling in love #fluff and smut #this work has smut

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every-aj-needs-an-angel · 11 months

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I read this amazing idea and this sorta wrote itself. I hope it's everything you were hoping for @piratefishmama

"ugh. fuck," Steve groaned into his pillow. He'd never felt worse.

What the hell happened last night?

It was dark, but there was daylight trying to peek through the curtains, so it must be morning.

Wait. Curtains?

Steve didn't own curtains, and neither did Robin.

Steve tried to focus his alcohol-soaked brain on his surroundings; he was in a hotel room, that much was obvious, and there was a napkin sitting under last night's wine glass on the bedside table, but as he reached over to rescue it, Steve caught a glimpse of a ring on his finger. Weird. Steve didn't often wear jewellery, rarely ever wore rings but... ah! Vegas!

Of course! Their post-firing Vegas trip. Steve turned his head on the pillow and automatically regretted it.

"ugh. robin," Steve murmured, "Robin," he tried a bit louder. She was still ignoring him, curled up in all the blankets, sleeping peacefully when Steve was suffering. Such a blanket hog, Steve thought churlishly. "ROBIN! Ow, fuck!" Steve hid his face back in his pillow, shouting was not the way to go.

"stop yelling," the body in the blankets grouched. Because holy fuck that most definitely was not Robin! "Who the fuck is Robin?" the guy groaned, finally deigning to stick his head out of the covers.

Steve lifted his head and blinked owlishly. That was a face he most definitely did not know. Jesus Christ! Steve launched himself upright, only just realising that he was fucking starkers in bed with a complete stranger. "Who the fuck are you?"

The guy had the nerve to smirk as Steve tried and failed to cover his modesty, but at least had the decency to pretend to be removing the sleep from his eyes in order to give him a modicum of privacy.

"Eddie," he introduced with a half-wave, that stupid grin still gracing his lovely features, "wha' 'bout you, Big Boy?" Eddie asked, cheekily waggling his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve could feel the blush burning his cheeks, he didn’t have control of enough of his faculties to deal with this, going home and pretending this never happened seemed like a great idea right about now. Steve slid himself to the edge of the bed, placing his head delicately in his hands, gearing himself up to get moving, preferably without seeing the contents of his stomach. “Steve,” he muttered.

He could hear movement from the other side of the bed, the sheets moving sounding like Eddie was rolling a dumper truck through the room, followed by a blissful silence that was only broken by a quiet "err, Steve?"

"yeah?" he whispered, not that it really did anything to ease the throbbing in his skull.

Eddie moved again and when Steve looked over, Eddie had leaned across the bed onto the pillow Steve had vacated, trying to get a better look at his hunched form, worrying his lip. Odd, he doesn't seem the type. "You aren't- are you? Wearing a ring?"

Huh? Steve's eyebrows scrunched together, he's not exactly used to waking up in bed with a stranger, but minor lifestyle choices aren't one of Steve's main concerns right now. "Yeah. Why? Men can't wear jewellery?" Steve sniped.

Eddie rolled his eyes so hard he was in danger of losing them, lifting both hands to show Steve the many rings he wore on his fingers. "No. Don't be dense!" Eddie reproached, waited a moment and sighed deeply at Steve's visible confusion, "Look at the finger it's on."

Shifting his left hand in front of his face, Steve glared at the plain gold band glinting up at him from his ring finger. It took a second but when the realisation finally dawned it knocked all the breath out of him, "oh. shit."

Steve looked over at Eddie wide-eyed to find him nodding in agreement with the sentiment. "Yeah. Oh. Shit." Eddie echoed.

This just didn't make sense! It'd been a long time since Steve had consumed so much alcohol, he probably hadn't been that drunk since high school, yet somehow someone thought he was in a fit state to enter into a legal contract! "I don't even- they can't've let us? We were drunk!"

Eddie just shrugs, doesn't look even nearly upset enough for Steve's liking. Steve glares at him trying to convey how insane this situation is, Eddie just gives him a look that says "it is what it is". Steve continued glaring, an internal monologue of this is insane, why aren't you freaking out? I'm freaking out! We're strangers and now we're married and oh god we're gonna have to get divorced! I'm gonna be divorced! I don't wanna be divorced! which clearly just frustrates him because Eddie just throws his hands in the air and shouts, "We're in Vegas!"

And suddenly all the fight sucks out of Steve, he slumps back over covering his face with his hands, feeling the slide of metal against his cheek and mutters "fuck. we're in vegas."

But he didn't come here alone! Robin! His best friend and platonic soul mate. And oh how Steve adores her because she's smart, she'll know what to do! "I need to find Robin!" Steve decides, jumping up off the bed, and immediately standing perfectly still so the room stops spinning. I just need to get dressed and find Robin, she'll know how to fix this!

Eddie still hasn't moved from his spot, lounging elegantly across the pillows, the sheet draped gracefully over him like some kind of artist's model. He raises a judgemental eyebrow at Steve, "Robin?"

Unhooking his jeans from the lampshade, Steve grins at Eddie, he's not the first person to assume they're an item. "My best friend," Steve clarifies, but Eddie doesn't look convinced, if anything he looks even more pissed off, his face doing that complicated, pissed off, 'I'm assuming I'm being lied to', twist snarl.

Steve looks, really looks, at Eddie. Steve doesn't know much about him, other than the fact that he's incredibly pretty because really eyes that big and beautiful should only be allowed on magazine covers! He's completely covered in tattoos, which is so hot, not to mention those rings! And he's cheeky as fuck and absolutely unafraid to stand up for himself, which is a first for Steve. People who don't know him usually find him a little intimidating, which is insane, but Robin assures him it's a them thing, not a him thing. And although that's barely anything to know about a person, Steve'd already dearly love to know who'd dare to hurt him, he'd just like to chat, honest. "She's a lesbian," he adds, just to really drive his point home.

It seems to surprise Eddie, his eyebrows shoot up before he grins back at Steve, all teeth and sparkling eyes, trying to hide his face in his mane! Because that's really the only way to describe the majesty of his hair. And oh he's blushing, that's adorable. Eddie clears his throat, sitting up a little straighter, "oh. Yeah. I should probably find Chris," he agrees like he's saying what he's thinking out loud, quickly clarifying, "she also likes women."

They're smiling gently at one another when the phone starts to ring, Steve striding back to the bedside to answer it, hearing Robin shout "Steveeeeee!!"

That sets the ringing off in Steve's ears again, ow! "Robin, shh!" Steve chastises.

Robin's uninhibited by Steve's grouchiness, "I just wanted to say... Congratulations!" she singsongs.

"You know about that?!" Steve's utterly bewildered, surely she wouldn't...

"We were there!" she shouts excitably, as though she'd personally been invited to Area 51, instead of witnessing something as stupid as Steve getting married, while too drunk to even remember the name of his husband.

husband! Steve thinks pathetically.

"we?" he asks meekly, hoping beyond hope he hadn't done something ridiculous like invite his mother or his ex.

"Me and Chris!" Robin shouts, in the background he hears another voice woo-hoo and then say something incomprehensible that makes Robin giggle.

Steve sighs, rolls his eyes because of course! And purposefully catching his eye, smiles exasperatedly at Eddie, "they're together," he informs him.

Eddie snorts a laugh and shrugs, "makes sense," he murmurs as though this is all completely normal behaviour. Maybe it is for them, Steve doesn't bloody know.

Turning back to his phone conversation, Steve asks, "Why'd you let me do that, Rob?" It comes out as whiny and pathetic as he feels, forcefully rubbing his forehead to try to ease the tension building there.

Robin barks a laugh, and she's right it is funny, no one's ever been able to stop Steve from doing anything he set his mind to. Doesn't mean he doesn't want someone else to blame for the fact that he doesn't remember his own wedding and that he's going to be divorced before he's thirty!

"You're in LOVE, Stevie! Who am I to stand in the way of love?"

Robin always manages to explain the most bizarre things as though they're completely ordinary, making them sound almost reasonable. It baffles Steve every damn time. Like she just said "You were sick Steve, so I took you to the doctor" instead of "You're in love with someone you met yesterday, so the obvious solution was a drunken wedding"!

Steve sighed, trying not to be annoyed with her, "Bobbie, I met Eddie less than 24 hours ago! What am I, a fucking Disney Princess?" the vitriol soaking his words would've upset most people, but Robin never flinched, even when he was being the world's biggest dick.

He could practically hear her eye roll through the phone, "No Dingus, you're not a Princess!" she sounded almost sympathetic for a second, but she couldn't hold back the bubble of laughter, "You're a King!" she proclaimed, cackling so hard she snorted.

She hadn't let up about "King Steve" since she’d found his yearbook, signed by all his dickhead "friends". She thought high school cliques were ridiculous, thought prom was even worse, and the idea that Steve had been so popular he'd been elected as an imaginary sovereign as part of their fabricated hierarchy had her rolling around the floor laughing for a solid ten minutes.

"Jesus Christ!" Steve muttered pinching the bridge of his nose, nothing was ever as funny as she thought it was when she was drunk, especially not when she was funny-drunk and he wasn't nearly drunk enough.

Robin stopped laughing abruptly and gasped as though she'd forgotten something. "Steve. Stevie. Evievievie! Guess what, I haven't been to bed yet!" she declared proudly. Steve had no idea what time it was, but as far as he knew the last time she'd slept had been on the plane, and that hadn't exactly been for very long.

"Maybe it's time for bed then?" Steve reasoned, trying to hold on to the last of his patience.

"No! Nooo, I'm with a girl," she whispered conspiratorially. oh jesus! Like he didn't know that!

He was far too sober for this Robin, it was fine when she'd do it in a club, wander over and be all "Steve, I've been dancing with a girl!" mainly because he was drunk enough to join in with her level of wonderment (even though he'd just watched her do it). Right now though, with the weight of his life choices on his shoulders, trying to wrangle his best friend was driving him slightly mad.

"I know," he whispered back. He could hear the pings and dings of the casino in the background, but other than her gentle breathing, Robin had gone suddenly eerily quiet.

He was just about to ask if she'd nodded off upright (it wouldn't be the first time) when Robin and Chris whined loudly, "We're bored, Steve!" jesus fuck! He had to move the phone away from his ear, so his skull didn't crack open. The fact that they said it simultaneously being equal parts creepy and adorable.

It was then that Eddie's stomach rumbled noisily, he'd been quiet and still the whole time Steve was on the phone, not even looking in his direction apart from when Steve spoke directly to him. That was until Steve's stomach grumbled in agreement, Eddie glancing up at Steve through his lashes, amusement dancing in his eyes and god when he smiled like that!

When was the last time any of them ate? Robin hadn't shut up about Vegas' newest waffle place (that had basically inspired the whole trip) since she'd heard about it from Gina in accounting. Maybe some food would do them all some good.

"What about some breakfast?" Steve suggested, he still had his eyes locked with Eddie's and found he wasn't just talking to Robin. Eddie nodded coyly, getting off the bed to gather his clothes from wherever they'd been flung.

"Oooh!! That's a great idea! You're so smart, Steve! I love you!" Robin squealed in his ear and Steve yanked his eyes away from Eddie as he sauntered naked around the room, staring purposefully at the napkin on the bedside, absentmindedly playing with the ring on his finger.

"I love you, too. You going for waffles?"

Steve liked to check in, it wasn't that he thought Robin was incapable of taking care of herself. He just worried. The love he felt for his found family had a depth he'd never thought himself capable of, and Steve didn't even know who he'd be without Robin by his side.

But Robin always knew him better than he knew himself, could practically taste the pensive thoughts through the line, "We're going for waffles, Dingus! Don't forget your husband!" she yelled and hung up.

"jesus fucking christ!" he muttered to himself, putting the phone down.

A husband! Steve didn't even have a job, let alone a career, but he somehow now had a husband. And the thing was, Steve couldn't even say he hated the idea. He didn't particularly like the idea of marrying someone he couldn't remember knowing, but he knew he'd always been one to fall too hard, too fast. His fuckbuddies were different, he could separate his emotions from sex under that context but the moment an actual relationship was mentioned suddenly Steve was all-in.

Maybe Eddie was an all-in kinda guy too?

Eddie had seemed flustered at first but he relaxed into it pretty quickly. It was intriguing to meet someone so laidback and spontaneous. Steve and Robin were always pretty happy-go-lucky, jumping from job to job without giving it much thought. But out of everyone they knew, they seemed to be the outliers, it was nice to meet such a free spirit.

Not that Steve had always been this way, of course, it was all Robin's good influence. From as small as he could remember his parents had brought him up to care more about what everyone else thought, than about his own thoughts, wants and opinions and honestly, it had him wound tighter than a springboard for the first twenty years of his life.

It was Robin who'd taught him that it was okay to do what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it, that what he wanted mattered. It took a while but she got him to get to know himself, the real him, not the guy his parents wanted him to be. Steve kinda hoped he’d be able to get to know Eddie, like really get to know him, beyond just breakfast with their respective best friends.

Speaking of, Steve looked around to find Eddie had left the bathroom door wide open, a clear invitation to join him. Steve faltered for a second because they should probably talk first but honestly, it'd been a long time since Steve had felt as good as he did when Eddie smiled at him and he was kind of sick of denying himself things that felt good.

Fuck it!

As he shuffled towards the bathroom, Steve rescued the rest of his clothes from the floor, his shirt was still tucked inside his jacket, dropped carelessly just inside the room door. A vision flashed in Steve's mind, he and Eddie in the lift, he was shirtless and rutting against Eddie as they frantically made out, watching in the mirror behind him as Eddie licked and nibbled down his neck.

Holy shit! Steve had only ever that horny for someone in public in the relative privacy of a club bathroom stall. Anyone could've joined them in that elevator, hell there might've been someone in there with them, he didn't think there was but he couldn't remember. They were lucky they hadn't been arrested! Anywhere else and they might've been, but luckily Vegas was well known as the City of Sin. Hopefully, the hotel security were just used to it.

There was steam pouring from the bathroom by the time he'd pulled himself from his musings, the mirror above the sink showing nothing but a blurry outline of himself, not that he needed it to know he looked rough. The shower door, like the bathroom one, had purposefully been left wide open, steam billowing out along with Eddie's voice.

Because Eddie was singing, loud and angelic, over the sounds of the shower. It wasn't a song Steve recognised, something about the sun, the moon and a seal, Eddie could've been making it up for all he knew. Not that Steve cared, it was sublime. Pulling him in like a siren song, Steve couldn't help himself, he just kept inching closer.

And as heavenly as Eddie’s voice was, which was truly one of the most exquisite voices Steve had ever heard. It was nothing in comparison to the vision Steve was greeted with as he finally reached the shower. Eddie had his head tipped back, rinsing Steve's expensive shampoo out of his hair, the length of his neck alone had Steve salivating. There was a little tattoo poking out from under his earlobe that was practically begging to be investigated. And a single freckle sitting just to the left of his sternum that he felt the overwhelming urge to lick.

Steve didn't get more than a cursory glance at the rest of him because it was then that Eddie straightened up as though he'd sensed Steve's presence. As he wiped the excess water from his face with his hands, Steve noticed that Eddie had removed all of his rings except the shiny gold band that joined them, almost like he hadn't wanted to take it off.

Another vision came to him, of him sliding that very ring onto Eddie's finger, of him taking Eddie's hand and kissing the still cold metal, glancing up at a grinning, misty-eyed Eddie through his lashes, an overwhelming surge of joy exploding through his chest.

It made Steve giddy and he was suddenly unable to wipe the stupid smile off his face, Eddie beamed back, warm and inviting, little droplets of water catching in his eyelashes from the pressure of the spray hitting his skin as he'd watched Steve remember.

The breath was knocked out of him when he immediately felt the overwhelming need to touch Eddie, to be in his space, to kiss him so thoroughly that neither of them knew where one of them began and the other one ended.

And Eddie must be some kind of mind reader because a truly mischievous look overtook his features as he reached out his ringed hand to Steve's to yank him under the torrent and into his arms, giggling cheekily when he pushed Steve back against the freezing cold shower wall, happily swallowing Steve's shocked gasp.

Part 2

#i wrote so much i had to split it into chapters #i apologise in advance for all the tense changes and terrible grammar if i proof read this again it'll end up in the bin #the song eddie is singing is n.i.b by black sabbath if anyone is interested #steddie vegas au #steddie au #steddie #platonic stobin #platonic eddissy #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #steve's pov #steve x eddie #eddie x steve #aj writes

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saint-siren · 1 month

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A World For Her Alone | Sisyphus

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

cw (chapter specific): child neglect, very vaguely implied forced prostitution, death, abuse, poisoning, suicide, mentions of pregnancy and childbirth, arranged marriage, infidelity

pairing: claude x fem!reader

summary: we take a brief intermission from claude's suffering to examine what the fuck is wrong with reader's family

author's note: me and my husband we're sticking together🎵

Claude lingered around your parents’ manor like a ghost after you died. In the middle of the night, every night, he found his way to your bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed you’d died in, remembering the shape your body formed in the sheets. The room still smelled of your blood and sweat, though the room had been cleaned up by the maids as soon as your body was taken out of the room. Your absence was starker than your presence. After the funeral, Diana expressed that she wanted to go home, heavily implying she would leave if he came with her but Claude was no longer beholden to her wants. He had no reason to care whether she came or went.

He was wielding grief as the knife he held up to cut deeper into himself in hope that if he only suffered enough, his hands would wash clean of your blood. But in the end, he had already decided to live, if only because he could do nothing else. Morbid thoughts plagued him, swirling around his head like unquiet spirits begging him to give in. He thought perhaps he should cause his own ruination and this time, live with it. He thought he should make for certain that both of your houses are set aflame and collapsing on top of the lot of you, to bury and burn your sycophant parents, his helplessly selfish wife and even his own child. He thought that nothing should be spared from complicity. He knew not anymore if he truly believed that it would save you, or if this was what some divine terror was willing him to do even still, but he began to long for punishment. It became catharsis, the thought of being punished.

He roamed through the house you grew up in, searching for any trace of you that survived, as if some inkling of you would help him to save what had already been lost too many times. Even so, it was automatic for him at this point, no longer even really a choice. He had no direction, only frantic need pulling him toward the doomed task. He was trying to get to the dregs of a goblet of wine which never ran dry, he kept drinking until he was sick but never satisfied, never finished.

Your parents’ manor was an eerie place, he’d always thought. Wind blew in from an opened window in the hall and the house seemed to breathe, and its hollow bones creaked softly. Despite her gentle ultimatum, Diana could not actually follow up on it, she must have known that but she believed better of him at the time and thought that everywhere she went, he would follow her like a lovestruck teenager again. There were things to be done at manor that she could not neglect as its lady even if he chose to neglect his own duties. She had come into her own as a marchioness, no longer the shy and unassuming lady that lay in bed sick day in and day out. She would not leave the territory without management though he knew she desperately wanted him to come back home. She seemed dazed to return home without her husband for that purpose, for the lament of a sister she had infinitely more right to grieve so egregiously. Even after all those years, the silly girl was only just beginning to grow aware of the disparity of marriage.

Somehow he felt it was hard for her to reconcile that she wasn’t a precious young lady anymore. Even as he was mired in a pool of half catatonic grief, she dared ask him to leave with her because she truly expected he would do so if she did. Had she not grown out of the habit of expecting to be near worshiped no matter what that her parents instilled her? He remembered how she was after your funeral, when he was sitting in the dark of a guest room. She had come to him, tried to hold him, to kiss him; believing all this would be a comfort and not a further indignity. She’d had arrogance enough to look hurt as he pulled her from him and recoiled from her touch. She must have still believed she was the cure to all ills because she was once more in a house where she was always treated as though she truly were.

He found his way to the library where you’d spent much of your life, if Felix’s word was truth. He brushed his fingers along the spines of the books, looking for the one that he left his missive in, the one Diana read and did not want understand. He searched through the categories of books that contained subjects you three would have studied together as he could not remember which particular book it was, but even after pulling all the books and flipping through the pages, he couldn't find the letter. He wondered if you had ever even set eyes on it once before Diana got to. Had it been your catalyst to run away? Had you read the note and understood that the effort of trying to be happy at his side was a fool’s errand? Was he again the cause of your downfall?

As he gave himself to thought of you, he continued looking through your family’s collection of books. It was all fairly standard and even a bit utilitarian, lacking any of the fanciful novels so beloved by many young nobles. He assumed if there were any, they’d be in Diana’s room because they’d be bought for and read by her alone. But there was something that struck him as he roamed around the shelves, his eyes scanning aimlessly for a book that looked as if it had been perhaps been misshelved. It was subtly tucked into the highest shelf but it still stood out to him eventually among droll guides, needlework books and encyclopedias emblazon with gold lettering. It was hastily bound looking more like a journal and it was worn, unlike the rich and well maintained leather of the other books and it was small, leaving a wide gap between the top of the shelf and the top of the book. Its spine did not read a title.

When he pulled the book, he understood what it was. Its title read “The Princess and The Knight,” signifying it was some common, tawdry romance novella. Still, he began to read it, the absurdity of its place in a house so heavy and serious intriguing him. Could this book have belonged to you? Could it have been an escape for you who was locked firmly out of girlhood when you were only just betrothed? When he’d read the title, his mind flashed with the memory of your face as Felix’s body fell into the dirt in front of you. He remembered how fiercely Felix had protected you even in this life. The rage and grief in his voice when he came for retribution. Though he knew you were ever dutiful and if there was love between you and Felix, it was never more than courtly, maybe you had seen this book and it had reminded you of some place where it could be more.

The story revolved around the love affair of a princess from a bloodline with an affinity for magic fleeing her country at wartime and being assigned a knight from the neighboring kingdom she sought refuge in. The two began a passionate and sanguine love affair in secret, all while living under of the tension of war and the threat of both of them losing everything to their love. But when the war was won, thanks in part to the wits of the two characters, and peace spread over the kingdom, she and her knight were able to be wed and live happily ever after. He had been searching for you in the pages, interpreting the knight and the princess, looking for traces of a love you might have had once. He had been looking for you so closely in every word that he hadn’t realized the grander scale of things until the end; when he flipped over the last page to read the epilogue, on the blank side of the page he saw a sketch.

The drawing was finely, intricately done in ink and resembled…Diana. The owner of this book had drawn Diana so vividly, yet there were a few differences in the likenesses of the two. This woman had long spools of curly hair spilling over her shoulders and a mole near her gently smiling lips. She was older than Diana must have been when the book was written. She looked like the heroine that had been described in the novel. For some reason, he found himself fixated not in awe or admiration but in mind numbing shock. He could feel the love that went into each stroke of the pen and a knot formed in his stomach the longer he stared. It was uncanny in a house like this, to find anything that should mark vulnerability or simple folly. He recalled an occasion where your father had gifted her a portrait he’d made of her and their daughter. Though two different mediums, the style looked so similar. From what Claude saw, it seemed that your father seldom made art of anyone but Diana. Your father surely had not been so passionate about a throwaway romance that he had ignored his bias and poured so much love into an image of the heroine.

The only one who could be so brazen as to have a romance novel among his books wherein which they lovingly drew an almost intimate image of a woman, worn with the spine slightly bent from being handled so many times— not even properly hidden away, would be your father. Your father who paraded his illegitimate child, born from a mistress. The revelation gave him pause. What did Claude truly know about Diana? He couldn’t remember having ever asked her if she’d known her mother because she so resolutely accepted the countess as her only mother. But this woman sketched onto the page of a well loved romance, was this her mother? She looked as if she could be. Portraits of Diana hung in exposed parts of the house, he did not seem to care that the custom of having an illegitimate child was to have them separate from one’s “official” family, to not love a child born of one’s own lust so openly. Even if one had a particular love of their mistress and child, he would simply put them up in a nice mansion close enough for him to come and go but your father had your mother raising his illegitimate child. He celebrated her birthdays lavishly and even allowed her to go to the academy. He absolutely refused to hide her, to show shame in her. So why was this woman Claude presumed to be Diana’s mother who was clearly beloved by him even now, shut up in the back of a romance novella?

A thought occurred to him then, that perhaps the otherworldly force pulling him into Diana, entangling him in her was not otherworldly at all. Perhaps it had not originated in him alone as some primordial curse formed around him before there even was a him. He thought of just how besotted he was with Diana the first time he met her in each life, how the greater part of him felt foreign. He thought of your mother’s unusually devoted love for a child that wasn’t her’s, a product of her husband’s disloyalty. Something inside him thought that the answer lay at Diana’s feet. In her very blood, he was convinced, was the answer.

Such a tenderly written romance, signed with a carefully drawn illustration of the woman who could be Diana’s mother. The part of “The Princess and The Knight” which struck him so was the bit about the princess possessing capacity for magic. It was not mentioned much nor utilized greatly in the plot but it made an impression. Magic users had decreased over the years, their powers waning until they were unheard of entirely. To anyone else who read the novella, it must have given the story to a bit of fantasy but to Claude, it was almost uncanny. He could not take it for an unassuming romance. To him, the story hid some truth under its veneer, for it was no coincidence that the princess resembled Diana so and that it ended up under the same roof as her, worn with years of eager hands flipping back over the pages. The princess’ power was never described in detail but if she were based on a real woman, then perhaps she had something to do with his situation.

He might’ve gone to Diana right then for answers but he feared his body might be taken over again at any time. He did not want to see her, did not want to feel the familiar paralysis of affection reaching up through his body. He did not want to see himself bed her again while the memory stood frozen in his eyes. Each time he saw her after he’d been set free, he’d worried that it would happen again. That his body would betray his mind and he’d never find anything of substance to end the cycle of misery the two of you shared. And he was committed to the task of trying, even if he could never succeed. He was ready to succumb to the greater sense of careworn madness he found in you.

He decided to explore the unattended corners of your home further, thinking there would be— must be more. If ever Diana’s mother had lived here, someone left a trace that he intended to find. He might’ve asked your father directly but as much as he was a lickspittle, something told him that your father would be afflicted by the same paralysis of mind that he had when he belonged to Diana. Unable to share the love he held for her but unable to hide it either, culminating in a pathetic sort of half-baked defensiveness. He wasn’t likely to get anything out of that, even you hadn’t been able to get anything out of him when he was like that. Worse still, he might try to cover up all that he kept that ever indicated Diana’s mother had lived there once, that she had a name and a face. And then what?

No, it was better this way. Better to find it all before he got the chance to hide any of it.

Your parents were still in the house, seemingly without intention of asking him when he was going to leave but there was still a bit of anxiety in the air when they entered the room. He could tell that they very much wished for him to return to their daughter and make her happy again as she was destined to be. It was awkward that their son-in-law had a longer bereavement than your sister did. But still being the cowardly sycophants they were, they could not ask him to leave for her sake—only “encourage” him by tossing out little updates on Diana. “Diana and our grandchild miss you very much,” “Diana takes ill so easily when she works so hard, we should hope you’ll be well enough to go back to her soon,” “Diana sends her love and wants you to know she’s there for your sake.”

Claude wouldn’t care if Diana’s life hung by a thread and he was all that could spare her, frankly and he brushed off all responsibility in favor of giving himself to his task. It was shameless, he knew, but he’d given up everything inside of the barren, hollow shell of his self to save you. It was a task that had already and would yet again supersede death, birth and the enveloping void he fell backward into each time his life was ended. He waited until they inevitably visited Diana, likely to calm her worries with lukewarm supplications about his grief, to go searching in the other parts of the house uninhibited. For, even if the servants were to tell their lord and lady, he’d already have looked through every corner he intended before they’d have a chance to move things around to better hide them.

He started with Diana’s old room. When he walked in, he was surprised to find it was left exactly as childish as it had been when she was only a young miss. Just the scent of the air turned his stomach, heavy and cloying with a pungent smell of medicine that was still sitting on her night stand in a small white bottle. He frowned as something fell clumsily into place. It hit him like the stray sour note of a violin. He recognized the bottle. Where did he last see this bottle?

For how preoccupied he was with the revelation taking slow form, he did not realize that Felix had entered the room until he heard the distinctive sound of a sword unsheathed. He did not turn.

“Felix.”

“Lord Claude,” Felix acknowledged, his voice struggling to keep its softness. “I might’ve known you’d be here. You truly cannot help yourself, it’s like a sickness.”

“Yes, it is very much like that,” Claude agreed easily. “But I’m not here for what you imagine I am.”

“I’m not so sure it matters, my lord.” Felix’s voice was flat.

“Nor am I. But I need you to let me live just as long as it takes for me to make sense of this.”

Felix went quiet for a moment but nothing about the situation made Claude think it was because the knight was going to hesitate. On the contrary, he was sure that his sword would swing just as neatly. “Do you know where I found my lady chained up, my lord? There are places, you know, that they bring women who had no other place to turn. You must know. You were at her side every night when we brought her back, you saw what toll it took. You saw what had been done.” Felix took a shallow breath. “You’re asking me to spare you so that you can make sense of whatever it is your farce of a marriage is built on? When my lady was given no such pardon? I know you’re the head of your house now, honored knight of the crown and you must think yourself above your treatment of others but I assure you, this will be the last time you ever assume so.”

Claude held still, his voice firm even as fear raged through his body. It was not fear for his life or of Felix’s wrath, it was the fear of failing, yet again, to make any movement in saving you. “I know how you think of me, Felix. I know that I have failed my wife. I know that I deserve to die here and now but even so, I can’t.”

“That is no problem, I’ll do it for you.”

Claude smiled joylessly to himself at the devout knight’s words. How could you have been judged so harshly in that life for wanting to run away with him when he so clearly had a loyalty akin to love for you? “You don’t understand. You cannot possibly. But answer me this, do you know who Diana’s mother is?”

The question puzzled Felix but he stood resolutely, ready at any moment to fell Claude’s head. “Everyone else in this household has care for Lady Diana. My duty was to serve my lady, I was the only one and I did not ever lapse. You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Felix, I do not ask for my wife’s sake. I know how this will sound but I’m trying to find out just what exactly it is that Diana holds over me and everyone else. I’m trying to figure out what exactly she is. You have seen it, haven’t you? The disparity between how people treat my wife and how they treat your lady. Do you think it natural to love a daughter born from an affair more than one’s own?”

He heard Felix laugh bitterly. “You believe her to be a succubus? Is that your excuse?”

“No. I believe her to be something worse.” Claude laughed as well, though his was more hysterical than anything. “She rules everything, Felix. Even in death. No, especially so in death. I have lived this life many times. I have died and returned back to the day that I first met her at the tea party. And when I do, I am taken over by her. It feels like love at first, it really does. But then intrusion. And then a curse. It is a cycle of death and resurrection, for myself and for the lady.”

Felix was silent and Claude continued on. “In one such life, she ran away with you, you know. It was raining the night we found you two. You were holed up in some abandoned cottage out there in the countryside, the one with the patches of white clover in the yard and a missing shingle on the roof.”

“What are you saying?” Felix’s voice wavered with near disbelief at the picture he painted but he held firm.

“My knights killed you where you stood and took the lady back to my manor. Your betrothed visited her. She had asked to speak to the woman who had been responsible for your death. She told me you two had planned to get married once the lady and I were finally married and settled in. She could not even mourn you properly because you were compelled to run away with the lady and killed.”

It is clear that Felix still thought Claude had lost his mind but what shocked him was the truth seeded into his madness. How could he have known the intimate arrangements of their betrothal and marriage when even their families had not known the cause for delay? This was not knowledge he could send an errand boy to fetch him nor an illusion he couldn’t hope to keep up, this was lived. It was memory.

“What does that have to do with Diana?” Diana was more likely a seductress than a sorceress in Felix’s opinion. Such a thing as a time loop, how could a girl so weak and childish create something like it?

Claude turned slightly, slowly toward him. “I don’t know yet myself. That is what I seek to find out. So that I can perhaps end it, for the lady at least. I don’t need anything Felix, not Diana, not my child, not my house. All I need and want is for the lady to stop suffering. I only beg you not to hinder me. When the time comes, I swear I will die on my own.”

Felix had no idea what to make of it all. Much of what Claude said seemed stilted, frantic and half thought. Yet he could not help but feel there was a certain sincerity to be had even in the worthlessness of Claude’s promise. And in any case, he was not entirely unfamiliar with the concept that Claude explained but all that it implied, he was not ready to believe. He sheathed his sword again finally and Claude turned to face him with the medicine bottle in hand. “Have you any idea why this would be in Diana’s room? It’s medicine that the lady took before.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “It’s used to treat severe infection. It’s not supposed to be used by just anyone who gets ill. Lady Diana should not have needed that medicine, it would take effect like poison if not administered to someone battling a harsh infection. The doctor sent one of the servants to fetch it in town.”

“Yes, but this bottle is dusty, it’s mostly emptied out and the liquid inside it has congealed. It’s been sitting here for years. The medicine inside is aromatic. It has a distinct smell, doesn’t it? The lady’s room still reeks of it even with the windows opened up. Every time I went into Diana’s room when we were young, I smelled it, I tasted it. That means she was not only taking medicine she did not need but taking it regularly.” Claude said aloud, more to himself than to Felix who had bristled at the way he implied he and Diana were. “Was she…ever even sick?”

“Of course she was. Perhaps madame gave her the wrong medicine. She would not have poisoned herself, far be it from me to defend her but she did not desire to be sick. She seemed to envy the lady for her health, as she saw it.”

“…it was the lady’s mother who administered this medicine?” Claude questioned as new pieces fell together in his mind.

“I only know that the madame came to Lady Diana before bed to give her medicine. I do not know that it was that medicine, I did not see it.” Felix paused. “What is the significance, my lord?” He asked, annoyance creeping into his tone at the extensive talk of Diana.

“I intend to find out.”

He had wished to creep into the madame’s bedroom quickly and easily but the door was locked so they’d needed to fetch the key. Claude was shocked at the amount of sway he had over the servants of a house he was not a part of for the head maid simply handed over the key when he asked for it, albeit hesitantly as though she thought she might be scolded for doing so. When he took in the room, it was tidy and rather plain by aristocracy standards. The room seemed to have a chill about it, there was a draft somewhere that made it feel colder than the other rooms.

He began to pick carefully through her things, looking in every corner of the room for anything hidden. It was all mundane, droll and typical until he reached the last drawer of a dresser that was locked. Sure enough, nine bottles of unopened medicine neatly lined into rows of three. When he tried to pull the drawer out all the way and see what more he could find, it was caught on something that had been pressed against the top. Claude reached in to feel for it and pulled down what looked to be a simple leather bound, worn and yellowing journal.

Immediately he began to read. He was a bit startled at himself when he realized that he was eager to read the contents of his mother-in-law’s mind. He wanted to know how she saw you. How she justified treating you the way she did to uplift a child that was not her’s. A pitiful part of him just wanted there to be reason. He wanted cause for the rift in the relationship. He needed to believe there was a because to your suffering.

But what he read was not as he suspected. In neat, small lettering on the first page, it chronicled her life back to when she had been perhaps 19 years old but it was dated some ten years later. A reflection on her younger self written seemingly less as a journal and more a memoir.

“The princess had always been so gracious a mistress that even her tasks sounded like gifts.

When it was her time to return to her duties in her own kingdom, she resigned to it with great grace. However, she understood that the opposite would be true of her beloved knight. This fragile man only smiled in her company, protected her with wild fervor and once told her that he felt divinely guided to her. That to him, she was the symbol of god’s forgiveness and in serving her, loving her, he saw his life’s purpose. Oh, the princess lamented to me how dark a life her knight had lived, how the blood he shed as a knight haunted him with guilt. How his father had been of a violent sort in his efforts to transform his only living child into a knight of some worth to bring more prestige to their house and in his efforts to vent his own turmoil over his wife taking up with men of far more money, status and legacy than he. Her knight resembled his mother and so became the target of the ire he could not give his wife for the great protection being a mistress to such men afforded her. His mother knew what his father did, she did not care so long as it were not her. My heart came to soften for him too, the more she told me.

He had been a quiet man, shy and quite unknowingly sweet for his reputation as a ruthlessly skilled knight. He opened up to my princess like a flower toward the sun. He loved her so madly that she knew even though it was inevitable, he never intended to be where he could not protect her and stand at her side. The princess feared that their duties as princess and heir to a county respectively would give way to the knight’s devotion. She feared he’d kill himself trying to reunite with her or simply deteriorate under the burden of his own isolation but her own life was dedicated to more than just one person. It was her nation, her home of people waiting to see her return that she could not abandon. So in her stead, she asked me to stay in the kingdom and marry him. To give him a countess and to keep watch of him for anything he might do to interfere in both their duties.

It was a great honor she had given me entrusting someone so precious to me and given me a title higher than that I had been born with, I still feel that way now but I was foolish then and I did not understand the nature of what I was being asked to do. Nor would I until after it was already done.

You see (and it does, still pain me to even write such a silly thing), I did, at the time believe that I would become close to my husband. I viewed it as a matter of course, for I was far from a home I could never return to and he had no one. We were, for each other, the last traces of the princess. Though I could never think to hope for the kind of love that he gave to the princess, I believed that commonality could be nurtured into love or kinship. I wished for someone to turn to as my heart was sinking faster than a stone the longer I spent from my home. I believed it would happen. I believed he would become someone to lean on.

Though the first months of our marriage were cold, I managed to coax him into trying to have children as was our duty. I saw this as progress both in the way of our relationship as well as keeping him from the princess. I viewed even our coldness then as a sign of something beginning. It was only once, afterward, I think he worked very hard so that I would not ask him to do it again. But even so, I found that I was with child soon. I was a stupid girl then, I believed a child was what we needed to grow closer. I brought this news to him with a smile, I must have looked like an idiot.

My husband’s expression, I can never forget it. He was horrified at this revelation. He looked at me as though I’d announced a death. He looked at me as though I had wounded him. Then his beautiful eyes sparkled with unshed tears and his expression reverted to a weak, helpless smile as he said all the right things in his wavering voice.

It was then that I realized he would never love me. He was horrified at having a child with me, it was sheer terror and dread on his face when I told him. Perhaps he thought that I would not become pregnant at all, he would have preferred it that way. I hadn’t the relationship with him to truly comfort him, to know intimately what he feared about my child. I was useless in that way.

Through the following months, my apprehension was near unbearable. I kept feeling my stomach sink in dread, I kept waking up thinking that I would be home. I kept thinking that I had done something irreparable but I could think of nothing which was actually within my control. Therefore, when I finally gave birth, my relief that it was done with was greater than my joy. But that was alright with me because I had intended to deal with things in my own way."

From there, she went on to describe her rigid attention to being a diligent countess for a few droll pages. But at last, Claude came to another thing of significance. Your father had been summoned to court for political matters regarding the civil unrest which had not been quelled with the end of the war. Your mother could not follow him and leave a newborn alone so she had no choice but to simply trust in your father. She would come to regret that.

"My princess appeared like a bolt out of the blue months later. She was dressed as a peasant and had a somewhat bashful smile on her lips. Although I had missed her, all that I could think in seeing her was, "She should not be here."

But we brought her to the study so that presumably, she would tell us why she had returned when she had surely sworn that she could not. She took off her cloak and then I understood without her needing to tell me. I saw a little bump on her otherwise thin body and I was overcome. When my husband had returned to court, he had not been officially permitted to see my princess but they had met anyway and she was now with child. She had waited until she was just about to start beginning to show in order to take leave from court on the pretense of recovering from illness at her villa in the countryside.

I had been given the task of minding him but I had clearly failed. I should have gone with him no matter what. I should have taken the chance and left my child so that I could have prevented this. But my princess looked at me as faultless and took my hands in hers to assure me that she regretted nothing. She comforted my husband who apparently also knew nothing about this pregnancy until then. She knew his fears like the back of her hand, she knew exactly how to soothe them as I hadn't. He did not even have to speak. She simply knew.

Until then, I had not known that my husband dreaded having children for fear they would be cursed and afflicted with the same moral decay that his own parents had; and because he feared that having a child would bring the same thing out of him. Even if I had known, the princess was the perfect one to comfort him. She asked him if he believed a child born of her could be wicked and of course, he said no. She spun such sugary images of their child together for him with her eyes shining with joy. She told him that their child was special, that she did not fear him becoming a parent like his own because their child would change everything about being a father for him. It surely helped that my princess was glowing as she said such things, that the excitement radiating off of her grew stronger with each passing moment. He could not deny her, could not bring himself to contradict her words because he would always believe in her even if he did not believe in himself.

It went unsaid that the princess would be entrusting the child to the both of us. I had much apprehension about taking care of two babies rather than one and the secrets to be kept piling up above me but I could not complain, it had been my job for years to make everything work. I could not stop then when my princess needed me most. In any case, her presence in the manor brought life to a place that had become so eerie to me. She was the only flame in the dark and we were huddled around her, trying to preserve an ounce of warmth within ourselves. She was joyful through her pregnancy, she could not stop talking about the baby she was to have. The more she chattered, the more excited I became too as though I had any right to be. This was true of my husband too, who tentatively felt the kicks of his child and smiled, genuinely smiled as the princess did. I could see that he loved that child.

She slept in the master bedroom with him, after he left each day, I went in to help her get ready for the day. It was though I was still her maid and I suppose I wanted to be, would rather be that than a wife. But I could not bring myself to complain. I was not unlike my husband, I viewed my duties to the princess as somewhat sacred. I was as honored as I was anxious to raise the child.

On the day Diana was born, my husband was at my princess' side the entire time, as though he could protect her as her knight again. I could only marvel at him. When I had given birth, he stood at the foot of the bed stiffly and asked me what I intended to name our daughter, if I was alright and then told me that if I needed anything to have the butler prepare it at once. After Diana was born, my princess was still beautiful, perhaps even more so in her vulnerability. She held the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, close to her chest as my husband looked down at the both of them with sheer joy. It was as though all the happiness in the world existed between those three. My Diana had been born out of love and so it was easy to love her.

I left my own daughter to the maids in favor of caring for Diana when the princess rested. Her little ruby eyes and her head of soft blonde hair captivated me. Each coo or cry had my focus in a fraction of a second.

I had not yet considered the greater implications of her birth until my princess brought it to me. Diana had been born with an inordinate affinity for magic. The princess, as a member of the royal family had the capacity of a mage, it was kept secret through the death of magic that through her bloodline were those capable of miracles. I only knew after years of my proximity to the princess. This child, born in the time of civil unrest, when the queen had not yet been blessed with a child and the civil war had still bitterly divided the houses, was capable of being seen as a potential figurehead that could be used as a pawn in a new round of rebellion.

It was for me and my husband to put her above all things. Above even our own child. That, to me, went without saying for I did love Diana as my own daughter. But the princess knew that anything could happen and she used all of the strength of her magic to cast a spell over her that would be held with Diana's own great magic. My princess nearly expended all her energy to do so. Magic, she had once told me, was seen as a weak form of power because it relied so greatly upon emotion. It was the transformation of want into will. I knew not the details of the spell which bound my mistress' daughter. All my princess said was that her precious Diana would live happily, that for all the odds against her, she still had odds in her favor."

Claude felt numb as he turned the pages. He was in shock, suddenly the environment of the room felt too harsh and stimulating but he was glued to the journal. He could not dare stop reading it no matter what truths arose. So he flipped the page and read every single entry even as his hands trembled.

From then on, it was Diana, Diana, Diana. With each entry, she recorded a measurement which he assumed was the amount of medicine administered and her symptoms. She fretted over whether it was right to give her more or to give her less. She wrote about denying Diana's requests to go outside, to go to the theatre, to do much of anything besides stay in bed. It chilled him to the bone but more than that, perplexed him. He was staring at a page where your mother had seemed to write sloppily, hurried and anxious when he heard a voice.

"Lord Claude?" It was your mother, standing in the doorway.

He looked slowly up at her, at a loss for words and unable to reconcile the cold mother she was to you with her joy at being Diana's proxy mother. Unable, still, to understand why she was poisoning the daughter she loved so much.

"My lord, you should not be in here," she said softly but in her blank expression, it was apparent that she knew what he was there for. "It will look strange to others, for you to do something like this."

"You poisoned Diana," He was keenly aware of how delicately she was trying to dance around this subject but he was unwilling to indulge her.

Your mother did not even blink. "You must understand me, Lord Claude. Please understand."

"What is there to understand? You neglect your own daughter and fawn over your husband's illegitimate daughter only to poison her."

Your mother shook her head slowly as if she could not believe what he was implying. "I love that girl," she said, moving deeper into the room and shutting the door behind her. "Diana is my little princess. She is my only daughter."

A rush of rage ran up his body, carrying an unbearable desire to hurt her. "She's not your daughter at all. She's the daughter of a woman far more beloved than you."

But your mother could only smile helplessly. "Yes, but even so, she is my daughter in heart. You must trust me when I say that Diana was hopeless before."

"Hopeless?" His brow furrowed and a cold feeling creeped up his back, extinguishing his fury and replacing it with a kind of fear for the woman in front of him. "She wasn't hopeless, she was able to wed me, to live happily." He said it not as a defense of her but as an accusation.

"That poor girl. In the first place, she already had a weak constitution, because her magic was stronger than her body but it was the perfect excuse to keep inside and away from the eyes of those who would want to hurt her. But it was my eldest daughter who kept planting false hope in her. She even sent Diana before my husband to beg him to let her go to the academy because she knew very well he could not say no to her." There was venom in her voice, a sneer on her face. Claude rose to stand slowly, not knowing what he was going to do.

"He cannot say no to Diana because he loves her so, no, he loves her mother so," she sighed. "All the other one did was cause troubles. Diana had already given up but she roused such hope in the girl, false hope, cruel hope. If she had not been able to marry you...I do not know how we would have protected her. If my daughter was still alive, everything would be ruined. It was you who saved her, my lord. That is why I beg of you, don't judge me. You know that Diana is special. You must know."

"I did not want to save her, she did not need to be saved."

She remained with that pitiful smile on her face. "My husband is weak to her. He will...he will never forgive what I've done to our- his little princess. He won't understand. He will think that I have killed my princess. You know, he almost sees them as one in the same." She reached onto her desk, picking up a letter opener. "Diana will be hurt if she knows. I ask that you let the girl live her life believing as I told her. She deserves that much. I let her believe what I did because it was in her best interest. Please take care of her."

Before he could react, your mother plunged the sharp end of the letter opener into her throat.

tags: @kage-tobiuo@kreishin @rosephantomhive@yeahdrarry@splaterparty0-0 @dear-dairiesss @qluvrv @hafsuhhh @eissaaaa @ayolk @doan-19 @fourcefulcupid@ariachaos@cerisearan@irisspade@yaesflorist@jcrml@xiaosprettygf@yevenly@amaris08atoshi012022 @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @softbummiee@cassanderasblog @waka-babe @bananatwirl@s1mp69 @mitsuyamistress @hottiewifeyyyy @reiko69 @syyyy4ever @pinkpastel-l @dododododooosworld @gwyneveire @mvoonxlightv @noisyenthusiastface @coldpeachkitten @brightykitten @worstliving

#claude x reader #wmmap x reader #claude de alger x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #wmmap fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year

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Drawn Together 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, obsession, intimidation, and other dark elements.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You get a tattoo on an impulse to break your routine, but you walk away with something else as permanent as the ink.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You wring your hands as you watch Steve drift along the other wall. The white tee shirt makes the ink on his arms seem starker as he has a thumb hook in his jean pocket, the other reaching to take an oval frame from the console table.

You squeeze your fingers tight, until they might crack, then release the tension along with your breath. He sets the picture back down and stands straight, looking around emphatically.

“Nice place,” he remarks as he faces you, “lots of space for you… and your… boyfriend?”

You watch him dully, “it’s nice.”

He is unfazed by your blunt deflection, “these old century townhouses, there’s not many of those left. I remember my mother lived in one. A few streets away.” He nears you and you brace yourself. He angles his arm towards you and shows you a banner that reads, ‘Brooklyn strong’.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” you lean back on your heel and pivot. “We should probably get started, we’re already behind.”

“You’re from Brooklyn too?” He asks as he goes to the bench.

“Grandparents lived here. They left me the place.” You take out a folder, the typical package you have ready for beginners, “we’ll start by tracing your hands.”

“Alright,” he stands close as you open the folder on the back of the piano. You turn and pluck a pencil from the jar on the shelf.

“It’s just… an exercise,” you explain as you hand him the pencil, “trace left then right and label them left and right.”

“Oh, wow,” he accepts the pencil, “this feels like grade school.”

“Hmm, well, yeah, my students are typically younger… my older students have a little more experience.”

“No, no, I’m excited,” he says as he spreads out his hand on the paper. His hand is huge.

You spin again and slip out another looseleaf and hand it over, “for your other hand.”

You set it down on the polished wood and he thanks you quietly as he focuses on following the outline of his long fingers. Looking at his hand makes you feel tiny. Your eyes scan the small stars on each knuckle, red, white, and blue. The ring finger is untouched.

He finishes the exercise and you go over the five-finger system with him. It feels so ridiculous. He’s not a child but you find it simple and easy. When you have that all done, you fold up the file and put it aside.

“Sit,” you gesture to the upholstery.

He obeys, looking down at the keys as he rests his hands on his jeans. You think about grabbing a stool as you consider the limited expanse left beside him. You can fit. You lower yourself and hit a key.

“We’ll go over the musical alphabet now, low to high.”

You sense his gaze, intent on you as you go through the usual introduction. You pause and have him repeat what you just did on the keys. He does it slowly as his arm presses to yours.

“Now from middle C,” you instruct and demonstrate. “You want your hands at middle C.” You raise your hands, “left: F-G-A-B-C, right: C-D-E-F-G. Thumbs together.”

“Right,” he does exactly as you say. He has good form as he keeps his hands on the keys but not heavy.

“Good,” you get up and take the metal TV tray from the small rack tucked beside the shelf. You unfold one and bring it around to his elbow. Your grandfather always had one open beside his leather chair. The paint shows the wear. “Now, we will go through a warm up and have you write it out.”

“Okay,” he watches you. His blue eyes are so brilliant and intense. You realise, he’s been looking at you for longer than you knew. You take the folder and open it up again. “I appreciate the patience.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry,” you spread out a blank sheet, “you’re much less fidgety than a six-year old.”

“I hope so,” he chuckles.

“So, our goal by the end is for you to play one song. Does that sound good?”

“A whole song?” He echoes, “uh, yeah, I can do that.”

“Nothing too complicated,” you turn the folder to him and put the pencil across it, “so as we learn, we’ll write down what we play and this will help you learn to read music.”

“Right, let’s do the spider song as our warm-up,” you stand beside the piano. You can’t bear to sit next to him, not as you feel the sweat still speckling on your neck and beading under your hairline.

“Spider song?” He grins, “that’d be a good tat, huh? A spider?”

“Um, I guess, I…”

“You’re not spider girl, though,” he says, “flowers.” He glances over at the window sill then back to you. His eyes descend slowly and you struggle not to wilt. You feel like he’s looking right through you, “poppies.”

You nod and shift your feet closer together, “I appreciate the simplicity.”

“Ha, I can never keep a plant alive,” he snorts, “you must just have that gentle touch that helps them thrive.”

“Well, um, I think we should get started,” you cross your arms and stride behind him, going to the other side of the piano. “Middle C.”

🎹

The lesson is as successful as any other. You stand at the corner of the piano as Steve keys out Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. He hits the last note with the same pride shown by the bouncing seven-year olds that perch in that very spot daily.

“Great. You got your first song,” you say, “there’s a print-out in the folder,” you point beyond him, “it shows the keys, I know it’s not the same but it’s a good way to practice position. You can use that if you want to practice between lessons.”

“Between lessons,” he pulls his hands into his lap, “does that mean I passed? I get to come back?”

“That’s up to you. If you really want to learn, you’re going to need to keep at it. Older students tend to take a little longer. Um, sorry, not to… I hope that isn’t insulting.”

“Nope,” he claps his legs and turns, standing from the bench. He pushes his head side to side and cracks his neck, “I’ve always needed a little extra love, you know? I can be a bit bullheaded. Sam says I got a thick skull.”

You know he’s trying to be friendly. There’s just something off. You still can’t believe he’s really there or that you let him in. To that point, you’ve been going through a routine, letting the steps guide you through. Now, you’re at a loss. There is no parent coming to usher him out of your home.

“I got the fee,” he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, “I guess I should’ve paid at the start.”

“No, uh, that’s fine,” you eke out.

“So uh, same time next week? Do you think maybe I could come back sooner?”

“Um, I’d have to look at my schedule. I’ll call–”

He holds out several bills and you accept them quietly. You always find the payment is awkward, even if it’s the whole point. You are offering a service, you deserve everything you earn.

“Great, I’ll keep my phone close.”

The silence rises to strangle you. You peer around, grasping the bills tightly. What do you say to make him go? It’ll be easier to tell him you’re at capacity over the phone but you can’t then. Not to his face.

“You know, I still didn’t get a good look at your piece. Do you mind?”

“What?” You look at him.

“Your ink,” he nods at your feet, “do you mind if–”

He doesn't finish his question as he bends to look at your legs. You sway uncertainly and turn, pointing your toe to present your ankle to him. You don’t know what else to do. He examines it and you wince as he reaches to touch the skin beside it.

“Sam’s a talented guy,” he drags his fingertips away and stands, “helps when you have a great canvas. It suits you, sweetheart.”

Your brows rise as you gape at him. You quickly snap your mouth shut and fold your hands together. Your heart is pulsing behind your ears. You need him gone. This is your space and he’s intruded for long enough. The lesson is over.

“Don’t forget your folder,” you flit away from him and fold up the file, “here.” You face him again and push it against his chest, “I have to clean up for my next lesson.”

“Clean– this place is immaculate,” he looks around as he clutches the folder by the edges, “I don’t think–”

“Please, I have a lesson to prepare. Don’t forget to practice.”

You take a step back as he gazes at you. Unmoving. You might be telling him to go but it’s entirely his decision. Your nerves ping at the thought that you could not make him go. That if he stays long enough, he’ll realise your lie. Your excuse. He is your only lesson that day.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he relents at last as he tucks the folder under his arm, “see ya next week.”

You’re paralysed as you watch him cross the room. He disappears down the stairs and you listen to the creak of each step. At the bottom, you hear him shuffling around and when you find the courage to go look down, the door closes behind him.

You hurry down the stairs and quickly twist the lock. You let out your breath and lean into the wind as you let out a shuddery breath. His scent lingers. You’ll have to open some windows and light some incense. Hopefully, you can forget all about him.

#drawn together #tattoo au #steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #dark drabble #dark!drabble #series #au #mcu #marvel #captain america #falcon #sam wilson

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pretty-bratty · 2 months

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MAMMA MIA! STARKER AU

"Wait a second. You found your mom's old diary? Hid it from Aunt May and read it?"

"Yeah, Ned, focus! I have three potential dads!"

"May's gonna kill you when she finds out."

"When she finds out, it's gonna be too late, MJ."

"What do you mean-"

"I invited them all to the island."

When Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark arrive to Kalokairi, Peter quickly finds out that May has even more reasons to kill him. It wasn't his mom's diary, it was hers. However, Tony is the only one who actually had a summer fling with both sisters at some point (yes, they were wild back then, and Peter's not sure he's ever gonna be able to look May in the eye).

And now Peter's praying that Tony's not his biological father, because he wants to call this gorgeous man Daddy instead of dad...

Including:

🌊 Tony, who falls hard and fast and is double terrified, because not only he's falling for a kid who can be his son, but he might actually be his son?! Universe has a wicked sense of humor.

🌊 Peter, who's trying to figure out the way out of this whole mess he created. Making more messes on the way. It's a talent.

🌊 Steve and Bucky, who fucking finally stop being oblivious dumbasses and get together after years of mutual silent pining.

🌊 May, who doesn't know whether she wants to kill or kiss Peter for bringing these three idiots back into her life. Probably both.

🌊 Ned and MJ, who are here for this wild ride (with popcorn).

🌊 Lots of pining and emotional hurt/comfort from both Tony and Peter.

🌊 Greek island and lots of good music.

PS: Tony and Peter have a heart-wrenching confessions exchange on the cliff to "The Winner Takes It All" playing. Almost sure they can never be what they want to be:

"I've been wanting to find my dad my whole life, but now I want nothing more than to never know my dad. I don't want you to be my dad!!! I need you..."

Soon after that the confirmation comes that Tony's definitely not, in fact, Peter's father.

They celebrate it at Stucky wedding.

#starker #starker au #starker fic #starker moodboard #mamma mia au #tnpt #tony stark #peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #peter parker/tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #stucky #bucky barnes #steve rogers #starker edits #bucky barnes x steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #ironspider

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skipper1331 · 8 months

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Tell and show the world // Lina Magull

a/n: based off this request. Please enjoy:D

"Lina" you said as you stood behind the kitchen counter, chopping the vegetables for dinner. "Ja, liebe?" the brunette asked, eyes looking away from her laptop screen. "I‘ve been thinking…" you mumbled, suddenly feeling shy, cheeks slowly turning red, "what‘s wrong?" the german was immediately by your side, "stop the chopping, baby" her fingers laced with your own as she turned you around. When you didn‘t answer her, her hands cupped your cheeks while you started playing with your wedding ring. "When are you going to tell the world about us?" you mumbled, shy, afraid. She seemed confused, jaw tense, eyes that asked many questions. You never had a problem keeping your relationship secret or private. Lina did not tape her ring nor did she wear it during games or ever mentioned that she was in a commited relationship. Her private life was private. Where did the change of heart come from?

"Lately, umm" your voice was shaking - you didn‘t know why, you knew that Lina loved you, she was your wife but something was making you nervous. "Comments. The comments under your posts are getting worse. And- and these ship videos with G, I don’t like them. I like G, don‘t get me wrong, she’s awesome but-" you rambled on about the thirsty comments under her instagram posts, the ship edits you had on your for you page and your hurt feelings. In no way, you were mad at Lina, just hurt with the whole situation. "Hey, hey" the bayern munich player pulled you close, her hands firmly resting on their usual place around your waist while your head hit her shoulder with a quiet thud, "my love, look at me" she demanded softly. With tears in your eyes you looked in to the orbs you‘d loved for so long, "Is that what has been bothering you the last few days?" one of her hands cupped your cheek, wiping away the tears that spilled. You didn't want to admit it, it still hurt you a lot and seeing her do nothing about it was just another little stab in your heart. You knew she didn't read most of the comments except those from her friends and family, so you couldn't blame her - you didn't even want too. Your heart just stung.

In respond, you nodded, biting your lower lip to contain yourself, "Stop crying, please" the germans heart ached at sight in front of her, the way your body shook as the tears ran down your cheeks, "i would tell the world in a heartbeat, liebe."

Your eyes grew wide, only a sniffle coming from your throat, "really?"

"100%"

You chuckled at the determined look the midfielder had on her face, "do you want me to post something on instagram or a tweet or what? Tell me, baby, I‘ll do it" she pressed multiple kisses over your face, a nose scrunch in reply as you giggled along. "You‘re my wife and I love you, okay? I would tell every person in the world myself If that‘s what makes you happy"

Match day.

Champions league semi final.

Bayern Munich vs Chelsea.

Lina was sitting at the press conference table with Alexander Straus as media teams were behind the cameras, many with notes and a mic in their hand.

"Der FC Chelsea ist ein starker Gegner, glauben Sie, sie können gegen so eine starke Mannschaft gewinnen?" an older man asked Alex and Lina, both sharing a look. With a tilt of his head the Bayern coach asked the midfielder If she wanted to answer or If he should - he answered. He told the interviewer, "From goalkeeper to striker, the most diverse talents have met - Guro Reiten, Sam Kerr, Millie Bright and so on - pooled together and formed a high class team. They are very good but not unbeatable. That's what we're trying to show today."

There were some more questions which Lina and Alexander answered before the last question before the game was asked.

"Nächste Frage an Lina Magull: Was motiviert das Team und Sie persönlich den Sieg heute zu holen?"

"Der Titel" she chuckled, "Wir alle sind super motiviert und haben ein hohes Interesse daran, den Titel mit nach Hause zu nehmen und das Halbfinale ist ein Schritt in die richtige Richtung. Am Ende des Tages, kämpft jede für das Team und hat seine eigene Person für die er kämpf, das variiert von Spielerin zu Spielerin. Für mich zum Beispiel ist es meine Frau. Ich betrete heute - immer - das Spielfeld, um meine Frau zu beeindrucken und ihr Strahlen am Abend zu sehen"

The whole room inhaled sharply - wife?! Why didn't anyone know that? Alexander had a smile on his face, of course he knew about you, all the Bayern people knew about you and they loved you - you were great.

Only then did everyone notice the ring the german was wearing on her finger; it was simple yet beautiful - it suited her.

Tell the media she had a wife? check.

Lina loved the faces she saw behind the cameras, there were shocked ones - jaw to floor, there were confused ones - huh? Did she say wife? and there were happy faces.

Sitting in the stands next to Sydney‘s mum you saw the girls walking out of the tunnel. The Allianz Arena was sold out, red shirts everywhere. Even the mens team came to support the girls - a rare sight.

It was just wow. The girls played their hearts and showed their talent. It didn‘t matter that Chelsea got on the score line first, Erin Cuthbert with the header.

Bayern was eager and hungry.

After the first 20 minutes, Bayern played better than their best. Pernille Harder scored the equalizer, she didn‘t celebrate though, she turned to the few Chelsea fans, raised her hand a little and apologized silently. The Blues were her home and family once and still are, even If she doesn‘t play for them anymore.

Georgia was the next to score a banger - outside the box. It was beautiful, AKB had no chance. The stadium went crazy.

Last but not least, was the third goal of the game. The game had built up from Grohs, the Bayern keeper. The girls played a Tiki Taka, the opponents could only watch the ball, there was no chance of taking it. Bühl then converted it to 3-1, the ball slipping past her national team mates fingertips.

When the whistle blew, the stadium got louder and louder, fans were signing chants as they jumped around to celebrate.

When everyone finished shaking their opponents and talked to their friends, the girls swarmed out to sign jerseys and to take pictures. Lina though, she had only one goal in mind. She wanted to see you. You were often at the Bayern games but never in a jersey or at least never in a jersey with 'Magull' on the back of it.

Not until now, this morning the german had told to wear her jersey later, she was very clear with her demand.

"Hi, my love" she whispered after she had jumped over the barrier, her arms going around your waist. Your smile was brigther than the sky while you cupped her cheeks, proud of your wife and her team, "Baby! That was amazing!" The brunette just grinned at you, loving the big wide smile that covered your face. Shortly after your said words your arms looped around her neck, your head on her shoulder as you hugged her dearly. Her own head was hidden in your neck as she pressed soft kisses to it.

First kiss: i‘m so happy.

Second kiss: thank you for being here.

third kiss: i love you.

the multiple kisses after: wow!!

Many eyes and cameras were on you, multiple people taking pictures of the two of you. Yet it didn‘t matter, your heart fluttered at the sight of your wife, the way she interacted with you in front of the fans. Normally it was the bare minimum but not now, she had accepted the concerns you told her about and implemented your wishes, your request. She would do anything, absolutely anything, for you.

And If it wasn‘t clear enough, the kiss on your lips was. She gave you a passionate yet gentle and appropriate one, it was like in the movies; your hands resting on her neck, her own hands placed on your hips as she leant forwads, yourself leaning backwards in return. Lina felt euphoric, like she was high. High on love, high with happiness, high with everything.

It was safe to say, Lina‘s announcement at the press conference went viral, multiple clips across the internet. As well as various edits of the scene in the stadium.

The german international broke the internet, yet it wasn‘t enough for her.

She had announced it to the media, she had demonstrated the fans and she was about to show the world.

linamagull

stanwaygeorgia and 36.047 thousand others

linamagull ❤️

it was that simple. 4 pictures with more or less the same gesture. You in her arms, just with a different view. The pictures were taken over the years, they still gave you enough privacy but a clear statement was made: Lina Magull was happily married.

————————

translation:

Der FC Chelsea ist ein starker Gegner, glauben Sie, sie können gegen so eine starke Mannschaft gewinnen? - Chelsea are a strong opponent, do you think you can win against such a strong team?

Nächste Frage an Lina Magull: Was motiviert das Team und Sie persönlich den Sieg heute zu holen - Next question for Lina Magull: What motivates the team and you personally to win today

Wir alle sind super motiviert und haben ein hohes Interesse daran, den Titel mit nach Hause zu nehmen und das Halbfinale ist ein Schritt in die richtige Richtung. Am Ende des Tages, kämpft jeder für das Team und hat seine eigene Person für die er kämpf, das variiert von Spielerin zu Spielerin. Für mich zum Beispiel ist es meine Frau. Ich betrete heute - immer - das Spielfeld, um meine Frau zu beeindrucken und ihr Strahlen am Abend zu sehen - We are all motivated and very interested in taking the trophy home and the semi-final is a step in the right direction. At the end of the day, everyone fights for the team and has their own person to fight for, it varies from player to player. For me, for example, it is my wife. I step on the pitch today - always - to impress my wife and see her bright smile in the evening.

———————

#lina magull #lina magull x reader #bayern munich frauen #bayern munich women #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #gerwnt #gerwnt x reader #frauen bundesliga #fc bayern frauen #dfb frauen x reader #dfb frauen

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starker-sorbet · 28 days

Text

It started as a day like any other for Tony Stark. Deal with the board and any pesky meeting before heading over to R&D to talk and joke around with his people, making sure to spend a bit longer with the new hire Peter in the desperate hope the other will see his interactions as the flirting it was, then spending the rest of the day back to his personal lab until he goes to sleep. That was until he woke up the next day and found the meeting gave him a distinct feeling of déjà vu, not that this meant much as Tony never really liked paying attention at these things as the board members were annoying and JARVIS provided a much more succinct overview of the points made afterwards. But it wasn't until he went to R&D and saw the same projects being worked on without any of yesterdays progress that he realised something odd was going on. Something had reset Tony's day. And it was resetting his days over and over again. It was only after several repeated days of tearing his hair out trying to solve what was happening to him that Tony finally decided to tell someone else. He called Peter to one side and told all. It took a few more goes to memorise all his possible reactions so as to finally convince the younger man but he did it. The pair didn't make much progress (none really) until on the final day Peter saw how exhausted his boss was and took him to a quiet bar to relax in what it felt to Tony was years. It was as they got slowly buzzed from the alcohol that Tony threw caution to the wind and confessed his felling to Peter. He was going to remember it after all. That was when the biggest surprise he could have gotten happened. Peter had a crush on Tony too. Soon the pair found themselves making out in the elevator to Tony's room before falling onto Tony's bed. Not that anything happened between them. The long term stress and recent relief regarding his feelings had tired Tony out more than he already was while Peter had drunk decidedly more than he should have and the couple were soon asleep in each others arms. All too soon Tony found himself once more woken by the incessant beeping of his alarm. This time however he also hear someone else next to him moaning and telling him to turn the damn alarm off.

#starker #groundhog day au #a-z challenge #g #ceo tony #employee peter #getting together #moodboard #my moodboard

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starkerhowlter · 3 months

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Performative Dom

Ship: Starker Rating: E Contains: Language, Blowjobs, collaring, Lingerie, Dom/sub, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dubious Consent (But corrected by Tony to give Peter the right to consent), Objectification (Not by MCs), BDSM Posing, Collar pulling, Coming Untouched, Daddy Kink, Peter Parker is 18, leashing Initial prompt: @starkerfestivals Valentine's Day exchange prompt 1: Peter is a sub but they won't let him go to college without a Dom sponsor. Tony thinks he's too brilliant for those dumb rules to ruin his life so he takes up the role only to fall in love with how beautiful Peter looks on his knees. Words: 5426 Summary: Peter needs a dom. And the perfect candidate is right in front of him. But what if they fit better together than either of them ever expected?

AKA: Five Times Tony realized this was a mistake, and one time he embraced it.

Gift for: @the-mad-starker

Read Below or on AO3

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY MADS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so much for this prompt and for giving me the opportunity to write it! I hope you love it and I hope this does your prompt justice! Also I hope you love the bonus moodboard I custom built for you! A number of the images were made just for you ♥♥

Also also, hi Starker fandom! It's been a minute since I've been back! I've been on a "fandom tour of the world" recently and joined 3 fandoms since July. You haven't gotten rid of me yet!

This was edited by one of my fave humans @starkerkitty! Thank you so much, Jacy!! <3

note: any underlined words are links

The entire thing had been a spur-of-the-moment decision.

Peter bursts into the lab seething, and Tony's met with a fire he's never seen in the younger boy's eyes.

Tony's brow furrows as he kicks his feet off the desk, "Peter?"

"I thought we were past this as a society," Peter shouts, dropping the envelope on the desk in front of him. He continues pacing the length of the garage, stepping onto the walls to pace across the ceiling.

"What? Acceptance letters?" Tony smirks, raises an eyebrow and picks up the envelope. He pulls the paper out, reading. "’Dear Peter Parker, you have been accepted to MIT.’" Tony murmurs, "I mean that was expected..." He continues, "blah blah blah... Orientation is on Monday.. blah blah blah... ‘Unfortunately, we can't allow you to enroll in classes until you present a Dom to sponsor your journey with MIT to allow for you to be enrolled and to keep you accounta’-- Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me," he scoffs, tossing the paper on his desk. "They're really holding you from a degree because of *that*?! Just because of the little pink heart on your license?! Maybe I can call my associates, surely they know I'm the one who recommended you. They can't possibly be holding you for anything at all." He scoffs, "I'm going up there. If they want to play this game, we'll play this game."

"Or..." Peter starts, hopping down from on top of one of the server towers.

"Or?" Tony asks, arms crossing over his chest as he looks up at the boy.

"Never mind."

"Peter..."

He sighs, "I have a plan. But you... you have to trust me, Mr. Stark."

-----

"Peter, we can't do this. I mean, I'm all about fucking over tradition, but you do realize they do checks. And not just one. They do them throughout the entirety of your time in the program." Tony stares at the younger man from behind his sunglasses, frowning, "We can't possibly make them believe that I'm your Dom."

Peter's shoulders fall, "You don't want to..."

Tony scoffs, reaching over to clasp a hand over Peter's shoulder, "Now when did I say that? I'm just worried because you're just a kid. I don't want to be preying on you because you're vulnerable."

"You're not. You're just helping me to get into a prestigious university. Speaking of, we need to go get some supplies."

"Supplies?"

Peter shrugs and nods, "Y'know... A collar, whatever outfit you think fits your standards, Mr. Stark. If you feel it's appropriate, you can even pick it."

At the mention of an outfit, Tony's mind fills with images of Peter wrapped in ensembles of his dom's choosing. He considers a suit but settles for something more casual. And Peter in his mind looks stunning.

This is a mistake.

"Oh. We can uh... go tomorrow, deal?"

Peter nods, "Sounds good, thank you, Mr. Stark! Goodnight!" He skips out of the penthouse, leaving Tony alone with less-than-appropriate thoughts about his young mentee.

_____

There are a few times in Tony Stark's life when he knew he is well and truly fucked before the consequences happen.

This is one of those times.

Before him, Peter’s standing on a fitting platform presented for Tony.

"Now, Mr. Stark, what collar are you thinking for your sub? Have they earned a lock? Have they leveled up to a buckle, or is he still in training where they haven't earned more than a snap? As you know, your sub must earn a place beside you."

He allows himself a few deep breaths, glancing at Peter to confirm he's okay with this.

Instead of a nervous disposition, Peter looks almost comfortable. His eyes are glazed, lips parted as he waits for Tony -- his dom-- to decide what he's worth.

"I think he's earned a lock." Peter's chest shudders at the words and Tony smirks, "And let's put my name on it. He should bear my name since he belongs to me."

The worker nods, hanging on to Tony's every word. "Done! Give me just a few minutes to get the collar together for you. We can cut it today and size it so you can walk out with the piece before you leave the mall today!"

"Sounds good. I think my sub and I are going to do a few other errands but we will be back. If you wouldn't mind giving me a call?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark. I will start on your piece immediately." The worker takes the black metal card from him, disappearing into the back room to swipe it and get his receipt, but Tony isn't interested in the receipt.

He turns towards Peter, hands resting gently on his arms, "You alright, kid?

Peter nods, mutely, and takes Tony's hand. "Do we need to... show our status while we're in public?"

"It's probably a good idea. What are you comfortable wearing?"

"Whatever you'd like me to wear... daddy?" Peter tacks on the title as an afterthought and Tony fights the urge to react visibly.

"I think that they will believe us more if we put you in a lingerie set and then dress you in a nice outfit on top of it. We can pass it off like I picked the outfit to match your collar, and if you are comfortable, some harnesses latch onto the type of collar I picked for you. But honestly, it's whatever you--"

"Mister Stark? I apologize for the interruption. Here is your card back and your receipt."

"Oh! Thank you!" He takes the card, putting it back in his wallet before taking Peter's hand and leading him out of the shop.

Holding Peter's hand feels far more natural than it should as they walk through the mall. No one gives them a second look, and Tony wonders if they pass as a couple.

"Follow me," Tony states, leading him through the mall toward the lingerie store.

"Mr. Stark..." Peter tries, voice cracking with nervousness, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. If you aren't, we don't have to do this. But I will tell you from experience, they are going to want proof."

"Okay..."

----

This was a mistake.

Peter's standing in the middle of the store, surrounded by a rainbow of lace and tulle, and staring at Tony with wide brown eyes.

"What is the-- um--" His voice cracks and Tony's heart melts.

This was a mistake.

"How about we start you in a simple lace playsuit? Do you have a favorite color?"

"I... You should pick."

"Alright, deal." Tony approaches one of the racks, sifting through the outfits to pick out a couple of styles in various colors. "What do you think about red?"

"L-like Iron Man red?"

"I mean... If I'm going to be 'owning' you, it'd make sense to have you wearing my colors," he replies, "Just seems appropriate."

Peter nods and follows after him, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets.

"Your clothes are in there," he states, pointing into the third fitting stall, pulling the purple curtain back. "I'll wait for you out here. If you feel comfortable, I'd love to see how you look in the outfits... baby"

Peter's eyes widen at the title, but he steps inside the booth before he can splutter out a reply and begins stripping off his hoodie and jeans, dropping them onto the gaudy cheetah print chair in the corner of the stall.

Tony hadn't held back.

The pieces before him held no semblance of modesty, yet would show off every curve and muscle of his body. One’s black and frilly, another’s pastel silk, and behind them is a hot rod red harness and lace playsuit.

"Holy--" He whispers, running his hand over the black, lace, off-shoulder negligee, pulling it gently off the hanger. The piece weighed next to nothing, but it felt like it'd shatter into a million pieces if he wasn't careful. He lifts it, pulling it over his head and down over his body.

It wasn't a piece of clothing so much as one long-sleeved lace sock, in Peter's opinion. The bottom of the negligee touched just beneath his ass, and the sleeves pulled down over his hands to leave just his fingers bare.

The lace covered nothing. His nipples and boxers were visible through the lace and at that second, he felt very, very exposed.

"M-Mr. Stark?" He ekes out, peeking his head out of the curtain, keeping his body covered.

"Yeah, Peter?"

"How's this look?" Peter pulls back the curtain, revealing his lithe muscular form wrapped in the delicate lace dress.

Oh... Tony fucked up.

The kid - the one he had told himself he wouldn't drool over - was standing before him in a skin-tight lace bodycon dress, and Tony wanted nothing more at that moment than to devour him.

"You look-- The lace and-- and your figure... um..." He clears his throat, "You look good. Can I see the next one?"

"Oh! Of course!" Peter replies, rushing back into the room.

Back in the room, Peter removes the lacy garment and picks up the silky one. It doesn't even make it off the hanger before it's dropped to the floor.

"No on the silk."

"No?" Tony replies from outside the door, "Just don't like the color or...?"

"Texture," Peter replies bluntly, picking it back up to hang it on the hook. "I can't do it."

Tony huffs what sounds like a laugh, "That's alright, sweetheart."

The title slips out, and the younger man blushes as he picks up the next piece.

On the hanger is a lacy bright red harness playsuit. Bands cross along the back and front, over where his midriff would be, and he shivers slightly at the intricacy of the piece. He steps into it, slowly pulling it up over his thighs, hips, and stomach, spreading the lace over his form.

He turns towards the mirror and the sight of himself catches him off guard. Peter's breathing hitches at the sight of Tony's colors, his red, stretched over Peter’s pale skin. His hands ghost down the front, and the feeling causes him to shiver.

"You okay in there, kid?" Tony calls, shattering the moment, "Didn't get tangled did you?"

"Uh... no!" He calls out, turning away from the mirror and towards the curtain. "Did you want to see this one? It's a bit... much isn't it?"

Tony gives an affirmative noise, and Peter pulls open the curtain, revealing himself to him.

"Holy shit..." Tony whispers.

"That bad?"

"Look at you..." He steps forwards, and reaches for his hips, but stops just a few inches shy. "I-- Sorry." Tony inhales and steps back. "You can uh.. get dressed. I'll meet you out front."

He is so fucked.

---

A few days later, Tony's sitting on the couch next to Peter, reading paperwork on his tablet. "Okay, kid, we need a game plan for this Thursday. I mean... how are we planning on convincing them?" He swirls the bourbon in his glass, sipping it slowly. "Are you just thinking you'll sit in my lap or was there something else you thought might work better? What's the move?"

"I figured I'd sit on your lap, um... maybe we can have me wear a button-down shirt so they can see the lingerie and collar you picked? Just... basically... um... what do people usually do?"

'Fuck.' Tony's brain unhelpfully supplies.

"They tend to use less... orthodox methods. Some bring their subs in on leashes or feed them from their hand, make them sit down on the floor at their feet... It really depends. All I know is that when the day comes, I need to know what program you are going into and why so that I can vouch for you. Because as much as I hate it... in that room, you have no voice."

Peter shivers at the implication and nods. "Noted. Would you like me to uh... put on the outfit again so we can practice? I don't think it'd do us well for either of us to be stumbling and shy the day of."

'Oh, fuck, please put the outfit back on...' Tony thinks.

"Good idea. I expect I will wear a usual suit, so there really isn't any need for me to change, right? I mean the entire thing is just a meeting. Nothing major. What's the worst that could happen? I mean, it's just an interview."

-----

This is a mistake.

Whatever they'd planned for, it wasn't this.

"M-Mr. Stark..." Peter whispers, eyes wide as he's led into the room, feeling small in the cavernous space. Their shoes thud against the floor as they walk, and he takes note of many famous art pieces along the walls as they're led to the office.

At the last second, they'd decided on a leash, and now Peter realizes that may have been a mistake. The skinny chain is connected to the D-ring of his collar, and the other end is held by a wrist strap in the same metallic red leather as his collar. The weight of the piece creates a heady feeling at Peter's core and he finds himself thinking of taxes, his grandma... anything to keep the bulge in the front of his pants minimal.

Tony pulls on the chain, leading Peter through the halls, following a woman with a tight black bun who's talking far too fast for Peter to keep up with.

"This school is one of the most prestigious in the country, you're not going to regret sending your sub here. We do offer a few check-in options if you want him to live on campus, but at the end of the day, it's about whatever works for you, Mr. Stark."

He replies with a simple, "As you know, I was a student here when I was younger. I think I want Peter here to have the same experience. Back then, we knew I was going to be marked a dom, just as my father was, and I didn't need any sort of sponsor. I'm not quite sure how this process works." Tony's entire being exudes confidence, and it puts Peter's racing heartbeat at ease. "Do you need to verify my 'status' or is that just understood?"

"I will need to verify your designation when we get to the office, but at this time it's not a major issue." She gives him a tight smile, not sparing Peter a second glance. "Oh, I should remind you, there will be a confirmation test before the meeting begins, will you be needing supplies for it or have you brought your own?"

Tony scoffs dismissively, "What the hell is a 'Confirmation test'? You don't believe that I own my sub? That's ridiculous!"

"I do apologize, Mr. Stark. We've had a recent spike in subs acting as doms to get into college or having others of different designations pretend to be their dom to try and bypass the system. Therefore we've had to implement a check. There will be an agreement signed by all parties present if you're worried about it being leaked."

Peter blanches at the concept, heart racing when he hears that others have tried and failed to do exactly as they are.

"Ah, that makes sense. We won't be needing supplies, my sub here is trained well enough to take it no matter how I give it." He shrugs, "Well then, where should we wait?"

"Just through here," she replies, ignoring the snark in Tony's voice.

He sends her a fake smile, pulling Peter closer to him to wrap his arm around Peter’s shoulders. Peter's racing pulse presses against his wrist. With a whisper, he soothes Peter, "It's okay. I've got you, baby," putting on the facade of a doting dom, much to the woman leading them's approval.

"My dom is the same way when I get nervous," she muses mindlessly, opening a large white door to lead them into the office. "Have a seat over here." She leads him over to one of the plush velvet chairs sitting before a large wood desk, "Your sub can wait by the door."

Tony frowns, "Absolutely not, he stays with me. No questions asked." Unconsciously, his hand tightens around Peter's leash, keeping him close as though someone would steal him away. "He'll sit at my feet."

"If that's what you choose. Mr. Donahue and Mr. Arroyo will be in soon. Would you like any coffee while you wait?"

"I think we're alright. Thank you." She nods, leaving them alone.

"Hey, kid, are you okay?" Tony asks, helping Peter to sit comfortably on his knees by Tony's chair.

Peter nods, shifting slightly to ensure Tony's shirt parts over his chest to reveal the lacy bodice of the lingerie.

He runs his fingers through Peter's hair, "You look good. I don't know what this 'confirmation test' is, but we'll get through it together."

"I trust you. We can do whatever we need to to get through this. I want to go to MIT so bad, Mr. Stark..."

"I know, Peter, and I will do whatever I have to to make it happen. Even if it means lying to the panel at my alma mater." He smirks, ruffling the younger man's hair, "We will get through this... together."

Before long, the large door at the side of the room opens and two men walk inside.

"Good morning, I presume you're Mr. Donahue and Mr. Arroyo?"

"Yes, and is this..." He lifts his clipboard, "Peter Parker?"

At the mention of his name, Peter looks up from his place on the floor.

"Yes. We're here to get Peter set up in the program for biochemistry and chemical engineering."

The two suited men before them snicker, "That's quite the program... Are you sure it's for him?"

Tony frowns, chewing his cheek to keep from mouthing off and blowing it for the younger, "He's actually quite brilliant. But let's be honest, any sub worthy of me would have to be more than just a pretty face."

His words pinken Peter's cheeks, and he blushes, leaning against Tony's leg.

"If you're sure, we can progress to the next part of the meeting. Before that though, I have this sheet of terms and conditions for you to read."

The man on the left hands Tony a sheet of legalese.

It's a basic NDA, nothing he really needs to worry about because he's sure he could break it with a check and some lawyers if needed. Rolling his eyes at the places saying that he and his sub consent to the test, he moves to sign it, and then hands the pen to Peter, but notices at the last second there's only one line.

"Oh, we don't need his signature, your signature of consent is enough."

"Yeah, well I want his signature of consent next to mine." Tony glares, pointedly dragging the pen along the paper to create a line for Peter to sign. "Baby," he summons, snapping his fingers.

"Yes, Mr. Stark?" Peter replies, just as practiced, "How can I service you?"

"I need your signature on this NDA."

Peter obediently rises to his feet, leaning over the table to sign the paper.

"You don't even need to read it?" The man on the right asks.

"Of course not. If my Sir read it, I trust him to know what's best for me."

Clearly, that was the right answer, as Tony's hand wrapped around his hips, pulling Peter back to sit on his lap.

They hadn't discussed this.

Tony smiles softly at him, left hand running up his chest, and under the shirt.

Neither of the men before them seem bothered by the display. If anything, they're pleased.

"Before we begin, I need to see your IDs. Just to confirm your designations."

"Of course." Tony nods, pulling his wallet out to produce both of their IDs from the pocket they'd tucked them into the day prior.

The men look over their ID cards, confirming the black heart on Tony's and the pink one on Peter's. They hold them up to the light, confirming the words etched beside the icons aren't forged.

When they seem satisfied, they stand at the desk, handing Tony back the cards.

"Now, for the next part of this process, we're going into this room next door. There will be some equipment for you to use, should you need it. Essentially, we just need to see how you and Mr. Parker interact to confirm that you are actually in an agreement."

"Sounds like a plan. Let's go," Tony replies calmly, following behind them and leading Peter into the room as well.

---

The giant room is simple, with dark red walls and black wood flooring. There’s only a few pieces of equipment Tony's never seen outside of an obscure sex club he frequented in '05 in the room.

"When you're ready Mr. Stark." They take a seat on the black couch in the corner of the room.

Tony nods, "Alright. Peter, I want you to strip out of my shirt and head to the display platform over there." He unclips the leash from his wrist and the chain falls against Peter's front.

"Yes, Daddy," Peter replies obediently, unbuttoning the shirt the rest of the way and allowing it to fall off his shoulders. He folds the garment, setting it on the floor next to him. Silently, he steps onto the circular acrylic platform and waits at attention with his head down and arms behind his back.

"Inspection," Tony states, crossing his arms, and standing just off to the side of the stand.

Without a second thought, Peter raises his arms behind his head, spreading his legs to wait for his next command.

Tony walks behind him, circling the platform as the world shrinks to just them.

"Service."

He nods, dropping his hands in front of his crotch, patiently eyeing Tony for the next word."

"Good. Nadu."

'Fuck.' Peter thinks, dropping to his knees. He kneels back, spreading his thighs just enough to place his hands palms-up on them, eyes trained at the floor just before him.

It feels like the room has suddenly grown 800 degrees hotter as Tony watches the younger man drop to his knees from just his command. He fights the urge to respond. To go over and take control and ownership of Peter, but instead, he coughs and delivers the next command, "Collar."

Peter lifts his head, presenting his throat as though Tony were to place or pull on the leather wrapped around his throat.

"Humble."

He drops forward, chain hitting the ground with a dull thud as his nose touches the floor, arms sliding before him, and his ass pushed out into the air for Tony or any passerby to inspect him. It wracks shivers down Peter's form as he lays there.

Tony's eyes widen.

This was a mistake.

Had Peter's ass always looked that good in those jeans or was this position just stretching the light fabric over his form? He clears his throat, glancing over at the suited men writing notes in the corner.

"Ready position," he commands, snapping his fingers to grab Peter's attention.

Peter pushes up, pulling his hands back towards himself, sitting on his knees with his lips slightly parted. The chain of the leash runs down his body as Peter raises his gaze to just above where Tony's face would be if he stood over him.

The thought fills Tony's head with more visuals than he's prepared for, and he feels himself going lightheaded.

This was a fucking mistake.

"Last one, Peter..." he states, "Captured."

Gracelessly, Peter rolls onto his back, spreading his arms and legs to present his body to Tony, inviting him to take control. His breath leaves his lungs. If it weren't for the jeans obstructing his view, Peter's cock, hole, and balls would be on display for him.

Tony chokes out a simple, "R-Released." Clearing his throat, he adds, "Good job, Peter." He offers him the button-up from next to the platform, helping him put it on, but stops him before he can button it.

"Thank you, Daddy, I'm glad that I could please you."

He presses a gentle kiss to Peter's temple and reattaches the chain leash to his wrist.

One of the men interrupts the exchange, catching Tony's attention, "Well, Mr. Stark, I can say that we are thoroughly impressed with you and your training of your sub. If you wouldn't mind having a seat with us over here, we can sort out his schedule for this semester."

"Gladly." He leads Peter over, dropping into the white chair across from them, and pulling Peter into his lap.

----

Two hours later, they arrive outside with one sheet of classes for Peter to begin in a week.

"We did it!!" Peter squeals, wrapping his arms around Tony in a tight, celebratory hug.

"We did, kid! You are now officially a student of MIT," Tony replies, "Congratulations! Wanna head home?"

"Please..." Peter replies. 'Just a little longer.'

----

The air in the penthouse is thick as Tony drops his keys on the counter in the kitchen.

"Now what? I expect you want to change into something more comfortable?"

'Please do, before I eat you alive,' Tony thinks.

"Um... I thought..." Peter walks around the counter, standing before Tony, "I thought I might stay in this a little longer. If that... I mean... If that's okay?"

"Fuck, kid... Of course it is," he murmurs, hand reaching out and stopping just before Peter's cheek. Peter's breath ghosts across his wrist, crushing the last of Tony's reserve. He places his hand on Peter's jaw, running it down toward his throat.

They'd removed the leash once they'd gotten in the car, and Tony mourned its loss, but instead reached for the ring at the center of Peter's collar.

"Is this okay?"

"Please..." Peter whispers, eyes falling to Tony's lips before flicking back to meet his eye.

"Fuck, kid..." Tony grabs the D-ring with his right index finger, pulling him forward into their first kiss. It grows heated almost instantly, as Peter presses his body back against the counter, caged in by Tony's left hand.

Peter whimpers against his lips, licking into Tony's mouth.

"I've wanted this so badly... For so long," he murmurs, sharing breaths with the older man, "Please, Mr. Stark, let me have it?"

"Of course, you can have whatever you want, Peter. Anything." He kisses the younger again, reveling in the soft whines slipping past Peter's lips. "What do you want?"

"Can you... Tell me what to do again?" His voice cracks, nervously and Tony smirks at the sound.

"Of course I can. You can say stop at any time. I won't hold it against you and it won't affect me sponsoring you for college, okay?"

Peter nods, waiting for his first command as soon as Tony lets go of his collar.

"I want you to go into the living room, strip out of your outside clothes, and pick one of your kneeling positions. Either Nadu, Collaring, or your Ready position. I will be there in a moment. Also, you will call me ‘Daddy.’"

"Yes, Daddy." Peter rushes out of the kitchen, and into the den, stripping and kneeling in his ready position, just like he was trained. He watches the kitchen door, patiently waiting for Tony to come through.

Tony pushes open the door to the den, and there in the center of the floor is Peter kneeling in the Iron Man red lingerie Tony'd picked a week prior, waiting patiently for the older man to claim him for his own. The red elastic bands wrap diagonally around Peter's center, and the lace at his crotch and chest stretches over the skin perfectly.

He looks edible.

"Fuck, look at you..." Tony gasps. "I swear it took everything in me earlier not to step up on that platform and kiss you earlier."

As if imagining it, Peter shivers. Tony smirks, and runs his fingers through Peter's hair. "I have a feeling you would have liked it if I had, baby."

The title makes Peter's eyes widen and he blushes.

"Noted." Tony chuckles, "How far do you want to take this?"

"All the way. I just... I want your cock so bad, Daddy..."

"Fuck..." he groans, "Yeah, we can... we can make that happen. Fri, lock down this floor, make sure no one gets in."

"On it, sir," she replies.

"You have my full attention, Daddy," Peter whispers, shyly, "Do what you think I am worthy of."

"Honey, you've had my full attention since I put my name on your neck. And as for what you're worthy of? I think you've earned being spoiled on my cock until you're begging. How does that sound?"

Peter shivers and nods, "Please, Daddy... Make me yours."

He chuckles and unbuttons his slacks, watching as Peter tracks every single motion of his hands. "Desperate?"

The younger man blushes, and lowers his gaze to Tony's shoes, not replying.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

"Can we just... Can I--?" He raises his hands to Tony's belt.

"Fuck, of course you can, Peter." Tony nods, pulling his cock through the front of his boxers. "It's all yours."

Peter pushes forward, taking the tip into his mouth with practiced ease.

"Have you done this bef-- Oh fuck there..." Tony groans, hand falling into Peter's hair.

"Never kiss and tell, Daddy." He winks, licking along the side of Tony's length, sucking kisses into the skin.

"Fuck, Peter..." His hips jump when the younger man takes the crown into his mouth, sucking slowly down until he's buried the hilt of Tony's cock in his mouth. "How... did you... get to be so good at this?" His chest rises and falls as Peter watches through a hooded gaze. "You're so good for me, Peter..."

He pulls off, lips swollen and pink, "Say it?"

Tony runs his fingers through his hair, catching on the curls, "So good for Daddy."

Peter whimpers, taking Tony’s dick back into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and suckling sloppily. Slowly, Tony's hips push back against his sucking, creating a slow rhythm.

"Can I fuck your mouth, baby?"

He nods as much as he can, dropping his jaw to allow for space.

Experimenting with a thrust, Tony pushes his dick further into Peter's mouth, reveling in the tight heat surrounding him. He pulls back, repeating the motion a few times, gasping when Peter's gurgles vibrate around his length.

Releasing his hold, he allows Peter to pull off and catch his breath, watching as the younger man wipes drool from his lips, and tears from his eyes.

"Again?"

"When you're ready, sweetheart. You're doing so good for Daddy, baby. I'm going to go a little faster."

As promised, he speeds his rhythm up, thrusting into Peter's mouth, each breath carrying a desperate moan. "Fuck, Peter..." He tangles his hands in Peter's hair, pulling Peter's head in an opposing pattern to his hips, "Just a little more, sweetheart... And then I'll make you feel good too."

"Don't... Don't have to." Peter croaks, pushing his hips down against the ground. "'m good."

"Are you getting off on this, Peter? Enjoying me using your mouth? You enjoy being used by Daddy?" Tony purrs, tangling his hands in Peter's hair, pulling him forward again, "Good. Because Daddy loves using your pretty mouth."

Peter whimpers, sucking Tony back into his mouth, licking the beads of precum off the tip and down the side. He shivers, fucking his own mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart... Can't... Can't fucking do that, I'm too close."

Tony swears he sees Peter's eyes sparkle when he says that, but he couldn't be sure. Not with his head falling back in a louder-than-necessary moan.

Peter shivers at the sound, and the vibrations of his own moans are what brings Tony over the edge.

He shouts Peter's name, bucking sloppily into his mouth, groaning loudly. "Fuck, so good for me baby... So fucking good."

Peter swallows around him, licking the remnants away, pulling off with a soft pop.

Tony tucks himself back into his boxers and sinks next to Peter, "God... Why haven't we done this sooner?"

Peter shrugs dazedly, head falling against Tony's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Peter, kissing him softly. The man tastes himself, and he smiles against Peter's lips.

"As for you..." he reaches down, slipping his hand into Peter's lingerie, and is met with a wet spot, and Peter's hypersensitive cock. "You-- You came untouched?"

"Mhmn.."

"Fuck, kid..." Tony gasps, "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Everything," Peter whispers back, nuzzling closer, feeling completely owned. Just as he should be.

Thank you so much for reading!!! Likes, Comments and reblogs are MUCH appreciated!

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #SFSecretStarker24 #shut up nika #nika writes

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secfics · 9 months

Text

my favourite starker fics, part 1

hi. for my first reclist in this blog, i put together my personal favourite starker fanfics that i re-read again and again. in no particular order and with some cw/dark themes here and there, here they come:

• maybe different, but remember; by RoamingSignals (@spider-mancan), E, 18k, 2/2 chapters

Peter is working at Delmar’s, sorting out tabloids on the rack in the front, and he sees Tony’s face plastered everywhere and then Peter is reading words and then he can’t read anything because he’s crying and his shaking hands rip the magazine in half.

Tony Stark…alive.

He saved the world, saved Peter, and Peter never even got to thank him. Not that it matters now. If Peter was a factor in Tony's decision to snap his fingers, Peter will never know. No one will ever know, because Peter fucked up and now he doesn’t exist.

• touchpoint; by RoamingSignals (@spider-mancan), M, 57’6k, 2/2 chapters

Peter lost a lot of things in Boston. When he lists them out, they fit in the margins of his napkin; his career, his degree, his motivation, his boyfriend, and himself. Not in that order. Not all by mistake.

“You’re just a secretary.” Tony tuts.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a secretary,” Peter says. “Your old secretary is the CEO of SI, these days.”

“Pepper Potts is the smartest woman I’ve ever met,” Tony agrees. “And she never let anyone call her ‘just a secretary.’”

• scaling the walls; by Starker1975 (@starker1975), E, 42’6k, 13/13 chapters

Peter is tired of crushing hopelessly on Tony, so he decides to create an online dating profile to meet someone new. Neither Peter (Webster01) or his strange beau (Mark70) have pictures on their bio. They decide to keep it that way so they can focus on bonding over things besides appearance.

Meanwhile, Tony decides to start spending more time with Peter because people always become interested as soon as you try to move on...

• fucking if; by Graceful_Starker (@graceful-starker), M, 9’7k, 2/2 chapters - cw: implied non-con, not between starker

Peter and Tony in a beginning phases relationship. Then the snap. Peter coming back to Tony, Pepper and Morgan.

• revelations; by Anonymous (#author has already arranged a ride to church trust me), E, 126’8k, 19/19 chapters

“I still don’t get it,” Ned says. “How you just... keep being ordinary in spite of all the craziness you’ve lived through. You were in space. You helped Iron Man save the universe. And nobody knows it was you.” His tone softens, becomes almost sad. As though he realizes that what he’s saying is so completely alien to him that he will never be able to understand this part of Peter’s life. “Peter, don’t you want people to know you for who you are?”

An AU where they get the Gauntlet off of Thanos that first time, on Titan.

• closer to a prayer; by LearnedFoot (@learned-foot), E, 17’4k, oneshot

“I think I’m dying.”

Peter stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, blinking. It feels weird to say it out loud.

In which Peter's powers turn against him, Mr. Stark is back and suddenly acting kind of weird (and by weird he means flirtatious), and it’s all a lot to handle at once.

• stuck; by Heathertastic (@heathertastic), E, 5’4k, oneshot - cw: Accidental Penetration

Tony and Peter get stuck together in a closet the size of Peter himself- and yeah, it’s basically porn without plot.

• Give Me Your Wallet (And Your Watch); by airebellah (@airebellah), M, 30’5k, 10/10 chapters

It was pushing midnight when Peter sent a text to his friend Ned asking for help with a chemistry problem. I know I'm doing something wrong but I can't figure it out, he wrote. He received a text with a picture of the solution. The elegant script should have been the first clue; the fact that it was on the back of a napkin the second. But he was tired, and failed to notice such details.

You misplaced your decimal when converting degrees to Kelvin, came the reply. Rookie mistake.

Gee, thanks, Peter replied with a roll of his eyes. Anything you need help with?

Yeah, who the fuck am I talking to, exactly?

• covet; by Anonymous (#author has already arranged a ride to church trust me), E, 33’9k, 5/5 chapters

Peter has a new boyfriend. Tony starts drinking again, for unrelated reasons.

• uranium heart; by spqr, M, 11´3k, oneshot

It’s probably better, Peter thinks, that he doesn’t know who his soulmate is. He wouldn’t want to lie to them about Spider-Man, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell them the truth, either. Not when he knows it would make them a target for every villain who wants a piece of him.

When he has enough free time to feel sorry for himself, he thinks about how lonely he is and how much he wants someone to talk to--just talk to. But he doesn’t really have that much free time. And anyways, there are thousands of lonely people in New York. Peter’s nothing special.

• another life; by InColor (@incolorwrites), E, 9’3k, oneshot

Tony comes back to a world where everyone's moved on without him.

Peter helps.

• secret santa, baby; by orphan_account, E, 17´3k, 5/5 chapters

Tony never intended to become Peter's Secret Santa. He just sort of stumbles into it. But now that he is, he's going to take advantage of it. Tony's got one week to spoil the kid, one week until Christmas. He just has to make sure that his secret stays secret.

• your thoughts are my desires; by Sparcina (@zsparz), E, 6’2k, 4/4 chapters

Peter doesn't know that Tony can read his thoughts.

Alternatively: Tony gets intimately acquainted with Peter's fantasies feelings.

• peter parker, sexter extraodinaire; by Sparcina (@zsparz), E, 7’5k, 4/4 chapters

Apparently, sexting Mr. Stark by accident is a thing Peter does now. While touching himself. And Tony... Well, he probably shouldn't fantasize about Peter, but the kid's just too damn attractive and brilliant for his own good.

• just for tonight; by keenwonderlandcollector, M, 31’1k, 10/10 - cw: incest/father-son incest

While out at an exhibit, Peter gets into an awkward situation and pretends that Tony, his father, is actually his boyfriend. Tony goes along with it, and Peter soon finds himself enjoying it a little too much…

• from the bounty; by feyrelay (@feyrelay) & natureboy, E, 31’8k, 3/3 chapters

Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

(20k words of food erotica foreplay and 13k words of porn)

• better than; by unsettled (@unsettledink), M, 40’6k, oneshot

Maybe there isn't really a fixed point where it starts, where any of it starts, nothing Tony can point to and say, there, there is where I made my mistake, there is where I could have stopped this, there is where I can stop it from happening again.

Maybe it shouldn’t have been something Tony tried to stop.

(or: the one where Tony is going to be responsible for once, okay? He is!)

• worth the word; by unsettled (@unsettledink), teen and up, 5’4k, oneshot

Valentine’s Day is not Peter’s favorite holiday by a long shot. And it’s not just because he’s a little jealous of everyone else showing off gifts from their partners.

But it’s still really nice that an unknown someone sent him a gift this year. Or two. Or— okay, this is getting out of hand.

• above and beyond; by unsettled (@unsettledink), E, 12’8k, oneshot - cw: incest/father-son incest

Trans Peter telling his dad that he’s never had an orgasm. And Tony eating Peter out until the boy’s oversensitive and crying out “dad” as he comes.

• still use work; by LearnedFoot (@learned-foot), E, 6’5k, oneshot

“In the spirit of scientific discovery,” Tony adds.

“Yeah, the spirit of scientific discovery, exactly.”

Or: Peter has a problem. Tony attempts to solve it. To be helpful, obviously. That’s the only reason.

• a familiar stranger; by Starker1975 (@starker1975), E, 132,1k, 21/21 chapters - cw: incest/father-son incest

Peter's tired of being single, but online dating scares him, so he creates a fake profile to scope out the playing field before fully committing. He isn't sure what to think when he sees his dad's profile on the app.

hope you like them as much as i did!

#starker reclist #check the tags #starker #starker fic #starker fic rec #starker fic recs #favourite starker fanfics

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anachilles · 1 month

Text

drive the dark clouds far away ☁

If anyone on Earth deserved tenderness, it was Gale Cleven. Throughout the years they’d known each other, he had dropped little morsels of his history into John’s lap, one piece at a time. It was almost off-hand, how he’d do it. Like he somehow hadn’t expected John to capture every one, savour them, commit them to memory and file them away in a special box in the back of his mind. To take them out as he did every so often and piece them together again, wondering about what young Gale had been before he was John’s ‘Buck’, so he had an entire landscape laid before him of what made Gale Cleven who he was. Or: Winter falls in Stalag Luft III, Gale's sick, and John has feelings about it all. -> read here on AO3 <-

A Nazi prisoner of war camp was hardly a place one would ever want to be, at any time or for any reason.

If Bucky had the choice, however, he sure as hell wouldn’t particularly choose to be in a Nazi prisoner of war camp in the middle of what was turning out to be a brutal Germanic winter.

It came on so suddenly, too, or at least that’s what it felt like. One day, the entire camp had been bathed in incandescent autumn sunshine. The kind that illuminated every leaf on every tree, lit the sky up so bright you could barely look at it, and sparkled off the surface of the puddles left behind from the early morning rain. The next day, and the next, and the next after that, it was like someone had gone and thrown a blanket over the sun itself. Everything was grey. Everything was dark. Everything around them started to wilt, to shed, to die.

For every degree the temperature dropped, for every shiver that raced up their spines in the dead of night, and for every dull, drizzly day that inched them through November and closer to Christmas, morale had started to plummet. It crept up on them and burrowed in like a degenerative disease, infiltrating their ranks one by one and slowly, gradually, started to break them down. Tired minds began to conjure bittersweet memories of good food, good music and the encompassing warmth of their families thousands of miles away, such imaginings only making their reality even starker. Anywhere at all outside the perimeter of the compound was beginning to feel like a whole other plane of existence.

At this point in the season, even the hours of daylight they were afforded were seemingly war-rationed. Dark moods, irritability and the icy tendrils of hopelessness had started to permeate the stalag as the sunsets came altogether too quick, and the daytimes were overwhelmingly bleak.

That night, Bucky shifted awkwardly in his bunk, trying to get comfortable in spite of the threadbare cushioning underneath him. It would have been pitch dark save for the slightest crack someone had left in the black-out curtains, letting moonlight spill in and make vague silhouettes out of the sleeping men around him. Several of them were snoring to various degrees of severity (God help them when Demarco properly got going), bed frames periodically creaking, someone even seemed to be humming slightly in their sleep.

The incessant background noise wasn’t the problem, though; the opposite, actually. From basic training, through flight school, then all the way to the war, Bucky had spent far too long now in shared quarters through every point in his military career to be able to sleep surrounded by absolute silence. In fact, if he closed his eyes and concentrated real hard he could probably have imagined himself being back in the barracks at Thorpe Abbotts right then, far, far away from this Kraut hell hole. Okay, the food wasn’t much better there, he’ll admit, but at least there was a stocked bar, actual showers, and no Nazi goons on a hairpin trigger when it came to pointing rifles at them for doing the sum total of jack shit too hard for their liking.

Bucky’s foot bounced in place as he stared a hole into the wooden slats of the bunk above him. Tension pulsed behind his eyes. When he exhaled, his breath materialised as a humid cloud, before dissipating again into the dark. Rain hammered against the window that was definitely draughty. His fingers were so cold they were starting to go white at the tips.

A sharp gasp suddenly pierced through the din, and in the same beat Bucky instinctively snapped towards it, the whirlpool in his brain suddenly stilling, sharpening down to a single point; like someone had ripped the plughole out of a bathtub. In the middle bunk directly across the way, in the shadows of the darkened cabin, the outline of Buck’s body jerked forward with a strangled little click… a pause… and then another. It was an oddly vulnerable sound, the action was chased by a heavy sniffle, and Bucky let out another long, visible breath.

With the insidious chill of deep winter now catching at their heels, illness was quickly becoming another looming problem with their fucked up sleep-away camp experience in the Glorious Third Reich. The often sub-zero temperatures, paired with a widespread lack of proper food, sleep, and provisions, as well as with them living on top of each other in such poorly built cabins (Bucky’d seen more insulation built into the damn backyard chicken coops he’d been roped into helping his neighbours build back home as a kid), meant that it was rife. Take a walk from one side of the camp to the other, and every third guy was coughing and spluttering with something.

It wasn’t even stuff that would necessarily be anything to worry about in any other time or place. Anywhere else in the modern age they lived in, it would be the usual winter crud that went around every year. Stuff that’d have them downing cough syrup, maybe a bit of hot whiskey, and being fussed over a bit by wives, girlfriends, or moms. Here, though? Despite how the men may joke about it to try and outrun the worry, lurking in a darkened corner of the room was an unavoidable reality that if the cold managed to sneak down into your chest and take root, lay you up with a fever you just can’t shake, in these conditions… well. Who knew what could happen?

There were some guys with a decent amount of medical training who acted as makeshift ‘doctors’ in a makeshift ‘hospital’ on site. Although, naturally as airmen, that leant more towards snapping back in dislocated shoulders, setting broken bones, and patching up bullet and/or shrapnel wounds well enough to get the victim to solid ground alive. There was little, if any, actual medicine to go around.

Before, it had been an abstract, underlying kind of concern, one he’d glance at every now and again before turning away, putting it out of his head again. Let himself be distracted by something else, not that there was much else to distract yourself with in here.

But then it was Buck.

Now, John’s body thrummed with a twitchy, nervous beat underneath his skin, some sort of momentum growing within him as his heart rate picked up and an internal debate played out in his head; one he’d been having with himself for several nights now. After only a handful of seconds from when he’d turned around in the first place though, there was another noise, something delicate and unplaceable. Whether it was the sound of teeth chattering or a stone rattling against the wall of the cabin, or whatever else it could be, it had John dropping down on his feet and gathering up his blanket, wincing as the chill of the room enveloped him all at once.

Crossing to Gale’s bedside, John wordlessly and unceremoniously chucked the blanket over the other man’s body, before leaning a hand against the wooden frame of the upper bunk above Gale’s own. He was curled up tight in on himself, arms stiff as they crossed over his chest, as if he was trying to gather any heat to be had around himself and keep it there by force.

John watched, and waited, as Gale sluggishly unfurled himself a little and turned around to face him, expression sleepy. His face caught the moonlight, something jarring in John’s chest at how pale he looked.

“Bucky?” he asked softly, his already rumbling voice now gravelly and shot to pieces. “Did I wake you?”

Unable to help himself, John heaved out a disbelieving huff of laughter, his voice dropping into a murmur “What, with your bizarre, near-perfectly silent sneezing? Yeah, you did, actually.” Gale rolled his eyes.

“Please, just try to be a bit more considerate to the other guests at this fine establishment.” Success curled fleeting warmth within John when he got a hint of a smile out of the other man. It was the first he’d seen from him in nearly two days, and the twitch of his mouth alleviated an increment of pressure in John’s chest he hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding. “God bless you, by the way.”

It would’ve sounded like a taunt if it wasn’t so fond.

“What do you want then, Bucky?”

In pursuit of cutting to the damn chase, because this was all fun and games but now John really was freezing his balls off, he replied “It’s too cold now for any of us to be sleeping by ourselves.”

At that, Gale’s rheumy gaze sharpened, his eyes scanning the room. John briefly followed them as they took in nearly every other man in the cabin having broken off into a pair to bunk down with for the winter.

“It’s okay, Buck,” John supplied, loosening the valve and letting sincerity bleed into his tone even as he lowered it. This is probably the most ‘okay’ we’ve ever been or ever will be to do this where people can see it.

Memories rise unbidden then; awkward, inexperienced fumbles and a hurried kiss in the barely-lit supply closet off an aircraft hangar in Texas while all the other cadets were asleep. Hidden away in Bucky’s short-lived Air Exec office while he still had it, a rare moment of stolen solitude behind a blessedly locked door with frosted windows. The one time they’d dared risk venturing into the woods at Thorpe Abbotts in the dead of night. They were more experienced by then, but somehow only more repressed and desperate for having now known the other’s touch, but having had to go without it for so long.

“Those RAF pricks were right about one thing for certain.”

“What’s that?”

“You were getting too handsy” Gale had said, voice edged in grit, grabbing John’s wrists and yanking them away behind his back.

In the next breath however, John shrugged, adding “And, well, you have my blanket now. So you either scoot over, or I go back to my bunk and freeze to death. Your choice.”

Gale levelled him with a withering look that only made John want to smile in return, but after a brief contemplative moment, a pregnant pause and a steely gaze edged in wary scrutiny, the caginess seemed to melt out of him, like he physically couldn’t hold onto it any longer. He acquiesced with no more fuss about it, shifting closer towards the wall and pulling up the blankets to invite John in. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, these bunks barely made to fit one fully grown man, never mind two, but suppose that was kind of the point of this, wasn’t it?

John hopped up onto the bunk, the wood groaning slightly under their combined weight, and took the liberty of adjusting Gale a little further onto his side so that he could bracket right in tightly to his back. The length of Gale’s body seemed to slot perfectly against the curve of his own. Back to chest, thigh to thigh, shin to calf. As if by muscle memory, underneath the blankets John’s hand traced a reverent trail down the length of his side, the feeling warm and honey-sweet with familiarity. As was the way he felt Gale relax into his touch, his head turning a tantalising fraction of an inch back towards his face. John’s next exhale came more comfortably than any had in weeks, despite how his heartbeat kicked a little bit harder against his ribcage. Tracing upwards from where his hand had wandered to Gale’s thigh, because he’s nothing if not a goddamn hedonist, John indulged himself with another handful of stolen seconds to touch, to rub and knead affectionately at the curve of Gale’s waist.

This place was hell. A labyrinth of endless days filled with grey, bleak, monotonous nothingness on top of a vague, torturous hope that one day will be the right one; that that day they’ll escape. Or be liberated. They’d been keeping up to date with the state of the war on their homemade contraband radio, listened to and dutifully recited by Gale every night as they forced down boiled garden scraps swimming in dishwater broth. They couldn’t be long now from the invasion of Europe, they tried to reassure each other. It proved enough to get the men out of bed every day and keep them going through the drudgery.

John, though; if he had this. If he had Buck solid and tangible and living and breathing before his eyes and underneath his fingertips, he’d find his way out. The embers that sparked to life in his chest with the feeling of just being near him would light his way out.

A shallow cough sounded from somewhere across the room, and John’s hand froze, even under the shroud of the blankets. Despite arguing the logic of this himself only minutes ago, of why it was ‘okay’, the sudden reminder of the ambient presence of the other men in the room amplified then. John couldn’t help but be aware of it, a shred of unease fluttering to life in his chest.

Swallowing it down, and simply unable to truly pull himself away anyway, he retired his wandering touch and looped his arm around Gale’s middle. His broad hand splayed wide across his chest as he brought the other man impossibly closer. John could feel just how cold he was, even through the fabric of his clothes. That was worrying enough in and of itself, but shock jolted through him like lightning as Gale’s hand brushed his own.

“Jesus, Buck! You’re like ice,” John ground out, reaching to grab it before Gale could move it away again. He knew he likely wasn’t much better, all-too-aware of the pervasive and unshakable chill infecting his own fingers. Whatever last vestiges of warmth he may have had remaining within himself though, hidden away in some forgotten or unreachable nook or cranny, he’d give to Gale in a heartbeat if he could. Even if he couldn’t, he’d try regardless.

Gale’s fingers flexed around his own, joining them, before bringing them up to his mouth and huffing a breath of hot air over John’s hand. The breath caught a little in his throat though, triggering a bubbling of thick, stilted coughs. “You are too.”

John laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Yeah, no shit. We all are…” he said, his tone softening then, even as he prodded the back of Gale’s knee with his own “...but you’re sick. So I’d argue it’s definitely more important to make you not so.”

He felt Gale’s body squirm a little uncomfortably in place against him, shaking his head a little, tilting it down. “It’s just a cold, John.”

“Yeah, for now. But you don’t…” The whispered words fall between them with a heavy clang, echoes of meaning slipping through where maybe they hadn’t been intended. John’s eyes were trained on the back of Gale’s head in the dark, his forehead resting on the other man’s golden crown. Even then, John felt more than saw him stiffen, then pull away as much as he physically could from John’s vice-like hold. He pitched forward with two more clumsily pinched back sneezes, grumbling in annoyance as he then groped underneath the pillow, eyes teary and nose dripping, for the now-worn handkerchief he’d been holding there.

Yeah, it wasn’t exactly convenient, particularly at a time such as this, that they all tended to only have the one on them that they’d had when they went down.

Oh, it was so uncharacteristically inelegant it was actually endearing. A peek behind the curtain at Gale Cleven, the mere mortal. Happy to let himself be sidetracked from his worry for a moment, John dipped into one of the inner pockets of his long coat and pulled out his own handkerchief, gallantly offering it over.

Gale’s head swivelled back, his gaze questioning, and John shrugged. “It’s clean, I promise,” he said, though his eyebrows drew together in sudden contemplation. “Well… mostly. I might’ve washed up with it earlier today…” He made a show of trailing off, pulling the collar of his sweater up over his face and taking an experimental sniff down into it. “Ah, no, definitely not, actually. You’re all good.”

Thoroughly used to his antics, Gale didn’t even blink, though his chapped lips did pull up into a fleetingly small, slow, reluctant sort of smile, before eventually taking it from him. He let the fabric linger in his fingers for a mysterious extra beat, his thumb swiping once over it, before putting it to use. When he did speak, his voice was completely mangled with congestion. “Well, beggars can’t be choosers. Probably would have taken it anyway.”

John winced, the levity leaking back out of his countenance like a faulty fuel line. “You sound awful, Buck,” he mumbled seriously, “C’mon, lie back down.”

Though he dismissed the concern with a telling look, Gale complied and they fell into an easy sort of silence. Their breaths, underlined by the tangible rise and fall of John’s chest against the other man’s back, fell into the slow, steady rhythm held by the rest of the room. Even after a handful of minutes he could tell Gale wasn’t sleeping, though. Neither was he, evidently, feeling like a live wire despite how exhausted and perpetually bone-weary his body had become. He was tired, probably needed to sleep, but at the same time didn’t want to miss a second of their contact now that they had established it. He didn’t want to close his eyes, open them again, and it be morning time again so damn soon, that chasm of emptiness in the space between them returning all too quickly.

If only to give himself something to do, have somewhere to put that gnawing awareness, John gave into temptation. Ducking his head, he pressed his lips to the nape of Gale’s neck. Just once, at first. Experimental; his eyes flitting up briefly to catch Gale’s reaction. With the sight of his lips dropping further open around a sudden inhale he tried to conceal, John took the silent approval and continued in his work. One kiss here, another one there, he marked a languid trail down the column of Gale’s neck and back up again, an answering shiver racing up the length of his spine when John’s mouth teased that one little spot under the hinge of his jaw. It was addictive; and what was Bucky Egan if not an addict?

Having thoroughly surveyed all that he could reach, John’s hand slipped down and palmed at Gale’s hip, urging him to turn back over and face him. When he did, his cheeks were flushed. His eyes still heavy, but now with pupils blown and trained right on him. They pinned John in place, made the cabin, and the camp, and all of Germany, all of Europe itself disappear around him. As if pulled by magnets and with the weight of the last couple of months bearing down on him, John moved to kiss him properly. His eyes snapped open when his mouth met the soft pressure of cold, unyielding fingertips, mere centimetres from the IP.

There was something brittle now in Gale’s gaze when John looked again, that feeling scooped back up and the lid put back on the jar. It still shone through though, muted but simmering away under the surface. Behind the shield of darkness and John’s broad body, Gale’s hand twisted, cupping John’s jaw as his thumb delicately swiped across the seam of his lips. “You’re gonna end up getting sick with me lying here breathing in your face all night.”

John let out a huff of annoyance, exaggerated maybe just a little bit in the hopes of making Gale smile again. “No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

Despite his amusement at the childish back and forth, John relented, changing course. “Okay, well, if it’s doomed to happen anyway I’d rather it was from you than any of the rest of these clowns, so…” He peeled Gale’s hand from his jaw, his phantom touch lingering in a way he hoped remained corporeal right through until the morning at the very least. In the same fluid movement he turned it around and mouthed his knuckles, then with a heart so full it could’ve burst right out of him, leaned in, slowly, carefully, kissed him anyway.

Oh, he could feign all the long-suffering exasperation he wanted to, but John knew the truth of the matter in how the tense lines of the other man’s body loosened under his hold then, how he nudged himself closer in the new position to close out any hint of a gap and the biting chill that could and would find its way through.

God knew he needed it, too. John wasn’t sure if it was just him that noticed the trail of signs left in Gale’s wake wherever he went throughout the day, subtle or not, that gave away just how crappy he was feeling. Sitting in the same room as the rest of them but far enough away at any given point. The way he’d pinch the bridge of his nose, presumably against the pressure there and the ache behind his eyes. How his chest sometimes seized with the need to cough that had been swallowed back. How he’d been keeping it all held back behind a tight jaw and clenched teeth, a brave face on for the sake of their men and the general morale. Whether he’d choose it or not, Gale knew he was a symbol, much like John, much like any other group’s commanding officers. He had a responsibility.

Now, though, in whatever new strange semi-privacy they’d stumbled upon and could seemingly kid themselves for a few hours they were alone within, it started to crumble.

In the extended silence, with sleep still out of reach, John couldn’t help but reflect on all of that. Right down to the very position he’d found him in when he gathered the nerve to approach his bunk, Gale was so damn protective of himself. Fiercely so, at times, that stoic, guarded veneer serving as a concrete wall between himself and the sometimes inexplicable chaos of the world. When they first met, oh so many moons ago now, John had been tempted to simply assume he lived with a stick up his ass and leave it at that.

Maybe it was because he was pretty in a way that his teenage self didn’t quite have the vernacular to understand yet, maybe it was the quiet echo of his mom’s voice in the back of his head scolding him about not judging a book by its cover, maybe it was divine intuition. But whatever it was, Bucky would thank whatever may have been out there in the sky looking down on them that, for whatever reason, he’d chosen instead to throw all of his chips in on Gale Cleven and insist on knowing him anyway. To push and prod and tease and question and irritate and somehow charm his way into the other boy’s life, into the most genuine, heartfelt friendship he’d ever had, and then further into, well, this. One that allowed him to pull on the thread of the image of himself that Gale presented to the world, bit by bit, without reprisal.

Throughout the years they’d known each other, Gale had dropped little morsels of his history into John’s lap, one piece at a time. It was almost off-hand, how he’d do it. Like he somehow hadn’t expected John to capture every one, savour them, commit them to memory and file them away in a special box in the back of his mind. To take them out as he did every so often and piece them together again, wondering about what young Gale had been before he was John’s ‘Buck’ and how he wished he could’ve been there for him, so he had an entire landscape laid before him of what made Gale Cleven who he was.

If he was stubborn and headstrong and fiercely protective of himself, fine. He had every right to be; had made himself that way out of necessity. Thinking about the circumstances of how and why made John’s heart ache something stupid just to think about, so he made a point to try not to.

If anyone on Earth deserved tenderness, it was Gale Cleven. For having taken the shitty hand life had dealt him and still come out the other side so kind and compassionate, to have taken all the hurt and the loneliness, bottled it up, and somehow turned it into white-knuckled determination to do better with himself. For having made his life something, even if his ambition was originally rooted in defiance against what had been laid out for him. For having the hordes of men in the squadron he presides over look upon him with deferential reverence, for giving them hope by making himself look invincible. Truly uncatchable, even despite having been caught.

If it ever got to be too much, though, especially in here, where home seemed so far away, and the idea of safety such an abstract, unreachable concept, Bucky would shoulder it. Without a second thought, every time. Gale Cleven deserved tenderness, and by hell was John Egan going to do everything he could to give it to him.

John had his moments when he let the darkness in; indulged in thoughts of disillusionment, found himself questioning any number of aspects of what they were doing, how they were doing it, and for what. One thought always ended up shing through the murky din though, a guiding light that pretty much always managed to pull John back in its direction. Back on path.

So long as he and Gale Cleven were on the same side, he knew he was in the right spot.

“Bucky?” His voice reached out, barely there and so soft John could’ve denied even hearing it at all. “You still awake?”

John’s eyes fluttered open, readjusting to the dark again as he blinked away the cobwebs from the sort of half-sleep he’d drifted off into. He hummed in affirmation. “What d’ya want then, Buck?” he echoed from earlier, chucking the other man’s own words back at him with a teasing, heavy-lidded smirk.

The question hung still and charged in the air between them as Gale hesitated, teetering on the brink of losing the nerve to ask whatever it was he wanted. Surely he should know by now, with John being the blatant and irredeemable sucker that he is, could ask quite literally anything of him and he’d find a way to grant him it?

Gale looked like his mind was half somewhere else, eyes unable to fully meet John’s own, and still seemingly debating whether to continue or not right up until the moment the words left his lips. “Y’know what, um… what this needs right now?”

John’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

When it came, it came small and vulnerable. “...vocals,” he said, before catching himself, the word ghosting across John’s chin. “Very, very quiet vocals.” Gale’s hand wound around John’s back, before slipping up the back of his shirt to flatten against John’s freckled back.

John couldn’t help the smile unwinding across his face, eyes sparkling in the dark with sudden mirth. “From me?” he questioned, infused with faux-disbelief. He made a show of pressing the back of his hand up under his dirty blond bangs to Gale’s forehead, half-teasing about checking for fever, but breathing a very real sigh of relief when he found little evidence of one yet.

“I mean, I did always say you would all eventually come around and see me for the true musical talent that I am. I’m just glad it’s finally being acknowledged, so I won’t hold the delay against you.”

Gale rolled his eyes, though it drew a smile out of him at the same time, even so.

He may have had no hope of being privy to all that went on inside Gale’s head, despite knowing all the important coordinates and the routes to get there. But he could see the sickbed request for what it was, the reminder of where they’d come from. A tether to an old life that felt sickeningly distant now, lost in the soupy abyss of the camp. A yearning for something familiar; anything. He sees just a hint of Gale’s impatience, his growing frustration at their situation and the longing for home, and it fractionally lightens the loads bearing down on John’s own chest. That for all his calm, careful control on the surface, it was confirmation that he felt it too.

Catching them both by surprise, and with grumbled curse, Gale twisted away with another desperate sneeze, newly acquired handkerchief hastily raised. Newly, and sort of relievingly, unrestrained, the harsh sound echoing off the walls of the small cabin.

Uncharacteristically flustered and with an apology quick on his tongue, Gale immediately moved his entire body so they were chest to back again, and he was facing the wall. “Right, that’s it. I’m turning back around.”

“You do whatever you need to get comfortable, and I’ll ahem, warm up,” he replied through a smile, the dismissal of the apology silent but palpable.

Gale fell asleep that night to the soft, dulcet tones of Blue Skies butchered in his ear. Despite the cold, despite the illness, it was the easiest sleep since he’d arrived.

The next morning, Douglass and Hambone were the first to reluctantly extricate themselves out of bed, it being their turn to do the first water run of the day and collect the cabin’s assigned jugs. Once they were outside, confident in being completely out of earshot, the gossip flowed freely.

“Jesus, you’d think Cleven and Egan gab enough to each other during the day, now they’re going to be at it at night too?!”

#masters of the air #clegan #buck x bucky #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #HOOOOO BOY #first fic for this fandom/pairing #we're really in it now boys x #my writing

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