#to get called pretty boy and then be kissed until my brain bursts into flames

[lyallblacklupin]

Prompt: Wolfstar - Sirius opens up to Remus about his thoughts on dating a werewolf. Any rating you want.

I truly apologize for such a late response. Your prompt was quite the unique one and I hope you like how I wrote it. Thank you for an amazing suggestion! Happy Reading! <3

Rating: Mature (Implied Sexual Content.)

Sirius bursts into the common room with the deepest frown on his face and the biggest pout on his lips which is enough to cast everyone’s attention in the room. Marlene squints from her magazine, James sits up from Lily’s lap, and Peter sets down his chocolate (which rarely happens, that means some disaster awaits the Marauders and others around them.) However, the only person who is straining his nerves to look nonchalant—but the nostrils don’t help much but flare hopelessly—is none other than Remus Lupin.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” Sirius says curtly. James looks around to see who is he addressing with such aggression, and it is again none other than Remus Lupin sitting with a book hiding his face. The tension in the air is so thick that can only be cut with a knife.

“I am talking to you, Remus.” He speaks again, his voice is emphatic on each of his words. Remus changes the direction of the book from his face as if it is a mask, but it is still in between his index finger and thumb. His eyebrows are cocked up higher enough to disappear in his golden fringe.

“I’m sorry but I don’t have time to discuss anything as useless and pointless as your drama.” He says.

Peter gasps, Lily flinches, and Marlene snorts. Sirius shoots her a glare.

“Sorry.” She recovers and hides back her face in the magazine.

“You think I am being dramatic about this?” Sirius turns back and asks indignantly.

“I don’t think you are being dramatic,” Remus makes an innocent face suddenly, waving his hands to his sides. His facial expressions are always priceless, “but I think you are dramatic.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lupin!” Sirius looks extremely mortified as he scoffs at him and the next thing everyone knows that he is climbing the dormitory stairs, and then which follows with a loud slam of the door.

The silence in the room is filled with the crackling sound of the fire before their sitting spot until James clears her throat as his eyes—in fact, everyone’s eyes land on Remus who is sitting like a terrified cat, scared but too prideful to admit his harshness.

“So…umm, you guys having a row?” James finally says.

“You think?” Marlene makes a bored face before she turns to Remus, “So tell me, darling, what is your problem?”

“My problem?” He asks as if he can’t believe he has been asked that question.

“Yes, Rem,” Lily says suddenly, looking stern and concerned at the same time, “Your problem.”

“How can you say that without knowing what’s going on between us!”

“We don’t know what’s going on between you two, but what we know is that you insulted him in front of everyone and now you don’t feel bad about it?” Lily scolds Remus, who looks like he has been slapped. He looks down at his hands. His books are still between his hands. He has been feeling bad the second he said those mean words to Sirius, and now he feels a lot worse than a few seconds ago. He is looking down at his book while his mind racing on how should apologize to his boyfriend before a shadow grows on which makes him look up to see James Potter snatching the book from his hands. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest because James is already settling his head on Lily’s lap, and acting to read that book.

“Fine, Potter!” He threw his hands up in surrender and stands up to make his way to the dormitory. He sees the smirk breaking on James’ lips but his eyes never leaving the book page which he is definitely not reading at all.

He opens the door of the dorm, and the air smells stale and something is on fire. The urgency suddenly takes place in his body as he walks around to find four perfectly tucked beds, the bathroom door is opened which means Sirius is not inside.

He sees the window opened and sees the wisps of faint smoke in his view. He comes close to lean out. His side glance catches Sirius sitting on the extremely narrow ledge with his legs dangling in nothing but a groundless view of Hogwarts beneath his feet, and for a second Remus has decided that his heart has stopped beating. He staggers back in to process the view in his head.

“Fucking shit! Fuck! Merlin!” Remus curses when his brain completely registers the terrifying idiocy of his boyfriend. He leans out again to call him, “Sirius, are you out of your fucking mind!?”

He doesn’t reply because he is smoking his cigarette in the most seductive way, or maybe he is smoking just fine but Remus can’t help but feel something funny in his lower abdomen.

“Sirius?” He says again with his clenched teeth.

“I will not listen to you unless you put your anger aside,” Sirius says with a deadpanned face which is, by the way, glimmering in the moonlight as if it is something sacred. His beauty is ethereal and yet so sharp to cut someone’s heart into two. Remus swallows because it is a mouth-watering sight. But then he remembers. This is exactly what they have been fighting about; Werewolf instincts. The moon is close, and the wolf is flowing into him.

“This is not some joke, Sirius! This is extremely dangerous! Come back in this instant!”

“See, no gentleness,” Sirius sighs and takes a drag from his cigarette, “Not coming right now.”

This is infuriating, Sirius is in fact infuriating. However, yelling at him is just like setting more fire on the raging flames. Remus inhales, and then reaches out his hand from the window for Sirius, “Please. Come inside, Sirius.”

“Nopes.” Remus clenches his mouth but then relaxes.

“Look, Sirius, I’m getting really worried for you. Please, come back? I promise I’m not angry.”

“I can see you grinding your teeth.” Remus grimaces but then eventually smiles in surrender. Sirius can be very convincing without any animalistic forms.

“Yes, because you are annoying,” His voice is utterly soft, “but I love you just like that. Will you come to me?”

Sirius narrows his eyes and cocks an eyebrow which instantly causes Remus to chuckle, along with a feeling of gushing love inside him.

“Okay, I’m coming.” He takes his hand and jumps inside to wrap his arms around Remus who immediately holds him in his embrace. Due to the height difference, Sirius stands on his tiptoes to hug him so the latter boy scoops his legs up to wrap around his waist and Sirius wastes no time to comply.

“I’m sorry, love…” Remus nuzzles his head in his hair.

“It’s okay, I know you’re not feeling good. The moon…” Sirius' voice is tired and low. It is always surprising to see his bottomless patience for Remus’ condition, considering how much edgy he can be otherwise.

“Hey…” Remus makes them sit on the nearest bed. Sirius completely sits on his lap with his legs tied around him, and his hands laced around his neck. He looks so small, and Remus doesn’t want to see his sadness. After a long drag of silence and relishing each other with feather-light touches and kisses, Sirius whispers in his skin.

“Why can’t you let me have you?”

“I’m right here. You have me.” Remus whispers back with his lips still lingering on his cheeks.

“Completely…Moony…” The voice breaks his heart, and he looks up at Sirius' hurting eyes.

“Sirius, this is not a joke.”

“Moony, I don’t take you as a joke in my life. Not even in the slightest.”

“You don’t realize how dangerous it is.”

“Then make me!” And Remus winces but doesn’t leave his grip on Sirius’ waist, “I want you all. I…I like it that way…” The last words hang awkwardly in the air with Sirius blushing like he has tomatoes beneath his cheeks.

“You are not serious, are you?” Remus lets out a hollow laugh.

“Yes, Moony, I’m serious about this.” He is frozen because Sirius’ eyes scream nothing but the truth, and most importantly he has completely missed the pun.

“You are…” He stutters but Sirius cuts him off.

“Yes. I want to be with you in every part, Remus. You lose control? I don’t care! I want you to be the most honest version of yourself. I want to love you more. I fell in love with your rawness, your scars, and your real self. I want you to lose control.” Sirius rocks him and tightens his grip on his neck, and Remus closes his eyes, “I want to have you in the most Remus way. Your way. Just you. All of you.”

Remus inhales the scent of Sirius that is beginning to saturate around him, enveloping him in the haze of his soul and body. He feels lightheaded with the softest sensation of certain lips brushing his neck and jaw. A shiver runs down his body, and a whimper comes out of his mouth.

“Sirius, you…can’t…you are…please, no…” Because Sirius cannot understand this.

“Moony, it’s okay.” Lips still roaming dangerously at the back of his ear.

“No, it’s not!” Remus snaps, causing Sirius to flinch, and instantly he feels terrible. He immediately rests in hand back on Sirius’, “Please, don’t be disappointed in me…Merlin, I can’t hurt you, Sirius.” His free hand travels up to hold the other boy’s face which looks as gloomy as death, “I just love you too much for that…you can’t ask me to ruin you! You can’t ask me to fuck you like an animal! I know I’m not enough for you—“

“No! You are more than enough, Remus!” Sirius pleads with eyes that were at the brink of spilling tears.

“Sirius…” Remus sighs, not leaving his grip on Sirius’ hand. The silence fills them up again. His eyes wander around the dimly emitted dorm, then to the opened window where an almost full moon peeks out like a thundering reminder. Sirius looks down at their hands but stays quiet…pretty much tired. He looks exhausted. Remus shakes their hands for him to look up and he forces a smile on his tightly pressed lips.

“I’m not asking you to break me,” Sirius speaks lowly after a while, “I’m asking you to be yourself. Is that too much to ask?”

“Myself is not pretty to encounter, Sirius.”

“You think I need you to be pretty? You think I would want you fancy and sparkly? I don’t expect perfection from you because I know you have millions of flaws and imperfections, and fuck I fell in love with all of those! Call me sick or downright stupid, but it is the truth. You being a werewolf is something that the Marauders know, and that makes us feel honored and so so special to know that part of you. That you allowed us to know that part of yourself. Is it a beautiful part to you? No. But is it a beautiful part to me? Yes! I cannot disgust you because this was never in your hands. You were given this! Worse or best, but it is you. And I love you. I love that part of you. I’m so sorry that you got what no one would ever even wish upon their enemy, but that doesn’t make me want to hate that part of you. I love you whole.”

He reaches forward to put both of his hands on Remus’ face to wipe away the flooding tears, which is when Remus realizes that he is crying. The realization hits him like an iceberg and sobs erupt from him. Sirius wastes no time to quickly hold him against his chest as he keeps rubbing his back.

“Listen, you are not ready, and it’s okay my love,” Sirius brings in mouth closer to Remus’ ear, “I just want you to know that you don’t have to hold back your urges. You don’t have to hold back anything. I want to let you know completely and soundly that I’d do anything for you to make you feel yourself. This is what I feel about you. I hope you understand this, truly, but tell me if you still don’t I’ll try my best to open up more to you. But at the same time, open up to me, too. Be with me, for real.” He emphasizes each of his words, and Remus nods in his chest.

He pulls himself back to look at Sirius’s face. His hands trace his perfect face with careful eyes and he realizes that he fell in love with the real Sirius Black. He knows that his boyfriend has different images for other people which mainly rules by arrogance and reserved personality. However, with Remus, he is a totally different person, the happiest and calmest he has ever seen.

“I love you, too.” It comes out in a wavering voice, and Sirius smiles genuinely, “You already opened up to me, you, perfect git.” He nudges his elbow in his ribs, making him laugh, “You wouldn’t…care…if I…you know…”

“Lose control?” Sirius suggests with tenderness in his voice which causes Remus to shudder. He nods at him tentatively.

“No, Moony. My love for you will never lessen because of that. I want you this way. I want to see you this way. Your way. Just don’t hold back. I am here. Always will be.” He turns his face just a fraction to plant a kiss on Remus’ hand that was holding his face.

“Okay…okay…” He swallows and feels damp with cold sweating. His palms are sweating too against Sirius’ face but he brushes off the thought and braces himself to take that mask off. It feels like tearing down his skins. It is like more than being naked. He leans in and kisses him hesitantly but Sirius complies with firm lips and eager hands. And Remus relaxes, deepening the kiss. His head feels fuzzy, his fingers are altering to the warmth of Sirius’ bareback, and his legs are wrapping round his waist as if they are returning to the place they belong. He is melting in his body.

It doesn’t take long when the swooning is over, and the urge to get the upper hand on their intimate connection grows on Remus. His hands slide down from their intertwined hands to hold Sirius’ wrist. He uses his weight as leverage to push him on the bed, and dive in to kiss his neck. He also realizes that Sirius is loud as he groans and moans on the tiniest touches. Remus doubts that they will get through this. He gets on all fours with a flushed Sirius beneath him. He sees his face is glowing like pearls that speak nothing but reassurance.

“It’s okay, love. It’s alright, Moony.” He whispers and gets up to reach Remus’ mouth. When they share a languid kiss, Remus decides that it is going to be okay. It is going to be alright.

#wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar #wolfstarendgame #established wolfstar #wolfstar supremacy #wolfstar angst #wolfstar happy ending #hp marauders #marauders era #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #sirius black #werewolf remus #remus lupin #sirius loves remus #hogwarts #james potter #james x lily #lily evans #peter pettigrew #marlene mckinnon #wolfstar fluff

[heli0s-writes]

It Is Knowing*

HI THANKS FOR EVERYTHING. It’s been a wonderful ride. Here’s the last part of Bag of Tricks. It’s tender and smutty and stupid. All mistakes are my own.

Please stop reading if you are not over 18!

Bag of Tricks Masterlist

He’s terrified.

Suddenly he’s looking at you one way, and then in a flash, the same dumb grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of an ill joke— turns bright white.

It goes brilliant like star fire and during a storm inside a standard-issued cabin hideout, Bucky thinks he must be losing his mind.

And maybe he’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.

He hazards another glimpse.

“Help?” You ask from the table, angrily scratching out blocks of an attempted crossword puzzle.

Do it in pencil, he tried to warn earlier, but you only called him chickenshit because you’re—yep—annoying.  

“Foudre,” Bucky says carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. “It’s a… six-letter French word for thunder.” He clears his throat, gesturing toward the window splattered with rain.

“Oh-ho-ho,” you snort, “Smart boy, aren’t ya? FOO-DRUH.” An incredible bastardization of the term, and you sing around a chewed-up pen cap between your teeth. “My name’s Smart-Boy-Bucky and I know French, Russian, and Updog.”

“What the hell is Updog?”

Your face steels.

“Nothing much, how ‘bout you?”

And instead of going over there to kick your ass, all he can do is stare wordlessly as you break into a laugh—his entire body electric like a live wire.

-

He keeps telling himself there are only a few days before someone drops in to collect. He just needs a little bit of distance, some time alone to clear his head and get over this—thing.

But his brain feels like it’s melting while he waits, his stomach is probably developing an ulcer, and his heart is so fast and fierce that he can almost see the pulse in his sternum throbbing errantly.

Too many things are wrong. You’re his friend— and Bucky wants to throttle himself a little bit for ever letting you be his friend. You’re an unfiltered, oblivious dumbass and he doesn’t like that at all. You cry over animals and when he gets hurt because you’re an insufferable drama queen, too. He hates that. He does.

The sound of something enormous slamming on the ground makes him dash into the shared bedroom and—oh god, Bucky thinks he’s going to throw up.

First, the mattresses are on the floor.

Second, you’re. wearing. that. stupid. shirt.

The blue one. The one he used to love, hated for a bit, came back around to wearing, and now—yep, he officially hates it again.

“I think you’re too tall for the bunk.” You’re pushing the beds together, unaware of his clenched fists. “So if we sleep diagonally your feet won’t hang off—and can you believe it—” you point to the hem of cerulean brushing against your skin, “I packed three raincoats and no pajamas.”

At the sight of your creeping smile, Bucky loses it.

“Why are you going through my stuff?!” He shouts, gripping the doorframe with enough force to take the molding clear off. “Why are you touching my shit!?” And he probably sounds insane, flying off the handle like this, but he’s got a million grievances against you and this is just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mind your own fucking business!” He’s still unloading, unreasonably frantic at the sight of that terrible color hanging from your shoulders.

Bewildered, you plop down clumsily on your knees, gawking like a deer in the headlights.

Your bare legs, your fingertips on your thighs, the thin sleeves oversized and loose on your forearms, that smear of toothpaste on the collar, the hollow of your throat taut from holding your breath—it makes him want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you dizzy.

It makes him want to touch you. It makes him want you.

He’s sick. He’s dying. He’s so, so fucked.

“What…” Bucky quietly trails off, gasping helplessly as realization sinks in, “…what the hell is wrong with you...”

“Me?!” You shriek back, “What the hell is wrong with you? I’m over here worried about your crusty feet hanging off at night and you just swing in and take a dump on me?”

Bucky groans, miserable and guilty. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “Shit. I’m—I don’t know.”

“Eat my ass, dude!” you sneer, already tucked under the blankets. “I’m going to sleep. Turn off the fucking light you’re going to stand there looking like a dumbass.”

A feeble sigh as Bucky pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s glaring at the ceiling, listening to the patter on the roof.

“You’re the dumbass,” he whispers.

You’re the dumbass with the emotional regulation problem. The idiot with the temper. The head full of sawdust. But, if it only took three careless words from your blundering mouth to make Bucky fall entirely apart, you must be right after all. He is the dumbass.

He feels split open like the sky—torn up completely, unable to make out anything in his own turbulence.

Fuck.

The sheets shift until he hears them slide off. Then, a pattern of bare feet across hardwood. He must look disastrous in the doorway, bent out of shape in uncharacteristic disarray.

“What is going on with you?” You find his arm, fingers wrapping around his wrists, tugging until they peel off his wretched face. “Why are you so upset? I wear your clothes all the time; I’m always in your stuff.”

He chuckles defeatedly because you really are always in his space. Throwing yourself into in his room. Eating chips in his bed. Squirreling away in his brain. Everywhere. Always.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line, grimacing as he looks at you. Wordless and vulnerable, he can feel his brow sinking lower, throat narrowing around a swallow as he attempts to fix himself. A stutter falls out, then another, crackling syllables like surfacing thunder but never quite forming a sentence.

The earth groans, shaking the cabin and his precarious soul.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like—”

And then, under a streak of lightning, recognition splits across your face.

“Don’t,” he pleads to the silence, “Don’t say it.”

The seconds stretch into horrible eons of slow passing time. You tilt your head this way and that, eyes going from his face to his hands, limp at his side with your own fingers still grasping on.

“Jesus, Bucky,” you say gently, “You’re—my best friend.”

Bucky shuts his eyes. “I know. I’m not trying—"

“Bucky,” you interrupt, faster now. “Bucky,” suddenly elated and laughing. “Bucky—shut up.”

And then the entire room bursts into flames. Your lips are searing hot against his— plump and eager, leaving scorching trails everywhere they touch, and Bucky burns up like a solar flare trying to catch his breath.

“You’re an idiot,” you laugh, kissing him again. His cheeks, his jaw, his chin. “A real idiot.”

He’s terrified and dizzy, fumbling with a million possible outcomes and failing painfully each time. Relationships never quite work out for him; he’s dated a few girls and liked them a lot, too, but they’ve never turned out how he wanted them to. And this one—this one, he really can’t fuck up.

He’s got a bad track record, and with you, never knowing is much better than losing.

“Hey, you’re going crazy in there. I can hear it.” A sweet smile as your lips hover over his. The sweetest your face as ever looked. “Stop thinking, Bucky. Kiss me.”

Your lashes are so long and pretty. The dip of your cupid’s bow, a shape he adores. Even the tiny scar on your neck and the way your hair moves— wispy strands framing your face. Sounds of happiness tumbling out, hand firmly inside of his.

“It’s just me.” Joyful. Comfortable. “You know me.”

Your eyes glimmer—a familiar color calling him home.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, “Yeah, I do.”

Steve was the more competent linguist in their old days. Rolling French r’s, dropping ending consonants, silky smooth in pronunciation. Bucky’s tongue had always been more supplant to the Eastern European languages but, he knows enough of French—remembers enough from the war to recognize this:

Coup de foudre.

It’s the thing romantics exalt, the thing that half-strikes him now. The thunderbolt.

Love at first sight, even though it’s not quite first sight at all.

It’s not infatuated or starry-eyed. Not blind. Not feeling.

It is knowing.

And yeah, Bucky watches the way you pull him to the floor, euphoric and aglow, Jesus H. Christ, he knows.

This is it for him: your chaos, your entropy, your impulse. Your lack of personal space and foresight and good fucking sense. But—your kindness, too. Your care. Your heart.

Calm and patient as you settle down into his lap, the warm weight of you seems to be the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Can I touch you?” You ask shyly.

His voice is barely audible, hands unsure of where to rest, heart swollen in his throat.

Bucky flushes, and in the split second of your tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, he tells himself do it, you coward, just fucking do it—and god help him, he does.

He presses his face into your neck, kissing hungrily, anywhere he can, down to your collar and chest and then he’s lifting you up by the thighs and instinctively pulling everything off.

You’re both surprised and excited, blinking at his urgency, and then you start scrambling, too.

His shirt gets flung behind your back. Both pants disappear somewhere else. One hand goes into his hair, other guiding him between your legs where you smear all over his fingers.

Bucky stutters breathlessly like he might go into shock. “You’re all fucking— oh fuckin’ hell.”

You only arch into it, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger, kissing the bristles of his jaw. You’re soft and warm and he’s utterly overcome. Little noises fall from one mouth to another. An awkward shift and your thighs slip off his, head knocking into him, but neither of you are bothered.

He feels perfect in your hands. A silly grin blooms on your lips before you tip forward and glide yourself over his length, rubbing back and forth, hips moving easily.

His abs clench in time with his fists, wet fingers digging into his palms, bit-back groans barely contained. You keep going, marveling at the way he’s sensitive, kissing his neck, letting him feel good. Bucky begins to protest, embarrassed at the way you’re moving, at how he’s unquestionably powerless.

“S-slow—hold on—“

“Let me do it, Buck.” He’s so hard it hurts. “I wanna learn everything you like.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Bucky holds himself to calm down, other hand steadying your teasing. Nothing’s happened yet and he might already blow his whole fucking load.

“Okay—just—will you give me a second--"

Using the position you’re already in, he lifts you up and brings you back down, a bit at a time until you’re landing on his hand with a gasp. He uses his fist as a stopper, letting you have it slow, feeling you shudder from inside your goddamn bones with every further inch until he takes it away and you shimmy down to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back. And you look perfect.

“Was it good?” He blurts, “With Thor?”

He doesn’t know why it slips out; he never thinks about it, honest. It was a hook up. One time—and he’s not jealous like that because you’re all adults, and it’s not like he’s a virgin or an ascetic, either. You freeze, but he really is an idiot because instead of apologizing or rectifying that outburst, he cuts you off.

“I can give it to you better.”

Because Bucky wants to. He really does.

He presses onward before you can respond, taking hold of what little courage he has, making you whimper, feeling prouder as he goes. Another one and you’re meeting him with a roll of your own hips. Another one, harder now, and you’re shaking on top, tipping him backward into the cushions, grinding recklessly with that exhilaration he adores.

“Bucky, you feel amazing.” Tongue-tied like a schoolboy, he’s keening after your words. “Can I have you all the time?” And Jesus wept who knew you could talk so sweet and filthy.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Bucky promises, his jaw hanging open in awe, “I’m yours. You can have me as much as you want— anytime.”

You bite your lip, skin of it pulled taut and snapping back bruised, light-headed and reeling. Glistening across your collarbones with his spit, body trembling like a high note. He feels it— just a little more— god, you look incredible— he’s gotta hold out for this— and then—fuck. 

It’s wet and divine when you come. Slick and tight, dragging him under as you ride out your orgasm, pulling him in like he belongs in you forever.

And he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Bucky could die happy seeing your face like this every day.

-

It’s rougher in the morning. In the shower, soaking together. Faster.

On the couch, next. With him asking you to put your hand here, move your leg there.

He wants to learn everything you like, too.

You eagerly change positions, giggling when your knee slips and you pitch forward onto his chest. The two of you take a moment to compose yourselves, pinching each other, kissing in-between. He commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you. The way everything moves easy and wonderful, sometimes lazy, sometimes harried, but always fun.

Yelping when you bite too hard. Biting you back even harder. Positions neither of you have surprisingly tried before, but why not start?

Cursing. So much cursing. A lot of it good—fuck me, yes, more, don’t stop—but truthfully, most of it stays about the same.

Barnes, you got a juicy ass.

Will you shut up!

And he never thought a person was supposed to laugh so hard during sex, or if maybe that’s just your own brand of love, but he doesn’t want to find out with anyone else.

It’s the fifth time, and Bucky’s dick is about to fall off—how are you still doing this—just a few thrusts in when the banging on the front door frightens the both of you into your clothes.

Sam swings it open and Bucky is desperately tucking himself into his pants before—please, no.

“It smells like ass in here!” Sam hollers, “The hell have you two been—oh my god.”

“Shut up, Sam!” You respond from the corner of the room, head ripping through the neck hole of a sweater, legs wiggling into a pair shorts. Bucky is still shirtless, hoping he might spontaneously combust.

“Oh my god,” Sam whispers again, “Oh… my god.” He sputters on the verge of either eruption or death.

“You freaky little—” he hisses, before screaming, “Oh hell no! I’m here picking y’all asses up. Landed the damn jet like two miles away, walked my happy ass through the rain— you butt-ass-naked in here—” He stands ram-rod straight, hands on his hips angrily. “I’m tellin’ on y’all.”

“Telling on?! What are you, five!? You’re so annoying, Sam!”

“Annoying? What’s annoying is—I’m wet! And well— you wet too, huh?”

“I hate you.”

Sam snickers, high-fiving himself before crossing his arms, “Really though, believe me when I say this for everybody who’s ever met you two: finally. Now get y’all freaky asses outside so I can go home and drink myself into forgetting I ever saw Barnes’ dick.”

You pat him on the shoulder, “It’s nice, huh?”

Sam dry-heaves, “Uh-uh. That’s enough. Go wash your damn hands.”

A few minutes later, Bucky locks the door to a now silent cabin, damp with sweat and the smell of earth. It’s torrential still, two days bucketing and the ground is so wet mud goes up to his ankles. Luckily, and he wants to laugh at that, you packed two extra raincoats.

Thunderclaps shake the very ground he stands on. Bucky turns to look at you, marveling when electricity bounces off your eyes, lighting up your face. He reaches over.

A squeeze to your hand that says I’m yours.

One more, tighter. I love you.

You slot your fingers between his. I know.

You smile at the next streak in the sky. Me too.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction #mcu

[mintaka14]

This is chapter 2 of my Dash & Lily inspired ML AU.

For the Lady’s Favour

A Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction

By Mintaka14

 Chapter Two – Complicated Plans

 “Delivery order,” Luka’s boss said laconically, and pushed a takeaway cup and a slip of paper across the counter towards Luka.

Delivery orders weren’t uncommon, but the address on the slip was, and Luka’s eyebrow climbed as he read it. His boss just shrugged.

“The customer paid extra for this one, so you’d better get going.”

At least it was a nice day to be making a delivery to the Trocadéro, and Luka headed out into the streets towards the gardens.

There were plenty of people clustered around the first bench from the northern entrance of the park, and the second, but there was only one at the third bench. He could see pigtails, and a girl bent over the sketchbook in her lap. As he got closer, he caught a glimpse of an assortment of clothing, notes and scribbles and odd sketches around the edges.

“Delivery for the lady at the third bench?” he called out, and his attention was caught by the figure she seemed to be working on. Was that… Jagged Stone? This girl had good taste in music, clearly, and the coat she’d sketched on him looked amazing.

“Hey, that’s really –“ The girl looked up, and Luka completely lost his train of thought as he found himself staring into endlessly blue eyes. Holy shit.

“Is that my coffee?” she asked with a tentative smile, and Luka jerked back to attention. He looked down at the chocolate and fluff with extra everything and all the froufrou his boss had been able to jam into one cup.

“Not exactly.”

The girl’s eyes fell on the cup in his hands, and she let out a soft breath.

“I guess he has a sweet tooth,” she said, and he handed her the cup, trying not to react to the brush of her fingers.

“You didn’t see who placed the order?” she asked a little wistfully. “It- it wasn’t you, was it?”

“Me?” Luka was still reeling under the impact of those blue, blue eyes. “Right now, I wish it had been.”

He nodded at the cup of chocolate and marshmallow fluff in her hands. “Although I’m more of a coffee guy.”

She lit up in a smile, and any semblance of rational thought that Luka had left was gone. Damn, she was just too gorgeous.

“Me too, to be honest. I wouldn’t get half the things I need to do done without a regular caffeine hit. Are you a night owl too?”

“Too often, yeah. It kind of comes with the territory.”

She raised an eyebrow at that, and he found himself talking more.

“I play in a couple of bands, and I’d keep falling asleep over my guitar in the middle of a gig without coffee to keep me going.”

“You’re a musician?”

He grinned and ducked his head in acknowledgement. “What about you? What keeps you up at night?”

It was only after he’d said it that he realised how that could have sounded, but the girl didn’t seem to notice.

“Design and sewing.” She let out a faint huff. “The middle of the night always seems to be about the only time I can focus on my projects without something interrupting me, so… coffee.” She pulled a face at the mountain of fluffy chocolate in her hand, and then seemed to realise that they were still standing in the middle of the park. She backed up a reluctant step. “I should – I should stop holding you up. You probably need to get back to work, and here I’m – Sorry. Thanks for bringing me the hot chocolate.”

“You can hold me up any time,” he sighed, but only when she was out of hearing. He turned and headed back towards the coffee shop, but he came to an abrupt stop at the sound of running footsteps and the touch of a hand on his arm.

“Sorry, sorry!” the girl gasped. She held out a raspberry red macaron wrapped in cellophane and ribbon. It was a work of art. “I nearly forgot. Could you give this to the person who ordered the hot chocolate for me?”

“It looks like a ladybug,” he said stupidly, and she blushed again. “No, it’s cute. Lucky.”

“I could use a bit of luck,” she muttered, then she met his eyes and her smile grew brighter. “It was really nice to meet you, Luka. Thanks for my sugar rush.”

Luka’s malfunctioning brain caught on that. “You know my name?”

And the girl’s face flamed into embarrassment. “I don’t… you… the thing…” She gave up and nodded at his chest, and the name tag that was still there.

Ah. Of course.

“I’m Ma-ma-marinette,” she offered, tripping over her own name.

“Pretty name. It suits you.” Judging from the way her cheeks burned even brighter, his tone had been a little more heartfelt than he’d intended, and, reluctantly, he backed up a step. “Guess I’d better get back before my boss notices I’m missing and decides to fire me.”

The smile she gave him almost knocked him on his ass, and he turned away before he could make even more of an idiot of himself. There was something niggling at the back of his mind, though.

Luka stopped and turned back.

“Marinette,” he said. “Wait, do you know Juleka Couffaine?”

“We were in the same class for a few years,” Marinette admitted. “We hang out sometimes.”

“You’re Marinette! I heard all about you from Jules after that thing with the school photo.” He could have kissed her for what she’d done for his baby sister’s self-confidence, and if half the things he’d heard from Juleka were true, this girl was every bit as incredible as he’d just been imagining. He realised he was beaming at her like a fool, and tried to dial it back a bit.

“Nothing too bad, I hope,” she said, sounding a little alarmed, and he felt his smile soften.

“Nothing bad at all.”

When he finally got back to the coffee shop, Luka had barely had time to slide behind the counter and sling an apron around his waist again before the door swung open with an enthusiastic peal of the bell. He looked up to find Adrien Agreste heading towards the counter with an expression of barely concealed nervous anticipation on his famous features.

Luka gave him an easy smile, but before he could ask what the model wanted, Adrien had blurted out, “Did she like it? Did… were you the one who delivered the hot chocolate for me? Was she there?”

So Marinette’s mystery hot chocolate was Paris’ beloved poster boy.

Luka silently handed him the macaron that Marinette had asked him to deliver, and watched the model’s face light up like Christmas had come early.

~~~~~

Marinette was not surprised when Alya burst into her bedroom without so much as a greeting.

“So?” Alya said impatiently. “How did it go?”

“He sent me hot chocolate. I think I’m still in sugar shock, Alya, but the boy who delivered it was so funny and sweet about it –“

“Never mind the delivery guy,” Alya cut her off. “Your mystery guy came through! You had your first date with him… feel free to tell me I’m a genius any time now. This is a good start. The whole idea is for you to get to know each other before you meet, so you need to write to him and get him to do something to show he’s serious here.”

“Like what?”

Alya shrugged. “You’re the one with the plans. You just have to come up with something you can get him to do that doesn’t involve you meeting face to face, something he can do to win your favour.”

“Yes, but it’s not like I can ask him to fight a duel for my honour or something…” Marinette trailed off. “Fight,” she repeated thoughtfully.

“I know that look,” Alya nudged her shoulder. “That’s a plan happening, isn’t it?”

Marinette grabbed a sheet of notepaper from her desk, and her favourite pen.

“Ultimate Mecha Strike,” she announced.

“What?”

“An online challenge. It’s perfect. We don’t have to meet in person, but we can play each other online and find out a bit more about each other.”

Alya was looking as if she wasn’t sure if it was a bad idea or brilliant.

“What if he doesn’t play UMS?”

“Then I can teach him.”

“And what if he doesn’t like getting whomped?” Alya asked sceptically. She was very familiar with Marinette’s playing style, and Marinette made a face, still concentrating on the note she was writing.

“Then it’s better to find out now that he’s a sore loser, before I get too attached.”

Marinette read over the note, and folded it, presenting it to Alya with a flourish. Alya grinned, and tucked it into her bag.

“Right,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let’s see if he’ll fight for your hand. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Once Alya had clattered down the steps again, Marinette buried her face in her pillow and screamed quietly. This was a bad, bad idea.

~~~~~

Luka was wiping down the counter when the bell chimed over the door, and he paused as Alya came in. It wasn’t unusual to see her in the café, but it was unusual to see her there without Nino or their friends. He watched curiously as she sidled almost furtively towards the noticeboard and tacked something up between the band posters and lost and found notices.

“What are you up to?” Luka asked, and Alya leaped, her hand going to her chest as she spun around.

“Jeez! You startled me.”

Luka tipped his head at the envelope she’d just pinned up. “I saw you the other day, when you put that letter on the board, and now this one. What’s that all about?”

“Aren’t we allowed to use the public noticeboard?” Alya asked, her hands going to her hips and a defensive note in her voice.

“And that hot chocolate delivery the other day?”

Alya huffed in response, but Luka just kept watching her with a look of mild interest, until she said, “It’s just like this game. Sort of. Like a blind date, without actually knowing who you’re dating.”

Luka’s eyebrow climbed.

“Look, we have these friends who’d be perfect for each other, but she can’t talk to him, and he’s completely clueless, so we’re trying to set them up.”

“Right,” Luka said slowly. “Does Marinette know about this?”

“Well, she doesn’t know who it is,” Alya muttered. “But she’s had this huge crush on Adrien for ages. We’re just getting them to set each other challenges, doing stuff like that coffee delivery, or… I don’t know, looking for a painting at the Louvre, something like that. Like dates, where they don’t actually meet.” Alya gave a sudden grin. “It’s going to be so hilarious when they finally work out who they’re writing to.”

“Is this some kind of practical joke?” he asked flatly, his heart sinking a little for Marinette’s sake, but Alya’s angry reaction was somewhat reassuring.

“Like I’d do that to my girl!” she said indignantly. “This is just… a creative way to help her get past some stuff. You met Marinette, so you know how she trips all over herself and stutters?”

She’d certainly stumbled over their names when she’d gotten flustered, but Marinette had been perfectly coherent through most of their conversation. Alya must have taken Luka’s expression as agreement, though, because she barrelled on.

“Well, imagine that, but like a million times worse. Girl just cannot string a sentence together around a guy she likes. And Adrien, well, he’s great with knowing what to say to his fans, and being polite to other models and his father’s business contacts, but not so good with,” Alya gestured vaguely, “normal stuff. He’s never really noticed Marinette like that, because he’s not real good with subtle, but he buys into that whole romantic movie, big gesture, winning the lady thing.”

“And that’s where this comes in?” Luka asked drily, nodding at the letter pinned to the board.

“Exactly!” Alya smacked her hands on the counter. “It’s like something out of one of those old movies. We get Adrien’s attention with the whole romantic mystery thing, and in the meantime, they can get to know each other. Marinette can talk to Adrien, because she doesn’t have to actually talk to him and she doesn’t know it’s him anyway, and Adrien can get to see how amazing my girl really is.”

“This seems like a very complicated way of doing things,” he pointed out as neutrally as possible, but Alya waved away the observation with a flip of her hand.

“You don’t know Marinette. Everything tends to be complicated with her.”

“If Marinette can’t actually talk to him in person, maybe he’s not the right one for her.”

“Oh, please! She’s been in love with him forever. Love makes you do stupid things, and she just needs a bit of a push in the right direction. I know Marinette.” Alya narrowed her eyes at him. “And what’s it got to do with you anyway?”

Luka just shook his head, not trusting himself to respond. He was honest enough with himself to admit that the pang of disappointment he’d felt when he found out that Marinette was interested in someone else might have had something to do with his judgement here, but even so, this had all the makings of a trainwreck of epic proportions. He didn’t, however, need Alya’s measuring gaze to know that it was none of his business, not if Marinette wanted this.

He shrugged, and turned away to straighten the coffee cups.

“It’s nothing to do with me,” he told her, and the note stayed pinned to the board until Adrien came in again some time later to collect it. And if Luka’s heart sank a little at the eager expression on Adrien’s face, and the thought that maybe this ridiculous plan might actually work, then he kept that to himself.

#lukanette #pro lukamari #endgame lukanette #dash & lily #shenanigans #for the lady's favour

[sabraeal]

Provocateur, Prologue

[Read on AO3]

Written for @krispy-kream in honor of her birthday. Many years ago, back when I first joined fandom, I came up with the idea for an Obi Works For Izana AU, and both Sharon and I ended up writing small pieces of a much larger whole. And now FINALLY...I’m actually writing the very beginning 🤣

When it comes down to it, in terms of area and amenities, the royal dungeons has some of his last few flats beats.

There’s light, for one. He’s never liked basement apartments-- he’d take a stifling attic room over a place with only one exit any day-- but the windows here are high up on the wall, enough that he can watch the sun paint his cell floor as the hours pass. They’re ground level, at least by the foot traffic outside of ‘em, and with how loud these guards gossip, he’ll know whose girlfriends are pregnant and who’s nursing a nasty boil by shift change. Just like sitting in a tavern for a few hours, only with less ale.

There’s a cot too, straw-stuffed and a little too soft, with a blanket that doesn’t even itch. Seems like it might be warm too, for when the nights get cold. Not that he has an intention of testing out that particular hunch.

The guard down the hall is decent in the way authority figures never are; when he calls out to ask where his piss bucket is, the man-- boy? It’s hard to tell beneath those helmets-- ushers him down a hall to a water closet, and when he pops out, reminds him to take care to wash his hands. He’s prompt about mealtime too; when supper comes, the man says to expect three square and leaves him with with a dinner that would put most publicans to shame.

All in all, this isn’t the worst trouble he’s gotten himself into. Worlds better than that stint he’d had in Eurikenna’s gaol. Or that night in Port City.

Still, he’s got no plans to linger. No point in sticking around for a punishment when he's got no interest in redemption. But he’s got a prince to wait for.

Oh, His Highness might say he’s above getting his hands dirty, might look down that noble nose at a man like him who makes his living in trade, but he’d seen his look. Not the first, when his little mistress was watching, all puffed cheeks and disapproving brow, but the second, that glance over his shoulder as the Big Man frogmarched a dirty rat down into the dungeons.

That one was a man who had found the right tool for the job. Hands don’t stay clean without gloves to cover them, especially if they mean to hold a mistress who collects trouble like some ladies collect hairpins. If he wants to keep his side piece quiet, it’s only a matter of time before he’ll have to make a statement. And nothing says don’t touch what’s mine like a few accidents. All he has to do is wait out a royal conscience.

The light fades as he waits, just the last stretch of dusky light yawning on the sill. It’s almost time for all good little princes to be in bed, but this one-- this one will be working instead. The hand that grabbed him had been stained with ink and calluses both; the kind of man who longed for action but was stuck behind a desk. He’ll be up late, managing men and supplies miles away on paper, but in his head--

Oh, in his head, he’ll be thinking about the man he’s left to rot in the dungeons. The one that might be just the right fit for what he needs, for the jobs he can’t give that giant or the pretty girl at his side. It’s the sort of idea that’ll eat at him when the lamps are low and the night is quiet, and oh, how a conscience can gnaw when there’s no more work to feed it. There’s a reason he’s never idle. Not usually, at least.

He casts a long glance down the silent hall; the guard sits at his table, log book spread in front of him, another smaller one laid atop. A novel, by the slack-jawed look that’s slapped across his face. In Eurikenna, his reputation had preceded him, and they’d bound him hand and foot, bolting his wrists to the wall and his feet to the bench. Viande had put him in a cell with a single window and stone on all sides, his only escape leading into a moat rumored to be prowled by sharks.

Here he has a single guard and bars he could probably squeeze through if he skipped a meal or two. It’s insulting to be so underestimated-- or it would be, if he wasn’t already planning to stay. He’s paid out his room at the inn for a week; a few days to enjoy the impeccable food and passable mattress he’s got here won’t hurt-- just as long as he makes it back before the innkeep tosses all his worldly goods in the gutter. And if he does need to make a quick escape--

Well, it’s hardly the first time he’s slipped the noose. But it won’t come to that. Younger Highness is on the hook.

The door to the dungeon clanks open; it’s a softer sound, barely loud enough for him to hear, but he hasn’t made a name for himself by being the sort of person who only hears what he ought. The guard’s gone-- book too-- and his hand itches to have something that ends with a point in it. He should have known, this was all too easy.

A shrouded figure sweeps through the threshold, prowling with the easy confidence only men born to power possessed-- or a professional. His hands flexed, too empty. He’s a loose end, an embarrassing stain on a proud man’s reputation, and there’s only one thing to do with that-- rub it out.

“You’re not the prince,” he says, keeping his voice even, maybe a bit petulant. Boldness wins a bluff; all he needs is time. Just a second, a hesitation--

Which he gets; the figure’s boots scuffing to a stop. Its head cocks, curious. “Is that so?”

It’s a man’s voice, higher than he expects, but resonant. The sort that people listen to when they’re not looking for a way out. The sort that won’t care for a man turning his back on it.

“You’re too tall.” He saunters to his cot, the mattress sinking under his weight. Not quite the attitude he’d been hoping for, but close enough. Gives him enough time to realize his cloaked friend isn’t talking-- no, instead he catches the barest tremble of cloth before a gloved hand tugs it smooth.

“How...astute,” the man hums, a strange lift kicking that first vowel before he smooths that out too. Everything about this man is slick, from the shine of his boots to the way he says, “That must be the observational skills that tempted even the marquis to hire you.”

His grin flicks into a grimace, but habit wipes that all clean before he says, “I wasn’t hired by anyone. Just wanted to...advertise my skills. In case anyone with a fat wallet found themselves needing a problem taken care of.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “And this girl seemed like a likely target?”

“A commoner nosing around a prince?” A laugh huffs out of him. “What about that isn’t a problem? At least when it’s a lady, she doesn’t have pockets that need filling, but some little herbalist girl? There’s a long way between lady slippers and slippers for a lady. And not everyone wants to kiss hems to get a mistress in their pocket.”

Not when it’s just as like to be covered in mud. If there’s one thing he’s learned about these bluebloods, it’s that they only suck up, not down.

The shroud shifts, arms folding across a chest too slender to be called broad, and shoulders too wide to be scrawny. Lithe, perhaps, the perfect size to slip through a man’s guard.

“The job is over, you know.” Boot heels clack as the man draws closer, just enough to see a defined chin beneath the shadows of his hood. “There’s no need for all this cloak and dagger. Haruka has already confessed to the crown that he was the one to hire you.”

His fingers flex behind his head, longing for something besides bristle to cross his palms. “Don’t know why he’s going through all the trouble. I don’t know him.”

This isn’t his first interrogation, but it’s certainly the slowest. The man stands silently outside the bars, a single finger lying along his diamond-cut jawline. No questions, no speculation, just a shadow staring out of a hood, observing. This must be what it’s like to be boiled alive; put in the pot when it’s barely a simmer, the heat raising so gradually that it’s not until his chest is near bursting to speak, to fill the silence, that he knows he’s been cooked.

“What would you have done?” the man says, finally. “If you had your way with the girl.”

The girl who, in the face of danger, tore an arrow from the wall rather than run. “Nothing permanent.”

What little he can see of the shroud’s mouth curves. “How very vague. So many unpleasant things only take a moment.”

“The job was to scare her off,” he admits, wondering why his belly quivered in his gut. There’s bars between them, and his hands are faster than any nob’s, no matter how good the costume. But still, his muscles lay coiled against his bones, ready to strike. “Seduce her, if she seemed...amenable. Bribe her if she didn’t.”

“And what then?” It’s a quicker response than he expects, but the man isn’t agitated-- far from it, he’s never seemed calmer. “If the girl proved impervious to your more...gentle measures.”

There’s a question in that, one the shroud won’t voice. But he hears it, loud in his ears as a bell’s gong.

“I’ve killed before,” he says, each word on thin ice. “And I still sleep at night.” Barely. “I could have done it again.”

“But would you?”

For once, he hesitates. Imagines looking into those bright eyes, the ones that flamed so fiercely in defiance, and with the flick of a wrist, snuffing them out.

“It’d be a waste.” His hands tremble where they cradle his head, a command he hasn’t given them. This is the last thing he needs right now, losing control. “That girl’s got a lot of pluck. And if rumors around the pharmacy are right, a lot of brains too. Besides, bodies make more talk than bribes.”

“That they do.” There’s a lilt to those words, almost amused. “You know, you called it a job. Implying that you received compensation for your services.”

It’s a sting to realize he’s slipped. “Doesn’t mean it was the marquis.”

“It certainly doesn’t,” the man agrees, and if this room weren’t so dark, if this conversation wasn’t so serious-- well, he’d be tempted to say this guy is laughing at him. “Do you have a name?”

He turns to him real slow-like, one utterly dubious brow arched toward the guard’s register. “You want me to believe you can’t read?”

That shadow of a mouth lifts again. “Am I to believe a man of your skill gave your birth name to the royal guard?”

His mouth cocks into a grin. “You must if you think I’m gonna give it to you.”

The man comes closer still, one gloved hand wrapping around his bars. He’s visible to the tip of his nose; a long, patrician one.

“Of course. But you must have something you would like to be called.” His lips-- bowed, the most fashionable in Clarines’ court-- twitch toward a smile, but fall perilously short. “An alias, if you will.”

“Obi.” It’s too short, too quick, but already he likes it. It’s a more playful name than he’s had in a long while. Easy to lose, too, if he needs it.

“Well then, Obi.” His arm rests over one of the cross bars of his cell. “I believe I have a proposition for you.”

“Haah.” He hops to his feet, hoping to seize the high ground. “I appreciate the interest, but I’m already waiting on an offer.”

To say the hood recoiled would be an overstatement, it merely pulls back, barely more than an inch. “An offer?”

“Well, maybe more like...I have prospects.” Obi restrains his grin to little more than a twitch. “I just gotta see if they’ll pan out.”

The hood stills, thoughtful. “What if I could guarantee you a better offer?”

“You couldn’t.”

The man hums, amusement changing his pitch. “I quite sure I could.”

“Nah.” Obi shakes his head, almost wishing it weren’t so. This guy seems like he could be real fun, if he got his hands on his reins. “I don’t think so.”

“Please.” He opens a hand; an invitation. “Try me.”

“Fine.” There’s nothing to lose by telling, besides some face, if he’s wrong. Which Obi knows he’s not. “I got a feeling the next guy through that door’ll be His Highness.”

The man rocks back, like he’s been hit. “Zen? You think...?”

Obi expects some bargaining, some disbelief, maybe even some haggling, but--

He does not expect the laugh.

“Oh,” the man coughs, lifting a hand as if he might wipe tears from his eyes. “I promise you, I can give you a...far more attractive offer.”

Now that’s a rich one. “What could be better than a second prince?”

The man’s hand raises past his eyes, right to the edge of his hood. With the barest flick of his fingers, the cloth falls back, baring bright gold and Wisteria blue.

“Why,” drawls His Highness Izana Wisteria, crown prince, soon to be first of his name, “the first.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obi works for izana au #my fic #ans #listen it's obiyuki as a WHOLE but in this chapter there's just little hints #but truly this is just our excuse to have: #1) obi work with the smartest man in the manga and have his whole skill set utilized #2) enemies to friends to lovers #also torturing zen and obi with the friendship that could have been #that too #you know how it is

[seanfalco]

Want | Priest!Kay x Reader {Part I}

Fandom: Season of the Witch Modern!AU Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None yet, other than maybe some sacrilege? (I’m not Catholic and I know this is probably not going to be everyone’s cup of tea) but there will be smut in later parts.

a/n: I got this prompt (below) & at first wasn’t sure what to do for it, until @midnightseance inspired the idea & @immortalled encouraged me to go for it lol. Thank you two for being my sounding boards 💛

Prompt: Initially I wasn’t gonna request anything because I... didn’t really have anything in mind but then I had a brain blast. I request you writing something you’ve really wanted to write but maybe have talked yourself out of. Like something you thought no one would want- like this is your sign this is your signal. I want to read it! Watching you write something your heart is fully in is one of my favorite things i’ve seen since following you. It doesn’t matter what it is I want to see it!!

Requested by: Anonymous

masterlist

You’d always thought Catholic churches were gorgeous — the architecture, the sculptures, the stained glass windows — so why did you feel this gut churning sense of dread at the sight as you approached.

“You sure I’m not gunna burst into flame as soon as we cross the threshold, like in some sort of horror movie?” you leaned in to whisper in your fiance’s ear and he scoffed.

“If that actually happened in real life, then I probably would’ve spontaneously combusted years ago,” he answered wryly, his eyes flicking to his parents on his other side.

“Right,” you muttered, taking a deep breath as you passed through the large double doors with the rest of the parishioners.

The inside was just as beautiful as the outside and you gaped at the sprawling windows, glittering colourfully as the sun hit them just right, while trying not to think about how anxious you felt. As you filed into the pew with your fiance and his parents, you could feel eyes on you from all sides as people whispered under their breath.

“Is that Matthew’s fiance? She looks rather plainer than I’d expected.”

“Is it true they’re having the ceremony here? She’s not even Catholic.”

“Well, she must be converting.”

Sinking down in the pew, you felt very out of place, and it was obvious to those around you that you were an outsider. You’d never been to a Catholic Mass before, much less any church service, really, and truth be told you weren’t really sure if you even believed or not, but this was what your fiance’s family wanted, though you knew he didn’t really care either way.

Matthew wasn’t exactly what you’d call a good Catholic boy — you’d definitely performed several cardinal sins with him already: sex before marriage, masturbation, use of contraceptives, the list goes on. But either way it wasn’t like you had much of a choice in the matter, you were joining the Catholic Church for better or for worse.

Soon the service began and you listened quietly, trying to pay attention, but amidst all the standing, sitting, and kneeling, you were getting dizzy trying to remember it all, and you tried to follow your fiance’s lead, but you were always a beat behind the rest, feeling more self conscious by the minute.

What are you doing here? you asked yourself for about the tenth time, grimacing as you quickly sat once more, glancing around hastily. It was obvious you didn’t belong, and your fiance didn’t even seem to care. In fact, he didn’t seem to be paying attention at all.

And that was when you saw him, quite possibly the last person you had expected to see.

Stepping up to the pulpit, he was dressed in black robes and a white collar, but you’d recognize him anywhere -- those wild curls, kind eyes, and breathtaking smile.

Kay.

Your Kay— no, not anymore. He’d gone to seminary school and you were marrying someone else, remember?

He was older now, and even from where you sat you could see the faint lines creasing his face, but he was still as gorgeous as you remembered him and your heart constricted for a moment as memories assailed you, overwhelming you — of awkward fumblings in the back of your car, of stumbled “I love you’s” for the first time, of —

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

Matthew’s voice in your ear snapped you out of your thoughts and you weren’t sure if you were grateful or annoyed.

“Huh? What do you mean?” you replied, trying to compose yourself, though you still felt like you couldn’t quite catch your breath.

“You went white as a sheet,” Matthew answered with a frown and you shook your head, your eyes returning to Kay.

“Is that your Priest?” you asked instead and your fiance glanced at you curiously.

“Yeah, he’s pretty new though, why?”

“He’s uhm, he’s just so… so young,” you whispered, stumbling over your words. “I thought priests were usually supposed to be, you know… old?”

Matthew snorted softly. “Don’t tell me you have the hots for him too.”

“What?” you hissed, glancing past him to see if his parents had overheard; they hadn’t seemed to and Matthew merely looked amused.

“Oh yeah, he’s rather popular with the other church girls, but I can’t see it,” he scoffed and your lips twitched angrily.

“I dunno, I can see the appeal,” you murmured under your breath. “I think he’s rather handsome.”

Your fiance rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever,” he mumbled and you ignored him, turning back to the front. For a moment Kay’s gaze seemed to pass over you and he froze, his words dying on his tongue as he faltered, his eyes going wide with shock, and he hastily cleared his throat, unable to look away.

Smiling uncertainly, you met his gaze and his reaction seemed to answer the unvoiced question that had been plaguing you since he’d stepped up to the pulpit.

Clearly, he remembered you.

What were the odds that he’d be the priest here, you thought, settling back in your seat. It seemed like some sort of cruel cosmic joke, taunting you. Or maybe it’s a sign? a little voice in the back of your head whispered. Maybe, you agreed hesitantly… if you believed in that sort of thing.

——

The rest of the sermon seemed to go by much quicker, though every time Kay’s eyes passed over you he seemed to tense slightly, while your knotted stomach would give a flutter, too lost in memories you hadn’t thought of in years to remember much of the message.

So when your fiance’s mom asked you what you thought of the homily, you had to lie through your teeth, sorry God, and hope she didn’t question you further.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really paying attention either,” Matthew muttered as you filed out of the sanctuary after his parents and turned down a side hall toward the Parish office.

Shit, you thought frantically, you’d almost forgotten you were to meet with the Priest after Mass to speak about converting and beginning that process. Which meant you’d be meeting with Kay. Great.

“Ah, Father, there you are, lovely sermon,” Matthew’s mother exclaimed and you gave a start, your heart leaping into your throat as you turned to find Kay approaching.

Cool it, [y/n], you told yourself, trying to calm your pounding heart. How many years has it been? Besides, you’re getting married and he’s a fucking priest for Christ’s sake —shit, sorry, God. He chose this life over you, remember that.

“Father, this is our soon to be daughter-in-law, [y/n].”

Shit, you were being introduced, say something, [y/n].

Luckily, before you could decide whether to pretend you’d never met before or explain that you already knew each other, Kay was reaching out to shake your hand, and wordlessly you slipped your hand in his.

“How do you do?” he murmured, holding onto you a beat longer than was proper, but you didn’t exactly want to let go either.

“Good, I’m good,” you managed to stammer, his smile still doing things to your pulse.

“So, uhm, shall we step into my office?” he asked, finally letting go of your hand, almost seeming to have forgotten he was still holding it.

“Actually, we’ll be on our way. She’s in your hands now, Father,” your future in-laws exclaimed, and you waved as they exchanged a few more pleasantries before making their exit.

“Do I need to be part of this meeting too?” Matthew asked suddenly, as soon as his parents had gone and you turned to frown at him, sharp suspicion filling you, but you kept your mouth shut and swallowed it, not wanting to cause a scene in front of Kay.

“I… I suppose not,” Kay answered hesitantly, and a look of relief flashed across your fiance’s face.

“Sorry to run. I’ll see you later, hun,” he exclaimed, planting a distracted kiss to the top of your head before striding away, already pulling his phone from his pocket and you scowled after him.

“Sure, make me go through all this for you and then don’t even stick around,” you muttered under your breath as you watched him go.

“Er… shall we?” Kay prompted, holding his office door open and you gave a small jolt, shaking yourself out of your thoughts to enter the dark room, Kay reaching for the light switch as he followed.

“Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing to the set of chairs facing his desk before hanging up his robes and taking a seat as well, facing you. “[y/n],” he exclaimed, familiarity leeching into his voice now that you were alone. “To say I’m surprised to see you here would be a bit of an understatement.”

“That makes two of us,” you replied, looking around his office.

“It’s been so long,” he murmured, gazing down at his hands, “you look so —it’s uh, it’s good to see you,” he said, cutting himself off and you desperately wished you knew what he had been going to say instead.

“You look good,” you replied, offering him a hesitant smile, your eyes flicking over him. “Am I supposed to call you Father, or--? Because, I’ll be honest, that’s kinda weird,” you admitted, and Kay grimaced slightly.

“I mean technically you’re supposed to, but…” he paused to clear his throat, “—I agree, it is a little … strange,” he admitted as well and you were glad to see he hadn’t changed too much.

“Right? It’s too close to calling you ‘daddy’,” you muttered, realizing too late what you’d just said, feeling your face heat with embarrassment, as across from you, Kay had turned nearly as red as you felt, and he quickly cleared his throat, hooking his finger under his collar in discomfort.

“Let’s uhm, let’s talk about what you’ll need to do to join the Church,” he said, quickly changing the subject and you heaved a breath, thankful to ignore that awkwardness.

“Right, yeah,” you agreed. “So, what exactly do I have to do?”

Composing himself, Kay folded his hands atop his desk. “Well, usually new converts wishing to become baptized in the Catholic Church have to attend a series of classes for nearly a year—“

“A year?” you yelped, cutting him off, your eyes widening at the thought.

“—But,” Kay continued wryly, “we usually make exceptions for those marrying into the Church, letting them join on a more condensed timeline, opting for uh...private lessons,” he explained, his voice constricting at the word private.

“So… you’re saying I’ll be taking one on one lessons... with you?” you asked, chewing the inside of your lip. This sounds like a bad idea.

You were already painfully aware of the fact that you’d never truly gotten over your feelings for Kay and now you’d be spending one on one time with him on a weekly basis, all the while knowing it was only so you could enter into a marriage you didn’t truly want. Already your heart was racing and your mind was reeling with memories all clamoring for your attention.

You didn’t know if you could do this. If you should do this.

But part of you wanted to, if only to be close to him again.

“Will that… be a problem?” Kay asked slowly, as if he had to force the words out.

“No,” you answered quickly, “no, that sounds good.”

Liar.

“Are-are you sure? I mean, with our, ahh… history, I wouldn’t want —“

“I don’t want anyone else.”

At your words Kay’s eyes widened and you could practically hear his breath hitch from where you sat and for a moment neither of you spoke, the words hanging in the air like a confession and you felt your face once more grow hot.

“I mean, I don’t want anyone else for a teacher,” you amended, clutching your hands together in your lap.

I want you.

“Oh, y-yes, that’s… that’s good,” Kay murmured, taking a deep breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “We’ll start next week then.”

You nodded as you stood. “Sounds good to me.”

“[y/n]—“

Opening his office door, you hesitated, glancing back at him as he quickly called your name.

“Yes… Father?”

Kay swallowed thickly. “It… it truly is good to see you again.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah, it is. Til next week, then.”

———————

Everything Tag List: @magic-multicolored-miracle @midnightseance @etherealsxnder @iamsexytrash @orions-nebula @slutforrobbiebro @super-unpredictable98 @misskittysmagicportal

#season of the witch #kay #kay x reader #priest!kay x reader #robert sheehan character fic #fic: want #my writing #priest kink tw

[nowandajenn]

Day 4- Voyeurism (feat. Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes)

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing Stucky, so be kind. Also, it’s KINKtober, so that pretty much just calls for the filthiest smut you can imagine. Don’t be ashamed. Go on, read it. 

Warnings: This is literally just pure filth to satisfy my own sick little urges. Oral sex (m and f recieving), anal sex, vaginal sex, fingering, language, threesome. Like I said, pure filth. Hope you enjoy.

You loved Steve and Bucky. You really did. Having said that, you were convinced that they were LITERALLY trying to kill you. Cause of death? Constantly catching them in the act (or almost act) and promptly feeling like you were going to burst into flames. You absolutely loved their relationship and how comfortable they were with each other and their sexuality, but if you had to almost watch them go at it again, leaving you with sopping panties and a red face that would rival a tomato, you were going to scream. You were going through a massive dry spell and your toys just weren’t doing it for you like they used to. Plus, you had a sneaking suspicion that they actually wanted you to catch them. 

You wake up in the middle of the night and look over at the digital alarm clock on your nightstand. 3:13am. Perfect. You untangle yourself from the sheets and blankets that are twisted around you and crawl out of bed, desperate for a glass of juice. 

You don’t expect anyone to be up, especially at this hour. You shared a floor in the compound with Steve and Bucky, and Clint, who was almost never there. What you REALLY didn’t expect was to walk into the barely lit kitchen to see Steve leaned up against the counter, head thrown back and moaning, and Bucky, on his knees on the tile floor with his mouth wrapped around his boyfriend’s massive cock. 

You’re not sure exactly how long you stand there transfixed by the sight before you, but when Steve makes eye contact with you, that snaps you out of your reverie really fucking quick. Before you turn to go back the way you came, you see a sly smirk come across Steve’s face as he threads his fingers through Bucky’s long dark hair, fucking his mouth harder. 

All of the saliva in your mouth completely dries up and you almost choke to death, before turning and rushing back to your room, wondering how in the hell you’re going to be able to look Steve in the eye anymore. 

You manage to avoid Steve and Bucky like the plague for the next couple days, which you hate doing. They’re your closest friends, and you love being with them, but after catching them in the kitchen, you’re pretty sure that you would’t be able to look at them both without your head catching on fire. 

A little bit buzzed and slightly wired from a rare girl’s night out with some of your friends, you get out of the Uber and head inside, taking the elevator up to your floor. 

When you close your bedroom door behind you and flip the switch to turn on the table lamp in the room, you almost scream. 

“Jesus fucking- what......what the hell are you doing in here?” you gasp, hand over your fluttering heart. 

“You’ve been avoiding us.” Steve says, getting up off the couch and walking towards you. 

“No I haven’t. I’ve just been busy. Our paths just haven’t crossed in a few days. It happens.” It’s a weak excuse and you know it. 

“Doll, don’t lie. We know you caught us in the kitchen the other night.” Bucky says, lounging on the loveseat. 

You can feel your face burn with embarrassment. “Well, maybe next time don’t pull your cock out where someone can just walk in on you.” It comes out snarkier than you meant it to, and both men chuckle. 

“Did you like it? Did you like watching Buck suck my cock? Did it turn you on?” Steve asks, stepping even closer to you. Jesus Christ, it is burning hot in here. 

He uses his knuckle to tilt your head up so you’re looking in his eyes. 

“Did it?” 

“Y-yes.” you admit softly. 

“Did you touch yourself that night? Did watching us make you wet?” Bucky asks. 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

You drop your head but Steve tilts your chin up again. 

“We know you’re not shy, doll. Why are you acting like it with us now?” he asks. 

“Because....seeing the both of you like that.....it turned me on. It was hot. But it wasn’t my moment to walk in on.” you admit. 

“What would you say if we told you that we like it when you watch us? The way you turn all red and get all flustered. You look so fucking cute.” 

Bucky steps forward and before you can even breathe, his lips are on yours. A moan escapes your throat before you can even think to stop it, and you melt into him. What is even happening right now? 

When you feel Steve come up behind you and gently move your hair away from your neck, you shudder in anticipation. His lips are soft and warm as they move over the delicate skin there, making your toes curl.

“Fuck.......oh my.......” you gasp out as you and Bucky part. 

“What do you think, sweetheart? You want to watch us? You want to REALLY watch us?” he asks. 

“Yes....please, yes.” you whimper. 

Somewhere deep inside your desperately horny brain, you know that you should be feeling shame. Even a little bit of shame. But you’re not. But as you watch Steve and Bucky kiss and touch each other in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to feel anything but pure, unadulterated lust. 

You can’t take your eyes off of their bodies, and you think to yourself that if you died right now, you’d die a happy girl. Both of them are built like brick walls. Strong chests with delicious pecs that you want to sink your teeth into, abs that you could scrub your lingerie on, and legs that are like tree trunks. 

“Just enjoy the show, baby.” Steve murmurs in your ear. 

You watch as they strip each other out of their clothes until they’re down to just two pairs of tight boxer briefs. Steve sinks to his knees, trailing wet sloppy kisses all down Bucky’s chest and stomach, stopping to slide his underwear down his legs. His cock springs free from it’s confines, damn near smacking Steve in the mouth. 

He takes Bucky’s thick cock in is hand, pumping it slowly with long, languid strokes before darting his tongue out to lick at the tip. Bucky throws his head back, one hand on Steve’s shoulder and one on his head. 

“Fuck.....Stevie.” he groans out. 

You watch in awe as Steve deep throats his lover like a fucking champ, while Bucky keeps his eyes on you. 

“Take off your clothes, doll. Get comfortable. I want to see what you have on under that little dress of yours.”

You stand from the chair and slowly reach behind you, unzipping your dress and letting it fall to the ground, leaving you in a white lace bra and matching G string. 

“Fuck.....look at that. Stevie, look at our gorgeous girl.” Bucky moans out. 

Steve turns his head to get a good look at you, while still keeping Bucky firmly in his mouth. He lets out a moan and dips his hand into his own underwear to fist his cock. 

You sit back down on the plush chair, throwing one leg over the side so that you’re wide open for them. If they’re going to put on a show for you, you’re damn well going to return the favor. 

You run your fingertips up and down your wet folds, smearing your arousal around, toying with yourself as you watch the boys take each other apart piece by piece. 

When Bucky finally cums, it’s magnificent. You watch as hot streams of thick, white cum shoot out from his tip, landing on Steve’s face and neck. You let out a loud moan at the sight, completely unashamed. 

“Look at her, Stevie. Look how wet she is. You can see it from here.” 

Your brain must be temporarily out to lunch, because you find yourself practically floating over to them. Without any provocation, you slide your finger through the mess on Steve’s neck and bring it to your mouth, moaning at the taste. You do it again, this time offering your finger to Steve, and when he takes it and sucks on it much like he just did with Bucky’s dick, another wave of arousal floods your pussy. 

Once all the traces of his cum are gone from Steve’s beautiful face, Bucky turns you around to face him, gripping your hips and bringing you in for a filthy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. His fingertips dance down your body until they meet the apex of your thighs. 

“Oh, honey. You’re fucking DRENCHED.” he moans out, sliding his fingers through your wetness. You watch as he brings his coated fingers to his mouth, sucking your arousal off of them and groaning. 

“Fuck doll....you taste so fucking good. So sweet.” 

“What do you want? What do you want to watch us do next? Hmm?” Steve murmurs in your ear. His chest is pressed to your back, and his big hands are splayed over your hips as he gently grinds his cock into your ass. You’re still having trouble believing that this is all actually happening right now, but you’re just going to go with it and worry about the consequences later. 

“I want......” you gasp out, trying to keep your knees from buckling from the pleasure that they’re inflicting on you. “Jesus....I want to watch Bucky fuck you. I want to watch you take him.” 

Bucky gives you a devilish smirk before bringing you in for another filthy kiss. He cocks his head toward Steve. 

“You heard the lady. Get on the bed.”

Watching Bucky open Steve up with his fingers and his tongue is a wonder to behold. You sit, mesmerized at the foot of the bed, as Bucky slides his fingers in and out of Steve, his eager hole sucking them in as far as they’ll go. 

“Fuck, Stevie. You’re taking his fingers so well.” you purr. 

A moan slips from his lips as he keens under the praise, and he brings his hand over to clench your thigh. You run your fingers through his hair softly, helping him relax as Bucky works him open. 

“You better watch out because Stevie has a praise kink. You keep talking like that and this will be over before it starts.” he teases. 

Once he’s sufficiently stretched, you move next to Bucky as he slips his cock past Steve’s tight little hole, gasping as it stretches to accommodate Bucky’s wide girth. Stevie moans as he pushes farther into his ass until he’s in him to the hilt. You run your fingers lightly up and down Steve’s back as Buck grips his hips and starts thrusting into him slowly, getting him used to it. 

“Oh my....you look so fucking pretty like this. I love watching his cock drive in and out of your little asshole, baby.” you moan out. 

Steve moans and grips the sheets in his fists. 

“Fuck, I want.......I want...” he groans out. 

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want to taste her. Please. Let me taste her, daddy.” 

Oh. Oh shit. Who knew you were dealing with a praise kink AND a daddy kink here?

“You want to let Stevie taste you doll? You want him to eat that pretty little pussy of yours?” Bucky asks, grinning at you. 

You nod slowly, pulling your ruined panties off and positioning yourself so that you’re laying under Steve while Bucky continues fucking into him. You have to admit, there’s no beating the view you have. Steve’s face buried between your legs, devastating you with his tongue and fingers, Bucky above him, snapping his hips against  Steve’s ass, their skin making the most delicious sound as they smack against each other. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby doll. You look so good splayed out underneath me. You don’t know how many times I imagine this for the three of us. You don’t know how much we’ve wanted you right here in this position.” Steve groans out as he pumps three thick fingers in and out of your cunt. If you had any working brain cells at the particular moment, you’d probably be embarrassed, but right now you don’t give a shit. 

“God, please, don’t stop. I’m gonna cum....” you pant, gripping his hair and tugging, making him fucking GROWL. 

With a few more thrusts of his fingers and his tongue dancing over your clit, your orgasm slams through you, making you arch your back and scream his name. 

“Christ, doll, you’re so pretty when you cum.” Bucky pants out. 

Once you catch your breath, you reach down and take Steve’s rock hard cock in your hand, pumping it in time with Bucky’s thrusts. You can tell that he’s not going to last much longer, and you want to bring Steve over the edge with him. You watch both of their faces as you stroke him, both completely blissed out and drunk on pleasure. 

“Oh....oh fuck.....I gotta cum....I can’t hold on....” Steve whimpers. 

“Cum in me.” you whisper.

With a harsh thrust, he sheathes himself in your tight channel and it only takes two deep strokes into you before you feel his cock swell, filling you with his seed. Bucky reaches his end shortly after, thrusting hard into Steve, who in turn thrusts hard into you, bringing you to another orgasm. 

The of you stay connected like that for a few moments, breathing heavily and coming down from the intense pleasure of what just happened. 

“I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.” Bucky smirks he watches Steve kiss you. 

[cancercrew-filth]

“I love you.” (Joji)

Anon Request: Joji with a childhood best friend who he's in love with but she has a boyfriend. The only thing that's stopped him is the fear of rejection.

Joji’s POV

I sat at the edge of the front porch steps chewing on my fingernails, a nervous habit I tried to quit multiple times but had no success in doing so. I couldn’t sit still, I couldn’t think…I could barely bring myself to eat this morning. I don’t really wanna do this, right? I thought to myself. No, I can’t. This back and forth battle between my brain and my heart was starting to make more sick to my stomach than I already was. If I leave right now, she’d never know I was here…now’s my chance to just forget this and go home. She hasn’t even responded to my text yet. I thought about going for a walk since the weather was meant for one. Not a cute little small walk, but one of those long hikes that take your mind off of something that by the time you notice you’re lost, you no longer are thinking about why you started walking in the first place.

I exhaled heavily and stood up with my back towards the door and the stairs. I took one step forward and began to walk away from the apartment complex slower than I thought I would, almost as if I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t make it very far until I heard a soft voice from behind me, “Joji?”

My heart came to a halt as I froze in place. Turning around quickly, I tried to wipe the worried look I had on my face and replaced it with a toothy smile, “Y/N! Hey…” I beamed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t read your message right away.” she heaved as I made my way over to her, “I was driving and there was a shit ton of traffic, but I had a feeling you were gonna be here so I came as fast as I could.”

I took ahold of her large duffel bag as she walked up the steps to the door and unlocked it in a rush. I held the door for her to walk in ahead of me and I shuffled into the foyer quickly behind her while the heavy door shut behind us. 

“How are you?” she asked smiling at me as we entered the elevator.

“Um…” I cleared my throat, “Pretty good…can’t really complain.”

I avoided her gaze and looked either at my feet or straight ahead, awkwardly.

“You sure?” she questioned, hugging herself due to the sudden coldness in the elevator.

“Yeah.” I chuckled, “I’m great.”

We reached her floor with a sudden jolt followed by a loud dinging sound. Y/N was brief to get out of the elevator, squeezing through the doors before they even had a chance to fully open. I trailed behind her light steps as she swayed flawlessly down the hall as she jingled her keys. We finally reached the end of the hall and were face to face with her door. Entering her large apartment, I set the duffel bag down on the couch as I shut the door behind me. 

“Thank you for carrying my bag.” she giggled, “I found it kinda heavy.”

“Yeah, it is a little heavy.” I admitted.

“Yeah, I stayed over at Kevin’s for a few days.” she spoke from the kitchen, as she was getting us some water, “His parents were in town and since he lives nearly on the other side of the city, he somehow convinced me to stay for a few days so I didn’t have to constantly go back and forth.”

The sick feeling washed over me again. Kevin. I looked at the picture she had of her with him on nearly side table, polaroids she posted of the two of them on her walls, pictures of them on her TV stand. I sat on the couch and tilted my head back, licking my dry lips as I shut my eyes tightly, I felt the room spinning.

“Here you go.” she practically whispered.

I jumped at the sound of her soft voice. I opened my eyes to see her holding a glass of water in front of my face. I lightly grabbed the glass and mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’. I took slow, small sips and placed the glass on the coffee table in front of me once the glass was half empty. Y/N sat next to me on the couch, her back against the armrest as she sat with her legs crossed, cradling her glass of water with the palms of her hands in between her crossed legs.

“Hey,” she searched for my gaze, “What’s going on? I know you said you were good, but you can’t really lie to me. You’re my best friend, I know you.”

For the first time in a little over two weeks, I looked into her eyes and took her features all in. She was fresh faced dressed in her cuffed overalls, her messy hair reminding me of the first time I had ever met her:

We were eight; I had just moved into the small suburban area that became my new home from Japan. I sat on my front steps squinting at the sunlight, trying to take in my new surroundings. Without noticing the frisbee that was being thrown at me to my right due to the sudden blindness of the sun, I was hit on the side of the head by the flying disk.

“Im sorry!” she shouted from the lawn next to mine, her small feet whisking through the uncut grass as she made her way over to me.

“Ow…” I mumbled as I picked up the frisbee that crash-landed next to my foot.

“Hi…I’m sorry…I wanted to be nosy and make it go over there but it hit you…I’m sorry.” she admitted, blushing from the embarrassment as she pointed to an area on my front lawn.

“It’s okay.” I said as I handed her the frisbee once she was stood in front of me.

She was beautiful, dressed in cuffed overalls and tennis shoes. She slightly squinted as she looked at me, her hand shielding her eyes.

“I’m Y/N.” she introduced herself, “We’re neighbors, I live right there. I’ve never seen you around before.” she pointed to the house right next to mine “…Do you wanna come over and play? I have an older brother so he’s probably into the cool stuff that boys are into.”

“Uh…okay…I have to ask my mom first, though.” I said confused, I wasn’t used to people being so open and friendly.

“Okay!” she smiled, “I’ll wait here.”

I opened my front door and prepared myself to go in before she asked, “Wait! What’s your name?”

“George.” I answered.

“Okay, nice to meet you George.” she smiled.

By the time we were sixteen we were inseparable. Movie nights were nearly every night, I used to hear our moms talk about us growing up and getting married and complain when we wouldn’t “give in” and date each other. At eighteen, newly graduated from high school, we decided to go on a road trip since we wanted to leave the dumbass suburb we were in. We made it a little over forty-five minutes out of town and the car broke down in the middle of the highway. I pulled off to the side of the road, not being able to see with the smoke coming from the from of the car. I looked over at her in the passenger seat and she looked at me wide eyed before clenching her lips together and bursting into a fit of laughs.

“I know I should not be laughing right now but I think we’re cursed.” she giggled, “We’re meant to be in the suburbs. This would happen to us.”

I let my head hit the headrest and laughed along with her. After a few minutes, I tried to get a hold of AAA but I had no service, and neither did Y/N, so we weren’t able to come into contact with anyone for the time being.

“We are literally being assfucked right now.” she groaned as she got out of the car and slamming the door behind her, “Come on, Joji.”

“We’re walking it?” I asked her.

“Well, duh.” she smiled, “We’ll be fine. I know where we are and once we get service, we can call our parents and tell them what happened. And we can get ahold of AAA.”

I got out of the car and followed her lead, staying as far away from the road as possible.

“How long are we walking for?” I asked.

“About an hour and a half, give or take.” she sighed as she kicked a couple of rocks out of her, “Depends on how fast we walk, slowpoke.” she joked, looking at me and smiling.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized.

“For what?” she laughed, “It’s just not our time to leave town yet, I guess. Plus, we’re getting a daily dose of exercise. We’ll be fine.” she shrugged it off.

An hour into our walk, the air smelled of rain and I felt a drop of water hit my forehead, “Shit.” I whispered.

“What’s up?” she questioned, looking over at me.

“It’s gonna rain.” I said before the drops became frequent and heavier.

Y/N grabbed my hand once she heard thunder roaring and we ran the rest of the way home through, what seemed to be, some sort of tropical storm. We reached my front steps and stood there panting for a couple of minutes before she burst out laughing once again. I looked over at her like she was crazy, but I saw her rose-colored glass view: shit like this would happen to us. She was drenched in water, her hair sticking to her face and her clothes dripping water. She took her shoes off as I unlocked the door, we bumped into each other, thinking we would fit through the doorframe together as we tried to get through.

We both took a step back, but we were still close enough that our fingertips slightly touched. I looked at her wet face and I moved strands of her damp hair out of the way and behind her ear, my heart felt like it was skipping beats as I felt a fluttering feeling in my stomach. She looked into my eyes, and without even realizing until the last minute, I noticed myself slowly moving in, our noses almost touching. Suddenly I took another step back and stuttered after I cleared my throat, “You-you can go on ahead first.”

What if she didn’t kiss me back? Or what if she stopped me? I can’t ruin our friendship due to my selfishness.. 

The fire in the fireplace was blazing slowly as Y/N and I sat in front of the warm flame huddled under a large fuzzy blanket together. I had lent her some clothes to change into so she didn’t have to sit in her wet clothes or get sick from being in her wet clothes too long. With her eyes glued to the fire and her small hands clutching some of the blanket, I looked at her somewhat frizzy hair, the strands glowing from the firelight. Her lashes were curled perfectly without the need of mascara, her eyes shining underneath them. She turned her head to look at me.

I swallowed hard, not knowing what to do. I had gone years without telling her I was in love with her for the sake of our friendship, yet here I was staring at her like it was the only thing keeping me alive. My eyes went from her mouth, back to her eyes. Again, I noticed myself getting closer to her like an absolute idiot. I shot up to my feet quickly, “I’m gonna go make tea.” I blurted out as I ran to the kitchen leaving her with the rest of the blanket.

“George?” her voice broke me out of my thoughts, “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know…” I breathed out.

“Is it that new girl you’re seeing?” she asked, confused.

“No. I stopped seeing her two months ago.” I answered, “I need to tell you something…and you don’t need to say anything or respond to it, but it’s been bothering me and I won’t stop hating myself until I let you know.”

She’s happy with Kevin, he makes her happy and that should be enough for me to see her content, and I know she will never feel the same and it frightens me to think that way but for the sake of preserving my mind, I need to tell her.

“Wh-“ she stopped herself, “Joji? What’s going on.”

I buried my face in my hands and rubbed my tired eyes before I turned my body to face her. Y/N had worry in her eyes, she seemed scared, and I knew that she would go from worried to disappointed if I told her.

“The last thing I ever want to do in this world is lose you.” I began, “You’re happy, and you have no idea how thrilled it makes me knowing that you have someone in your life that cares for you, but Y/N…I…I’m in love with you.”

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wanted to give my soul just to get them back. Y/N outstretched her arm to put her glass on the coffee table but she missed by a centimeter and the glass shattered on the hardwood floor. She looked like she was going to be sick.

“What?” she whispered, ignoring the mess on the floor.

“I have been in love with you…for years.” I whispered in a breathy voice. The lump in my throat returned and the feeling of nausea washed over me, but somehow I was feeling a weight being lifted off of my chest, “I thought that seeing other girls would take my mind off of me thinking like this but it did nothing…they’re not you. They’re not who I want to see first thing in the morning, they’re not who I want to spend days talking to…I can’t eat, I can’t sleep because my thoughts are keeping me awake and it’s not your fault…it’s mine for feeling this way but I can’t help falling more in love with you every time I see you. I search for you in every girl I meet and I fail to realize they’re not you, nor will they ever be you. I spent years hiding it from you, scared that you would reject me but I’m losing my mind keeping it a secret. I try to distance myself from you in hopes that I won’t love you anymore for the sake of our friendship but it doesn’t fucking work. Nothing works. What fucks me up more is that you’re happy with someone else, and I’m beyond happy for you, and I feel like I shouldn’t tell you because you’re happy and I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but I can’t…I can’t just keep this to myself anymore. I didn’t choose to fall in love with you, Y/N, it just happened.”

I felt a single tear slide down my face and I quickly wiped it with the back of my hand and sniffled as I got up off of the couch. I looked down at Y/N and she was stuck staring at the spot that I had just gotten up from, she had tears streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized softly.

“I…I just need some time.” she whispered, wiping her face with her hands.

I took it as my cue to leave. I drove home while my mind and heart battled each other, part of me regretted telling her but the other half felt relieved…but at what cost knowing that I lost my best friend.

Y/N’s POV (one month later)

I knocked on the newly painted front door with shaky hands, immediately mentally cursing myself at what I was doing. I tugged on the hem of my oversized jacket as I examined the eggshell colored door, I missed the light periwinkle color the Millers had before on their door. The paint before was beyond chipped from Joji and I peeling the paint off as kids, and what sucked more was that they discontinued the color at Home Depot so they had to settle for this somewhat crappy color. I heard shuffling footsteps approach the door, it was too late to run back next door now. I took a deep breath as I heard the doorknob twist. The door slowly opened and I was met with George’s mother, “Hi, Mrs.Miller.” I nervously smiled.

“He’s upstairs in his room.” she smiled warmly as she took me in for a tight hug.

“How’s he doing?” I asked in a low voice as I shut the door behind me, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets.

“Better…sort of. He doesn’t leave the room unless no one’s home or if we’re asleep. I’ll hear the door sometimes in the middle of the night but that’s about it.” she informed as she lead me to the stairs with her hand on my back.

She told me she was going next door to talk with my mother and I just gave her a slight smile and a nod. Going up the stairs made me want to throw up, the thought of seeing Joji after so long made me nervous and extremely embarrassed. I hadn’t called him or texted him in a month. I was angry, hurt, and confused. Why wouldn’t he tell me how he felt? We told each other everything, no matter how bad it was, but for the same reason I didn’t tell him how I felt. I was hurt for him as well…how could I have not known? If anything, I thought he didn’t like me. I tried making moves on him before and I felt like he’d rejected me on several occasions, or maybe if we had just communicated things without fear, we’d probably be okay, but it’s easier said than done. I’ve always loved Joji…but I thought it would never happen, and so I moved on.or tried to… I broke up with Kevin the week after George came to visit me. I had love for Kevin but I wasn’t in love with him, we would have arguments nearly everyday and he just wasn’t George. I didn’t know what to do…I was contemplating on calling Joji and I didn’t, I was scared and I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be alone and have time to myself so I could think. So I went to the only place where I knew I would be left alone and away from everyone for some time: my parent’s house. Little did I know, Joji was next door doing the exact same thing.

I reached the top step and made my way down the hall cautiously. I felt like the hallway stretched out for miles as I walked towards Joji’s door. My breathing quickened, my heart nearly falling out of my chest as I finally stood in front of his door. I held my breath as I knocked. There was no answer. I sighed and placed my hand on the doorknob and entered his room. He was sat on his bed looking out his window with a notebook next to him. The walls were decorated the same: posters of artists, pictures of us and his family members, a couple post-it notes still lingered on the walls told me that they haven’t lost their stick. His room hadn’t changed one bit.

“Hey.” I said, trying to catch his attention as I tenderly closed the door behind me.

He turned around quickly, his eyes looking into mine. That’s when I felt it all over again: the butterflies. His hair was wet and I could smell his shampoo from across the room. He wore a gray long-sleeved shirt and a pair of sweats with some fuzzy mismatched socks to complete his ‘homebody’ look.

“I see you’re still a mama’s boy.” I lightly chuckled as I sat down in his comfy desk chair, “I can’t really blame you, I went home to my mom too.”

“Yeah…I know you did.” he said quietly, as he began moving to the edge of the bed, slowly, so that he sat across from me, “I could hear you crying most nights from my window.”

“Yeah…” I sighed in embarrassment, “I was doing some digging the other day while I was cleaning my old room…and I found some stuff.”

I reached into my jacket pockets, not taking my eyes off of his face. I was happy to see him well rested, but the ashtray full of cigarette butts told me he was stressed out of his mind. He stared at the carpeted floor blankly as I searched my pockets.

“Do you remember this?” I asked coyly, retrieving a gold locket from my pocket,”You gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday once everyone left my party.”

“I drove hours for that thing.” he chuckled softly, “You told me you always wanted one but the good legit ones were impossible to find.”

“Do you remember what you put in it?” I asked.

“A picture of us from when we were ten.” he answered.

“I’m a complete dumbass.” I spoke in an unsteady voice as I pulled out a small note from the same pocket with shaking hands, “I couldn’t get the locket to open the other night…I like looking in it when I’m sad but I couldn’t get it open ‘cause it was stuck. It’s an antique so it’s normal for it to get stuck sometimes, and every time it gets stuck, I’d open it cautiously. Well, I tried opening it the other night, and I broke my nail, so I got angry at the damn thing and I threw it at the wall…the picture fell out…and so did this.” I held up the note and I read it, “‘I choose to love you in silence…For in silence I find no rejection, I choose to love you in loneliness…For in loneliness no one owns you but me, I choose to adore you from a distance…For distance will shield me from pain, I choose to kiss you in the wind…For the wind is gentler than my lips, I choose to hold you in my dreams…’“

“For in my dreams, you have no end.” he finished the poem.

“Rumi…” I said, shocked that he remembered my favorite poet from the one time I told him when we were sixteen.

“I didn’t want you to find it, but part of me wanted you to. So I hid it behind the one thing that meant the most to me, inside something that was special to you.” he explained, “It was the only way I felt safe and comfortable telling you how I felt…even if you never got a chance to read it. People say that some things are better left unsaid, and I believed them, but I went crazy when I thought about how I’d have to live with feeling this way forever and not having you know, I just didn’t think I’d lose you in the process…but I can’t lose what was never mine.”

I took a deep, hesitating breath before I spoke, “I fell in love with you when we were sixteen, and every time I ran to you crying about a boy breaking my heart or hurting my feelings was because they didn’t treat me like how you did…they didn’t make me laugh like you did, they didn’t take care of me like you did…they weren’t you, George. I thought about how there were times that I almost told you how I felt…but my fear stopped me. And I can’t begin to imagine how you felt, and I’m sorry for that. Being older now means looking back at all the times we shared when we were younger…and I know that there were times were I felt like you were going to kiss me but you didn’t…but I know now why you didn’t…”

Joji looked down at his hands before he looked back up at me.

“But I really wish you did.” I admitted, “I found love in places where it shouldn’t have thought to grow because I was upset with the thought of being in love with someone who I thought didn’t feel the same way…I know that feeling of being rejected or feeling like you’ll be rejected, George, that fear.” I wiped my tears with the sleeves of my jacket.

I got up from the chair and put it back under the desk before I decided to face him again. I was slightly alerted when I saw he was standing now in front of me. He pulled me in for a tight hug and I gladly hugged back. To feel his warmth, his presence, just to feel him hugging me again after not seeing him for a long time made everything feel right again. I buried my face in his chest, taking in his scent as he rested his chin on my head before he kissed my cheek and hid his face in my neck. We were stood there for what seemed to be hours embracing each other. I rubbed his back softly and I finally whispered, “I’m still in love with you…I never stopped.”

Joji pulled away from the hug and smiled at me, “I love you.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on the tips of my toes so I would be able to reach his lips. I stared at his lips as I bit mine thinking about how I’d been waiting to kiss him for the longest time.

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?” he smirked nudging me gently.

“Shut up.” I laughed.

He dried my wet eyes lightly with the sleeves of his shirt, holding my face in his hands, he leaned in and kissed me softly. It felt right and more than anything I felt safe and home.

#joji miller #joji imagine #Joji #georgemiller #george miller #filthy frank #filthyfrank #cancer crew imagine #cancer crew #CancerCrew #cancer crew fanfic #joji fluff #fluff

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 2

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1      Part 3     Part 4    Part 5

The Joker feels your hand searching around and he knows what you’re looking for: the yellow teddy bear.

“Here Pumpkin,” J gives you the toy that landed on the other side of the bed during the night; a couple minutes pass and his cheek is covered in soft kisses. He opens one eye and you instantly pretend to be asleep.

“I’m onto you, Y/N!” The King of Gotham sneers while you giggle at his affirmation. But as soon as he pecks the scar on your collarbone, your attitude changes.

“No…”, you whimper and cover your face with the sheets.

“I told you before I don’t care about scars,” The Joker tries to reason with you because it happens each time he touches the numerous stitch marks scattered all over your frame: some are deeper lacerations perfectly normal after the surgeries you sustained, others are cuts that might diminish in a few months. “Princess, are you listening?” J traces the lesion on your wrist.

Y/N is so stiff though he has to fight in order to pull the covers away from her.

“Hey…hey… See? I have scars too,” The Clown attempts to distract you. “Are you having a panic attack? No need to!”

You try to keep up with what he’s saying and it’s pretty difficult giving the circumstances; at least you do understand J is making you relax.

His cell phone starts vibrating on the nightstand and he reaches for it.

“Perfect timing, Frost!” The Joker takes his frustration on Jonny. “What do you want?!!”

The short conversation ends fast with The King yelling a bunch of angry stuff, including an interesting grand finale: “Next time you interrupt when I’m on a roll struggling to get laid, maybe you’d like to intervene and convince Y/N her scars don’t bother me!!!”

Why is he mad?...

You watch him toss the phone on the floor and crawl by him, intrigued.

“Upset?” you begin caressing his hair with the teddy bear’s paw.

“My throne won’t be ready until June, Princess! I requested that fancy chair for a reason and paid a fortune to have it customized! What am I supposed to use at the club?! I don’t like the old furniture anymore!!”

You already lost track of what he’s saying: something about not having a throne???… … …

Oh, there’s one really close by!

You grab The Joker’s arm and drag him out of bed towards the bathroom.

“Where are we going?” he inquires, confused.

You quickly guide him to the toilet, making J sit on the closed lid.

“Throne,” you point at the porcelain bowl and The King of Gotham frowns, immediately bursting into laughter afterwards.

“You’re brilliant, Pumpkin! Brilliant!” he praises your interpretation as you are pulled on his knees.

“Hm?”

“You’re a clever Kitten and whoever says otherwise is an idiot! Turns out I do have a throne,” he admits and gropes you.

Too much for your brain to decipher all his sentences, yet Mister J seems content and that’s enough for you.

“The plan for this morning is simple,” he continues. “We’ll have sex, then take a shower and whatnot, then eat breakfast. Later I have a meeting; you just stay here and wait for me, alright?”

“Mmm…” you hesitantly process the words coming out of his mouth, opting to agree for his sake. “Ok?”

“You naughty girl,” he pulls down on your tank top spaghetti strap. ”I know you hate me sometimes, but in the end can’t resist my charm.”

“No hate… Love,” you snuggle to J while he walks back into the bedroom carrying the sweet burden of his existence; of course he ignored your statement because why would he pay attention to nonsense?

*************

You’re outside the car and sulk when Alice sneaks on the passenger’s seat that literally belongs to The Queen.

“Stay here, Princess. I won’t be too long,” The Joker mutters.

“W-why?” you ask since you are not a fan of the idea of having your boyfriend’s ex riding alone with him.

“You get bored at meetings,” he explains. “Circle the property and let the boys know if you need anything,” J emphasizes and drives down the path leading to the gates, leaving a puzzled Y/N behind: you never liked Alice and that didn’t vanish after the accident.

“Bye, Y/N!” she shouts and you can’t make a lot of sense of what you’re feeling, still one detail is certain: it hurts.

How come you couldn’t go?! Why didn’t he give you a choice?! He always does.

If The Joker thinks you can’t put two and two together these days, he’s very wrong.

“Y/N recovered quite nicely,” Alice smirks.

The King of Gotham sighs and she fixes a rebel strand of green hair rebelliously flying over his ear.

“I was wondering if you’ll call me at one point. I missed you, babe.”

“Did ya’?” he scoffs at her bold confession; but she’s a direct person, one of the qualities J admired when they were an item.

“I can’t image how you two function; I mean… her unfortunate transformation, it must be hard for you to put up with someone fighting to comprehend the easiest tasks.”

“It’s not easy,” The Clown admits and gazes at her: Alice dolled up for their rendezvous. Everything he considers attractive is there: beautiful pair of legs popping from under the short skirt, his favorite perfume discretely lingering on her flawless skin, the tip of the purple lace bra she’s wearing casually showing each time the woman leans forward.

“I bet,” Alice pretends to sympathize with his problems. “A man like you has needs that I’m positive Y/N can’t even remember how to satisfy,” she pats his thigh, slowly working her way to his crotch.

The Joker chuckles, accomplice with her insinuations, also super annoyed when his phone rings.

“Yes?” he promptly answers.

“Sir,” Frost reports, ”we have a situation; Y/N is increasingly agitated and…”

“Deal with it!” he hangs up and strives to cruise straight despite the sexy distraction urging him to do otherwise.

“Why did we split?” she scoots closer to him, pouting.

“Beats me,” J purrs as she squeezes her fingers in his pants’ pocket.

“What’s this?” Alice rattles the small plastic pouch.

“Y/N’s anti-inflammatory drug; there’s not much that can be done now and this is helping with the blood clot pressing on her frontal lobe. The doctors say it will reabsorb; granted it won’t matter regarding her cognitive impairment.”

“Awww,” The Joker’s past flame pretends to be affected by his briefing. “That’s too bad, babe; probably the future is not too bright…” she shoves your pills in the glove compartment. “Why don’t we reconcile? You know I’d do anything for you,” the flirtatious tone makes J reply:

“Would you jump in front of a speeding car like Y/N did to save me?”

“Ha! I would,” she elbows him, snickering at his antiques.

“Prove it then,” J growls. “Get out of the vehicle and don’t flinch if I run you over. If you survive, I’ll take you back!”

Alice opens her mouth in amazement and the SUV halts before The King reprises driving.

“Got cha’!” he cracks up at her baffled reaction.

“For God’s sake, babe! You scared me!” she playfully pinches him and teases: “Are we going to our spot?”

“I was wondering when you’ll notice,” The Joker navigates the unpaved road guiding the automobile towards Clear Sky Summit.

“Pull over,” Alice urges him and he complies at once. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time,” she moans climbing on his lap. “I can tell you missed me too,” the woman grins at his body’s response.

“That’s my gun,” J buries his face in the revealing cleavage, firmly holding her waist.

“I bet it is, babe,” she winks while unbuttoning his silver shirt. “I love you!” she tries to bite him and he violently yanks her long hair, snarling.

“Is that why you tried to kill me?”

Alice cautiously exhales, a bit nervous at the switch in his demeanor.

“What are you talking about?!”

“Who was driving the car meant to hit me, huh? Tinted windows, no license plate.”

“Babe, you’re hurting me,” she winces in pain at his strong grip. “I swear I don’t know anything!”

“Are you sure?” J sniffs her scent.

“Yes I’m sure! I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize our…”

“Our what? What exactly our means in this context? We separated more than two years ago!” The Joker crushes her spine against the wheel.

“Babe, let go!” Alice wiggles in his tight embrace.

“Why did you do it? Were you jealous I found a new fling? Took me months to track the culprit!!!” J restricts her movement when she stretches to open the door. “You fucked up my girl!” his hands forcefully twist her neck and the snapping noise of fractured bone halts the argument.

The Joker pushes the corpse off him, numb to the murder he committed out of pure rage: what’s another name added to the list?

Yet… this was personal.

He keeps staring at the trees surrounding the trail without discerning their shape. 30 minutes pass and the phone’s alarm alerts him it’s time for your remedy: The Clown Prince of Crime is so out of it he doesn’t stop it until he’s on the main road.

He speeds up to ensure a timely arrival at the mansion where Y/N will definitely confront him after being abandoned in such fashion: the truth is he doesn’t mind.

What he does mind though is that no matter what happens, Y/N will never be her former self.

***************

The Joker parks in front of the villa and hops out of the car, barking instructions at the goons patrolling the area:

“I want this gone!” he gestures at the cadaver crammed under the front seat. “Where’s Y/N?”

“In the garage, boss” Frost indicates. “You should know that…”

“I got it! I got it!” J waves and sprints towards your destination.

Nothing prepared him for the carnage.

“Holy… … shit!!!” he inhales at the shocking landscape depicting all five of his most beloved vehicles mauled to pieces: broken windows, scraped paint, karoseri indents…a whole mess!

Bam!!! You smash the rearview mirror of his favorite Ferrari with the baseball bat.

“What are you doing, Pumpkin????!!!!” J screams, aggravated.

Oh, he’s back!

“Y-you like her??!!” The Queen redirects her wrath. “B-because she’s smart??!!”

“Who? Alice?” he quizzes for no reason whatsoever: The Joker’s aware of the reply.

“Wh-where did you go, hm?” you point the wood weapon at the man taking you for a fool; you try not to stutter but it’s impossible with the strained neurons firing up a storm inside an already troubled brain.

“Nowhere, I killed her.”

“Hm?”

“I killed Alice!” The Joker raises his voice and watches you squint your eyes, a clear hint you’re analyzing his disclosure. “Look what you did, Princess! Are you happy now??” he finds the perfect opportunity to divert the outcome of the mayhem he actually created: J repeatedly learned this is the best strategy.

“U-hum,” you serenely admit since you’re indeed pleased with the results of your rampage.

The two parties glare at each other in silence and The Joker grabs the yellow teddy bear resting on a nearby hood, proposing truce before you bash something else:

“I’ll trade you the fur ball for your bat.”

Yikes, you’re reluctant to his treaty: further distraction is required.

“My collection is destroyed, Pumpkin!” The Joker approaches with the toy he stole for you on your first date. “Who we’re gonna call on such short notice to fix all this crap?!!”

Oh, you know this one! You and Mister J watch the movie on a regular basis.

“Mmm… Ghost Busters?” Y/N innocently suggests.

He puckers his lips at the astonishing proposal and it takes a lot of effort not to laugh.

“That’s brilliant, Y/N! Best idea I heard all week!” The Joker proudly compliments your intuition. “You’re a clever Kitten and whoever says otherwise is a moron!” he swiftly snatches the baseball from your grasp and replaces it with the teddy bear.

He rolls the weapon by the closest tire, signaling you to follow.

“Come on, Pumpkin, it’s time for your med. Why are you limping? Is your knee hurting again?”

“U-hum.”

“Serves you right for going rogue!” he scolds. “Com’ere,” J lifts you up, placing your legs around his midsection. “I expect apologies by the way!”

“No,” you sniffle while dangling the toy with one arm.

“Pain in the ass!” he huffs and you kiss him. “This is not an apology!” The Joker spanks you butt.

“Mine,” you cuddle to his shoulder, totally blocking his grouchiness.

“Yeah, yeah, yours,” J grumbles heading for the elevator. “So this is how the rest of today will unfold, Y/N: I’ll be mad until evening time, then we’ll have makeup sex and dinner, the last two not necessarily in the same order. And you’re not going to freak out when I touch your scars, OK?”

“Mmm…OK?”

“Why is that a question?” The Joker continues bickering. “You have other prospects? Boyfriends I should know about? Are you even listening?”

“U-hum,” you poke J’s star tattoo. “No… freaking out.”

“Fair enough,” he compromises and lifts you higher on his hips when you cling to him: selective perception is infinitely better than none. “Is this Pink Blossoms?”

“Yes,” you nod at the familiar brand you use all the time.

The King of Gotham smells his favorite perfume in the air, reckoning he wouldn’t enjoy it if another woman wears it for him.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and Ao3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker leto #joker suicide squad #mister joker #mister j #Mistah J #dc #dcu

[miss-tc-nova]

Hopes For the Future - Young Xehanort x Fem!Reader

Sequel to All Flustered

Oh Anon...That was a throw away line! I didn’t have any plans for it! I just needed it to move the story along! But dammit! I love Xehanort too!

On another note, yes, I did take a little inspiration from a Disney movie. It was too cute to resist.

~~~~~

               My mind has been all over the place in the last few days since my first kiss with Xehanort. It’s only been like three days but still, it’s been enough to be a mild distraction if I’m not diligently working on something. Needless to say, I get teased about it, from everyone including Xehanort. At least I can get my own little jabs in concerning my dramatic surprise-kiss the following day.

               Urd and Vor decided that they had to nag me while I prepare for my date. Of course, they’re going too, everyone is, but apparently I have to look a bit more formal than I usually do, meaning they play with my hair and stuff me in a dress. It’s very pretty at least, but I draw the line when Urd comes at me with a pencil.

               “Woah hold on! What do you think you’re doing?!” I exclaim.

               “Um, make up?” she replies like I should already know the answer.

               “No. Nope no uh-uh,” I say, walking away.

               She follows after me. “Why not?”

               “Because this already too much,” I say gesturing to the dress. “None of you are going dressed up.”

               She points at herself and Vor. “WE don’t have dates.” I loathe her Cheshire grin sometimes. “Besides, you look great. Xehanort will love it.”

               “Don’t even,” I retort firmly, pointing a finger at her. I can already feel the fire climbing my spine just thinking about him seeing me in this.

               Vor giggles. “Aw, even when she’s angry she’s shy.” Rolling my eyes, I storm towards the closet. “What are you doing?”

               “You two picked out my whole outfit, I get to at least pick out the boots that won’t kill me. I refuse to wear heels!” I find the ankle boots.

               “Okay, fine, but at least put on some lip gloss,” Urd concedes. She wins the argument and just as I’m being attacked again, there’s a knock on the door.

               “What is it?” Vor calls.

               The door clicks open and Bragi pushes his way in. “Are you girls done yet? We gotta go.” I hate that signature smarmy smirk of his. “Well don’t you clean up nice.”

               I groan, covering my face.

               “Yep. We’re done here,” Urd replies, none bothered by me. “Let’s go.”

               Bragi leads the way from the student quarters to the castle entrance. I lag behind, heart pounding in my chest, dreading Xehanort seeing me like this; I’m the class’s top student and a keyblade wielder, not a princess.

               When I spot Hermod, Eraqus, and Xehanort at the bottom of the steps leading to the castle, I hesitate at the top. Sure, Xehanort’s upgraded his normal shirt to a button-up shirt but everything else about his clothes seem normal, even the sleeveless haori—I’m the only one.

               I’m going to kill those girls.

               My heart skips; he’s spotted me. His silver eyes widen. I start to think I’m imagining things when I see a splash of pink across his nose. I don’t get to second guess myself because Vor grabs my hand and drags me down the rest of the stairs. Nerves bundled in my chest, I can’t even bring myself to look at my date but the tingling across my skin tells me he’s staring.

               “Sorry. We were having a bit too much fun,” Urd says.

               A warm caress guides my face up. That fire from earlier is engulfing me. His eyes are aglow with the same predatory gleam he had the last time I played prey.

               “You look good.”

               I’m done. My brain has gone out the window and I might just burst into flames.

               Eraqus leans into view. “I think you broke her.”

               “That was pretty smooth,” Vor laughs.

               “She’ll start functioning again as we go,” Urd says, beginning to push everyone off the castle grounds. “Let’s go.”

               Xehanort takes my hand, giving me one more smile but this time it’s honest and warm.

               The Founding Festival is as magnificent as always. The city is decked out in decorations and impromptu shops line the streets leading to the center of the city where more of the entertainment is, including the games. I enjoy watching the competitive boys and even the girls try their hands at the rigged games. Eraqus definitely adds to his losing tally against his best friend.

               As the sky begins to darken and dinner time rolls around, we wander among the shops in search of food. Vor points out a vendor selling glowing lanterns.

               “Wow! Look at those!”

               I glance at the stand. “Those ones are pretty.”

               “I bet that guy’s making a killing today,” Bragi interjects.

               “It is an important part of the tradition,” agrees Hermod.

               Xehanort’s eyes linger but we keep walking. “What’s the deal with the lanterns?” he asks.

               “You’re supposed send the lanterns to Kingdom Hearts with your hopes for the future,” I explain. “So our ancestors know how to guide you.”

               “Ah. A ‘here’s the goal, show me the way’ kinda thing?”

               “That’s right.”

               He rolls his eyes, clearly not buying the tradition thing. That doesn’t stop him from questioning me though. “So what would you hope for?”

               “If I tell you, I’m sure you’ll meddle,” I reply cheekily.

               “Of course.” He doesn’t even deny. “Granted I tend to have my hands in everything.”

               “Including suggesting to Urd and Vor that I should wear a dress tonight?” I reply with a knowing smirk.

               He smiles confidently, but I can see the dust of pink on his cheeks. “No no. That one I had nothing to do with.”

               I’m not convinced. “And yet they seemed so sure you would appreciate it.”

               “Oh I do but far be it beyond me what girls get up to.” I see his gaze drop to my mouth and that red shade of his darkens. Before I get to ask, however, Hermod points out a food stall that everyone seems to agree on.

               Dinner eaten, we snag our spots to watch the reenactment of Scala Ad Caelum being founded. I enjoy it so much I almost don’t catch Xehanort sneaking away. Seeing as he didn’t bother to say anything, I assume he’ll be right back, but I don’t notice he’s back until halfway through the show. I give him a questioning look but he simply grins as if he’s been here the whole time, offering cotton candy I know he didn’t have before.  

               The show ends and it’s announced that everyone should head to the docks for the lantern ceremony. I start to follow the others, but Xehanort stops me. When I look back, he puts a finger to his sly lips and gestures in the other direction. Excitement prickles at my skin and I let him lead me away. We’re still heading towards the water, but instead of heading for the crowded docks, we’re climbing up the stacked buildings of our home. Finally, he climbs the ladder of a building at the water’s edge, offering a hand to me when he’s at the top. It’s not the tallest building of Scala Ad Caelum, but it’s got a beautiful view of the water and the lanterns lit by the people below.

               “Wow,” I awe. “How did you find this place?”

               “Unlike some people, I don’t always have my nose in a book.” I stick my tongue out at him. “I figured it would be better than bumping elbows with everyone down there. Plus, the view is definitely better.”

               “Always trying to outsmart everyone, aren’t you,” I tease.

               “Just wait. It gets better,” he replies, matter-of-factly. The boy wanders towards some roof-top shrubbery where he pulls two lanterns and a lighter. He seems so proud of himself.

               Unable to hide my delight, I say, “I wouldn’t have picked you as one for tradition.”

               He places one in my hands. “I don’t exactly get this whole Founding Festival thing, but I know it means something to you. And I’m sure it’ll make an excellent backdrop.”

               “Backdrop? For what?”

               There’s a look of adoration that makes my knees weak. “For you.” He chuckles as I try to hide my rising blush behind my lantern. “Oh you are adorable.”

               “Xe, stop,” I complain.

               “Why?” He pokes at my shoulder to tease me. “Feeling embarrassed, are we?”

               “So.”

               His hand pushes the lantern away from my face. “And I must say, those girls really dolled you up for me.”

               “I knew it, you liar.” The boy is unashamed and I sigh. “I thought I was gonna have to fight for my life when Urd came at me with makeup.”

               Xehanort laughs. “You’re too pretty for any of that.” Before I can gripe at him again, he gets even closer, within kissing range. “Though I have noticed this shine you have on your lips—almost as if you wanted me to pay attention to them.” He ends on a captivating note that almost has me closing the gap.

               As if he knows, Xehanort pulls away and, to his amusement, I let out the breath I was holding. His eyes avert towards the water and I realize that it’s already started. I nearly get caught up in watching all the lights when he calls back to me.

               “Hey.” I look back to him. The light from his lantern flickers warmly across his skin, reminding me that this is a date, a romantic date. We’d been closer than usual all day and he’s quite often kept a hand at my waist, but any privacy was out the window with our friends involved. But not now, not here. “Don’t forget yours.”

               The boy swaps lanterns with me and lights the second while I take in the heart design across the paper, contemplating my desires for the future. Of course there are thoughts of success and happiness, but also the stray thought that I want Xehanort there. I want him in my future.

               He interrupts my thoughts. “Ready?”

               The saying I’ve grown up on, that’s guided me my entire life, slips from my lips. “May your heart be your guiding key.”

               Palms open, I watch the pair float away, swaying together as they join the assemblage of other wishes on their way to Kingdom Hearts. Millions of lanterns are floating away, sprinkling the black night sky with light that feels like hope, mirrored by the water and creating an endless canvas of beauty. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.

               “This view is incredible,” I awe.

               “Yeah, it is.”

               A glance reveals that Xehanort is not looking at the sky—he’s watching me. With his ‘better-than-thou’ attitude, I never would’ve guessed Xehanort could be such a romantic; then again, I assumed he would’ve rejected my feelings but here we are. Illuminated by the flickering lights above, I don’t see a single trace of that usual sarcasm or teasing on his features. There’s still confidence in his eyes but it’s so much more gentle than normal. By nature, I would’ve withdrawn a step or two but right now, I want nothing more than to feel his arms around me.

               “Looks like I was right.” Shortening the distance between us, he gently brushes a strand of hair from my face. “The perfect backdrop.”

               “Xehanort,” I mutter, my insides turning molten.

               Head tilting forward, he replies, “Yeah?”

               Without an answer, I bite at my lip and I see his eyes instantly divert to them. I smile, watching the nervous gulp he gives, gaze still glued to my lip gloss. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lean in to give him what he wants.

               Our first kiss was full of my anxiety and his cockiness and, while I’ll never regret it, it’s nothing compared to this one. I have my wits enough to partake, accept the slow intimacy of the kiss and return it. I can note the remnant taste of cotton candy on his lips but even more, I can tell how honestly he’s expressing himself. Xehanort never shows his cards, but he’s here showing kindness and caring and, dare I say, trust. Encouraging that thought, I pull him in deeper with my fingers intertwining in his hair and he follows me down the rabbit hole.

               Breaking the kiss, Xehanort keeps his forehead against mine. “Whatever else you may wish for, I hope I’m at least part of your hopes for the future,” he mutters as if praying for it to be true. I don’t think he’s had a moment in his life where something was out of his control, so I assume my ability to walk away makes him nervous.

               The corners of my mouth turn upwards. “As long as you promise to meddle.”

               Arms pulling me tightly against him and face buried in my hair, he answers, “Of course.”

#ymx #young master xehanort #young xehanort #xehanort #xehanort x reader #young xehanort x reader #young master xehanort x reader #ymx x reader #kingdom hearts dark road #khdr #khdr eraqus #novas requests #xeha-non #fem!reader

[starkerkeyz]

i need a serious crack of the vibrator charging thing for real, i’m gonna die

YOU AND ME BOTH NONNIE but I see you and your arousal pleases me so we in it-

Warnings; D/s, throat fucking, oversensitivity, crying, cockwarming, vibrators, choking, and uh sub drop at the end? Oh and Thor technically listens in on Tony edging Peter to death but he doesn’t know SO UH whatever that is.

Enjoy!

Edited to add A MOODBOARD! 🤩🤩🤩

“I see you’re getting comfortable, kid.” Mr. Stark’s words don’t immediately register as abnormal or dangerous until Peter turns and sees the leer directed at his PS4 and-

Oh. 

Oh.

“Oh, my god, Mr. Stark, uh, you weren’t, uhm- you weren’t supposed to see that?” Peter’s cheeks are flaming so hot it kinda hurts or maybe that’s just the humiliation of having his toy found by his…his…of Mr. Stark seeing his hot pink vibrator out and charging at his PS4 dock. 

He hurries over to unplug and hide the evidence and is stopped by a hand on his wrist. Peter looks up and partially over his shoulder, not turning his body but paying attention. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I want you to feel comfortable.” Mr. Stark caresses the thin skin over the wrist he’s still got. He moves behind Peter and gently, slowly, trailing his fingers up from wrist to elbow to shoulder and down, his hands migrating to Peter’s hips and holding on confidently. Peter melts when he feels the first kiss at his neck and Mr. Stark’s heat along his spine.

“I want to use that on you, right now, too. Is it charged enough for a little fun, Babyboy?” Tony says the words wetly, following it up with a gentle breath along the spot he’d been sucking and tonguing between kisses. 

Tony rubs at Peter’s hips while he waits; hands sliding forward and back, forward and back, forward and just barely into the hem of Peter’s pants, then back far enough to thumb the dimples above his ass, and forward again- just a little deeper into his pants and then- back again, back toying with the hem above his ass now, and Peter’s started rolling into it so he’s thrusting into empty air at Tony’s tempo. 

“It’s, uh…it should be…” Peter isn’t paying attention to the conversation anymore. His entire world is narrowed down to where Mr. Stark is touching him. The older man hasn’t gotten more than a fingertip beneath the hemline and Peter already feels like he’s going to cream himself from anticipation. Everytime those rough hands drag backwards his body follows eagerly and Mr. Stark isn’t shy about letting Peter feel just how affected he is by what he’s doing. 

Somehow Peter’s been led into a rhythm where he grinds himself against Mr. Stark’s erection and then fucks forward in little rabbit bursts. His cock is leaking in his jeans. 

“Think you’re too sensitive to play for long? You’re being so good for me you deserve a reward but Daddy doesn’t want to expect more than you can give, sweetheart. Give me an answer and a color.” Mr. Stark’s asking a question but Peter’s distracted by the haze of pleasure and his hyperfocus on following his Daddy’s touch by feel alone. The idea that he’s being good and that his Daddy wants to play with him long enough sensitivity might come into question penetrates through the fog of lust enveloping him. Peter blinks his eyes and tries to concentrate as hard as he can on something other than Mr. Stark’s cock. 

“Green. I can do it, Daddy. Please let me show you I can do it.” There. He can use his words. Bucky would be so proud if he were here.

“Go grab the toy then, gorgeous.” Tony slaps Peter’s ass from out of nowhere and grins when he gets a gasp in response. Peter’s already keyed up to eleven and they haven’t even got his dick out. “Then turn on your set up and grab your headphones and lube; I know you and Thor were going to play Fortnite in about an hour but I can guarantee you he’s on now and would play with you if you asked.”

Peter does as he’s been told and tries his best not to rub at his erection or relieve the pressure. He’s got a pretty good idea of what his Daddy might have in mind and if he keeps thinking about it he’s going to explode way too early and ruin the night. 

“Perfect, baby. How do you normally game with Thor?” Tony watches Peter put his headphones around his neck and pull out his phone to show him his Discord account. He nods; he’s never used the app himself but a quick glance shows it’s not much different from all the other messaging apps out there. Perfect for the game they’re about to play.

“Get on the couch, put your headphones on, undress from the waist down, and log in for me, baby.” Tony orders. He grinned to himself when Peter hops to it; the boy is eager to please at the best of times and it’s only magnified by the hero worship now being combined with cock worship. Not that Tony is complaining when he gets to enjoy such a responsive and obedient sub.

Peter feels hot and prickly all over but especially wherever those dark eyes trail across his bare skin. He curls his toes into the soft carpet of his apartment’s living room floor and shifts, feeling the material of his couch under his bare ass and thighs. He bites his lip when his knees are pulled apart and his hips slip forward until he had to balance his feet on the coffee table to keep from sliding right off and onto the floor. 

“Beautiful.” Tony is looking at him; at his bared cock, at his flexing thighs, at the T-shirt with the dumb Fortnite meme Thor had bought for him when he declared them ‘brothers in arms both real and virtual’. Peter’s arousal only amps up from the smothered urge to cover himself under that intense gaze. 

The stare off is broken by Peter startling upright a little and letting out a small yelp when his headphones start ringing in his ear with a Discord call. He looks up at Tony with a deer in the headlights look. The answering shark-grin he gets back makes him feel distinctly like prey. 

“Go ahead. Answer it.” Tony lifts and lowers one leg so he’s standing with Peter’s left thigh between his own, the TV at his back and Peter in front. He grabs the lube Peter had gotten as instructed and leisurely begins unbuttoning and rolling up the cuffs to his dress shirt without breaking eye contact. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“H-hi! Hey, yeah, hi, uhh, Thor! Hi.” Peter babbles complete nonsense as his brain goes offline. The crinkle of amusement at the corner of his Daddy’s eyes only makes him feel dumber and hotter and his tongue is heavy and thick in his mouth. “I’m, um, showing Tony a few rounds of Fortnite, if, uhhh…”

Tony’s taken his cock out and Peter’s mouth is now wet and empty and what was he saying-?

“No, no, he won’t be playing. Not really, uhh, not really…his thing.” Peter’s eyes aren’t even on the screen as he starts the game. His character would have walked right into a wall if his teammates hadn’t collected it for material. There’s so many other players nobody notices -or they assume he’s new or a troll- that all he’s doing is collecting in the same small area he fell into at the start of the map. Peter’s only tangentially aware of the goings on of the game. 

Tony’s finished rolling up his sleeves and eye-fucking Peter in his place and moved on to stroking lube onto Peter’s pink vibrator from base to tip. The promise in the motion, in knowing he’s getting fucked with that very soon, makes Peter suck in a quick breath that pairs with his dick jumping on his abs. 

“Oh! I’m, just, uh, was being, was under fire, you know? It’s fine!” Peter’s voice cracks when he says the word ‘fine’ and he blushes down to his throat and collarbones. In the next second his character is taken out by the enemy and he’s left spectating his teammates carrying on without him. “Oops?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the screen, taking a moment to read the layout and figure out what the problem is. When he does he turns back to Peter with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of his head in question. Peter blushes under the presumption implied in that look and ignores how his balls throb from his Daddy’s attention in any form. 

“I’m normally better, sorry Thor. Just a little distracted tonight.” Peter hastily explains -to Thor- and then stops paying attention to his friend’s reassurances when Tony lowers his hand down to dick height and crooks his finger at Peter in the classic come hither motion. He sits up eagerly, licking his lips when his Daddy’s cock is pressed against them, the mic lifted just enough to give his dick room. Fingers wind into the curls at the back of Peter’s head and he’s so ready for this. 

“Keep talking.” Tony orders, low enough not to carry, and then doesn’t slide his cock in any further. Just rests the head against Peter’s lips so he has to keep feeling and tasting while he talks. It’s frustrating and humiliating and all Peter can think about is how deep he can take him and how fast he can make him cum. 

“Tony is checking out my new apartment. Yeah. Bucky convinced me that May would be fine. He’s out with Steve and Sam. Oh, yeah. I’ll ask him to join next time.” Peter’s glittering eyes skate up to his Daddy’s and he lays a wet kiss on the crown. Tony gives him a knowing grin, smearing pre-cum across Peter’s chin deliberately and then pushing him back into a recline.

“Leave it.” Tony strokes himself as he orders it. Peter keeps both hands on the controller and squirms his legs further apart, hard and dripping. The next round starts and Peter plays it without any physical interruption from Tony. He can still feel the sticky streak on his chin every time he sees his Daddy thumbing the tip of himself. It’s distracting but this time he manages to get a weapon and survive half his teammates before being taken out. 

He’s expecting it when Tony crooks his finger for him, already halfway sitting up and mic positioned upwards. His back arches into the grip at his hair and his eyes go half lidded. He forgets himself and lets out a soft kitten sigh loud enough for the mic to pick up.

“I’m, um, dust? There’s dust. In the air? Allergies? Clearing my throat because of dust allergies!” Peter trips over his words. Then Tony pushes forward and fills his mouth with his cock and Peter has to listen, in stereo, to Thor assuring him that he ‘needn’t play if he’s feeling so unwell, little spider’ while his mouth is too full to counter-argue. The satisfaction of finally getting what he wanted mixes with the titillating realization that he’s sucking cock with Thor listening in and it’s a good thing his Daddy is already gagging him or he might have let out the needy moan growing in his chest.

Then Tony pulls him off and he’s leaning back against the couch cushions and the game’s started again and-

He’s dead already.

His Daddy ‘tsk’s at him and doesn’t even lower his hand to signal Peter closer. Peter feels his chest go cold and squeeze from disappointment but he gets the game now. He’s being rewarded for how long he survives. The longer he lives each round, the better his reward will be. 

So, he’ll need to up his game if he wants to get that dick.

He tries to ignore him when the next round starts and Tony must sense that he’s cottoned on because he’s back up in Peter’s space this time instead of hanging back. He reaches down and wraps a hand around Peter’s dick, giving it a stroke from base to crown and back again to squeeze in a tight circle. 

Peter makes it more than halfway through the round but this time Tony doesn’t stand up and present his cock for him. Now, instead, he’s turned the vibrator on and is trailing it up and down the shaft of Peter’s dick, the lube from earlier gliding the way. 

“Oh, my god, I-I-I-” Peter drops the controller and looks up at the ceiling. It’s too much. It’s so good. He doesn’t want to cum and he probably can’t with how tightly his Daddy is collaring the base of his cock with his fist but the waves of pleasure still feel like they’re building to a crescendo inside of him. It just never ends.

“Pay attention.” The vibrations stop and Peter actually feels a quick prickle of tears. They’re gone before he can even get his hazy gaze back on his Daddy. He licks his lips and nods and wonders if it’s a good or a bad thing that the answering smile he gets makes his neck warm and chest hot. “Good boy.”

This repeats for enough rounds that Peter is both desensitized to the vibrations and can carry on a conversation with only minimal stuttering and gasping and keyed up to the point the skin of his inner thighs won’t stop twitching for minutes after Tony’s turned the toy off. Peter curls his toes and waits for (dreads) the next round to start, bottom lip red and swollen from how badly abused it’s been by his teeth to keep his noises in check. 

It comes as a shock when Tony changes their routine by sliding a finger inside of Peter. It startles him enough that he cries out and the mic definitely picks that up from the immediate heckling and ribbing that starts up. None of them have guessed the real reason for his noises, but some of them have gotten close and Peter’s cock throbs. 

“S-sorry, Thor! It’s, it’s, it’s…a spider!” Peter closes his eyes and wishes his brain didn’t float off into the clouds the second Tony Stark’s dick was involved. He’s so turned on he doesn’t remember anything beyond this bubble they’ve created together. Each time he has to pull his attention onto the screen and control his character comes a little bit slower, takes a little more effort as a little bit more of him stays with Tony. 

Then the toy is slipped inside in place of the fingers that had steadily opened him up and Peter bolts upright, dick jumping in a valiant effort to cum around his Daddy’s grip. He’s shocked speechless from the intensity of the sensations inside of him and can only squirm, rocking his hips from side to side, balls drawn up tight and sweat plastering his shirt to his body. When the round is finally, finally over Peter squeaks out a quick breath of relief and reaches for his phone.

“B-bathroom break, gonna mute!” Peter hit the button on the side to mute before he could hear if Thor had responded. He spread his legs and thrust his hips, lifting a hand to place on his Daddy’s wrist. “Daddy, Daddy, green- but I’m gonna cum if you keep-”

“Oh, the vibrator inside is too much? We’ll give you a break then, Baby.” Peter suddenly isn’t sure if this was the better alternative because his Daddy is slipping the pink toy out of him and standing up with it and walking to put it away without another word.  He gets a parting smirk instead. He had been close to cumming but the promise in that single, wickedly curled smile, had him simultaneously hotter than ever and bearing down on nothing in too eager sensitivity. 

When Tony comes back he’s not holding anything in his hands but he is fisting his cock one handed while the other rests in his pocket. Peter’s mouth waters. Then his eyes widen when, instead of stepping up and using Peter for a blowjob like he’s been teasing about doing all night, he reaches into his pockets and produces a small black rubber cap that had two silver bullets attached to the sides and a remote. 

“Once your break is over I’m going to put this,” The black cap is waved a little to draw attention. “On that pretty little cock of yours. Then, I’m going to sit you on my cock and you’re going to tell Thor you’re back and ready for another round while you warm my cock. The bullets vibrate at different settings but if you need me to hard stop because you’re about to cum or otherwise need to stop without using your safeword, tap my knee twice. Color?” 

“Green, Daddy.” Peter’s voice is breathless and shaky and eager all in two simple words. Tony could listen to him for the rest of the night like that. If only he didn’t have plans to keep breaking his babyboy down bit by bit- next time, maybe. Bucky could join in; Tony has been dying to see the man’s mouth wrapped around Peter’s cock from up close ever since that performance for him on the gala balcony. 

Definitely next time.

“Unplug your headphones from your phone but keep them on. Keep the mic down and lay out on the table for me, sweetheart.” Tony watches Peter move for him. His shirt is stained from the amount his erection has dripped onto it during their extended play. His pale skin is flushed and glistening, overheated and oversensitive. He’s beautiful. 

“I’m going to fuck your throat, sweetheart.” Tony kneels by Peter’s head where it hangs over the coffee table he’s had his feet propped on. Peter’s cock is so hard it’s pointing towards his belly button. Tony’s words only make it twitch and leak worse. “You’re not going to touch yourself and you’re not going to cum. Think you can learn to be Daddy’s good little cocksucker?”

“Yes, Daddy. Please teach me.” Peter’s wanted to learn how to deepthroat ever since he saw Tony do it. They’ve worked at it and talked about technique and expectations (turns out a lot can go wrong if you try just shoving a dick down your throat without prep) but this is the first time they’ll put one of the positions into practice. 

“So good for me, baby.” Tony praises. He grips himself and aims for Peter’s waiting mouth, sliding in past Peter’s usual gag reflex easily from the way this opens his throat up. He pulls back and gives the younger man a moment to breathe, to get used to what just happened, and then he does it again. He doesn’t go slow but he does go steady, smooth dips in and out of Peter’s throat, training him to relax and take it one inch at a time. 

“Just look at you. Fuck, I’ll never get over how well you take it.” Tony pauses, fully buried down to the root. He can see the bulge his dick is making from the outside of Peter’s body. He traces his fingertips up the shivery skin, from collarbone to stretched out lips, enjoying the feeling of himself under his palm when he wraps his hand around Peter’s neck. He squeezes enough to feel the constriction on his cock as he pulls back. 

“Green, sweetheart?” Tony asks casually. His hand is still on Peter’s neck when he nods. He strokes the tender skin lovingly, caressing gently at the red forming where his fingers indented. Then he bears down and fucks his hips forward, burying himself deep inside Peter’s throat and fucking into his own hand at the same time. 

“Such a good slut for Daddy. You’ve learned how to suck cock so fast. I’m so proud of you for being able to take all of me like this.” Tony lays on the praise as heavily as he’s laying into Peter’s mouth. If only he had the stamina and cocaine of his youth; he’d love to cum down his throat and fuck him ten minutes later, too. 

“Break time’s over, baby.” Tony teases as he eases back. Peter’s a wreck; his face is red and his chest is hitching like he’s been crying or running a marathon. His eyes are hazy and far away as he sits up and follows Tony’s directions back onto the couch in a fog. 

Tony kneels and preps the little vibrator cap, kissing Peter’s bare knee and then upwards all the way to his dick. He slips the rubber over the sensitive tip, grinning at the way his babyboy’s cock jumps from the sensation. Tony pushes the remote into Peter’s hands. “Hold this, baby.”

Tony gets up off his knees and onto the couch beside Peter. He fists his cock for a second but doesn’t otherwise undress before patting his lap with a grin and a crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Peter moves over, letting rough hands grip under his thighs and lift him up and over the crown of his Daddy’s cock. He’s still wet and fluttering from the leftover stimulation of his vibrator and it’s all he can do not to squirm down and try and blindly catch it on his rim himself.

Then Peter’s being lowered down his Daddy’s bare dick and it’s so much better, so hot and solid but flexible and rubbing his sensitized walls so good. He tips his head back onto a firm shoulder and bites his knuckle to keep in his moans. He settles in Tony’s lap, the older man’s cock buried to the hilt, his pants scratching at Peter’s bare and sensitized thighs. 

“Turn it on. I wanna know what you think of it.” Tony orders directly into Peter’s ear. Peter’s finger hits the button before he’s finished registering and then he loses the ability to think.

“Oh, fuck yeah, Babyboy. Just look at you.” Tony slid his hand around Peter’s waist, touching lightly to the younger man’s stomach. Even through the shirt he can feel the deep, full body contractions that ripple up Peter’s abdominals with each gentle pulse from the bullets. Peter’s finger is still caught between his teeth but each surge from the toy drags out a broken gasp or stuttered, choked off keen.  It coincides deliciously with the way Peter’s inner muscles are grasping onto Tony’s cock in time with the toy. Tony pets at Peter’s quivering belly for a moment just to enjoy the feeling.

“Now, listen up, Gorgeous. You’re not going to move during this round. Nothing but your fingers on the controller is allowed to move, babyboy. You can keep clenching and pulsing just like that for Daddy but you’re not going to squirm or whimper or beg. They’re listening to you, Baby, so you have to be quiet and you have to be good.” Tony picks up the phone and the remote and flicks the mic down on Peter’s headset. He places the controller back in Peter’s grip. 

“Daddy, I- I can’t, this, this-” Peter’s shaking and he can’t stop it. His entire body is lit up from the inside out and he wants to be good but his Daddy wants so much from him. He’s finally, finally gotten Tony’s cock inside of him but now he can’t move? 

“Color?” Tony turns the bullets’ off. Peter feels the tears he’s been fighting the entire night spill over. He wants to be good and he will. For his Daddy.

“G-green. Green, Daddy.” The remote is flicked back on and Peter sobs harder. He looks up at the TV and can barely see the screen through the tears and the pleasure coursing through him. The pulsing really is spaced out but Peter’s sense of time has spaghettified so much it feels endless. He’s holding perfectly still like his Daddy asked but his thumbs and fingers are flying. He has no idea what’s going on beyond his rim fluttering and grasping onto Tony like his body is determined to milk him dry without Peter’s conscious input. 

Distantly, sounding far away and right in his ear, Peter hears his Daddy talking.

“He’s just very invested in his character, Thor.” Tony says it calmly, with just enough deadpan delivery to make everyone laugh and go back to the game. He thumbs the tears off one of Peter’s cheeks at the same time and nobody in the chat has any clue. They think Peter is some weird germaphobe having a breakdown over dust in his new apartment. They have no idea that Peter is one second away from throwing the controller across the room and begging to be fucked into the ground. 

Peter’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t understand at first what’s going on when Thor starts congratulating him. Does he know? Did Tony tell him what they’re doing? Peter’s so far under that even Thor telling him ‘Good Game’ in that booming voice of his makes him preen and warm in the chest and stomach and dick. 

But it isn’t Thor praising him for being such a good cockwarmer for Daddy. It’s Thor praising him because somehow…

Somehow they’ve won?

“Good job, guys. It only took you, oh,” Tony checks his watch with the hand not petting Peter’s stomach. Peter can tell he’s grinning even out of his mind with pleasure and on the brink of the best orgasm of his life. “Two hours for you to win a round?”

Peter stops tracking when his shirt is pushed up and his nipples (ignored until now) are pinched. He didn’t think he could feel anymore but he was wrong and it’s so good. Tony twists and pulls and flicks with one hand while the other is on Peter’s stomach, holding him close, keeping him perched in Tony’s lap crying his eyes out. 

Peter follows directions and keeps holding still no matter how hard the tears start coming.

“-think we’re gonna call it a night. End it on a high note, you know?” Tony’s words register and Peter realizes he’s missed a chunk of the conversation entirely. He doesn’t care; he’ll apologize to Thor later. Right now he’s keyed into Tony’s every move -inside and out- and can’t concentrate on anything besides the bliss coursing through his synapses. The headphones are slipped off and Peter’s body tightens up. 

“You did so good for me. You deserve to cum, don’t you, babyboy?” Tony slides his hand down from Peter’s stomach to his cock. He kisses him on the side of his neck and grips him, stroking and praising and kissing his wonderful boy. “Go ahead. Cum for me. Show me how much being good for Daddy gets you off.”

Peter wails when he cums; spurt after spurt rockets out of the openings in the cap, dribbles following after, balls throbbing and squeezing out more than he’s ever managed before. His entire body locks up for a solid few seconds that feel like an eternity. He feels like he’s floating and everything is warm, soft, and good.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You’re good. You’re so good for me.” Daddy’s words don’t really penetrate so much as permeate the fog. He’s wrapped up in it like a blanket. He hopes Daddy came, too. He’s so wet and tingly he can’t tell. 

“I did, baby. I came when you did because you looked so gorgeous I couldn’t help myself. You were perfect. Can I wash you up now, sweetheart? Daddy’s made a mess of your pretty hole.” Tony can tell this session sent Peter off the charts. He’s proud that the kid trusts him so much that he could let go like this. 

Now it’s Tony’s turn to take care of someone in need. He smiles looking down at the blissed out, half lidded gaze looking up at him.

He’s going to enjoy pampering Peter.

.

This was so much fun omg edging is my JAM and stupid ideas being done seriously is my JAM and Peter crying is my JAM and Tony fucking his throat is my JAM and-

#starker #nff #very #very nff #d/s #dom!tony #sub!peter #edging to tears #oversensitivity #semi-public sex #i guess? #mentions of Bucky because this is a tie in to my winterironspider au #but if you want to think of this as a stand alone #feel free to skip those 2-3 lines #GOTTA GO THIS WAS EDITED SUPER QUICK SORRY IT SUCKS #HOPE YOU LIKED ANON LOVE YOU AND YOUR PROMPT

[subverbaldreams]

@reniisbooks  This one captured my imagination. I hope you enjoy! I’ve posted the full 5.9k story on my AO3 here: 

The Darkness In Me

warning: dubious consent

everyone’s 18 or older

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

There have been a few (read: many) times in Tony’s life when he’s known he was fucked. Now, looking into his own eyes, ice-blue and devoid of empathy, he feels a great surge of nostalgia for those good old days.

Every inch of his body hurts. The fight was quick and brutal and now he’s tied up, legs spread, sitting up against the headboard of his own bed with his arms splayed out to either side.

Well. If being shibari’d to his own bed by his evil twin doesn’t say something about lifestyle choices, he isn’t sure what does.

His doppleganger picks up Tony’s phone from the floor and starts flipping through it. His lips— Tony’s lips, his own goddamn face except for the eye color—curl in a smug smirk that’s gut wrenching in its familiarity. Tony’s seen that look on his own face, before.

“And Pepper Potts, too,” his twin murmurs. “You really are just a pale copy of me and my universe, aren’t you? Ooh, hel-lo. Who’s this?” Avarice darkens his gaze; he taps and scrolls, then tilts the phone so Tony can see. Peter Parker’s innocent face fills the screen and Tony jerks at the cords around his wrists.

“You fucking piece of garbage, if you touch him—”

“Oh, my shadow,” his twin shakes his head. “Not a full day in your ‘verse and you keep disappointing me. You’ve just told me he’s exactly the person I should touch.”

He flicks his wrist; a splash of chrome flies off his suit like paint splatter and hits Tony’s throat, burns into his skin and he screams, but only for a second. Air keeps pushing out of his throat, but there is no more sound. Nothing. Tony meets his own eyes (pale as a winter sky) and a conspiratorial wink, grotesque because that’s his face, his wink and in this context, so wrong.

“Vocal cord paralytic. It’ll wear off in a bit,” his twin smiles. “Don’t want you ruining our surprise.” He taps the phone and Tony hears it ring.

Oh, Pete. Don’t pick up, kid. Don’t pick up!

“Hey. It’s me,” his doppleganger says, voice urgent. “I have an emergency situation. I need you at the tower, right now. No, don’t tell anyone. Top secret, superhero stuff, you know the drill.” He listens, watching Tony’s face, then his teeth bare in a shark’s grin. “You’ll understand everything, soon.”

  —

  Peter climbs the side of Stark tower to enter Tony’s quarters by the runway on the top floor. His chest is in knots, the hairs on his arms and neck lifted. Something isn’t right. The knot eases when he sees Tony, leaned against the door frame to greet him. He wears a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up and Peter doesn’t know whether to be more distracted by his forearms or the curves of his abs. Tony’s got his sunglasses on, even though it’s two in the morning. The drink in his hand might explain it. He waves Peter inside, opens his arm as Peter gets close and wraps it around his shoulders.

“Take the mask off, baby. Let me see your face.”

Peter obeys without thought. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark? I used the credit card you gave me to catch a cab, I hope you don’t mind.”

Tony laughs, then: a deep, rolling sound that’s both surprised and pleased. He turns into Peter, looks down at him and Peter wishes he could see Tony’s eyes; he isn’t acting like there’s an emergency.

“Oh, sweetheart. Of course I don’t mind.” He keeps that arm around Peter’s shoulders as he steps forward, pushing their chests together and Peter forgets how to breathe. Tony’s hand holding the drink comes up to touch his chin and the scent of fine whiskey wraps around him like a fog. “I’m glad you let me take care of you. You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Peter inhales a sharp gasp. Those words, that tone, drive a line of heat straight to his crotch. Heat floods his neck. Surely Tony didn’t mean it that way. Peter knows his desire is one-sided; has been for years. He doesn’t answer the question. His mouth feels frozen. Tony walks him a few steps back, a smirk on his handsome lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and Peter knows this can’t be what he thinks it is, but his body isn’t listening.

Tony knocks back the rest of his drink and tosses the tumbler aside. It hits the floor with a heavy thunk. He pulls Peter in and grips his chin with the arm wrapped around his shoulders, half-choking him and Peter realizes with a flutter of panic that his hard-on is pushing against Tony’s thigh.

“Mr. Stark,” he gasps. It’s like his brain’s shorted out. He’s drowning in Tony’s scent, that delicious cologne he always wears, the light salt of his sweat, and Peter’s almost hyperventilating as Tony leans down until they’re drinking each other’s breaths.

“Mmmm, look at you, baby. So hungry for Daddy.” His thigh pushes forward and he rolls his hips up, and there’s no question he does it on purpose. Peter lets out an embarrassing whine. He may be stronger than Tony, but that sound speaks the truth of their relationship. Tony Stark owns him, body and soul. Has since they first met.

Tony drinks in the moan, reflects it back to him in a pleased sigh and nips at his bottom lip. Peter’s legs shake. He’s grinding against Tony’s thigh, needy like an animal and he can’t help it; he’s wanted this for so long.

“Do you dream about this, pretty baby? Huh?” Tony murmurs. He puts an arm around Peter’s lower back and lifts him with ease, nudges with his legs until Peter takes the hint and wraps his legs around Tony’s waist. “How many times have you jacked off to me? Tell me.”

He walks with Peter in his arms, walking toward the bedroom and if Peter’s brain was short-circuited before, it’s complete jelly now.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” he gasps. “Every day. For years. Oh, god. I want...oh, Mr. Stark!” He arches as the man’s hand dips into the cleft of his ass, pressing through the suit. They cross the threshold of the bedroom and Tony kicks the door shut behind them. The lights are low and it’s perfect because Peter’s simultaneously shy and desperate to see Tony without the shirt on.

“Take this off,” Tony murmurs, tapping Peter’s suit. “Let me taste you.”

“Oh,” Peter whimpers, so close to cumming right there as he tightens his legs around Tony’s waist and Tony holds his ass in both hands so Peter can let go of him to pull out of the suit. He pushes it down to his waist, then Tony’s hand is in his hair, pulling his back into an arch and there’s warm breath on his nipple and teeth and oh god, is this happening?!

“AH! Ah, ah, Mr. Stark, ohhHHH!”

The man’s lips sealed around the throbbing, bitten skin and sucked, and Peter thinks he might die from pleasure. No one’s ever touched him like this. He wishes Tony would take off the sunglasses; it feels so impersonal, not being able to see his eyes.

“Are you still a virgin, baby boy?” Tony asks, and Peter shudders because he can feel Tony’s hard cock riding up against his balls.

Peter nods, embarrassed. Tony’s so much older than him, so much more experienced. Will he back off, once he realizes Peter’s “experience” comes entirely from porn videos on his phone?

But Tony’s grip in his hair tightens; he yanks back and Peter yells in surprise.

“Use your words, Petey. Is Daddy’s little boy a virgin?”

Those words steal Peter’s breath, but he manages a choked, “Yes, sir!”

Tony’s pleased chuckle rumbles through him. “What about kissing? Have those pretty lips ever tasted another boy? A girl, maybe?”

Peter shakes his head, too humiliated to look into Tony’s eyes, even shaded as they are by the sunglasses. “No, sir,” he whispers.

But Tony groans, as if that answer makes him incredibly hot. He grinds their hips together and Peter’s transported.

“Oh, please, Tony,” he moans.

That hand jerks his hair back, and Peter’s head rocks from a slap that leaves his ear ringing on that side. He’s so shocked, he doesn’t even think to pull away. Tony’s lips are hot against his burning cheek, the scratch of his beard unbearable on the sensitized flesh.

“You may call me sir, or Mr. Stark, or Daddy. Those are your options, boy. Do you understand?”

Peter’s eyes are full of tears. He blinks and they run down his face, onto T—onto Mr. Stark’s lips, and the man licks it up as though he enjoys the taste.

“Y-yes sir, Mr. Stark,” he stammers; he’s not brave enough to call the man “Daddy.”

Mr. Stark thumbs his chin.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmurs. Humiliation and pride fuse into a glowing ball in Peter’s chest, spreading warmth throughout his body. Mr. Stark’s skin is cool by comparison, the only thing that keeps Peter from burning up. He leans in and presses his lips against Peter’s, tongue invading his mouth and goatee scratching his lips raw. His first kiss and it’s Tony Stark, and the man doesn’t hold back. He knows how sensitive Peter is, yet he eats into him like a hungry beast. Peter submits to it, completely overwhelmed. His mouth and nose and flesh and senses are all full of Tony, and if the hair’s still lifted on his neck, that’s just because everything is dialed way past eleven right now.

  —

  Tony Stark grins over Peter’s shoulder at his shadow-self, who watches helplessly from the bed. The pathetic sap looks like a vein in his forehead is about to burst. Tony slips his own shirt off, grinning as Peter’s hands flutter over his skin, eager, but (rightfully) afraid to lay hands on him.

“You really are a virgin in every way,” he smirks. “Touch me, boy. Find out what a real man feels like.”

The flush has gone all the way down Peter’s chest. Tony’s handprint lights up Peter’s left cheek: a gorgeous, cherry red overlaying all that hot pink. The tips of the boy’s ears glow like candle flames.

Tony grips his shirt behind Peter’s back and folds it, then brings it up over Peter’s eyes.

“No,” Peter gasps.

“Did you just say ‘no’ to me?” Tony lets his words melt with the disdain he holds for this entire, sorry world. If Peter fights him, he’s going to find himself badly outclassed.

Peter inhales sharply.

“I-I didn’t mean it, sir,” he amends. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Mmm, that’s what I thought.” He ties the blindfold tightly around Peter’s eyes, tucks in the fabric to block all sight.

He maneuvers the boy’s legs from around his waist, makes him stand straight and turns him sideways, putting the boy on display for their bound audience.

Tony takes off the sunglasses with a flourish that is for the benefit of no one but himself. He kneels in front of the boy to pull the spider-suit the rest of the way off. Peter’s thick, young cock springs out eagerly. Tony fists it and chuckles when a wavering moan leaks from the boy’s mouth. Over on the bed, his shadow self glances at Peter’s dripping cock then looks quickly away.

“Never been fucked,” Tony murmurs, looking at his other self and letting his breath ghost along Peter’s cock. “Never been kissed.” He curls his tongue around the base of Peter’s cock and grins at the whimper he elicits. “Never been sucked.”

He wraps his lips around the boy’s hooded cockhead and slathers it with his tongue. Peter’s hands find his hair, but the boy is smart enough not to pull. Tony gets the head nice and wet before he dives down to bury his nose in Peter’s thatch. The kid’s cock makes a nice throatful, and he bobs on it a few more times before pulling off with a satisfied smack. Peter’s legs shake adorably; he really is a virgin in every way.

Tony looks up at his lesser twin. The man’s face is twisted between horror and hunger. Of course, the pathetic worm has denied himself this pleasure. But he’s wanted it.

Tony knows that, because he wanted Peter from the moment he saw that sweet face gazing out of his shadow-self’s phone.

  —

  Bound to the headboard, silenced by some tech he’s never even considered, Tony can do nothing but watch. Peter’s innocent moans tug at his heart. The way the boy shakes, cries out “Mr. Stark!” Not even angry after the slap. As if Tony has the right to treat him any way he wants.

As if Tony owns him.

He’d denied it for so long, and here it is, his sin of the mind coming back to swallow him whole. Tony could cry when Peter arches under his twin’s touch.

“Please, sir...please...”

The other man stands up, trailing kisses along Peter’s hip, stomach, chest and shoulder as he does. He tilts the boy’s chin up and takes his mouth in a kiss that’s got to be thick with the taste of Peter’s cock. The boy’s hands come to his shoulders, gripping hard as his legs tremble like they’ll go out from beneath him.

“Beg me to fuck you,” the man whispers, but his blue eyes are focused on Tony. Peter licks his lips, breath shaking.

“Please...f...fuck me, Mr. Stark, sir,” Peter breathes.

I’m gonna kill you, Tony thinks, and it’s almost like his doppleganger can hear his thoughts. It’s Tony’s own cocky smirk that shines back at him, and it’s like they share one mind in that moment.

I’m taking what’s yours, his twin is saying to him. And you’re going to sit there and watch. And want. And hate yourself for not doing it first.

Because he does; he wants this. He wants to be Peter’s first. He’s rock hard, watching the boy’s slim muscles shake under his hands. It’s like he’s watching the world’s most invasive porn video.

His other self walks Peter to the bed and shoves him back on it. Pulls his wrists together and a chrome tendril laces out from the glowing reactor on his chest, swirls down his arm and wraps Peter’s wrists and forearms a dozen times over. Peter gasps and tugs at the binding.

“You can try to break it, if you want,” the doppleganger says, grinning. “You aren’t getting out of this until I let you out.”

Peter’s breath is high and tight in his throat. He’s afraid, but he doesn’t know he should be terrified. Tony’s hands flex, aching to grab Peter and run.

His doppleganger climbs onto the bed, hooks one hand under Peter’s arm and lifts him. Peter kicks his legs, making a hurt sound that socks Tony straight in the chest.

You’re HURTING HIM! His throat won’t move, so he screams the accusation with his eyes.

His twin’s cold gaze reflects back at him: I know.

Peter’s feet are still tangled in his suit. He squirms until the fabric comes free. He’s just starting to get his feet under him when Tony’s twin kicks his legs apart. More silver ropes flow around Peter’s ankles and pull his legs wide. The man throws him down and Peter doesn’t quite catch himself. His face hits the bed inches from Tony’s crotch.

Peter’s whimpers are edging out of “scared” and into “panicked.” He rubs his face against the mattress, trying to push the blindfold up. The doppleganger slaps a hand over Peter’s cloth-covered eyes and jerks his head back.

“Do you want to see? Ask and you shall receive. Don’t be a naughty boy and try to take what you want.”

Peter swallows loudly. His voice sounds wet, like he’s holding back a sob. “Please Mr. Stark. Please take the blindfold off?”

“Mmm...what’ll you do in exchange for your sight? Will you make Daddy happy with your tight, virgin ass? Will you be good while Daddy cums inside you?”

A whine. Tony’s legs shift; he can hardly hold still when Peter sounds like that. The boy is letting Tony take him apart because he trusts Tony to put him back together. He doesn’t understand the darkness in Tony’s heart. That darkness, free and hungry behind glacial blue eyes, is enough to break him until there’s nothing left to repair.

Don’t, he begs, and he’s begging himself. Literally and figuratively. Begging that he doesn’t have it in him to do this to Peter.

“Of course you will,” his other self coos. “You’ll be a good little slut for us, won’t you.”

Peter twitches, and goes still. His nostrils flare. “Us?” He repeats, a plea in his voice. Let me have heard wrong, it said. Let me have misunderstood.

The doppleganger spits onto his own fingers, slips them between Peter’s legs and the boy lurches forward with a choked scream. At the same moment, the man pulls the blindfold off him.

Shocked amber eyes stare at Tony’s crotch, then up his bare chest to his face. Tony is shaking, head to foot. But then, so is Peter. The boy lifts himself on his forearms and twists to look behind, at the blue eyed Tony Stark, also shirtless and with at least one finger inside him from the way Peter had screamed.

“W-w-what,” Peter stutters. He looks forward again, at Tony desperately trying to get sound out of his paralyzed throat. “Mr. Stark!?”

His eyes are begging. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

The doppleganger pulls a small bottle from his pocket, squeezes it over Peter’s crack and the boy jerks forward again as he feels the liquid hit him.

“Oh, god,” Peter moans.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart.” The man’s forearm flexes with the movement of his fingers and Peter’s mouth hangs open over a choked whimper. “Just feel. Feel what we do to you. Listen to my voice, baby. You know who I am. You’ve always belonged to Tony Stark, haven’t you, baby boy?”

He slaps the side of Peter’s head. The boy shakes his head like he’s shaking off water, and gasps out a hasty, “Yes, sir,” followed by a loud moan as Tony’s twin grabs the back of his neck and drives his fingers in to the last knuckle.

“Oh, please, Mr. Stark! Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Can’t what? Can’t give me what’s mine?” Blue eyes harden and he twists his wrist until Peter sobs into the mattress, hips bucking into his touch as much as away from it. “Can’t help being a dirty slut for your old man? With your legs wide open and your ass in the air? Try and tell me you don’t want this,” he snarls, and releases Peter’s neck to reach around him and stroke his leaking cock.

Peter’s bloodshot eyes lift back to Tony’s, desperate. Begging him, but for what? To make it stop? Or to let it continue? Tony’s cock is at high mast inside his pajama pants and Peter sees it. His trembling lips open as if to say something, but it turns into another moan.

The doppleganger takes hold of Peter’s hair, holding him so he has no choice but to look at Tony.

“Say, ‘please, fuck me with your giant cock, Mr. Stark,’” he orders.

Peter’s breath shivers over a whine. Tears drip down the sides of his nose. “Pl-lease—AH!—oh! Please fuck m-me, with your giant…OHGODOHGOD!”

“My giant what, boy?” The man grins. He tilts Peter’s ass up until Tony can see: he’s got four fingers shoved inside the boy’s virgin hole.

“Giant cock!” Peter shouts. “It hurts! Please, it hurts, Mr. Stark!”

“Poor baby,” the man rumbles. “I’ve got something that’ll feel a whole lot better.”

Peter glances up at Tony’s eyes, then away. His whole face, neck and ears are bright red. Humiliation and pain have his eyes glassy as a drug addict’s. He moans in relief as the man’s fingers pull out of him. The doppleganger unbuckles his pants and pulls himself out. His cock, like the rest of him, is a mirror image of Tony’s. Long and thick, far too big for a virgin boy.

“I’m gonna ruin you, baby,” he purrs, and smiles as Tony jerks ineffectually against the ropes. He maintains that eye contact while he slicks up his cock, then brings it right up to Peter’s entrance.

Tony twists and tugs at his bonds in a panic. Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s too tense. He’s going to tear. He’s going to bleed. Tony shakes his head at himself, because it is him, it’s him doing this. His lips move in silent pleas.

Don’t! Stop! Stop!

He can go to hell for a lot of things, but please god not this.

Tony looks into his own eyes as the man’s hips push forward.

Peter’s breath cuts off. He curls over himself as if clutching a stomach wound, statue-still as Tony’s double breaches him. The man takes it slow, millimeter by millimeter pressing inside. Thirty seconds without a breath, and then a gasp rattles through Peter’s throat. He tries to lurch forward, but the man grabs his hips and holds him in place. Peter’s bound hands reach forward, grab onto Tony’s thigh like it’s a life raft.

“Hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts aah aah aah—”

“Mmm, I know it does, baby,” the man rumbles, with Tony’s voice, Tony’s words (if he was a sociopathic monster and would do this to someone who loves and trusts him) (and clearly, he is) Tony’s hands holding Peter’s hips in place as he drives deeper.

Peter’s breath stops again. His grip is going to leave black bruises on Tony’s skin. It’s the least he deserves for causing this.

His twin pauses, halfway sheathed in Peter’s body. He tilts Peter’s hips so Tony can see the ridge of the boy’s overstretched hole wrapped tight around his cock.

“Would you look at that,” he marvels. “Look at that cherry pop.” He traces a finger over the rim. Peter hitches in a sob. “Shh, that’s a good little boy. Get used to Daddy inside you. Ohh, fuck that’s good.” He groans, turns half-lidded eyes up to Tony and sneers, “you pathetic worm. You could have had this, but you left him for me. You did this. Saved him for the superior version of you. Guess that just goes to show, you’re still not stupid as the rest of the vermin on this planet.” A triumphant sneer tugs at his lips and he sinks deeper into Peter’s shaking body. “This one, though...ugh, I’m keeping this one. It’s gonna be fun, dirtying him up.”

“Can’t,” Peter begs into the comforter, “s-s-st-op...hurrrts…”

“Push down on me, baby,” the man coos. “There you go. I know, I know. It’ll start to feel good. You’re doing such a good job for Daddy. Being such a good boy. Giving me that sweet little cherry. Look up, sweetheart. Look at how much your Tony wants you.”

Peter’s head comes up. Low to the bed now, his eyes are blocked by the tent in Tony’s pants.

Tony feels like he’s choking on flames, the shame burns so hot inside him. And even so, a part of him is memorizing the taut lines of Peter’s body, the way his pink hole stretches to take his twin’s cock, the breathy whines of “can’t” and “hurts.”

The man shoves his hips forward when there are just a couple inches left, slides home with a slap of skin on skin, and Peter shrieks. He tries to lunge forward, to get away from the pain, but the man hangs onto his hips and rides the motion. He jerks Peter’s hair until the boy’s head leans back onto his shoulder, so Peter’s lithe body is on display, and Tony is shocked to see the boy’s cock still hard, with precum drooling from the tip.

Tony’s twin sets a hand over Peter’s belly and pushes. Peter’s eyes fly wide open. He squeals out a helpless sound, and the doppleganger laughs. He shifts, angles so he’s thrusting straight forward and Peter bucks in his arms. His scream breaks in his throat.

“You’re always gonna remember this first time,” the man promises, eyes locked with Tony. “Cause you’ll never be the same after I’m through with you.”

He pushes Peter back onto his elbows, drags the sobbing boy forward until he’s hovering right over Tony’s crotch. His big hand closes over the back of Peter’s head and pushes his face down into the thin fabric which covers Tony’s raging hard-on.

“Suck it,” the man orders. “It’s mine, after all. Show me how desperate you are for my cock. Take it in your mouth and ass at the same time, you depraved little cockslut.”

Peter tries to look up, maybe for permission, but the other Tony holds his head down. A sob ratchets through his chest and Tony can feel his wet breath through the soft cotton of his pants. Then Peter’s mouth closes around the side of his cock and it’s a struggle not to let his eyes roll back. Not to admit to himself—neither the Tony across from him nor the Tony that is him—how fucking good it feels.

“That’s right, whore. Suck your Daddy’s big cock. Show him how much you want it.”

The man tilts his hips gently forward and back while Peter sobs over Tony’s clothed cock, loosening the boy up with the motion.

“Fuck, Tony,” the doppleganger groans. “How’d you keep your dick outta this for so long? This slut’s been after you for years, you know that? Jerking himself to sleep, dreaming about getting bred by Daddy Stark. Isn’t that right, boy?”

He jerks Peter’s head up. Peter’s eyes meet Tony’s for an instant, and the fear in them says everything. His twin is telling the truth.

“You piece of shit,” Tony rasps, then looks up as he realizes his voice is back. His other self smirks.

“Right on time. You wanna cuss yourself out while we take what we’ve always wanted? Be my guest.”

Without pulling out, he shoves his hips forward, hard.

Peter’s breath chokes off. He thrashes his head back and forth in silence until his voice bursts free in a broken whine.

“Mmm, feels good from that angle, doesn’t it, baby? Daddy’s sooo deep inside your little body.”

He stirs his hips, and Peter writhes, face buried in the comforter until the man jerks his hair back.

“Look at him. That’s me, right there. That’s the part of me too chickenshit to take what’s mine.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Tony snarls. “I will rip you limb from limb and leave you for the vultures, you fucking sack of garbage.”

His own face smirks back at him. “Look at him, Peter. Leaking through his pants for you. This is what he always wanted to give you. Not some StarkTech suit, not money, not mentoring or whatever the fuck he’s told you. He wanted to feel your lips on his cock. He wanted to feel your ass sucking tight around him.”

Peter’s eyes are too wide, white showing all around the irises. His breath pants out in little whimpers. The rocking motion changes to short thrusts, and Peter’s forehead creases; a thin whine leaks from his mouth.

“Mmm, starting to feel good, now? Tell Daddy you like it. Say it!” He jerks back on Peter’s hair.

“OHH Daddy I like it! AHH!” His voice is a train wreck. Tony is never going to forget that sound; his twisted brain will make sure of that.

“Good boy,” Tony’s twin purrs. “You get a sweet treat for being so honest with Daddy.”

He pushes on Peter’s upper back until his chest is arched into the bed, ass in the air and hair still pulled back so he’s staring wide-eyed up at Tony.

The man starts pounding into him, long thrusts that knock the breath from Peter’s lungs.

Fat tears stream down the boy’s face. Tony whispers Peter’s name, tells him it’ll be ok, that he’ll get through this, but his own rigid dick gives the lie to his comfort and he’s dying inside because he can see Peter shattering. Those doe eyes go half-lidded as endorphins help him ride out the pain and there are moans sandwiched between his wet sobs.

“That’s my baby boy,” the other man coos, his praise a twisted complement to Tony’s words of support. “Fuck, such a good boy for Daddy. Come here. Show your other Daddy some love.”

Tony looks up, almost chokes out “No!” before he thinks how much more damage that might do to Peter, and begs instead with his eyes.

Please, don’t do this. Please. You’ve got what you wanted.

His own eyes narrow back at him. The cruel baring of teeth replies:

I want MORE.

  —

  Peter can hardly breathe as Mr. Stark lifts his legs. Still inside him, he curls his knees to his chest and tries to hold still. Any movement might tear him to shreds. Mr. Stark lifts him up until he’s straddling the other Mr. Stark, his bound hands resting against the shining reactor in the man’s chest, and his own hard cock smacks Mr. Stark’s lower belly. He gasps at the sensation of warm flesh and soft, curly hair. Mr. Stark’s hard-on rubs up his perineum and pushes his balls to one side. He’s only vaguely aware that he should have tried to run when the bonds loosened around his ankles. They’re tight again, holding him to the bed. Holding him in Mr. Stark’s lap.

Peter’s head is floating in a cloud. It still hurts, the cock inside him, but when it moves, these sparks fly through his whole body and it feels like flying. The blue-eyed Mr. Stark breathes against his throat, hips still with a waiting silence. Calm before a storm.

“Ride him,” he orders.

Peter glances up to meet brown eyes, wide like he might say “no.” Like maybe Peter only deserves to get fucked by some cruel, twin version of himself, but isn’t good enough for the real Tony Stark. Misery floods through his chest at that thought. But it’s the other’s words that pulls him out of the imminent spiral.

“See how much he wants you, sweetheart?,” the man rumbles in his ear. “See how he’s been denying himself. He’s been desperate to bend your pretty body over his desk and fuck you raw, to breed you full of his cum and leave your hole gaping wide open, dripping wet. He needs to fuck his little boy. Show him, baby. Show him how good it is.”

Peter swallows his tears. This, at least, makes sense. Of course, he wants to help Mr. Stark feel good. He rocks his hips tentatively, but that makes the other man’s cock pull out just a fraction and his breath stops.

“You need Daddy’s help?” The man intuits, hands stroking down Peter’s sides. Soothing him.

Peter sniffles and nods. Mr. Stark is looking up at him, and he’s actually blushing, which is somehow more intimate and strange than their position.

“Show him how your lips taste,” the other says, pushing Peter forward until his bound forearms are sandwiched tightly between himself and Mr. Stark. “Show him what he’s been missing. I promise you, he’ll love it just as much as I do.”

They’re already close enough to taste each other’s breath. With the help of a hand pushing on the back of his head, Peter closes the gap.

Instead of alcohol, this Tony Stark tastes like mint toothpaste. At first, neither of them move. Then the man behind him renews his thrusts, and it forces Peter’s hips forward and back, makes him grind on his mentor’s clothed cock and rubs his own sensitive cockhead into ticklish belly hair.

Peter moans into Mr. Stark’s mouth. His cry is swallowed and Mr. Stark is returning the kiss now, groaning and biting Peter’s lips as if he’s starved for the taste of them.

Something explodes behind Peter’s eyes as the unexpected orgasm sweeps through him. He disappears, lost under waves of pleasure beyond anything he can comprehend.

He comes back to himself, still crying out as he’s filled with a cock that seems bigger than his whole body. He looks on in a daze as a hand runs through the dripping, white cum on Mr. Stark’s chest, then lifts it to his open mouth. Those fingers force the semen past his tongue and shove into Peter’s throat. He gags and struggles. Drool falls down his chin, onto the bound Mr. Stark’s neck and chest.

The fingers stay hooked over his tongue. Peter struggles to breathe, struggles just to exist as that massive cock pushes in and out of him. It still feels good, but it’s hurting again too and he tries to beg. He gurgles unintelligible sounds around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, son,” the other Mr. Stark breathes hot on his ear, gritty with need. “Daddy’s gonna cum. Beg me to breed you, sweetheart. Come on.” He slaps the side of Peter’s face with his free hand. Peter tries to pull back from the hand in his mouth so he can speak, but the man won’t let him. Shame drives deep into his guts, twisting him inside out.

Peter gargles out “Please breed me Daddy” as best he can, then screams as Mr. Stark’s teeth latch onto his throat and bite down. The cock inside him pulses and Peter realizes he’s cumming. Tony Stark, the man Peter idolizes above any other, is cumming inside of him.

But it isn’t Tony.

But it is.

Something deep, deep inside of Peter’s chest cracks and shatters into pieces.

  —

  Tony cums at the same time as his doppleganger. It’s Peter’s voice that does it: the choked gargle around his thick fingers, the way the kid tries to please Tony no matter what the situation. The way Peter’s cum clings to his chest, or how the drool shines on his chin and his strong thighs squeeze Tony’s hips.

Tony’s other self stares him down, pushes Peter against Tony’s chest to pull out of him, and hot cum leaks out of the boy’s gaping hole to soak through Tony’s pants. Peter hides his face in Tony’s neck, lets out a wrecked sob, and Tony tilts his head against Peter’s.

“Hush baby,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

His other cocks an eyebrow at that. He leans in against Peter’s back, lips close to Tony’s so he’s almost kissing himself.

“Stay here sweetheart,” he says to Peter. “I’ll be ready to fuck you again in a minute. I’m sure your Mr. Stark will look after you while I clean up,” he smirks.

Tony avoids the blue eyes, this time. He can’t bear to look at himself. At what he’s done. What he is. He doesn’t move until his twin disappears into the bathroom.

“Peter,” he whispers urgently. “Can you reach my wrists? Untie me, Pete, I’ll get you out of here, sweetheart—”

He cuts off, realizing what he just said. How naturally it rolled off his lips. Peter catches it too; he hides further in Tony’s neck and shakes his head.

“Can’t, sir,” he mumbles. “You said to wait for you.”

Tony leans his head back against the headboard, tears stinging behind his eyes. "I'm right here, sweetheart. It'll be ok."

***********************************************************

my AO3: SubverbalDreams

The rest of this story: [Part 2]  [Part 3]  [everything]

#starker #nff #dubcon #dubious consent #peter parker x superior iron man #my writing

[minghaoss-archive]

mercury •lee taeyong(m)

"I don't ever mind sharing oxygen

I just wanna get lost in your lungs."

summary : it's the summer of your last year at school and you're still a frustrated joykill who wants to have her fun.

this is a planned series, tell me what you think, fellas

Part 1, 2

........

"Why me?" Taeyong asks this, with his pitch black eyebrow raised and his hands undoing the leather belt he prides himself in owning.

You gulp, pushing your glasses up your nose and shooting him a bashful look which makes him grin toothily. You search the deep shelves of your brain and delve out an answer that you'd cater to a question you didn't have the answer to. "Why not you?" You pause, having satisfied yourself with such a witty response. You smile at the entangled fingers of yours in your lap.

Taeyong pushes your chin up so you look at him instead, his eyes are a darkest form of black, sparkling like someone liqiuefied the night sky, generously stitched with stars and poured it into his irises. He's so beautiful. You think, unable to take your eyes off of him. When he touches your mouth, you're suddenly met with the realization that you have been gaping at him like a dumbstruck fool, your cheeks start to burn with a flaming red.

He grazes his thumb over your lower lip and pulls the muscle down, "Nice try, smarty but you need to answer better."

You think about it. You were on the field trip of the graduation batch of your school, which would later follow your last summer as a highschool student. (And) Unlike, most of your happy, experienced classmates, you were a virgin. The matter sat well with you for the longest time. You hid your libido away under the pile of study books and nerve wracking tests. You had little problem with it- until the last year of your highschool rolled around and an adult you'd become without having what is deemed to be one of the most special experiences of one's life- or at least that's what it was in the endless sea of romance novels you'd swallowed whole.

So here you were, despite having a boyfriend of four months, with little to do with touching or sex, here you were with another man in his wooden cabin whilst your boyfriend roasted marshmallows unknowing of the sin you're cooking up behind his back, here you were after you'd left that reddened parchment in Taeyong's locker which read 'I want you to rid me of my innocence.' - how ironic was it as the act of it itself was not at all innocent. How you mustered up the courage to do such a thing astonished you, had you really sent him a letter like that after you'd overheard some girl in your class saying how good he was in bed?

Regardless, you'd always had a crush on the leather jacket wearing, tattooed on, dark haired boy-longer than you'd like to admit and the feeling hadn't gone away even when you were someone else's girlfriend. He was everything you weren't but wanted to be. He looked like he could corrupt you to your bones and truly, you'd let him. So what was so bad in wanting the boy you'd ever so slightly loved for the first time in your life to take your virginity away from you? Nothing.

Taeyong leans in and brushes his nose against yours, his ring clad finger holding your chin in place, "You're taking too long, princess. Why, why not your stupid boyfriend?" You hum in the feeling of the alien proximity, it seemed that every little thing you imagined yourself doing with him had taken the shape of reality.

"I want you to ruin me." Taeyong's eyes darken at this, as if you've flipped a switch in him. He kisses you in a chaste manner at first, as if all he wanted to do was kiss, his fingers travelled into your hair as he pulls it back and elicits a low moan from you. Your stomach feels like it could explode from the weird heat fluttering inside. You'd never kissed anyone before, not even your boyfriend-as weird as it sounds, you both agreed on taking it slow- you did really mean it except.. the pace of your relationship was a little too slow for your liking but you hadn't the courage to tell him about it.

Taeyong kisses you again, with more heat in the kiss, as his fingers touch your throat gently, his thumb rested on your jugular as he pushes your little striped skirt upwards with his idle hand. "You're thinking about something, stop. Think about me now. Only me." He says, letting the touch of your fingers travel into his hair. His tongue tastes of coffee and marshmallows, and you bask in the feeling of him intermingling in every bit of you.

He fiddles with your oversized red crop top and pulls it over your head. He backs away, looking at you with a ravenous desire, he grabs the hem of his shirt and drags it off.

With inky eyes flitting over the newly exposed skin of your body, he drinks in your underwear, the lavender colored bra you wear with a small pink bow sewn in between and the garter belt which connects your pretty thigh highs to your underwear, which too has a matching bow but it's red in color, the fabric of your wear is black, like your socks, matching your outfit.

You blush at how uncoordinated the colors are, feeling like he would laugh at you for it. Seeing the look in his eyes, his mouth slightly parted as he pokes his tongue out and slides it over his teeth, your inside feel a familiar twist.

"God, you're just.." he starts but swallows the word against your mouth as he kisses you with great covet.

He hooks your thighs around his hips and pushes you down, he pulls away from you just to kiss you again, he really can't get enough. His black hair falls over his eyes and you look down at where your bodies are interlinked.

There's a deep scar engraved in Taeyong's lower abdomen, the small detail adds edge to his milky skin, he leans against you and you finally feel the hardness press at your clothed core. You sigh at the contact. You did this to Taeyong. A feeling of pride invades your stomach.

There's a peculiar air to the way Taeyong touches you, as if you were delicate, you're the most precious thing he's touched. When your arms wrap around his neck, he feels an inclination to stare at you. Like he couldn't believe it was happening.

He feels an urgency to call you his angel, and he does, in the way your hips rolls against his and the way his name falls from your lips. "You're so sweet, you're so pure, sweetheart." He says, kissing the skin below your chin. You feel like your body may burst into flames at the recurring phrases tumbling from his mouth.

It feels surreal, becoming one like this. You wonder if he can hear the erratic beat of your heart. You're one. You're whole. You feel like Taeyong completes you, as if all your life you've been one broken part of a pair. He makes you feel perfect. He makes you feel complete. There's a burning sensation in your lower stomach as you look at it bulging with every little thrust Taeyong delivers.

He holds your legs higher, over his shoulders as he gets to a deeper angle which sets your whole body alight.

You felt like you were a product of arson. Your body ablaze and you feel like you might fall over the edge any second now. You felt like you were at the peak of a mountain and you'd slip and fall without warning.

You raise your arms to wrap around his neck as Taeyong rests his palms against the small bed sheet to keep himself up, "Taeyong." You whimper as his member twitches inside of you from the name calling. "Please." Your plea spurs him on, as he continues with harder thrusts, "Please what, sweetheart?" His voice is a mix of a groan and a whimper when he feels you clench around him.

"Please kiss me." And he goes, stroking your sweat glistening in your hair, he holds it away from your face. “Precious, pure pure, my baby’s so pure.” He says, his thighs shaking as he slows his pace down.

When he feels like he would let off, he pulls out, you watch him pump himself before he cums on your stomach.

Taeyong cleans you up with a spare towel in the cabin and holds your legs apart. “I need to treat my pretty baby right.” He says, looking up from his lashes, eyes softening at the sight of your swollen mouth, heated cheeks and creased brows.

That day, before dusks kisses the horizon, your inner thighs are littered with generous bites Taeyong has left you with, he eats you out like it’s what he was born to do, his hands, one of which have the tattoo of a Phoenix-you see, holds your hips down as he laps at your core, curling his fingers inside of you, before you cum all over his hand.

He looks at you with a smirk on his face, his hair a touseled mess, his mouth is moist from eating you whole and he wipes neither the smirk nor the mess on his mouth until he leads you out of the cabin. You can’t believe it happened-Taeyong really is your first.

Taeyong drapes his sweater over your body, it smells of gasoline, just like he does. You marvel, as the black wool guards you from the frost bite in the area. You reach the camp fire separately, coming back to a bitter reality. You take a seat beside your boyfriend, Hendery, his eyes following you with a bright smile on his face, guilt shoots up your throat like bile as you watch the raven haired boy look at you with love in his eyes. You knew it was wrong, what you did. Your heart feels like it could break any minute now, the effect of realizing that what you did with Taeyong was a one time thing shrouded you like a blanket of hazy clouds.

Hendery compliments your sweater, pulling you out of your thoughts, and tells you he admires your choice. He holds your face, your body freezing at the contact as you feel him press his mouth to yours. The crowd surrounding the fire cheered and hollered with ‘woahs’ and ‘get a bedroom, you two.’

Your cheeks burn, at the action, mostly because you couldn’t stop thinking about Taeyong’s kisses when another man has done it to you. Your eyes dart across the crowd to meet Taeyong’s, they are darker than dark, and they look right to you, as he sits down on a log, the parting of his legs allowing a girl to sit between his legs. You wonder if it’s that easy for him, questioning the look in his eyes for a glint of envy. He looks as if he could set the boy beside you on fire.

Hendery breaks the staring by asking you if you had coffee before coming to the trip given the taste of Brazilian roasted beans he’d gotten from kissing you, he tells you he knows his coffee well and that you have good taste. He tries to ask you what brand you like the best, you open your mouth to answer, wracking youf brain for a lie. Every one of your classmates are staring right into your timid face, your nails dig into the material of your skirt. When their attention wears off as you continue to remain silent. They get back to grilling marshmallows, you’re relieved momentarily but Hendery still insists you answer, pressing your interlaced fingers to encourage you to go on.

“I had coconut milk Brazilan brewed coffee.” Taeyong whispers, taking a seat beside your boyfriend, breaking the silence. Hendery raises his brow at first, looking half astonished and half offended before his face falls with realization. He looks at you with widened eyes and you bite your lip as you let your gaze fall to your lap.

That night, you lose both your virginity and your boyfriend. Both to (and for) the same person.

......

#nct127 #taeyong smut #nct smut #smut #angst #nct imagines #nct series #lee taeyong #nakamoto yuta #way v #hendery #nct u #nct x reader #reader x nct #lee taeyong x reader #taeying x reader #nct u smut #taeyong #jaehyun #fluff #nct angst #jaehyun nct #jaehyun x reader #johnny #wayv x reader #neowritingnet

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

                                 SOON YOU’LL GET BETTER

      time's running out for Riza. and they can do nothing else, but face this truth.

                                                     ao3

{AN: This is easily the most personal story that I have ever written. My mom died of cancer almost two months ago and I needed to cope with that, hence this fic. Tbh, I don't even think it can strictly be called fanfiction - I simply used those characters to channel my personal trauma. Sorry not sorry for that. It feels very weird to post it publicly, but I decided to do it, cause the fact that this doc was somewhere on the hard drive of my laptop was driving me mad. Also... I feel like the topic of death and dying is not discussed often enough nor openly enough. I certainly hope that this story will maybe help someone who's going through something similar to what I'm going through. Or maybe will help someone to understand how it feels to say goodbye. How heavy this grief is. 

The title comes from Taylor Swift's Soon You'll Get Better, cause this song is by far the most accurate description of what's going on in the head of some who has a sick parent that I have ever seen.}

__________________________________________________________

When you're feeling lost I'll leave my love

Hidden in the sun

For when the darkness comes

- Colbie Caillat

RIZA

The house’s so quiet and feels so inviting that she could cry from the sheer relief of coming inside. There are no flames dancing in the fireplace but she still feels warmth worming underneath her skin, replacing the bone-chilling coldness of the rain outside. With a sigh, she kicks off her shoes before putting them neatly in the corner and stepping on the white plush carpet in the corridor. She wiggles her toes in it, enjoying the texture against her battered feet.

Soft material makes her steps almost soundless as she makes her way through the first floor and climbs up the stairs. Even Koya doesn’t lift his little ginger head from where he’s sleeping, in his wicker basket by the doors of her younger daughter.

Riza gently pushes the door, letting them open slightly. The light from the corridor spills inside the room, framing Sara’s bed in silver; her little face so pale in the poor lighting, dark hair messy and thumb inside her mouth.

It’s been a few years since she last did it, since she last came back to the childish comfort of this coping mechanism.  Riza was sure that she has it well behind her, those moths of coating Sara’s hand in foul-smelling ointments or wrapping it with ribbons.

Despite her best wishes, she can do nothing but take a few steps closer and then another few and then suddenly she’s on her knees right next to the bed. Carpet in her little daughter’s room is blue, Amestrian royal blue, deep and soft. Her girl loves this color. Wears it in her hair and on her clothes and all her pet animals are blue too.  But as Riza watches her sleeping face, she thinks pink would be a shade much better suited for Sara, with her rosy cheeks and flowery innocence of a child shielded from any possible harm, any dangerous blow.

That’s what they have been doing all this time, her and Roy. Spreading an umbrella above their girls’ heads, building glass castles on the clouds for them and keeping them safe at all cost.

Riza gently touches Sara’s still-chubby hand and contemplates pulling her thumb from in between her lips, but ultimately decides against it.

Her daughter will need all the comfort she can get soon.

*

Sometimes she feels like she has spent most of her life waiting.

When she was six years old and her mom went into labor, nobody suspected that it won’t be a quick thing, devoid of complications. Tereza Hawkeye was a strong woman, used to hard work on the farm and running the house for her absent-minded husband. Riza remembers her red, calloused hands and freckles that would appear on the bridge of her nose during summer months; remembers her smile and the smell of her hair.  There wasn’t a soul that would look at her and guess that Tereza was born in the aristocratic circles of Central City, with an army of servants ready to attend to her every whim and silk dresses in her closet, that she could rise very, very high if she didn’t decide to so-called ‘’follow her heart’’, run away with the young alchemist and settle down with him in the village on the countryside, forgotten by god and men alike.

To be honest, Riza never thought much about her mother until she became a mother herself. Trying to put together fragments of Tereza in her head the way one could play with a jigsaw puzzle, she looked through few faded photographs she had left and recollected even more faded pictures in her memory. And the more she thought about it and the more she watched Roy and Grumman playing chess together, the more she pondered of how much of a hopeless romantic really was in her mother. Because it seemed to her Tereza could be as well a perfectly pragmatic young woman who just plainly decided she preferred to be barefoot and pregnant at the edge of the world than to be pushed on the board according to the whims of her father – even as a queen.

No matter her motives, Tereza married Berthold Hawkeye and gave him a daughter before dying in childbirth along with their son.

And Riza remembers that waiting all too well; small blonde girl sitting forgotten and omitted on an armchair in the corridor, clutching her teddy bear close to her chest, her face pressed to the faded material. She remembers screams behind the wall, remembers how her father stormed inside, remembers the sound of the door shutting close. Remembers long hours of pressing her fingers to her closed eyelids just to see stars exploding. Sometimes she feels like maybe she never left this armchair, never hoped off to kiss her mother’s soft, cold cheek goodbye.

And then years and years of silence, of wind blowing inside the house and playing with endless pages of her fathers’ notes laying discarded on every surface. Of silence in which they both were trapped, like flies in a jar full of honey, which they shared for so long she thought she will never speak again. Until a pretty boy from Central City appeared on their creaking doorstep, with his laughing dark eyes and a suitcase. He bowed in front of her politely and asked about her name.

And she said ‘’Riza’’, even though only her mother ever called her that, even though she was ‘’Tereza’’ in her birth certificate.

And he smiled widely.

‘’What a beautiful name.’’

Forget fire alchemy;  the warmth she felt in that moment was incomparable with any other before and after.

At least her daughters won’t be left to her own devices after she’s gone. At least she has given them a better father than hers. At least this, at least that, all bitter, all making her choke.

*

They tell them first thing in the morning.

Time for deception and avoiding this topic is over. They wasted it on constructing elaborate lies instead of trying to find the right words and it’s so, so hard now. Riza grips Roy’s hand tightly under the table during the breakfast and opens her mouth before he has a chance to.

“I’m sick, girls.”

The harsh, ugly truth. Cruel military honesty.

Sara whips her head up to stare at her in shock, her eyes round like coins and confused. She drops her fork; it slips from in-between her fingers and lands with a clatter on the porcelain plate, spraying her blouse with yellow of scrambled eggs. But, as Riza takes a look at her older daughter, she thinks Eli as well could’ve, on the contrary, turned into a stone. She doesn’t even blink. She just sits perfectly still, her hand suspended in the air, reaching for a bread roll.

A heartbeat passes, maybe two.

“Girls-“

Eli’s hand slaps down on the table.

“How sick?”

Sara’s bottom lip starts to tremble. Dear god, please don’t let her cry. – thinks Riza desperately, feeling something welling up in her chest. She feels like a grenade about to burst and kill everyone in the room.  Maybe that’s truer than she suspected.

She tries to answer and, horrified, finds that she cannot seem to find any words.

“Very sick, Eli.” – says Roy instead; quietly, gently, he reaches out to caress Sara’s cheek and here they are, rolling down her perfect, pink skin. Tears, one after another.

Riza cannot breathe, cannot think even.

Eli slowly lowers her eyes, until they stay stuck on her plate; she is so, so beautiful like that, lost in thought. Forget blonde hair and sun-kissed complexion of Hawkeye’s, forget her blooming breasts and round face – she has never looked more like Roy right now, when Riza can almost see the gears in her head turning, her brilliant mind putting facts in order.

“I knew it. I knew it and yet… I didn’t want to know it.” – Eli’s voice is very quiet, barely above whisper, but she commands the attention of everyone. Even Sara stops biting on her lip to look at her. – “You stopped working and god, all those trips. The trip all the way to Xing, that you didn’t take us – you were visiting Al and Mai, right? To ask if they can do anything.”

Riza suddenly has an urge to laugh. To cry also, but mostly to laugh. Her eyes find Roy and there it is, their common understanding how could we thought we can ever keep anything a secret from them?

Even if they don’t know, they do. Sara’s finger stuck in her mouth, how big of a crybaby she became lately, her ever-brave and ever-bold firecracker of a girl.  The stare of Eli’s watchful eyes analyzing every action and change in their daily routine.

“You are too smart for us, darling.” The corners’ of Roy’s lips twitch as if he was about to smile. “We never give you enough credit.”

Eli takes a shaky breath and barks a sad, little laugh before burying her face in her hands for a moment. When she raises her head up, her amber eyes are shiny.

“I don’t think I am, honestly. If I was, I would know what to tell you –“

“Are you going to die, mommy?”

Silence falls like a knife, cutting Eli’s sentence in half and freezing Riza’s brain. Sara is standing now, hands planted flat on the table and she leans towards her; tears still rolling down her cheeks and nose already red, she asked her question with the dead seriousness, crashing violently with the high, birdy pitch of her voice.

Ishbal was one, never-ending bloodbath that she will never manage to atone for. Working under Bradley was a constant, day by day struggle, when her body felt like a taunt bow-string, never relaxing, always on alert. During five minutes when she thought Lust had killed Roy she barely felt  alive at all. Promised Day was a nightmare. Her first miscarriage sent her into the very depths of despair. Sitting with Roy in that room and hearing the results of the tests, seeing his face and the light gone from his eyes, she was sure there will be nothing more harder than that. But having lived through it all, Riza realizes has never felt more broken, more helpless and devastated, than now; when she has to gently cradle her youngest daughter’s face in her hands, look her in the eyes and say, without any turn-backs or bullshit excuses:

“Yes.”

*

There are more than a few things that she loves about her life. She loves their house in Central; cozy, bright and without fancy high ceilings and big windows that would put her bodyguard instincts into overdrive. She loves her dogs; their simplicity and loyalty, how they always come over to greet her home, how they appreciate a good scratch between their ears and how they all remind her of dear Hayate somehow. There are days that she even loves Central City, its hustle and bustle, and all the memories – good and bad alike – that she made here.

But above all, she loves her family and each and every person that form it. She suspects she will never stop marveling at the miracle that happened to her at some point; that the lonely, sad little girl growing up as alone as a child can possibly be, ended up surrounded by so many people loving her and caring for her. So many people to say goodbye to.

She considers herself lucky. More than lucky – the luckiest.

It doesn’t think any of this makes is easy. On the contrary -  she thinks it would be easier if she was not so generously gifted by fate. The biggest struggle, as she learns in time, is to not say I’m fine all the time, not repeating it as a foolish parrot round the clock. She respects Roy and girls too much to maim them with this fool’s gold phrase, but it’s so difficult. She finds herself biting on her tongue more often than not, several times a day, until there are scars on the soft tissue that refuse to heal.

Cause she is not fine.

*

Where it hurts most,  asks her Roy one time, desperately, in the dead of the night; his arms around her, holding her upright from behind and his lips on the back of her neck as she sags above the toilet. At this point, she can’t remember how much time has passed since she started vomiting, the room is spinning in front of her eyes and she too bone-deep tired to even try faking anything, and so maybe that’s why she actually answers him.

She slowly wills her arms to raise up, until her hands are up in the air, high enough so he can see.

“This.” She says, voice small and throat scraped raw, but she knows he would understand anyway.

This never-ending shaking, twitching, trembling, as if somebody was electrocuting her limbs all the damn time. Her treacherous hands that used to be so sure and reliable holding a gun, finger concrete-still on the trigger, and which now did not even allow her to braid her daughters’ hair. She misses their sureness and, even more than that, the sign of them simply makes her scared. Everything is more real, more tangible, seeing this tremble.

And then she starts to vomit again, with blood this time, and she doesn’t want to remember anything else from what followed, but she recalls how it ended; the blissful, cool sheets, the wet rag on her forehead. Roy on his knees by the bed, kissing her every finger and knuckle and line on her palms.

*

They go to Dalisay in June, just four of them. The road is longer and harder than Riza hoped it would be, with pain running up and down her spine like an electric current, her hands struggling to turn the pages of the book - but it’s nice anyway, so nice.

She cannot read and is too tired to talk really, so she just sits with legs resting on the opposite sofa and head nested on Roy’s shoulder, listening to Sara’s baby-bird-twitting. Her girl spends the whole journey standing up with her palms pressed to the glass, looking out of the window and asking about everything – what is this station, what is this city, how many hours ahead of us, are these sheep, mommy look, mommy look. And Riza obliges, slowly turning her head in the direction of the outside and nobody has to know that she doesn’t look at the sheep, or horses, or little farms, but she just watches Sara; her eyes gleaming, her cheeks cherry pink, dark hair curling around her face.

Eli has an alchemy book on her lap, opened right at the middle, but it’s more for the show as she’s not reading either. From time to time, she scratches Mochi’s head or pets Koya gently, but most of the time she just stays silent. Riza feels her eyes on her, as her skin tingles from the intensity of this state, with the familiar desperation, love, and longing. How to burn someone’s face in your memory, in your heart? If you stare long enough, can you remember for forever?

So, the only voices in their compartment – a nice one, really, with comfortable sofas and wooden floors and curtains, private, for what she’s more than thankful – are Sara’s questions and Roy’s answers. He knows everything about the landscape outside and Riza wonders how weird it must feel for him, going down this old memory lane with them, taking the same train that he used to take as a little boy and then teenager, but many years later, with his family and his dear, dying wife. She doesn’t know what kind of feelings it must evoke – she was always the one waiting on the train station after all, static and longing.

He tells Sara – this is river Enola, do you know where it starts? This village is called Priam, they have a sunflower festival every summer, yes, we can go see it. Yes, this blue thing is a lake, lake Moore. It’s very big. Like, hm, from your school to the park? No honey, I don’t think whales live there. Dolphins neither. But there are many other fish.

Riza skids closer to him, feeling his arm gently wrapping around her, his fingers rubbing circles on her hip. He must take comfort in knowing at least this, answering at least those questions. For Roy’s action-driven nature it must be torture to drift with her like that, time slipping from in between their fingers like water. But he slows down to stay by her side as long as they have left, wills his blood and heart to match the rhythms of hers. He is no longer her wildfire, but a rock, solemn and still.

Unflinching.

*

Dalisay’s somehow just like in her memory and completely different at once, and it makes her head spin. The streets are busier, livelier – with the opening of new train lines and the discovery of rare elements in the area nearby, her sleepy little village has never been so awake. But the air still smells like honeysuckle and strawberries, the grass is so shockingly green compared to the one in Central.

It’s a new world, altogether. It’s almost like they crossed some barrier and entered a foreign land.

And her daughters explore it eagerly, even Eli losing that worried expression from the train in order to curiously peek around the corners and listen to people talking with a melodic, longish intonation that Riza has abandoned long ago, somewhere between the first and second year of the Academy. Sara basically vibrates with energy as she runs from one stall to another on the farmer’s market, begging Roy for sugared almonds or a pack of mint candies.

As the girls lead the way, the two of them slowly stroll, step by step. Riza holds onto Roy’s arm, but she feels so light that it surprises even herself. The pains more bearable like that. She can almost convince herself that the girls are a little smaller, that they are still a First Family, that it’s just a regular Saturday like thousands before and thousands after. The sun’s so warm and honeysuckle so sweet, and they take a break here and hide in the shade for a second.

“I have dreamed of taking you on that damn market, you know.” – Roy whispers into her ear and she just has to laugh at the irritation at his voice. –“ But I never had enough money or guts to do it.”

“To be honest, I think guts were the bigger issue.” – she waves her hand at the crowd and the stalls. – “ The only thing you could’ve bought me here back then were carrots probably.”

He chuckles lightly, gently sneaking one arm around her waist to stabilize her, as the smooth street turns into a cobblestone path. She wonders briefly if he even notices those small acts of care that he performs or if they are something completely instinctual. Her heart swells at the thought and she turns her head slightly and presses a kiss just below his jawline.

“What was that for?” he asks softly, caressing her cheek with a free hand in return.

“Everything.” She simply states and rests her head on his shoulder as they continue to stroll at snail’s pace, in silence this time. She is sure he understands. They never really needed many words between them anyway.

Bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, they make their way forward.

*

There were snakes in Ishbal. Or, she supposes, there are snakes in Ishbal, since they have proven to be far more resilient than Ishbalans.

Upon entering the front, the first thing higher-ups did, was presenting  her with a pair of military boots and forbidding her to ever take them off. They were monstrous things, made from tough, boiled leather, with an extra protective layer around the ankle; they weighted a ton and made her feet cook inside, turned her skin white, slimy and wrinkly. But she and everyone else would dutifully wear them every day, even in their sleep, mindful of the alternative.

Sand vipers like dark and cool places, just like humans in the desert. They are small and sleek, their bodies fashioned for zig-zaging through the golden dunes and escaping from sunlight. If they bite you, you don’t even feel it at first; you go on with your life, resume your duties. But after two hours or so, you start to shiver violently. Then, in mere minutes,  you lose your balance. Then your sight, your hearing. And then you die, just like that. It takes maybe an hour from the first tremble. You don’t have any time to say goodbye, to write a letter to your loved ones.  You are gone before you can feel yourself slipping away.

More Amestrians died from this goddamn venom than from any Ishabalan resistance, that’s for sure.

Riza’s sickness is kinda like that.

It takes time to unravel, gives her a room to breathe, gives Roy and the girls and even herself some hope against all reason, because how can she die if she still can walk and talk and smile? If she cooked a dinner yesterday and tended to the flowers in the garden in the afternoon?

Yes, she can.

Yes, she does.

One morning, she doesn’t get up.

I still have time to say goodbye, I still have some time, I still do. - she keeps on thinking right until it runs out.

ROY

In the end, after Havoc and Catalina take sobbing Sara away to their flat, it’s only Roy and Eli, alone.  Her, curled on the bed by Riza’s right side. Him, kneeling on the floor next to the bed by Riza’s left side. Each holding her hand.

It’s very late and very quiet, no sound besides Riza’s heavy breathing. She has lost consciousness days ago and ever since then, Roy has been staring into her unseeing eyes and trying to spot just a spark of awareness in them, just a little bit of brightness. It’s all for naught, of course. Her eyes are still brown, but they are no longer hers. He doesn’t know where his wife went to, but she’s not here. He told that Eli a thousand times and more and she would always nod in understanding and then lay back down on the folded sheets and resume tracing gentle circles on Riza’s limp hand.

So he gave up trying to talk her out of staying. Besides, her presence gives him comfort, he cannot deny it; she’s the other set of heartbeat in the room that is not going to go silent any time soon. And she’s the only one who can possibly come close to understanding what he feels, no matter how different was Riza’s role in her life compared to the one in his.

Riza, Riza, Riza. Slipping through their fingers so damn quickly. He keeps on begging for just one more smile from her, just one more word that means anything; not the delirious babbling that she sometimes lets out, not those screams full of fury when they try to move her. She just went under so quickly and violently that it makes his head spin.

‘’Life is no more than a candle burning in the darkness, about to get blown away at any moment.’’ – Eli whispers, breaking the silence.

Roy almost smiles at that. They’ve been playing this game of quotes ever since she was six, but recently, she started to win more than lose. His bright girl.

“I don’t know.’’ – he admits, his eyes trained on Riza’s face. God, she is still so beautiful. Her skin is clammy from sweat, lips half-opened and cheeks hollow and she remains the only woman he has ever had eyes for. – ‘’Who wrote it?’’

‘’Mom said it.’’

Eli’s voice is heavy and, when he takes a look at her, he realizes she’s on the verge of tears.

“She did?’’

‘’Yeah. She also said I should cherish the light as soon as it lasts. But - papa, this is - so hard.’’ – his daughter lowers her head, her hair falling down and obscuring her face from him, but he can still hear her choked sobs. Her shoulders are shaking. She hasn’t called him ‘’papa’ since Sara was born.

She does not deserve this, crosses his mind. Maybe it’s my punishment for all the things I did, but she’s innocent. She’s good. She does not deserve this.

He wonders what he can say to her to make it easier for her and finds himself empty-handed and terrified. So he settles for the only thing he can say.

‘’I know, baby. I know.’’

He holds out his free hand and she takes it. Her grip is strong and sure, and he thinks, once again when did she grow up, when did it happen? Five minutes ago she used to have two long braids and missing front teeth. Ten minutes ago she used to be a sleeping babe by Riza’s breast, cheeks pink and brows constantly furrowed, as if she was pondering about the universe’s biggest questions. And now she’s here, they’re both here, holding hands in a circle and waiting in silence for the candle to burn out.

*

‘’She wanted to say goodbye so badly. We had so much time and wasted it all.’’

‘’We did not waste any time, dad. I don’t think you can ever really say goodbye to someone like that.’’

*

Riza dies before the morning comes, choking on the blood flooding in her lungs and flashing the whites of her eyes in desperate attempt to catch yet another breath. Roy does not cry; instead, he stays solemn and still as a stone, his voice loud and clear, telling her how he remembers when they first met.

“What a life we had, my love. You can go now, rest.”

He can feel his heart beating in his throat.

Eli sobs helplessly, clutching Riza’s hand to her chest.

“I love you mom, I love you, I love you.”

Maybe Eli is right. What more can you say than that? I love you, I will miss you. And Riza already knows all of that, wherever she is.

“You don’t have to be brave anymore, Riza.” - He tells her, every word dipped in honey of years well-lived.

And then there is only silence, uninterrupted, ringing in his ears like a gunshot.

He can swear that his wife last breath was a sigh of relief.

ELIZABETH

Dawn finds Elizabeth curled on the swings in the garden.

She has laid down here after mom died, hours ago; slipped out of the house just when the lights of uncle Jean’s car appeared on the driveway. In part, she wanted to give them all the space to say their goodbyes and didn’t feel like she was needed inside. In another part, she just wanted to be somewhere else for a while.

Nobody told her that death had its own smell.

And nobody told her that her mom’s corpse will still be soft and warm after she passes away. That, if one would not look for it, you could even not notice she wasn’t breathing.

Elizabeth sat on the bed and felt as mom’s hand in hers was growing colder and all she could think of is that it’s still her mom.

And so she fled, her feet wet from the morning dew and sobs still tearing through her body.

She’s not crying now; it feels like she has run out of tears, to be honest.

Somewhere, at the back of her mind, she’s thinking: there are mom’s clothes hanging in the closet. Her shoes put neatly on the shelves by the door. Her favorite mug, the one with chipped rim, on her bedside table. Her favorite perfume, the one in a blue glass bottle,  in the bathroom.

What we’re supposed to do with all of that?

What am I supposed to do, when she’s gone?

Now it’s only her and sunrise, light caressing her face like her mom sometimes used to do, when she was tucking her in.  She closes her eyes and she can almost see that; moonlight coloring mom’s hair silver and her soft, low voice wishing her goodnight. The smell of her shampoo. The quiet rhythm of her steps on the carpet as she was leaving, the sound of the door shutting close because Elizabeth never wanted the ajar.

Mom used to sing to her when she was sick. Soon you’ll get better. Soon it’ll get better.

Elizabeth pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Maybe she can pretend it’s not real, if only for now. Maybe she can forget that their time has run out.

Maybe she can just – close her eyes and think about her mom, about her face and her voice.

Ooo-ah, you’ll get better soon.

Despite the morning chill, for a moment, all she feels is warmth.

#royai #royai fanfiction #royai au #royai fic #fma #fma:b fanfiction

[grace13star]

Better Get Superstitious (Chapter 1)

Logan Dennison is a firm believer in science, and the facts are that no one can come back from the dead. Witches and magic could never exist, he's known this since he was a kid. But after a sudden move to Salem, Massachusetts, suddenly everything he's ever believed is challenged by a talking cat, a cute believer, and a trio of undead witches from the 17th century. What's a skeptic to do?

Character(s):Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Remy, Mitchell (Cartoon Therapy), Toby (October, Sanders Shorts)

Relationship(s): Analogical (Virgil/Logan)

AO3  Prologue  Here  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

“And no one ever found out what happened to Roman Binks,” Mrs Kelley said, flicking on the lights. She’d turned them off for atmosphere or something. “It is said that to this day, a black cat guards the black flame candle, the same candle that, if lit, would bring back the Sanders brothers from the dead.”

Logan scoffed before he could stop himself.

“Oh, do you have something to say, Mr Dennison?” Mrs Kelley asked.

The class turned to look at him, giggling at his being called out.

“I am well aware of the belief you all have here in Salem. Black cats, witches, whatnot. It’s just that there is no scientific proof for any of this.” The class broke into whispers.

“That’s ‘cuz science isn’t looking,” a new voice said, stopping the whispers.

Logan looked over to see a kid who was, for some reason, wearing sunglasses inside and sipping a Starbucks frappuccino that was still cold despite it being last hour.

“Halloween was based on an old pagan ritual called All Hallows Eve,” sunglasses kid said. “It’s a time when our world and the spirit world are closest. It used to be a huge deal. Then candy companies took over and turned it into a childish holiday.” He took a long slurping sip of his frappuccino then shrugged. “It’s a conspiracy.”

The class laughed but they applauded as well, wolf whistling and being generally unruly. The boy sitting behind sunglasses kid rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his face. Mrs Kelley joined in the applause, nodding at the kid.

“Well said, Remy,” She said. “Alright then, I know you’re all excited for Halloween, but we still need to get through English.”

The class groaned good-naturedly and started pulling out their stuff.

The girl behind Logan- Mary? Marie?- tapped his shoulder. When he turned, she handed him a folded up piece of paper.

There was a little doodle of a brain on the front, with a small ‘V’ under it.

Logan unfolded the note and was greeted with a phone number written in glittery purple gel pen.

hey babe! hmu any time u want. xoxo remy

He physically cringed at the abbreviations and lowercase.

He turned to Remy who waved at him cheekily, then blew him a kiss. The boy behind him swatted his shoulder, then mouthed ‘sorry’ at Logan.

Wow, he was really cute.

No, stop it, Logan. No random crushes. How are you supposed to get into Harvard if you’re caught up in a relationship?

English passed pretty easily, even though it wasn’t his best subject, and before he knew it, he was unlocking his bike to head home.

A loud laugh caught his attention. He looked over and there was Remy and the cute boy. Cute boy was laughing into his hand, a stark contrast to Remy who was all but bellowing with glee.

“Hey, Remy, right?” He called, jogging over.

“Ah, it’s the skeptic!” Remy exclaimed, peering over his sunglasses. “What’s up, babe.”

“I just wanted to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings over our little debate in class.”

“Nah, girl, you’re all good. Besides, they weren’t even my arguments.”

Logan frowned. “No? Then who-”

“That was all V here,” Remy said, lightly punching cute boy’s arm. “He didn’t feel like talking in class, so he wrote it down and I said it.”

Logan turned to cute boy- V- and tried to maintain eye contact without blushing. “Well, I enjoyed your arguments very much. This school doesn’t have a debate team, so I feared I would get out of practice.”

“Don’t mention it,” V said, shuffling his feet. His cheeks were bright pink, probably from the brisk wind whipping across the courtyard.

“Okay, hate to break up whatever sexual tension that’s happening here,” Remy cut in, “but I gotta know. You don’t believe in any supernatural thing?”

“No.”

“The Sanders Brothers?”

“I believe they were people that lived here once, but I don’t believe they were witches.”

“Not even on Halloween?” Remy asked incredulously.

“Especially not on Halloween,” Logan said stubbornly.

“Okay, Remy, let’s not scare the new guy off too soon,” V said.

“It’s fine, I should get going anyways,” Logan said. He handed V a scrap of paper. “Trick or treat.”

He hopped on his bike, waved, and then left before either of them could stop him.

He’d had a few days to get used to the town, and in that time he’d found a shortcut through the cemetery. It was a bit of a bumpy ride, and there were a few hills, but he could handle it.

Logan was so focused on riding that he almost missed when two people stepped in front of him. He slammed the brakes in just enough time to not hit the blond one.

“Halt!” One of the said. “Who are you?”

“Logan Dennison,” he answered.

“Where ya from?” blond guy said. “Haven’t seen ya anywhere before.”

“Los Angeles.” At their blank stares, he sighed. “LA.”

“Oh, wow,” the other one said. “Tubular.”

“I’m Toby,” blond kid said. “This is Mitchell.”

Mitchell grabbed Toby by his shirt collar. “How many times I gotta tell you, man? It’s not Mitchell, it’s Ice. Ice!” He let go and Jay turned back to Logan.

“Uh, this is Ice.”

Mitchell- Ice- turned around so Logan could see his hair- on the back of his head, the word Ice was shaved into his hair.

“So let’s have a butt,” Toby said, practically leering at Logan.

“I don’t smoke,” Logan said, leaning away from him.

“They’re very health conscious in Hollywood,” Ice laughed.

“LA is not-”

“You got any cash...Hollywood?” Toby asked, ignoring him.

“No.”

“You don’t got any cash, you don’t got any smoke...what am I supposed to do with my afternoon?” Toby asked, as if everything was Logan’s fault.

“Maybe you could learn to breathe through your nose,” Logan said, getting fed up. He just wanted to go home, was that too much to ask? Also, his grammar was heinous. Would it kill him to use the proper tense?

Toby laughed until Ice stopped him. “Woah, look at those cross trainers.” He looked up at Logan. “Let me try ‘em on.”

Logan went to push past Toby, but he wasn’t exactly one for physical confrontation.

He was left with a bad attitude riding home in his socks.

He opened the door a bit forcefully and breezed past his parents in the kitchen.

“Hey, Logan! How was school?” His mom called from where she was unwrapping their plates.

“It was fine,” He replied, not stopping.

Before he was fully up the stairs, he heard his father ask, “Was he not wearing shoes?”

“Must be some form of protest,” his mom answered.

Logan pulled the door to his room closed and leaned against it, sighing.

Once he’d collected himself, he pushed off the door and started feeding his fish. “Hey, guys,” he greeted.

He flopped on his bed and groaned loudly. He grabbed a pillow and pressed it against his face and screamed into it. He had homework, but that could wait until he was done with his current crisis.

He was just starting to relax when something burst out of his closet.

“Boo!”

He barely kept himself from screaming. “Patton!”

Patton, his younger brother giggled. “I scared you, I scared you!”

“Mom and dad told you to stay out of my room!” Logan exclaimed.

Patton stuck out his tongue. “Don’t be such a crab.” He scrambled on top of Logan’s bed and started jumping. “Guess what? You’re gonna take me trick or treating!”

Logan sighed. “Not this year, Pat.”

“Mom said you have to.”

“Well, she can take you herself.”

“She and dad are going to a party at the Town Hall.”

“Well, you’re eight. Go by yourself.” Logan pulled out his desk chair and his notebook to start on his math homework.

Patton jumped off the bed and came over to the desk. “No way! This is my first time! I’ll get lost. Besides, it’s the full moon. The weirdos are out!” He hugged Logan’s arm causing him to draw an unnecessary line on the page. “Could you forget about being a teenager for once? C’mon, we used to have such a spooktacular time trick or treating! Remember? It’ll be like old times!”

“The old days are dead,” Logan said, deadpan.

“It doesn’t matter, you’re taking me anyways,” Patton said triumphantly.

“Wanna bet?” Logan muttered, erasing the line.

Patton just smirked at him.

Patton ran down the stairs to meet their parents, Logan following at a much slower pace.

“Let’s go, hurry up. The witching hour’s about to begin.” Their dad grinned. He applauded Patton’s costume. “Wow, you look boo-tiful!” Patton giggled. He was wearing a black and orange dress with a matching hat in the stereotypical witch style. Then dad turned towards Logan. “And, what are you supposed to be?”

Logan was wearing jeans and a sweater and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “I’m a rapper,” he deadpanned.

“You gotta have a hat on sideways, then,” their mom said, coming out of nowhere with a baseball cap. She plopped it on his head. “There we go.”

“Okay, smile!” dad said, holding up his camera. “Say...Halloween!”

“Halloween!” Patton chorused.

Logan didn’t smile.

If anyone doubted that Salem, Massachusetts loved Halloween, seeing it now would make a believer out of them.

Practically every house had gone all out on the decorations. Everyone you looked, there were spiderwebs, lights, blow-up witches, you name it. Hundreds of kids ran in the streets- which had been blocked off just for the trick or treating- yelling and shouting to their friends. At every house, someone waited just inside the door, eager to give out free sugar.

“C’mon, Lo-Lo, lighten up!” Patton said, practically skipping through the streets.

“Can we just get this over with?” Logan muttered. He didn’t want to ruin this for his brother, but he also didn’t want to be there.

Patton continued on, hopefully not hearing him. “Let’s go this way!”

Logan looked in the way his brother was pointing and froze. “No, not that way, Pat.”

Of course, he was ignored. Logan had no choice but to follow his brother towards Ice, Toby, and a group of their friends.

Ice spotted Patton and cut him off. “Ding, ding!” he said. “Sorry, kid, everyone’s gotta pay the toll.”

“Ten chocolate bars, no licorice,” Toby grinned.

“You’re not being very nice,” Patton said.

“Whatever. Cough up the candy, kid.”

“No!” Patton stamped his foot. “Logan, tell them to go away.”

The teens turned their attention to Logan, and twin grins of glee spread across Ice’s and Toby’s faces.

“Hey, Hollywood!” Toby said.

“You’re trick or treating?” Ice asked.

“I’m taking my brother around,” Logan said, very uncomfortable with this situation.

“That’s nice. Woah, I love the costume. What are you, a New Kid on the Block?” Ice grinned.

Patton tried to keep walking, but Toby stopped him.

“Dude, just pay the toll.”

Logan had had enough. “You know what, here.” He shoved his own candy bag, half full, into Ice’s chest. “Pig out. Let’s go, Patton.”

He grabbed Patton’s hand and started in the other direction.

“Hey, Hollywood!” Ice called to their retreating backs. “The shoes fit great!”

“Are you okay, Pat?” Logan asked.

“Yeah,” Patton said quietly. “I kind of want to go home now.”

“Hey, come on.” Logan said. He kind of hated those kids for ruining his brother’s night. “How about we go to one more house. Then we can leave, okay?”

Patton thought for a minute, then nodded.

They looked around and saw a huge house.

“Woah!” They both said.

“Rich people always have the best candy,” Patton said matter-of-factly.

“Well, guess we’re going there, then.”

The door was wide open and there were people coming in and out, some in costumes, so Logan assumed it was okay to just walk in.

The entryway itself was huge, but that didn’t compare to the huge front hall they stepped into.

There was a huge chandelier hanging over them, and a carved staircase that probably cost more than the Dennison house. The only thing that ruined the whole rich mansion vibe was the Halloween decorations covering everything.

Patton spotted a huge plastic cauldron and ran over to it. “Jackpot!” He gasped, reaching in and pulling out multiple full-size candy bars.

“Logan Dennison?”

Logan looked up at the sound of his name and met eyes with V. He was standing at the top of the stairs, wearing some old-timey Victorian costume.

“Oh, hey!” He said. “V, right?” He tried not to blush when he noticed his hair was pulled into a ponytail.

V started down the stairs. “Virgil, actually. V’s a nickname.” He looked Logan up and down. “I thought you weren’t into Halloween?”

“I’m not, just taking my brother around.”

Virgil waved at Patton. “Hi. I’m Virgil, I’m one of your brother’s friends.”

Logan flushed.

“Hi!” Patton exclaimed. He waved.

“You guys want any cider?” Virgil asked, crossing his arms.

“Yes!” Patton exclaimed. Logan nodded.

Virgil went into the next room and came back holding three cups of cider. He handed them out.

“Thanks.” Logan’s mind raced for some kind of conversation. “Um, how’s the party?”

“Boring,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a bunch of my parent’s friends. They do this every year. I’m on candy duty. Speaking of.” He turned to Patton. “I love your costume!”

“Thanks!” Patton beamed. “I really like witches. We just learned about those brothers in class.”

“Oh, yeah, the Sanders Brothers,” Virgil smiled. “Yeah, I know all about them.”

“Really?” Logan asked.

Virgil shrugged. “My mom used to run the museum. It’s closed down now, though.”

“Well, why don’t we go?” Logan said before his brain caught up with his mouth.

“What?” Virgil and Patton said at the same time.

Well, no going back now. “Teach us about the Sanders Brothers. Make a believer out of me.”

Virgil’s eyes darted between Logan, Patton, and the candy bowl. After a minute of thought, he sighed. “Yeah, okay. Let me get changed real quick.”

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving Logan and Patton alone.

“Ooh!” Patton exclaimed. “You liiiike him!”

Logan flushed. “What? No, I don’t.”

“You do! You like, like, like, like, like, like, like-”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Logan grabbed his brother and covered his mouth with his hand. A split second later, he dropped the younger boy. “Did you just lick me?

Virgil led the way up the path to the old cottage.

It wasn’t as far from town as Logan had expected. They’d been able to walk there in under twenty minutes. But even though it wasn’t that far away, being in the woods made it feel a lot more isolated than it should have. The yelling of trick-or-treating children had disappeared, and the only sounds were their footsteps and leaves rustling.

“Legend says,” Virgil said in a spooky voice, “that the bones of a hundred children are buried within these walls.” He unlocked the door and ushered everyone in.

“I can’t see,” Patton announced.

“There should be a light switch somewhere,” Virgil said, feeling along the wall.

Logan found a display of lighters and flicked one on. This must have been a gift shop at one point. He held out the small flame to the wall and helped Virgil find the switch.

The lights flickered on, revealing the cottage in all of it’s dusty glory.

“Wow,” Patton said, drawing the word out in awe.

“This is the original cauldron,” Virgil said, motioning towards it. “They would have slept upstairs. Ooh!” He moved over to a display case. “This is the spell book of Damien Sanders. It was given to him by the Devil himself.” His voice was quiet, but the pitch rose and fell in a way that made it almost hypnotic to listen to. “It’s bound in human skin and contains all the recipes for his most powerful and evil spells.”

“Gross,” Patton whispered.

Logan spotted something interesting. “What’s that?” He asked, pointing at it.

Virgil looked up. “Oh! That’s the Black Flame Candle.”

Logan noticed a placard near the candle and moved over to read it. “The Black Flame Candle. Legend says that on a full moon it will raise the spirits of the dead when lit by a virgin on Halloween night.” He raised the lighter, a weird compulsion coursing through him. “Want to light it?”

“What? No!” Virgil said, alarmed.

“Logan, it’s a full moon tonight!” Patton added.

Logan’s hand moved to light the candle, but before he could do anything, a pitch dark shape pounced on his head.

Patton screamed and Virgil shouted. Logan fought with the thing on his head, eventually managing to throw it off of him.

“Stupid cat!” He exclaimed. There was a strange sense of rage filling him that made it hard to think.

“Okay, Logan, you’ve had your fun.” Virgil sounded scared. “Let’s go, now.”

“Logan, he’s right, let’s go.” Patton said.

“Oh, come on,” Logan said angrily. “It’s just a bunch of hocus pocus.”

“Logan, I’m not kidding!” Patton exclaimed. “It’s time to go!”

Before anyone, including himself, could stop him, Logan lit the candle.

Virgil’s intake of breath could be heard across the room.

For a second, nothing happened. The flame flickered normally, a bright orange color. Then Logan blinked and it was black.

Around the room, the fake electric candles popped one by one, plunging the room into darkness for a second. The floorboards started to move under their feet, bucking up and down. Green light shone from underneath them.

Then, just as soon as everything started, it was done.

“What happened?” Logan asked.

“A virgin lit the candle,” Patton said dryly.

All the actual candles suddenly flared with light. Flames roared from under the cauldron, and they heard footsteps outside.

The small group ducked behind things as the door swung open, revealing three men wearing cloaks of different colors.

“We’re home!” The leader announced.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #hocus pocus #better get superstitious au #grace writes stuff #halloween #tw: death #analogical

[crossbows-and-moonshine]

Let The Flames Begin (Chapter 10)

The response to this story has been overwhelming, thank you all for reading!

If you’re new around here and you love Boondock Saints (who doesn't love 1999 Reedus though? o.O ), then feel free to check out my other fics! :D

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When Daryl woke the next morning, he had a fleeting moment of peace. That tiny little moment where your brain still hasn't fully woke and you feel peaceful, blissfully unaware of all the shit in the outside world. But as usual, it didn't last long, and when his brain caught up with his body, he remembered every painful detail of the day before. From Merles bad trip and concussing the girl, to her thinking she was fucking gay. He groaned to himself, rolling over onto his stomach and pulling the blanket over his head. He didn't want to face the day, he never wanted to face her ever again. He considered jumping out the window and letting the biters get him. That would be fucking better than having to talk to her now she thought he liked fucking dick. Now she was off sleeping in his brother's bed. The jealousy hit him hard, feeling like he had been struck by lightning. She didn't like Merle that way, at least he thought she didn't. Merle had been trying to get her in bed for as long as they fucking knew her and she had turned him down every time. But still, the thought of her sleeping next to Merle made his blood run cold and it was all his own damn fault.

“Daryl, get the fuck up!” Merle called from the other side of the bedroom door. Daryl inhaled a deep breath, not wanting to deal with any of this bullshit.

“Fuck off!” he growled, his voice muffled with his face in the pillow and the blanket over his head. He heard the door open anyway and he wasn't surprised.

“Now come on baby brother, tell me what’s got ya hidin’ out in here,” Merle smirked. Daryl could hear that smirk in his voice, the one that told him he knew exactly why he was hiding. He was glad he was fucking hiding as his cheeks turned red, the idea that the girl had fucking told his brother what happened was embarrassing.

“Fuck off,” he repeated harshly, groaning when Merle yanked the covers off him. He made no effort to move, to turn and look at him. He didn't want to catch that shit-eating grin he knew was plastered all over his stupid fucking face.

“Nothin’ to do with a certain pretty little thing thinkin’ you're a homosexual then?” he asked, laughter lacing his words as Daryl growled. He turned over, grabbing the pillow next to him and he flung it at Merle. Merle burst out laughing, seeming to find great amusement in the situation as Daryl glared at him from where he was lay.

“Hey! I know ya ain't gay alright! I’ve seen ya with plenty of women. But fuck, why the shit didn't ya tell her ya weren't?” Merle snorted, looking at his brother like he was stupid. Daryl furrowed his brow, wondering what he was on about until it clicked in his mind. He had been stunned by her words and then too busy reliving old wounds. He had gawped at her like a fucking fish and not said a word, not corrected her on anything.

“Fuck,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands as his brother continued to laugh at him.

“Don't worry about it baby brother. Good ol’ Merle took care of it,” Merle smirked widely at him. Daryl sat up then looking at him warily.

“Ya...took care of it how?” he asked hesitantly. Merle's version of taking care of things rarely resulted in helping. It usually caused more fucking problems.

“I put her straight. That ya not gay, never have been. Told her ya’ve been wantin’ to get in her pants since ya first fuckin’ saw her!” he cackled, making Daryl's eyes widen so much they almost fell out of their fucking sockets.

“Ya did what?!” he yelled, completely mortified. Nah, fuck this shit. I wonder if I could smother myself…

“I’m yankin' ya chain! Fuck!” Merle laughed heartily as he stepped closer to him. Daryl relaxed but only a little as he looked up at him.

“I didn't tell her that, even though it's true. But I did tell her ya like women so ya don't need to worry about that shit no more,” he grinned, like he was so proud of himself for doing something decent for once.

“Thanks,” Daryl muttered, looking down for a minute as his head tried to calm down from the mind fuck the morning had turned into.

“I’m gonna give ya a bit of brotherly advice now, so ya best listen,” Merle started, looking deadly serious. Daryl just blinked at him, looking almost like a young boy as he waited for what his brother wanted to say.

“I know ya like her. I see the way ya look at her, hell, how ya’ve always looked at her. I know ya ain’t like me, ya different so I know it’s not the same as it is for me,” he continued, Daryl squinted at him calling him different but Merle just shook his head.

“Hell, it ain't a bad thing Daryl. I’m glad ya ain't like me. It’s a good thing. All I’m sayin’ is, I know ya deal with shit differently. Like last night, freakin’ out over a damn kiss to the cheek. Ya don't like to be touched, I get it, and I know ya ain't got much game brother, but shit, I thought ya had more than that,” he snorted. Daryl heaved a sigh, wondering what the fuck the advice would be, if there even was any. Merle sensed his impatience and tutted at him.

“If ya like her, ya don't have to do anythin’ ya don't’ wanna, but ya should at least just let shit happen. If she tries to kiss ya cheek, fuckin’ let her. If she wants to share a bed, don't fight it. Fuck, if she wants to suck ya damn dick, let her do it. Stop fightin’ shit Daryl. Ya look at her different to the other girls ya’ve fucked, I can see it. I ain't blind and I ain't damn stupid either. Ya know how I feel about women, and I don't think me and relationships would ever fuckin’ mix. But like I said, I know ya different. She’s a good girl brother, she's a little spitfire when she wants to be. She can hold her own, but she’s still good inside. I think she's good for ya,” he finished, his face more serious than Daryl had ever seen him.

It felt so awkward, neither of them able to look at each other for a moment. These moments with Merle were rare. These moments when he really was the big brother he needed, when he came through like this. Daryl couldn't remember the last time he had a moment like this with him, but now it was here, it was awkward as shit. He didn't really know what to say. He felt all sorts of shit. He was embarrassed his brother had noticed he liked her, even before the world went to shit. He was shocked that Merle hadn't taken the piss out of him for it, ever, and he was shocked that Merle actually seemed to be somewhat giving his blessing, if Daryl wanted to make this anything. Merle had said she was good for him, complimented her. Daryl was well aware of how his brother usually viewed women. That they were good for nothing but a good fuck and to cook and clean. Yet Cherlene seemed to have effected Merle too.

“Ain’t matter anyway. Like she’d be interested in a Dixon,” Daryl scoffed bitterly, realising this whole pep talk was worth shit when it came down to it. No matter how much he liked her, it would never happen. He wasn't about to fool himself and act like it would. Optimism got him nowhere in life. Merle heaved a sigh and shook his head as he took a step back.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Ya won't fuckin’ know if ya keep runnin’ from it Daryl,” he muttered, wishing he could shake some sense into him. But Merle could see Daryl shutting down, he didn't blame him. This whole thing had been a little more intense and touchy-feely than he had meant and now things were weird.

“Anyway, get your ass downstairs. The girls up and we’re both waitin’ to get the truck, then we can try for the highway again,” with that, Merle was gone. Daryl breathed a sigh of relief at the peace of being on his own. But now he had to go downstairs and face her. Be fucking stuck in the truck with her for hours on end after the ordeal that was the night before. He actually hoped Merle would sit with them this time. He was an ass but he was a fucking ice breaker and a distraction. If Merle was winding her up, she wouldn't be focused on him and how pathetic and awkward he was.

He tugged on his boots before reluctantly leaving the room, he really didn't want to but he couldn't hide out here forever either. When he got downstairs, Merle was in the kitchen packing what little was there into a bag he found. It wasn't much but they would need every little thing they could find. Daryl walked into the living room and Charlene was eating graham crackers out of a box. He tensed, stood there as their eyes locked for a moment. He noticed her cheeks flush as she glanced back down to the box. Great, now shits awkward.

“You want some?” she asked, her voice weirdly higher than usual and he could tell by how she was averting her eyes she looked somewhat nervous. He tried to hide his frown as he nodded, his stomach growled as he sat on the couch with her, leaving a good distance between them.

It was silent for a moment, the only noises were Merle rummaging in the kitchen and muttering to himself and their crunching of the crackers, which seemed unusually loud to his ears.

“Look, I'm sorry about last night. Assuming you were gay. I just...You know me well enough by now, when I get nervous I put my foot in my mouth and make an ass out of myself,” she rambled, finally looking at him again with her bright green eyes. He was confused why she was apologising, it was all his fault, but he rolled with it anyway.

“It’s fine, wouldn't have thought that if I didn't freak out like a fuckin’ idiot,” he sighed, chewing his thumb anxiously as he looked down.

“I get it. Merle told me...you don't like to be touched. I know I can be a bit much sometimes. Always around you and stuff. I’ve just always been a little touchy-feely. So I'm sorry, for making you uncomfortable like that,” she muttered softly, toying with a cracker in her hand.

Daryl frowned, he didn't like that his brother had disclosed that bit of information with her. Anyone that knew him knew he wasn't one to be touched. It was fine if he initiated it, but he was always wary of other people touching him, ever since his childhood where the only contact he had with people involved being hurt in some way.

“Ya ain't much...I don't mind it. Just caught me off guard I guess,” he shrugged, not wanting her to pull away completely because of what his brother had said, about what she must think of him now. A fuckin’ freak.

“What if...the next time I do something that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me. And I’ll do the same with you. We don't need to freak out or ramble nervous shit that embarrasses each other,” she snorted wryly, giving him a little smile. He chanced a glance at her, a tug of a smile on his own lips.

“Sounds good to me,” he said with a nod, still chewing his thumb. He didn’t know how well it would work. When he freaked out the night before, his brain had just malfunctioned completely. He didn't have time to rationalise anything and suddenly things had gone from bad to worse. He hoped that the air was a little clearer now. That she would be a little more careful so she didn't spook him but not pull away from him altogether.

She took out another cracker and one for him, handing it out to him. It was like she was giving some kind of peace offering to him and he almost snorted. He gave her a half-smile, taking it and relishing the moment when their fingers touched briefly. He masked it well though, she didn't need to know that despite his deep-rooted issues about being touched, he craved it more than anything in the fucking world, as fucked as his brain was. Wanting something that his body would shy from. He munched his cracker, feeling like the air was a little lighter. She didn't hate him, she hadn’t embarrassed him. She had said sorry and come up with a plan that would hopefully make them avoid any other moments like the night before. Merle was right, she was good for him.

“Alright kids, lets head out. Still don't know if that herd will come back this way,” Merle said as he walked in the room. Charlene stood, box of crackers still in her hands as she nibbled them. Merle reached over and took one, making her growl playfully and smack him around the head.

“That there’s abuse girlie,” Merle huffed as he rubbed his head, even though the smack didn't hurt in the least. Daryl watched on amused as his brother squinted at her. Shocked he hadn't throttled her or said anything offensive. It was weird. Apparently, things were better between them. He already knew Merle liked her which was weird enough because Merle never liked anyone. Hopefully, things would be a little easier with the three of them from now on.

Taglist; @risingphoenix761 @daryldixonandfrogs @arlaina28 @divadinag @keeperofwonderlandus @jodiereedus22 @easnuppa @fand0m-fiend @txladyj-blog

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon writing #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfic #Merle Dixon

[journal-of-an-outlaw]

Price to be Paid - Chapter 14

Is This a Bad Idea? Ao3 Link

Words: 3055

Note: I’m so sorry it took me this long to update!! Wordtober has been my focus this month so once that is done I’m back to weekly updates. Anyways! Hope you all enjoy, there is some violence and fluff in this chapter to be warned! 

Sadie decided to ride along, too. 

She had been heading back from guard duty when you and John blew by and hollered until you stopped and picked her up. When she heard it was a secret rescue mission you two were off to, her eyes lit up, and she motioned for you to help her swing on to the back of your saddle. 

John nearly lost it at having to ride with two women. He was used to only men who were steel strong at his side, and although he would never admit being slightly afraid of Sadie, you were softer and less experienced so he could take out his frustration on you. John felt out in the open and exposed riding with you two and he made it known. 

Sadie heckled John right back after a few minutes. “This horse is carrying two and still riding faster than you, Martson! Wish I had time to grab Bob and show you how a real outlaw rides.” 

Bob, Sadie’s horse, had been left at camp. You never knew why she named him something so simple but at least it wasn’t a name to be forgotten anytime soon. 

While the two of you rode on she held on to your waist with one arm, the other brandishing her pistol up in the air and ready for the first sign of danger. Her hair wiped around her face as she called out directions of where she had seen the others disappear to. Sadie was someone you truly admired for her strength and courage in the face of danger. 

“John! Take a left up here, I saw them head over the hills and off towards this way.”

The man led his horse after her directions, and you rode on for nearly an hour. The sun had long since crossed the horizon and you hoped Eclipse would be able to see the bumps and dips the land formed in utter darkness. 

“Hush now, I see lanterns ahead,” Sadie hopped down from Eclipse once the two horses had come to a stop and walked over to John. “I’ll stay here with Marston, Moore, see if you can coax those fine men into lettin’ us pass. I have a feeling they’ll like you more.”

“Me?” you turned and watched the two smirk over at you. “Why just me?”

John sighed and at least had the dignity to look a bit bashful as he answered. “If we could bat our eyelashes and wiggle them hips to make men listen like you do, we would head over there.” Your face blushed furiously as you spurred Eclipse over to where the men were positioned, the soft laughter of John and Sadie following you. 

“Evening gentlemen! May I pass on through here, or is something wicked coming?” A heavy Southern drawl somehow found its way out of your mouth, unknown to the strangers blocking the road that it wasn't normal.

“Why is a pretty thing like you out alone this late?” 

“Just heading home, sir. I live up on the farm past that lake and ride this way every night.” 

“Unfortunately ma’am, we can’t let you up that way. Heard there was outlaws in these parts, ready to take advantage of whatever fine things come their way.” 

“What if one of you fine, strapping boys was to accompany me?” You ducked your head and batted your lashes, watching them fall under your spell. Flirting had never been your strongest point but these two targets were especially easy. 

In the distance, John and Sadie creeped up the hill guiding his horse. The guards never noticed and eventually let you pass under the ruse that you would be returning to their post soon with some sort of gift. You blew them each a kiss as you rode by and made to meet with the others, careful to not look back in case they decided to follow you over the hill and into the heat of the action. 

You nodded at John when you joined up. Something made you want to impress him, like being Arthur’s younger brother meant he had to like you too. “They’ll be good, we should have nearly an hour. I told them I lived a good ways off.”

Sadie chuckled from the back of Old Boy. “I’m sure they were more than good, YN. But let’s go, I see a farm off in the distance there and some lanterns flickering about.” 

The three of you raced off, and you felt your heart beat faster in your chest. Hopefully no one would hear it if they stood too close, but the danger hiding ahead had you gripping the reigns tighter and tighter. Not even three days after you and Arthur finally admitted your feelings to one another and here you were riding straight into danger to make sure he was okay. You really, really hoped he would be alright.

The negative thoughts and what if’s running through your brain pushed your spurs into Eclipse and she picked up the pace. 

Sadie guided the three of you off the path and into a patch of woods. She pulled out her binoculars to try and see but it was too dark. “Damn, can’t see a thing. John, you think we should wait or advance? Could be our boys holed up in that stable.” 

John contemplated his options. “I don’t see their horses anywhere nearby, hard to know who we’re helping if they’re far enough away. Maybe I can ride up and see.” 

“Look! There’s someone joining them.” 

You moved forward to wave as four men approached the building tentatively, holding their light high above their heads in search of something. Sadie pulled her binoculars out and held your arm down suddenly. 

“They ain’t our boys, YN. I think that’s them Cornwalls the guards we ran into were talking about. John, why don’t you and I come in from the back and surprise those fellers. YN…” She turned back to you and paused for a moment. “You can hold the horses and be ready to help us get out of here. Ain’t sure how this is gonna go.” 

You felt a resentment at the image you had built for yourself and that you couldn't do anything more in this moment except hold horse reins. You floundered, but eventually agreed, watching John and Sadie creep off towards the wooden structures. Their guns glinted in the moonlight and you wished more than anything to be with them. 

“C’mon, girl, let’s go sit and wait.” Eclipse moved slowly in the dark, her ears drawn back and eyes wide. She sensed the static electricity in the air as you walked her and John’s horse quietly to the other side of the trees. 

The moon was high in the sky, wispy clouds crossing its light every so often. Your arms were covered in goosebumps as you and John left so fast you didn’t remember to grab a coat, a thought you now regretted. As the year moved on the night temperatures dropped lower and lower, forcing heavier layers to be worn at all times.  

“S’just the boys, go help them,” you muttered to yourself after a few minutes. Why were they all making a big deal? Wasn’t it supposed to be a simple stage coach robbery? 

Through your binoculars you witnessed why your original thought had been so wrong. 

Shouting and rounds of gunfire made you jump and snapped your attention back to the barn, which was now partially engulfed in flames. As the bullets flew through the air you could see the small bursts of light each time the gunpowder ignited. Your heart pounded as you desperately searched for some sign of life of those you knew. 

Shadows danced as figures moved out of cover to shoot and back again, but your position on the wooded hill offered no hope at distinguishing faces. Trying to see this far away was hopeless, but you knew you couldn’t leave your position and risk the horses running off. 

You sure hoped those figures moving towards you were friendly.

Four bodies slipped into the night as the barn continued to burn. It was nearly all engulfed in flames which lit up the area a bit and you breathed a sigh of relief as you saw Charles, Bill, Uncle, and finally Arthur move into the tree line. John and Sadie were nowhere in sight. 

“Charles! Arthur!” You whispered loudly. The men were a decent ways away and didn’t hear you, but you were cautious that being any louder would signal the Cornwall men to your location. 

Moving Eclipse forward slowly, you tried to catch the group as they began to run through the trees. The fact that John and Sadie were missing was nagging at the back of your mind. 

“Alright fellers. We better split up so we don’t have too much trouble, now.”

You heard Arthur grunt. “Trouble you caused, Uncle! You better hope Cornwall doesn’t follow us out of here. Now, we tied the horses up around here somewhere, Uncle you ride back with Charles, Bill and I will head different ways. Don’t lead anyone back to camp!” 

Arthur stood and watched the others ride off, pulling himself up onto Zeus. He didn’t hear you approach right away but the two horses nickered and he drew his gun up out of habit without seeing who it was.

“YN? That you?” 

You held your hands up mockingly, “It’s me, cowboy. Put that thing down.” 

“What in the hell are you doing out here? Dutch send you?” He closed the small space between you and swept you into his arms. You could hear how fast his heart was beating as you rested your head on his chest. 

“No, rode out with John and Sadie. Wanted to make sure you were alright, does robbing a carriage normally take this long?

“No,” Arthur chuckled while scanning the woods around you, “it doesn’t. Where are Mrs. Adler and Marston? Don’t see ‘em with you.” 

You shook your head. “I thought they were with you. We stopped up on that hill and they went down to help. I haven’t seen them for half an hour at least. I got stuck babysitting the horses.” 

Arthur rubbed his jaw and continued to look around. The area was silent, even the sounds of the others riding away had faded and left you alone. The burning from the barn was silent at this time of the night. 

“Let’s head back, see if we can find them.” 

Riding back out of the woods proved of little use as John and Sadie were still missing. Arthur didn’t have to say it out loud for you to know what that look on his face meant. It had been too long since they snuck off and far too quiet. 

A scream pierced the air that you recognized as Sadie’s. Both of you spurred off in that direction as two shots rang out as well. 

“Take that you shit eating scum!” 

At the edge of the woods you saw why they had been delayed. John held a smoking gun out as a Cornwall man had Sadie held up by the neck. She fought and wiggled about but couldn't escape his grip. From the looks of things John had just taken out another who was approaching through the trees but never made it close.

“Just leave me with the girl, scar face, and walk off like nothing happened. Mr. Cornwall will let you all live for once!” 

‘Not a chance!” John’s ragged voice replied. “Get back before I shoot you too.” 

The guard chuckled darkly at this, pulling a knife out to point at Sadie’s neck. You looked over at Arthur, unsure of your next move but found him dismounting and motioning for you to stay put. You nodded, happy to not approach the men. 

Sadie moved again and yelled as the knife cut into the chest. It was pure rage that poured out of her and not an ounce of fear. You found yourself again admiring her tenacity while staring death in the face. 

She must have caught sight of Arthur coming up as she started laughing, and spit on the ground. 

"You fool just about to meet your maker! You ready?" She swung her head back and slammed into the nose of her attacker just as Arthur jumped on his back. All three went sprawling, and Sadie frantically lunged after the knife that had fallen in the grass. 

John watched, gun aimed at the guard, knowing that if he fired he could hit either of his gang instead of the damn Cornwall man. 

Your hands were numb from how hard you gripped the reigns and how useless you felt sitting up on the hill. You wanted to cry out but couldn't risk distracting someone you cared about.

Finally Sadie found the knife and swung around, meeting the neck of the taller man. He gasped and spluttered, hands clawing at the metal weapon but was gone in moments. She wiped her face with blood covered hands in an attempt to clean herself, but it had the wrong effect. She ended up looking downright terrifying. 

As soon as the movement stopped you charged in, angry and scared about what could have gone wrong. 

"Arthur!!" 

Your voice was laced with worry and fear, and he turned at the sound of your approach. It took everything you had not to throw your arms around him, but Sadie and John watched you run down the hill. 

"Thank god you're all alright. I didn't know how to find you without causing a scene and didn't want to draw attention. Guess I didn't need to…" 

John rubbed his face with his hand, dragging it slowly to release tension. "This is a god damned mess. Let's get out of here before someone comes looking." 

Sadie wiped the knife off, and with John's help climbed up onto Old Boy to lead the way. Arthur trailed behind you. 

Most of the ride back was silent, your head spinning from what you witnessed as you rode away. Another life taken, just like that. All that blood and fighting Sadie seemed to revel in seemed so forgein to you, like a language you didn’t quite understand.

"YN, can we speak? In private?" 

Arthur’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. The small group had arrived back at camp already. Everything was silent except for the murmured greeting from whoever was on guard duty and the quiet movement of the lake. 

After giving Eclipse a treat you followed Athur into his tent. Ms. Grimshaw had bulked up the exterior with walls now that winter was getting closer. They served as an excellent block from peeping eyes around camp. 

As soon as the flap closed Arthur pulled you in to him. His lips covered yours with a hunger you haven’t experienced in a long time and it scared you how fast you felt the same. Your hands reached up and pushed his broad brimmed hat, earning a chuckle as it hit the ground. You could feel the low rumble from his chest as you were pressed up against him with one hand running through your hair and the other keeping you in place on your lower back. It was overwhelming and wonderful all at once. 

Arthur gained confidence from the small noises escaping you and moved to kiss and suck on your neck. His stubble tickled slightly as it brushed along. You moaned as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, causing Arthur to groan back, hot breath against your neck. 

His hands slid under your thighs and you felt him lift up, then lean back onto his cot. By now your heart was thundering in your chest and the blood pumping through your veins was hot and fast. Apparently the thrill of battle got Arthur going. 

Hovering above you, Arthur paused for a moment. The space between you was small, and taken up by a shared breath as your chests rose and fell in time. Arthur’s gaze was locked with your own as if he was measuring how far he could push things. 

“Should we stop…”

“No it’s...not yet.”

“We don’t have to, you know…”

Feeling bold you grabbed his tie and pulled him to you again, lips crashing into one another. You could have stayed like this forever, fighting for dominance but happy to lose if it meant Arthur would kiss your neck just like that again. 

After awhile you pushed on his chest, needing a moment to think. He winked at you and moved to sit on the end of his bed, adjusting his pants in the process. 

“Sorry to just jump you like that.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and you laughed softly, pushing him playfully with your boot.  

“Don’t ever apologize for feeling like that, Arthur Morgan. It’s just...we’re…” you fumbled to find the right words, but Arthur reached over and squeezed your hand, knowing what to say. 

“New. I know. You just looked so damn good with that wind in your hair I couldn’t help myself.” 

He stood and stretched, the small strip of skin between his shirt and belt showing which made your face flush all over again. 

“Guess I should get on to bed, it’s late enough and we got that ball coming up with Hosea soon so he’s making us get up and practice dance steps.” 

Something in Arthur’s face made you stop. “Or I could...stay?”

He looked hopeful, smiling as you sat back down on his bed. “It’s awful cold out there and I’d hate for you to freeze. Maybe you should just sleep in my cot. You know, share body heat and all that.” 

“Alright Mr. Morgan, I’ll share your bed. But no funny business, just good old fashioned sleeping for warmth. Like folks do.”

“Mr. Morgan!” You squealed as Arthur pressed you down on the bed again, hands held above your head and legs trapped below his. “Woman, that’s a dangerous game you play.” 

“Well, I’m sure we can figure out some sort of punishment between you and I, Mr. Morgan.”

By the time you fell asleep you were sure the entire camp knew you two were together from the sounds that echoed across the small grass clearing.

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