#wolf clawing his chest photo

[princessbatears]

Union - Chapter 8

Casa Werewolf Series #8

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Werewolf Single Mom f!Reader Summary: Before you and Javi can progress in your relationship further, you have to say a goodbye Warnings: we’ve hit lime territory folks, sexual foreplay (but no written full sex/smut), nudity, sexual arousal, language, minor alcohol use, mention of post-pregnancy body changes, mild spoilers for TUWOMT, parental anxiety, panic attack, grief over the loss of a spouse Words: 3.3k

Your extremities are tingling with adrenaline as the question “Does the paparazzi take pictures of you?” comes out of your mouth.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, have there been photos of you? Your children? Could someone out there be looking into your family? Somehow discover your secret? Why did you ever think you could date a billionaire? Especially one with an actor brother? You never even considered the paparazzi!

What the hell is wrong with you? How could you let your hormones just take over and throw all sense out the window? Now you’re falling in love with a man who can get your family killed!

Your Wolf claws at your chest, a torrent of rage, fear and hurt over how this could actually be the end of everything you’ve worked so hard to create.

“No, no; no paparazzi,” Javi’s saying, his hands cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “Hey, you’re okay. Focus on me and breathe. You’re safe. They’re safe. Just breathe.”

His touch and his words break through the panic and settle the Wolf a little. Realizing your irises are probably yellow, you close them and focus on inhaling through your nose and out your mouth.

He wraps an arm around your middle, murmuring, “Keep your eyes closed. I’ll find us somewhere to sit.” And he quickly guides you out of the queue and down the sidewalk, occasionally saying, “Perdón,” to anyone you cut in front of.

The way he uses quiet assertion to get you elsewhere further calms you. Soon, you’re seated on a bench. He sits next to you, the comforting warmth of his hip and thigh against yours.

“Is this better?” Javi asks, lightly stroking your arm.

“Yeah,” you exhale, opening your eyes. “Are they normal?”

“Close enough. I am so sorry about the tabloid. I should have warned you that you might see him on them sometimes. But they don’t care about me. I mean, a few years ago I had some success with a movie script of mine, but that died down pretty quickly. And it taught me that I prefer being behind the scenes instead of the spotlight.”

You hug yourself, visions of a photo of your family in the newspaper still haunting you. “They’re good at their jobs and you might not know they’re following you!”

His expression and voice are gentle. “As flattered as I am that you think me worthy of following, I assure you that nobody cares about me around here except that I employ many of people in my company and occasionally throw a great party. You and me, we’ve gone out and about multiple times, but have we ever once been approached by someone who seemed the least bit interested in us?”

“I guess not…” That does reassure you. And the Wolf reminds you that it’s unlikely someone could stalk you without her notice.

“Mi luz, I value my privacy and safety very highly, and I value you and the niños’ even more. I swear, I would not put you in a situation where people would be taking photos of you, even at your most human.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He’s bent over backwards to make you and the children safe and comfortable.

Embarrassment floods you as you realize just how much you overreacted. He must be so tired of dealing with your freak-outs.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you moan, covering your face with your hands. “I panicked. Again.”

His lips press against your temple. “Of course you did. It’s what’s kept you alive all these years, being hyper-vigilant. I don’t blame you for worrying. And, when David does come to the island, he’s mostly ignored because everyone around here thinks of him as my little brother.”

There’s a twitch of a smirk that can only come from an older sibling one-upping the younger ones, and it makes you laugh a little. “No wonder he doesn’t live here, with that kind of chain around his neck.”

Javi hisses in mock pain. “You’re as vicious as Tallulah.”

It’s your turn to smirk. “She has to get it from somewhere.” You lean your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what? My family nearly giving you a heart attack?”

“No,” you smile. “For not being angry with me for my reaction. And for helping me get somewhere less crowded so I could calm down. It’s been a really long time since I could trust someone to do that.”

He nuzzles your hair with his cheek. “I’m honored to be that person.”

It’s then that you register a thought you had in the midst of your anxiety. As you consider it, the feeling spreads through you and your Wolf. Beautiful, terrifying, foreign yet familiar: the beginning of love.

- - -

It’s so easy to integrate Javi into your lives. Over the next several weeks, a routine develops that causes everyone in your family to flourish.

You and he do regular day dates while the children are at school, talking, eating delicious food, and kissing every chance you get. He even gives you a peek into his Nicolas Cage shrine, which is somehow endearingly disturbing.

Often, he comes for supper to spend time with the children, and, every Friday, he has you all over for a pizza and movie night.

Making frequent visits to Javi’s home, you get to know his core staff. Nina, the cook, is a warm grandmotherly figure, always making sure your insatiable children have plenty to eat. Reina, the head housekeeper, is infinitely patient when a wild moment causes a mess. The head of security, Placido, made you nervous at first, his dark eyes always watching. But, thankfully, there are no werewolf incidents and he turns out to be incredibly sweet behind that intimidating exterior.

Possibly your favorite part of being with your new boyfriend is watching him with your babies, both in human and Wolf form. He’s got great parental instincts, knowing how to both encourage and redirect. They thrive under his attention.

He gets to experience every phase of the moon, from the wild full moon, to the quiet new moon when your Wolves sleep and your energy is lower, and then back to the full moon.

There’s a second stay at the safe house. The pups don’t catch anything these nights, either, but they’re getting closer and you’re so proud of them!

As much as you desire to be sexually intimate with Javi, you’ve needed time to get used to being romantically involved with another man before becoming too physical. You’re grateful for how readily Javi goes at your pace.

It’s during the next new moon, as you sit with the quiet of the sleeping Wolf, that you understand how to take the next step.

You lift your favorite photo of Ivan off the wall, all three little babies cradled in his arms, and sit down with it. You lightly trace the planes of his beloved face with the tip of your finger.

“Hello, sweetheart,” you murmur. It’s been a long time since you’ve talked aloud to him like this. You always feel a little bit silly, and comforted, too. “I’ve met someone. Javi. You’d like him. He’s warm and sweet and funny. And a human.”

A beat of silence as a complicated mixture of emotions threaten to overwhelm you.

“I never thought I’d feel secure again after you died. Or able to love another man,” your voice cracks. “But I feel safe with him. And I love him. He’s so solid and accepting. The kids adore him and he has already stepped up as a father.”

A lump forms in your throat, only easing when you let yourself cry. “I’ll always love you. And it’s time for me and our babies to start a new chapter.”

The cleansing tears last for a long time. When you’re finally empty of them, you feel much lighter. A weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying has lifted.

You’re returning the photo to its rightful place on the wall when your cell rings. It’s Javi. Smiling, you answer, “Hey, Javi.”

“Are you sick?” he immediately fusses, hearing the roughness of your voice.

“No,” you sigh, sinking back into the chair. “I needed a good cry.”

“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you food. And I’ll pick up the children from school so you can rest.”

Closing your eyes, you smile, loving how he wants to help. “I'm all right, but thanks. Stay on the phone with me for a while, though?”

“Of course. Tell me what’s made you upset.”

“I’m not upset, exactly. I was telling Ivan about you. And saying a new kind of goodbye to him.”

Javi hums gently, letting you know he’s listening.

“Now that you’ve come into my life, it was time for me to give myself permission to make room for you in my heart. I know that he wouldn’t have wanted me to be alone for the rest of my life. Hell, he’d probably be upset I waited as long as I did. But… I think I was waiting for you.”

“I was waiting for you, too,” he says certainly. “And it’s well worth it.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you like a sweet breeze.

“We still on for supper and a movie at my place tonight?”

“A low-key, comfy night is exactly what I need.”

“And you shall have it!”

Javi keeps that promise. Takeout pizza in the media room to watch The Croods. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Javi’s choice, despite being a Nic Cage movie. It was Tallulah’s turn to pick.

All five of you pile on one of the big, leather sofas. Javi on one end, you on the other. Astrid crawls into his lap about ten minutes into it, snuggling happily against his chest.

The movie’s a hit with the kiddos, who think it’s absolutely hysterical. But it’s a Friday night and the new moon with lots of pizza in their bellies. Not even a funny movie can keep them from falling asleep two-thirds of the way through.

“They are out,” Javi chuckles, lightly patting Bo’s back.

You brush some hair off Tallulah’s temple before kissing it. She doesn’t stir.

"Would it be all right if we sleep here tonight? I'd rather not wake them up too much when they obviously need sleep." It shows just how far you've come in your relationship with him that you don't hesitate to ask.

He brightens. “Of course.”

You and he carry the kids upstairs to a guest suite of rooms. The girls go in one room together since they’re not used to sleeping apart and Bo goes in another. There’s a third for you to use. You wake them up just enough to brush their teeth with spare toothbrushes and explain the situation before they collapse into the beds.

“Would you like to retire, too?” Javi asks as you close the door to Bo’s room.

“I’m not quite ready yet.”

The two of you return to the entertainment room where he pours glasses of wine. You snuggle up to him with a contented sigh. “I think, if you’re comfortable, I’d like to tell them about us soon. I know it’s only been six weeks, but, as far as I’m concerned, this is going very well.”

Javi gently rubs your neck with one large hand. His expression is pensive, though, which wasn’t what you were expecting. And you have no access to your heightened senses to feel him out.

“You don’t think so?” Nervousness colors your voice. You’d been so sure he’d be happy about this.

He gives you a quick smile. “I think you are everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s just… I don’t know if the niños are ready to hear about us.”

Your heart is returning from your stomach to its proper place, but you’re still surprised by this thought of his. “What makes you say that?”

Blowing out his breath, he shrugs. “During the full moon, when I took Tallulah and Bo here to feed Marci, we had a conversation. You and Ivan came up, and Tallulah seemed very attached to the love her parents had for each other.”

You squeeze his fingers lightly. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned about her feelings. And it’s true that she is comforted by the story. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t tell them, though. We can help them with the adjustment.”

Javi sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I guess.”

It’s not like him to be so wary. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

Not meeting your gaze, he says, “I’m a little envious of how much she still wants you and him to be together. Which I know makes me a total piece of shit! But I'm scared she’ll never see me as a papa. That none of them will.”

You set down your wine glass so you can wrap both arms around him, compassion filling you. “Worrying about that doesn’t make you a piece of shit, Javi. It just makes you a person. It’s complicated being involved with our situation, even without the lycanthropy. And you have handled everything with more grace than I could have ever dreamed. You’re allowed to have insecurities sometimes, like everyone else.”

“But they’re just little children! It’s not their job to bolster my emotions.”

“No, it’s not. But that doesn't mean they won't trigger you. Welcome to parenthood,” you chuckle as you press a kiss to his cheek. “Look, I can’t promise that they’re going to be okay with us dating. It might be turbulent for a while. But I'm confident they'll come around because they already love you so much as our friend. If you need more time before we tell them, that's okay. I can wait.

He sighs again, leaning his forehead against yours. “I don't want to keep us a secret anymore. Can we come up with what we’ll say first, though?”

“Of course. And we can run through scenarios, too. Lord knows I practice in the mirror sometimes.”

This makes him smile. His rich brown eyes look directly into yours. “I love you.”

A cascade of feelings and sensations explode through your body like fireworks. For a split second, you’re afraid you’re going to bolt or panic, but that reaction passes in another heart beat.

You smile, kissing him softly, before whispering, “I love you, too, Javi Gutierrez.”

Javi radiates with joy, giving you a very passionate kiss. His hands cup your face in the way you adore so much, as if he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere. His solidness, the feel of his skin against yours, the taste of his wine-soaked tongue in your mouth, the growing hardness you feel in his pants, all of it arouses you.

When you both break for breath, you ask, “Could we go to your room for a while?”

“Are you sure?.”

You smile. “I’m sure. I love you. And I’d like the first time with you, a human, to be with me when I’m nearly human. It feels very sweet.”

Javi kisses the end of your nose. “I look forward to exploring all aspects of you, starting with the almost human.”

After making sure the kids are still fast asleep, you go with Javi to his bedroom. He’s quick to put on some mood lighting and music. You unmake the bed. “You have more decorative pillows than any man I’ve ever known,” you tease, piling them on the window seat nearby.

“Ambiance is important,” he says primly.

“I like it.” He cares about everything in his life, from the people to his possessions.

Butterflies flutter in your belly as you begin to remove your top. Will he like what he sees? Will you know how to do it with someone new after all this time?

Javi steps over to you, his hands resting on yours to halt your movements. “May I?” The softness of his voice and the love in his eyes quiet your nerves.

“Yes.”

Slowly, savoringly, he pulls your shirt off. He kisses each shoulder once its bare, his fingers massaging your back. His lips move down the slope of your right breast while he unhooks your bra with a fluid motion. A moan escapes you as he lightly flicks your nipple with his tongue.

Then, both his mouth and his hands move lower. He trails kisses over your stomach, unbuttoning your pants as he does so. He pushes them, along with your panties, down your hips. All self-consciousness about your body goes out the window as he makes love to every curve and stretch mark he can find.

You’re so lost in the electricity spreading across your skin and the heat building inside your core that you don’t register the words he’s saying until he speaks a little louder, “Mi amor, will you lift your foot?”

That’s when you realize you have to step out of your clothes. With a sheepish giggle, you do so, almost stumbling on shaky knees.

He grabs you by the waist. “Are you all right?”

“I’m realizing just how long it’s been since I had sex. And my brain’s scrambling from how good this feels.”

A low, primal sound comes from him. It immediately heats the fire in your belly. “A woman like you deserves to feel incredible things very often.” Taking your hand, he leads you to the bed, where he proceeds to prove to you just how much he means that.

- - -

As you and Javi lay naked together in his bed, you try to recover from the earth-shattering climax you just experienced. Honestly, it could take days.

“The Wolf is going to be very pleased to find out I finally bedded you,” you smirk.

He asks playfully, “Is she?”

“She knew you were mate material the first day we met.”

“I knew I wanted to be with you from that first meeting, too.” He traces a finger along your side, making you squirm and giggle at the ticklish sensation. “What exactly does ‘mate’ mean to werewolves. Is it strictly sexual, or is it more like partner?”

“It means the person you create a life with. Traditionally, marry and have children with.” You try to sound neutral, not wanting to make him feel pressured.

He smiles. “I am definitely mate material.”

Since he seems open to the discussion, you ask, “Do you want your own children?”

Javi hesitates, like he’s afraid he’ll give the wrong answer.

“Be honest,” you encourage. You’d like more pups, but, if he doesn’t, you’re content with the three amazing ones you already have.

“I would, yes. I’d like to raise one from babyhood.”

“In full disclosure,” you chuckle, “if it’s with me, it might be more than one. Spontaneous multiples are extremely common with werewolf mothers.”

He grins. “I could handle twins or another set of triplets.”

“What about quadruplets? Ivan was the littlest of a quadruplet litter.”

His eyes go very wide at this, but then he laughs. “I am up for the challenge.”

You soften, stroking his cheek. “You really are, aren’t you?”

He turns his head so he can kiss your palm. “I was living so small before you came into my life. Now I’m alive with possibilities. Including seven children. Would ours be werewolves if I’m not one?”

“Probably. It seems to be a dominant gene on the mother’s side, so female Wolves in mixed couples often give birth to Wolf kids. When it’s the father who’s a Wolf, it’s not as common.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the Wolf, then,” he purrs. “Because I’m becoming quite addicted to having puppy-children.”

You can’t help pouncing on him again at this statement, entirely turned on by how much he loves all of you.

- - -

Thank you SO much for reading this story; I’d love to hear your thoughts! 🥰

Spanish Translations/Notes: perdón - excuse me mi luz - my light mi amor - my love niños - kids

Javi Gutierrez Masterlist

Werewolf Masterlist

#javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x reader #tuwomt fan fic #javi g #the unbearable weight of massive talent fan fic #werewolf au #werewolf reader #casa werewolf series

[charmsandtealeaves]

@jilytoberfestytoberfest | 31 prompts | Prompt 4

Prompt: “I know, but I wanted to”

Read it on AO3

Summary: James is badly injured following a full moon escapade.

Words: 1591

Photo by Larm Rmah on Unsplash

Insignificant

There had been a few close calls in the two years since the marauders had become animagi to help Remus through his change. Injury and potential death were risks they knew, but it was water off a ducks back when they considered the pain and suffering every month that Remus would otherwise endure alone. That he had endured for most of his life alone ready prior to their sacrifice. With their companionship the wolf was a lot more docile, they just had to make sure Remus had eaten heavily beforehand… that was a lesson learned quickly. Wolves are very easily agitated when hungry. 

It had been Sirius’ idea to leave the sanctity of the shack. Peter had been hesitant and unwilling. The final call became James. He loved and trusted Sirius like a brother, but that didn’t mean his ideas weren’t often reckless more than daring. However, the point had been made… what would they do outside of Hogwarts when the shack was no longer a safe haven of containment? There had to be a better option that locking Remus down in his parents sellar, somewhere they in their animagi form could not fit and thus could be of no use. As Remus grew older and taller, so too did the wolf and it’s ability to do damage. Weighing things up, in the grand scheme of things, the forbidden forest was the safest place to test their ability to control. It was mutually decided to be a risk worth taking. They came up through the whomping willow to avoid the village, from there it was a clean break to the forest, away from the castle and any potential casualties. There had been many successful forays doing this. But there was something different about tonight, a tension that James couldn’t quite put his foot or hoof on. 

Remus’ wolf was a lot more easily aggravated than normal, perhaps it was feeding on Remus’ feelings of stress and anxiety about the end of the school year and their time at Hogwarts forever. The wordless decision was made to move him back to the shack earlier than they usually would. This meant he had a lot more energy than normal to focus on Padfoot and Prongs. The wolf charged at the stag, swiping at it with outstretched claws. They caught the stag with a blow to the left flank and the deer bellowed in pain, staggering. There was nothing for it. It was getting too dangerous. The boys would have to abandon their friend tonight for their own safety. As awful as it felt, Remus would understand. The stag stood with his back to the doorway and their escape, antlers pointed sharply at the wolf to allow the dog and rat to leave between his legs. Once they were safely beyond and in the tunnel Prongs turned, leaving the wolf alone. Even from a safe distance back towards the castle, when all three had returned to their human selves, they could hear the howls of anguish. It ate at each of them to the core. Under the cover of the invisibility cloak, Sirius and Peter each took a place under each of James' arms, half dragging him towards their secret passage into the castle. 

James' chest was heaving and pain seared through him with each breath he tried to take. He was becoming unsteady on his feet. He could hear a distinct rattling every time he drew breath, he felt his lungs constricting. James had broken plenty of ribs in the past, both on and off the quidditch pitch. But even he knew this time was different. A healing spell beyond his own capabilities was necessary. Going to Madam Pomfrey or one of the teachers was out of the question to keep their secret safe. 

“Wormtail… fetch Evans. Head’s office” James wheezed, his voice raspy. 

Leaving Sirius to carry James into the castle Peter did as he was told. Transforming back into his animagus form and sprinting up the secret passageway towards Gryffindor Tower as fast as his legs would carry him. Sirius heaved James further up over his shoulders to take most of his weight, James’ feet were starting to drag and he was struggling to keep moving and stay conscious. Sirius let them into the head student office with a silent cast of ‘Alohomora’. He slumped James onto the two seater couch facing the north wall, his breaths coming in rapid and swallow at this point as he struggled to breathe.

“Hang in there Prongs. Help is coming.” Sirius pleaded, wiping the sweat pooled on James' forehead with his sleeve. 

Peter entered the office shortly after, human again, Lily Evans on his heels. She pushed past him and crouched beside James to quickly assess his wounds. 

“Was he bitten?” She asked rapidly. 

“No. But he got hit with a good swipe.” Peter chattered, shaking. 

“Good. You two get back to Gryffindor Tower. I’ve got it from here. No point in all of us getting caught out of bed.” Lily instructed, shooing Sirius and Peter with one hand. 

Both boys stood in place refusing to move. Lily lifted James shirt, exposing gauges in his ribs and a growing bruise that covered most of his flank. She traced the cuts with the tip of her wand and they started to close but still oozed blood. 

“He’s got a few broken ribs and a punctured lung but he’s going to be fine. I can handle this. GO! Take the cloak with you.” Lily scolded, pulling James belt from the loops of his pants. She placed the belt between James teeth so he’d  have something to bite down on. 

Sirius hesitated but Peter picked up the discarded cloak from the end of the couch. Peter tugged at Sirius’ sleeve. 

“You heard her Padfoot. I’m fine. Go.” James rasped, the belt making it harder to get the words out. 

Only upon hearing James’ permission to do so did Sirius join Peter under the cloak and make his way miserably back to the boys dormitory. Lily continued to cast healing spells up and down James rib cage. Some non verbal, others audible charms that took all her concentration to cast. James had never been more thankful in his life that Lily aspired to be a healer at St Mungos. 

“This is going to hurt Potter. If I’d had more warning I could have made sure I had potions available but here we are. Make sure you keep breathing. Holding your breath only makes the pain worse.” Lily said apologetically. 

James followed her directions as she mended his ribs back into the right place. His pain was immense and he felt like he would pass out. He screamed in agony, but in the moment he didn’t care if he’d woke the whole castle. A warm, tingling sensation was passing over his body  and he found himself able to draw in deep easy breaths. 

“I’m sorry” Lily apologised, casting further charms on his cuts which refused to fully seal. 

“Someone will have heard that. Get out of here Evans I’ve got it from here.” James breathed, she shook her head. 

“I charmed both the corridor and this room. No one will have heard a thing.” She reassured. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“It’s Snape’s spell.” That’s all the confirmation he needed. If Snape invented the spell, it’s not likely he’d have shared it without knowing for sure it absolutely worked. 

“You’ll have to teach me that one. Could come in handy.” He chuckled, which stung his sore side. 

James sat himself more upright on the couch. Making more room for Lily beside him which she gratefully took. Now that he wasn’t in total agony he could take in her appearance for the first time. She was in her pyjamas, a pale blue pair of three quarter trousers and a spaghetti strapped shirt. Peter must have rushed her straight out of her bed. The flesh of her arms and upper chest was dotted goose flesh. James attempted to shuck his night cloak from his shoulders to give to her, but the movement was painful and Lily stopped him with a hand to his chest. Instead she wordlessly lit the small fireplace in the corner of the room, an amber glow basking them in light. Her mastery of non-verbal spell casting better than he had still amazed him. Lily Evans was a very gifted witch. As she wouldn’t allow him to take the cloak off, James instead draped what he could of it over her bare shoulders so it was shared between them. They sat silently for a while watching the flames of the fire dance as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from their bloodstream. James was struggling to find the words to thank her. For coming down to save him without question, for protecting him, and the others. 

“You’re welcome.” She said into the silence. The words weren’t accusatory which he appreciated and sighed with relief. “It’s so dangerous what you’re doing. I get it. I do. But it could kill you”

“I know. But I wanted to” James replied. “There’s not a lot I can do. But this? This is the one thing I can do and know I make a difference no matter how small and insignificant it may seem in the bigger picture.” 

“You’ll do big things outside this castle James. I know it. You’re gonna nearly give me a heart attack doing it. But you will. And what you do for Remus? It’s far from small and insignificant.”

#Charms Library #jilytoberfest 2022

[giggly-argent]

Zeries is my life I love aries I love Zero I love it I love it they’re so cute

Zeries!! The have a cute ship name now omg 😭😭 fsr this really made me wanna write something for them so!!

Word Count: 695

Warm, afternoon sunlight peeked through the black curtains, giving the once dark room a tender, inviting atmosphere. Captain Rubeda laid comfortably on his bed, his large frame almost fully enveloping the smaller male wrapped up in his arms. Aries's back was pressed against Zero's chest, using both hands to casually inspect one of Zero's own.

"Broad and sturdy, but well taken care of," Aries mumbled, only stopping to deliver a small kiss to the man's palm, then a few more over his knuckles. Zero was already returning the favor long before then, planting languid kisses all over Aries's back as he listened to him ramble on.

"You fight with them often, but I don't see much scarring around your knuckles. I guess your strict diet promotes faster healing... And these calluses on your fingers; from playing bass, I presume?"

Aries grinned, knowing he'd spoken too much when he felt the kissing stop. "Hm? " He heard a low, confused huff from the man, and he didn't need to turn around to see the tired blue eyes giving him that cold stare.

"Oh, I just saw one stashed away in your room a few weeks ago, no big deal~"

"And what were you doing in my room without me?" In reality, Zero had just forgotten about sending Aries there to retrieve some work documents. Instead of telling the truth, the older male opted to tease his younger boss as usual.

"How else am I supposed to learn more about you? You never talk about yours-eheHEHELF?!" A set of fangs grazing against the crook of his neck instantly made the angel squeal. Airy giggles poured from his lips, and he tried to squirm away from the sweet, horrible sensations. No matter how much he teased Zero in the past, he'd never retaliated with tickling before!

Zero kept his strong arms snug around his waist, trapping Aries in the most affectionately ticklish hug he'd ever felt. The soft bites along his nape only stopped when the captain spoke up, but he kept his lips close to the smaller man's skin.

"So," he started, the deep rumble of his voice pulling more giggles from Aries. "What else did you see?" He then continued doling out the tickly little bites, much to Aries's dismay.

"NnnothihihIHIHing!! I swehehearrr!!" Aries let out the most pitiful whine through his laughter, covering his face with his hands. He gently kicked at Zero's legs as he tried to get away, though his efforts were noticeably weak. As ticklish as he was, Zero holding him still and being so playful was rather nice…

"Suuure. You know, I have all day to make you talk." The wolf muttered, hiding a small grin as he moved his nibbling to Aries's shoulder.

"N-No you dooon't!" He whined again, bringing a hand down to fan at his giggly face. "Wehehee have a meeting-"

"At five? Prince Semideus rescheduled it." Zero interrupted, his bites turning back into the soft kisses from before. Aries thought he was getting a break until he felt sharp claws ghosting over his tummy.

"NOhohohooo~!! Okahahay, I saw the pict-uhahaha!! The picture on your dehehsk!" Both hands were down now, weakly pushing at Zero's. He was referring to a small family photo at the captain's workspace- one that he usually kept turned around when there were visitors in the room.

"Mmhm… what else?" Zero's lips were back at Aries's neck, teasing him along with the claws at his waist.

"Y-EHEH?! Y-Your makeup!! Ehehe - It was sthihihill out!" His angelic laughter was starting to become more unsteady, but he gave up on squirming for the most part. He stayed cuddled up in his captain's arms, fessing up everything without a care. "I cahahan't believe we -aheheek!- use the same brand of eyel- wAHAHAHAIT!!"

"Oh no, keep going~" Aries could feel the smug smirk against his neck. Even worse, he felt Zero's hand kneading at his hip- literally squeezing the truth (and more squeals) out of him bit by bit.

The two young men were no strangers to their more sappy moments suddenly being filled with laughter, but for the first time, it was Aries left breathless instead of Zero.

#tickle fic #tickle community #ask #lull-falesia #//Aries #//Zero #my ocs #broke the 'No Ler Zero' rule smhsmh

[minusgangtime]

Scientist log 7:

Girlfriend: I discovered another group of five and so,I caught them and brought them in. And I’m now starting to question if “girlfriend” and “pico” are really common names. Anyway,I decided to make girlfriend into the legendary queen of demons,ragna,she now has a long tongue,more sharper teeth,longer and messier hair aside from her pig tails,and the tips of her claws have gotten sharper and darker,even her horns grew longer from the experiment,she dosent seem to be very bothered.

Mint: i don’t have much to say about him,aside by being the only boy who didn’t have any scars,i gave my assistant a idea and made him look like a raccoon,this darkened his claws,resulted in literal black circles around his eyes and his ears and tail became like a raccoon,along with becoming fuzzier,again,dosent seem to be too bothered. A wolf raccoon hybrid-huh.

Violet: a damn fucking punk,thought he could take me on on his own,ha,he was wrong~ my assistant made him into a naga,his fast legs being replaced with a snake tail,with extra scales growing on his tail,cheeks and shoulders,his tongue also longer as his hands have become claws as a side effect,he too dosent seem to mind,having fun slithering around the place.

Pico: he was hard to catch,had quite a filthy mouth too as he fought me and my assistant,even giving her a bloody nose,so I decided to get payback. My assistant ended up replacing his eyes with camera like shutters,anytime he blinks a picture Is taken as his tongue grows to show the photos he has taken,he dosent need to blink as if he dosent blink it dosent cause him any pain,sometimes the photo tongue can get too long from accidental photos and my assistant has to cut it,she says pico described it as like ripping out a bandaid,she also said that pico is still able to taste food despite his photo tongue.

Grape: by far the most aggressive one,he did the most damage to us trying to escape as he gave my assistant multiple bruises and pulled out a chunk of my hair,I made sure to give my assistant a slap in the eye for failing to catch him cause I had to do that with a tranquilizer dart. Seeing how he often screamed a lot,I decided to base him on a banshee,as a result,his cheeks have slight ones in them revealing his other sharp teeth,his hair has gotten longer and paler,fading into white,he has a stiched up mark on his chest,which my assistant had used to even get the magic in to make this operation possible,his hands had turned into bloody claws and his eyes glow a bright white with his eyes bleeding,though he’s still able to see,my assistant has been really scared of him since the operation and tries her best to avoid him,scared that he might beat her up again,good riddance.

-mod Shelby

(The fact that half of this is just Experiment!Shelby getting beat up :,>)

#mod speaks

[thefloatingwriter]

this went so off the rails oh my gods.

Day 22 - Claws | Emmeline Vance/Mary Macdonald | Warnings : Death, Grief. @sapphicmicrofics

Emmeline Vance had been scared of werewolves ever since she eleven and read the headline, ‘Nathaniel McKinnon, the head of the department of law enforcement, resigns after being attacked by a werewolf,’ on the front page of the Daily Prophet.

She had the first of many nightmares that night; a small, wallpapered room growing smaller and smaller as her and the werewolf got closer, the wolf’s grin paralyzing her in fear.

Even once Emmeline met Remus she was terrified. She was sure he was a lovely boy but she just… couldn’t.

Marlene was better with Remus than her, and she had been in the same house as her father when he was attacked! Emmeline didn’t have any excuse.

When she joined the Order, she was positive a werewolf would be her end. Her friends had told her that some of the wolves had joined You-Know-Who’s side.

Emmeline had woken up thrashing, waking up Mary by kicking her and had to be consoled. Her wife never seemed bothered by it, but she had never felt more like a burden when she woke up the next morning.

The people she had lost through the Order came to the forefront of her mind when the war ended. Dorcas, Lily, James… Marlene, dying for the greater good of the world, in the apartment she loved so much and killed by a man who she had given a chance to and who had thrown it out the window, using the knife of an old friend of hers. Pandora, who died trying to destroy what she wasn’t destined to even damage, her daughter watching as Pandora had watched her own mother die, as if the fate of Emmeline’s best friends were some disgusting cycle never to be ended.

She felt despair when she learned of the rejoining Order of the Phoenix. Emmeline felt the crushing weight of her grief when Moody showed her the picture of the Original Order, waving it around like it was a carnival prize. Tonks had to ask if she was alright because she had gone green. 

She wasn’t alright. She was disgusted. Emmeline looked at the photo and gave it back to Moody almost as soon as she touched it as if it was a hot pan. 

She cried herself to sleep that night.

Emmeline hadn’t expected the Death Eaters to swoop onto her at random. She was so close to the Prime Minister too! It just seemed so unlikely.

They caught her by surprise, and that advantage was what killed her.

She died with a claw mark down her chest, not from a werewolf, but from a monster of a man who had hurt her friends too many times to count. 

Her list of regrets could have been a book. Leaving behind Mary. Never being able to have children. Leaving behind Remus and Kingsley. Not being able to help Remus through his grief after Sirius…

Despite this, Emmeline had a smile on her face as she died. 

Marlene and Pandora were waiting for her.

#marauders era #emmeline vance #dayne writes #the marauders #the marauders era #marlene mckinnon #pandora lovegood #emmary #mary macdonald

[mangher]

upon his return home misha would find something was wrong. front door had been shut, but the lock and handle clearly broken. inside was a mess, things broken and scattered about. then in his bedroom, above where he slept, a warning in what seemed to be blood ( and truth be told, was ). RUN AWAY WOLF. BEFORE THE HUNTER COMES FOR YOU TOO. / lonis attacker threatening misha :')

@maljefe

. ミハイル .

Misha had stood at the door a good minute staring at the lock and the small pieces of paint and wood that had chipped off. In addition to the visibly evident marks of forced entery, he could also smell a stranger, as well as something coppery, even if still muted. He wasn't unfamiliar to the scent, and it had him scruntch his nose.

The scent from the stranger wasn't strong enough for him to warrant it being dangerous to enter, as they already were gone. Misha narrowed his eyes as he opened the door, looking at stuff laying haphazardly around, due to himself mostly. It was rather eerie how nothing specifically hadn't been touched, yet things were broken at the same time. Glass cracked under his boots as he stepped forward, the sound far too loud in his ears.

His heart thumped in his chest, though he ignored the part of his brain and instincts that communicated anxiety. No, he didn't feel that stuff, it was a weakness. So he strolls in, ignoring any alarmbells in his head as he inspects the surroundings, making sure nothing is further amiss or any threats would be lingering around. Who knew, there could be traps laid about.

Just like at home.

The bedroom door was slighly ajar, which he found funny, since it had been wide open when he left. Slowly the door creaked open as he pushed at it, opening it fully. The scent of copper came from here, more concentrated, sickeningly sweet in a way. Misha flicked on the light, the yellow warm light soon illuminating the upturned room. The elephant in the room was hard to ignore, and Misha felt his guts churn, a deep growl leaving him as he let the words sink in.

Anxiety spiked, his mind filled with scenes from his past. He heard laughter that he soon recognized as his own. A large hand covered his face, the laughter turning into chuckles, eyes gleamed in the poorly lit room and Misha's lips were parted in a predatory grin.

Offense was the best defense.

No weaknesses were allowed.

Fear gets you killed.

As a were, you don't fear anything.

Run away Wolf.

Misha scoffed, turning on his heels and making his way towards the door.

Before the hunter comes for you too.

He felt his claws grow, the hairs at the back of his neck rising. He licked his lips, making his way down the stairs once more. Shaking his hand he stops his transformation from happening. It'd be too early, no reason to get the whole neighbourhood worked up, or to bring too much attention to him.

A good hunter lays low. Is patient.

He probably should go find Loni. He probably should at least let her know what is going on. It's a sobering thought, for a moment, but as he stares at his phone, the one photo he took of Loni at one of their stupid hangouts, he also remembers how hurt she'd been due to the incident.

Misha scoffs. No, she.... would not be able to handle this. Not now. Not ever. It was him who had to deal with this. Him. Always him. He's the one to provide. To take care.

So the phone is tucked into his pocket again, and he walks off towards the direction where the scent was still present. Weak, and soon gone. Mostly due to the guy having had a vehicle, or other means to leave the area. But Misha didn't mind.

He was just as much a hunter, as was the one hunting him.

If they wanted to bring him down, they'd have to work for it.

Mikhail laughs, the knots of anxiety in his stomach now a dull sensation of cold that was easy to ignore when his mind was on something else; the game --- the hunt itself.

Let's see who finds who at first.

What he didn't notice was that his phone actually never made it to his pocket, and instead had dropped onto the sidewalk with the screen now cracked and slowly dimming down.

#. ミハイル . answered #maljefe

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-Something There

Warnings: Mentions of murder. Canon-typical violence.

Word Count: 2.5k

a/n: i am so beyond sorry that it has taken this long to get another chapter out. this doesn’t follow my post schedule that i had previously given, but hopefully this can be a good place holder till later this week. 

The Purest Things Masterlist

May 2008

Bookend: "It took me quite a long time to develop a voice, and now that I have it, I am not going to be silent." -Madeleine Albright

"There's no way I'm doing that," you rebuttal, "Hotch? Tell them it's a ridiculous idea." He stays silent, but his mouth twitches slightly.

Oh, you son of a-

"Richards is a classic narcissist. The challenge of facing a tough, fearless, and intelligent woman will give him his high. Narcissists are drawn to goal-oriented women, women who are resilient, adaptable, yet decisive. Show him that you are a good listener, but don't praise him."

"Think of him like a wild animal," Spencer adds, "You don't feed zoo animals because they are unpredictable. Remember, narcissists have an extraordinary sense of self, and when you praise his ego, you enable his unstable and feeble mind. He doesn't hear praise; he hears how much better he is than you. If you don't feed the beast, he won't have the stamina to combat your confidence later."

"Once you disarm him, I'll come in and challenge his confidence," Hotch concludes. 

Could you have said that less attractively? That would have been more helpful.

Aaron cheekily smirks as if reading your mind but quickly looks away. You wish you didn't blush so fast-that you had some sense to keep your emotions to yourself. In a second, your cheeks are rosy, and you are convinced that everyone in the room can perceive your feelings as if you wrote them on little notes and passed them around.

You grunt and roll your eyes, "I hate all of you."

Derek snaps his fingers at you, "Lose the jacket."

"All men are pigs," you spit while removing your blazer, leaving you in a fitted tank top and your tight-legged jeans that hug your curves in all of the right places.

Derek wolf whistles at you, and you hurl your jacket at him.  Aaron lets his eyes slide up and down your body, his gaze lasting longer than it should. He swears that as you stride into the interrogation room, your hips swing a bit farther side to side than usual. It is the very action that radiates courage, a mind coupled perfectly with itself and the world around it, concentrated and solemn.

Typically, Hotch would divert the task of adulating a narcissist to Prentiss, but he knows if anyone can take command of someone's attention, it's you. How does he know? Because you captivate him far more often than he cares to admit, defying his very being with every interaction. You are a secret weapon that he wants to keep concealed until you can allow your talents to shine genuinely. Aaron knows that now is your moment. ++++ "What is it that I am being accused of? Fraud? Embezzling?" The sharp-dressed businessman questions; his gaze is straying further below your eyes than you care for.

Pig.

You throw a file down on the medal table, and it slides across, stopping right in front of the man, successfully redirecting his stare somewhere other than your chest.

"Try murder."

His eyes widen, "You're joking. Come on, where are the hidden cameras? I'm ready for you to yell candid camera now! I am Milton Richards, for god's sake!"

"I don't know!" You shrug your shoulders. "Why don't you explain this to me, Mr. Richards. I'm just as confused as you are. What reason could a successful, charming, handsome, wealthy business mogul like yourself possibly have to kill someone?"

"Oh please," Richards scoffs, "This isn't an interrogation. You've already pegged me as guilty."

"I don't agree, but you have the right to feel how you feel."

He purses his lips, leaning as far away from you as physically possible while handcuffed to the table.

"Milton, why did you try to escape a moving vehicle when my team apprehended you?"

"Just felt like it, I guess," he shrugs mockingly.

"So, something just randomly compelled you to flee the custody of a federal agent?"

Richards leers at you. You stand up and walk around the table, leaning down next to him, "I get it. I do. You're a suave, wealthy, and ruthless business tyrant. You have to cover your tracks-do what it takes to survive."

He raises his eyebrow, turning to face you, your faces mere inches from each other. I got you now.

"Trust me. I know probably better than anyone what it takes to maintain a position you fought your entire life for. I'm a woman; I had to claw my way into the F.B.I. Do you think it's easy being surrounded by a team filled with uncontrolled testosterone? Womanhood requires balls; I see you keep your balls in your pants, cool, cool. Mine are on my chest, up top. As you've so duly noticed."

His eyes flicker to the aforementioned area, and you restrain yourself from gagging.

"And you know what, Richards? I use them every day of my life. Because in my line of business, sometimes I have to take the backdoor to get things done. Why do I get the sense that you were the same way before you became Mr. Wolf of Wall Street? How else does a kid who grew up in the projects become a multi-millionaire mogul by 27?"

"We both know what the other is capable of. C'mon, let's show each other a bit of respect here. No games, let's be upfront with each other," you appeal. ++++ Aaron watches as you work the room like it is your stage. You play the part perfectly.  He admires your ability to absorb things and then responded rather than immediately react to douse firey circumstances rather than add to the flames.

Derek finds himself next to Aaron, smugly observing Aaron's visible fascination with you.

"She's fantastic, Hotch," Derek beams with pride. Hotch holds his breath behind pursed lips in an attempt to barricade himself from the feelings of foolish jealousy he feels creeping up.

I know she is. I think I recognize it a little too well.

Aaron knows that Derek will be scrutinizing his reaction to the commendation and refrains from responding.

Of course, Derek reads this lack of a reaction as a response itself. And he finds it strangely amusing. ++++ "Here's what I think happened," you twirl your finger around the manilla file, "I think you were having some money troubles and your top investors caught onto your little games. When you sat down, you volunteered the crimes fraud and embezzlement as reasons you assumed we brought you into custody. You listed them like they are apparent reasons for us to charge you. Those are two areas you are clearly willing to take the fall for and have cause to oblige by."

Opening the file, a photograph is revealed within of a murder victim. Richards shifts uncomfortably in his seat, stifling a cough.

"Do you know this man?"

"N-no," he claims as his eyes flutter from the photo to his hands.

Surprised by his blatant tell, you glance back at the two-way mirror.

Turning back to the suspect with a newfound spark in your eyes, you press harder, "Strike one. Try again."

"Excuse me?"

"The man in the image is Walter Barone, the C.E.O. of Jameson Whitely Associates...your accounting firm. Your company was going bankrupt, Milton. There was nowhere left for you to turn. So, do you want to try that again? This time, answer my questions directly and honestly."

"Walt had a reserve saved for me worth $5 million. Last week when I approached him about dipping into the fund to keep the company afloat, he withheld it. I wouldn't kill him for it, though."

"Well, see, that's the problem here, Milton. When he was found, that little reserve of yours was nowhere to be found. Naturally, you can assume where my mind goes when I try and put two and two together, right?"

"I told you," he says, clearly provoked by your accusation, "I wouldn't...didn't kill him."

"Wasn't it you, in your book, right? Who said, 'It's surprising what a man will do when properly motivated?' I don't know about you, but losing everything you'd ever worked for and having your one saving grace held from you seems like pretty good motivation."

Silence. "Oh, come on, Milton, now is not the time to act so arrogant!"

He slams his fists on the table; you abstain from being startled in an attempt to show him no fear.

Wild animals can smell fear. 

"Arrogant, huh? Why don't you step up and prove me wrong? Prove you're better than me. You despise me for being successful; I despise you for your assumption that you could waltz in here like a tramp and seduce me into giving myself up. What? Too harsh? I'm not sure you and I are even the same species."

Hotch bursts into the room, and you quickly signal for him to stand down. I've got this.

He gives you a prideful wink. I know you do.

Somehow Aaron being in the room gives you that last little push to conclude this grand performance of yours. Slowly, you begin clapping dramatically for his little one-person comedy act. He certainly knows how to play the fool.

"Is that a dare? Challenge accepted. Your entire life, you have suffered from a disease... a fragile ego. You have built these walls of detachment so that you can conveniently solicit status to hide your true, weak self. You lash out because you feel it compensates for your insecurities."  

"The truth is, despite being at the top of the corporate chain, every day you lead the life of a loser. You are willing to destroy people psychically, emotionally, and mentally. And you view that as a cause for celebration. You are the embodiment of a loser and abject failure."

Hotch touches the small of your back; you shiver at the sudden warmth that fills your body in reaction to it. He hands you a piece of paper, one that seals Richards' conviction.

"Milton Richards, you are under arrest for the murder of Walter Barone, Hank Simmons, Frankie Lisbon, and Jillian Ryder."

Hotch motions for you to do the honors.

"By all means, lead the way."

Holding yourself proud and tall, you waltz over to Milton and hoist him out of his chair. Inclining your lips to his ear, you tell him contemptuously, "You lose."   ++++ "Way to go, superstar! You had us all on the edge of our seats," Derek says, wrapping his muscular arms around you. You breathe in his cologne and savor the sensation of being in his arms.

Since the day you met Morgan, you've felt a draw to him. Not in a romantic way, though you proudly admit he is hands-down one of the most gorgeous men to set foot on earth. He gives you the feeling of safety, warmth, and brotherly love. His hugs rejuvenate you after a long day of work, and you see to it that neither of you leaves the office without receiving your signature embraces.

Aaron observes you and Derek's shared embrace from the shelter of his office. Before he can comprehend his movements, his legs carry him to the terrace overlooking the bullpen.

What do you think you're doing, Hotch? Pull yourself together. They’re friends. Just like you and her are.

Dismissing his inner voice of reason, he calls out to you, "Y/L/N. See me in my office."

You grimace at his tone of voice but abide by his request.

Derek chuckles, "Green is not that man's color."

"What?" You turn to him, confused.

"Goodnight, superstar."

"Night, handsome," you blow him a kiss, trying to brush his comment out of your mind.  ++++ "You summoned?"

Aaron's whiskey-colored eyes meet yours. The tempo of your heart quickens like a metronome.

"You did a phenomenal job in there."

"I've learned from the best." You. I've learned from you.

He clears his throat, "Those things you said...a-about the men on this team. Is that how you truly feel?"

Shocked by his willingness to believe such a misleading statement, you gasp and close the distance between the two of you.

You must have some nerve to believe that I would ever view you as anything other than the most upstanding man I've ever met.

"Aaron, what I said in there is further than the truth than I would have liked to have strayed. In fact, it was with you that I finally felt equal as a human being-like someone recognized me for my intellect and self-worth. A woman can't acquire that regardless of how 'equal' this world claims to be."

Aaron finds himself lost in your eyes, absorbing every meaning behind your words.

"It was a freeing feeling having someone I respect so highly show me similar respect."

No. Don't stop talking. Please. Hotch blushes at his inner monologue, incapable of comprehending precisely what kind of influence you hold on him.  

"Anyway," you laugh, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen in your face, "Sorry for my little tangent."

"No," Hotch interjects firmly, "Never apologize for expressing your feelings. I assured you last year that I'll always be available as a sounding board for you. That offer still stands."

Your gaze softens as you study him, his intentions, his mannerisms. He notices your pupils dilate, and it commences a chain reaction within his veins. To him, it's not the fact that you radiate beauty on the outside. Sure, you are physically fit and put in the effort to maintain your appearance. Naturally, that would be why someone like Derek Morgan would have you on his radar.

But, Aaron has gradually grown accustomed to the kindness that you seem to reserve just for him. He sees the differences between how you act around the team versus when you step inside his office or are alone in the car with him, even the way your confidence elevates when he walks into the interrogation room.

These differences aren't unique to just you, though. Aaron notices the same changes in himself when he is around you. Never did he expect to go home from work and lie in bed thinking about the way your eyes strayed on his for a moment too long, or how as he completed paperwork at his desk, he'd replay in his mind a cheesy joke you told the team. He knows how you like your coffee from observing you in the break room one too many times.

One cream, two sugars.

Your laughter warms his body from the inside out. When you talk about your favorite comic book with Prentiss and Morgan, the twinkle in your eye never fails to bring a smile to his face. He knows that you hate getting out of the car when it rains because your perfectly straightened hair that you spent god knows how long on will undoubtedly curl.

His changes were less evident on the outside. But, he knew that deep down, there is something there that wasn't there before.

Tag List:

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[tvdiaries-imagines]

Old Flame: Pt. 17

Warnings: Cursing, tobacco use

Word Count: 4694 (the longest chapter so far!)

OLD FLAME MASTERLIST: CLICK HERE

-

“WHERE IS SHE?!” 

Klaus roared throughout the courtyard, furious that you are nowhere to be found after you successfully snapped his neck. The moon was out the last time he’s seen you but waking up, the moon had disappeared and now it’s daylight. He usually wouldn’t have woken up this late from a simple snapped neck, but you took a page out of his book and stuck a vile of vervain in his system after successfully finding his vervain collection.

Hayley and Jackson were across the way on the second floor, having a quiet chat beside the railing. “Who?” Hayley asked, puzzled.

“Y/N!” Klaus shouted, fuming as he’s glancing around the vicinity.

Kol stepped out of one of the rooms on the second floor after hearing a frantic original. Hayley and Jackson stepped inside the nearest room, figuring Kol could handle Klaus. “I thought she was with you, Nik?” Kol brought up.

“Apparently, she said she was fine last night.” Klaus raced towards his brother who sauntered inside the bedroom he’s occupying during his stay. “Then she snapped my bloody neck and disappeared with the stake.” He retrieved his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed your number. After a couple rings, he nearly cursed after being sent to voicemail. It wasn’t a surprise to him since almost every time you’re in a dire situation, your phone is never answered. But, Klaus figured he’d try. 

“What happened to her when I left to speak to Esther?” Klaus asked, jaw clenched. 

“If I tell you, give me your word that you won’t be cross with me.” Kol eyed him anxiously. 

“What did you do?” Klaus muttered in an alarming tone.

“All I did for Y/N was a favor. I had no control of how she’d react.”

“Spit it out, brother. What is it?”

“She was worried about her friend, Kai Parker.” Kol answered. “Figured Esther was behind it, so she requested I find out. Turns out, mother sent him to a prison world and there’s no fixing it.”

“And that’s the reason for her lunacy?” The hybrid’s nostrils flared in aggravation.

“It is.” 

“Good riddance. I don’t know what Y/N sees in that imbecile.” Irritation pricked at him.

To add even more stress, an angry Finn Mikaelson immediately walked in, magically breaking one of the vases on the table. “Where is she?”

“Finn, please, join us.” Klaus said with blatant mockery. 

“Don’t make me ask again.” Finn sneered. 

“I assume you’re referring to our mother. Fear not, she’s tucked away somewhere perfectly safe.” Klaus added. “You’ll never find her.”

“You think you’ve won. Let’s see how long that arrogance lasts, brother.” Finn glared at his brothers before turning around and marching away with heavy steps.

Klaus tried reaching you again but was sent to voicemail. That alone ticked him off and he was close to throwing his cell phone at the brick wall. 

“I’m going to find Y/N. You’re coming with me, Kol.” Klaus made his way out of the bedroom in lengthy steps.

“Oh, splendid.” Kol responded back, trailing behind his brother.

Reaching the courtyard, there were a handful of Hayley’s wolf allies and Marcel’s group of vamps gathered together. Klaus is aware that it’s Hayley and Marcel’s attempt for them to make a truce for the bigger picture.

“Klaus, stop!” Hayley blurted, Klaus and Kol stopped in their tracks.

“Finn spelled all of the exits. We can’t leave.” Marcel added.

Klaus put a palm up at eye view, slowly reaching out until his skin sizzled against the spelled blockade, letting out a faint groan from the affliction. He threw his healing hand down to his side and shifted his view to his youngest brother, expression hardened. “Fantastic.” Klaus muttered sarcastically.

(Meanwhile…)

After disappearing into the night, you booked a suite at the Ritz-Carlton. You’re aware that Klaus has plenty of connections, so you assured that you didn’t put a card on file in case he traces it. Instead, you compelled the staff to allow you to stay for free. You even took extra precautions and showed them a photo of Klaus so that if he ever steps foot into the Ritz-Carlton, they’ll notify you right away.

Having your humanity off so far has been dandy because you had no care in the world. If you were your normal self, there’s no doubt that you would be following Klaus around like a lost puppy during one of his missions and the thought made you sick to your stomach right now.

You woke up this afternoon to your suite nearly trashed from the little party you decided to throw last night because you gathered a handful of good looking people from bourbon street and plenty of liquor to keep you inebriated throughout the night. A man and a woman stayed overnight, thanks to your compulsion. You knew you’d be famished this afternoon and fresh blood ultimately did the trick for you. 

After an incredible shower and devouring your sinful snacks, you compelled your victims to bandage up their wrists and be on their way. Housekeeping began tidying up your suite after you made your way out.

Though your craving for blood is fulfilled, you desired a hot bowl of gumbo, so you threw on your sunglasses and trekked through the quarter, crossing your fingers that your pesky beau isn’t looking high and low for you in the area. Your heels clicked along the cement, wearing your best black dress sitting pretty just above your knees.

Gumbo Shop was what you decided on and the friendly host sat you down at a table inside, farthest away from the windows. She did as expected by leaving a menu with you and handing you off to a server.

Within the hour, all of your cravings are satisfied so you left a generous tip for your server and went on your merry way. You weren’t sure what you planned to do next, so you allowed the city to decide for you. A street performer captured your attention so you stopped to observe. 

Out of the blue, you spot Finn Mikaelson nearly walking past you in a rush. “Hi Finn. Why are you always so glum?” You teased, brow raised. He put a halt to his steps, hands behind his back. He wore a dark suit, the jacket fully unbuttoned.

“No use in going home anytime soon, dear Y/N.” He implied arrogantly. “Nobody can get in or out, thanks to my spell.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but alright.” In the blink of an eye, Finn strolled away. “Change of plans I guess.” You smirked.

(Later…)

Entering through the gates of the compound, you discovered over a dozen people in the courtyard. It seemed like they were not enjoying themselves whatsoever. There were a few familiar faces as well, including Marcel, Josh and Hayley. You wondered if Klaus or Kol managed to get trapped here as well since they weren’t in the space from what you can see. Your presence seemed to catch everyone’s attention though.

“Don’t you all look cozy.” Your haughty tone was obvious. 

“Y/N wait!” Marcel alerted. “Don’t take another step. Finn put up a boundary spell.”

“Thanks for the heads up Marcel. But I already knew that. I bumped into Finn earlier.” 

“But you came anyway?” Marcel raised a brow in suspicion. 

You shrugged your shoulders in response, leaning against the wall close enough to the invisible barrier. Once everyone else besides Marcel realized that you were no help in freeing them, they were no longer interested in your presence and went back to sulking.

“Ah I see.” He came to a realization. “You’re here to gloat. Why?”

“There you are.” Klaus appeared from the shadows. His edge of irritation returned and drew a scowl over his face.

“Here I am.” You were feeling exceptionally smug. While examining your fingernails, you planned to get a manicure after this foolish conversation.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?”

You showed uninterest without any eye contact as you pulled a cigarette and lighter from your purse. You placed the toxic stick in between your lips, lighting the end of it and taking a puff effortlessly as if you’ve always been a smoker. Klaus glared at your repulsive act.

“I’ve been around.” You responded after exhaling, finally making eye contact with the hybrid.

“Care to explain why you felt it was necessary to render me unconscious for hours on end and then scurry off to god knows where.” With a brisk elevator look, he motioned a nagging hand at you. Klaus was displeased with your outfit choice without him there to claw the eyes out of every man that looks at you with hungry eyes.

He almost asked you about the whereabouts of the white oak stake, but he remembered that there are ears around that he doesn’t trust. 

“The thought of having to explain to you bores me.” You fake yawned. “So I don’t think I will.” 

“Something’s different about her, Nik.” Kol added, his mouth set in a hard line.

“I’m aware. Her humanity must be off.” Klaus made his way closer towards you, stopping as close to the barrier as he could. You stepped over to be face to face with him, sniggering.

“There ya go.” You snorted in amusement, the toxic stick weighing at your sides, carelessly flicking off the ash on the grounds of the compound. “You really aren’t the dumbest Mikaelson, Nik.” Klaus ignored your unnecessary comment, his firing eyes following the cigarette going from your mouth to your sides.

Kol began sauntering over to his brother, standing side by side. “Oh sister. Your humanity, eh?” He shook his head in disappointment, arms folded across his chest. “I thought you were bigger than this.”

You dropped the half finished cigarette on the concrete by your feet, crushing the butt with the ball of your stiletto. “My favorite Mikaelson brother is disappointed in me.” Your hand flew to your chest, fake pouting. “I’m crushed. I really am.” 

“Stop this nonsense immediately, Y/N.” Klaus said, a scowl strewn across his face. 

“Or what?”

“Do not test me.”

“Well last time I checked, you’re trapped in there while I’m free out here. So joke’s on you, my love.” You teased. 

A sinister chuckle left Klaus’s mouth. “You shut off your humanity for whom? A useless dullard.” You stared at the ceiling, placing your hands at your hips. “Out of all the choices Esther has made in life, I’d say that sending Sir Malachai Parker back to the prison world was the best one.” He grinned, hoping to have hit a nerve to get your humanity back. “It pleases me knowing that he will be stuck there for all eternity. All alone.” He chose his words carefully and perfectly. 

Suddenly, your hands fell and your blank eyes set onto Klaus’s, unmoving. By your reaction, there was a glimmer of a chance that it worked. You grasped both of the Mikaelsons’ undivided attention. 

“Nice try.” You cocked your head to your side, your once unreadable expression is now evidently complacent and it boiled Klaus’s blood. His hands clenched at his sides as he’s trying to hide his defeat from you. Kol just simply sighed at their defeat, aware that it was a longshot anyways. “I’m bored. Bye boys.” Without a care in the world, you turned on your heel and departed the compound.

Once you were out of sight, Kol turned to face his brother who was still looking at the spot you were once standing at, unable to mutter any words. “Nik?” Kol murmured, careful not to overwhelm him.

After a beat, Klaus continued to ignore his brother and vacated the spot where he stood. He made his way towards a vacant section of the compound. Kol followed behind him. 

Before Klaus could touch the handle of one of the doors on the first floor, Kol attempted to acquire his attention for the second time. “Brother?” Klaus puts a halt to his long strides, taking a deep breath.

In the blink of an eye, he vamp speeds to Kol, barely leaving any space in between the two as his murderous eyes bore into Kol’s. “Don’t.” Klaus warned through clenched teeth. That dangerous tone itself informed Kol to leave him alone in the meantime. And just like that, Klaus swung the door open and violently slammed it behind him, causing a few of the other vampires and wolves to flinch. 

Your mani and pedi finished in an hour. You began scouring the quarter for inspiration on what other shenanigans to get into again. After walking in and out of a few gift shops along the way and stopping to tip some of the street performers, you finally stumbled upon bourbon street.

Normally you’d throw your money at the bartenders in one of the many jazz clubs, however, house music blared through one of the other clubs and it instantaneously called your name. Males and females in their 20s occupied this loud space, yet, you didn’t mind one bit because they’re of your age compared to your 1000 year old lover with anger issues.

Dancing and mingling with these fine people made your current cold heart wish that Camille was here to join you. But you wouldn’t dare risk having her call Klaus or Kol and informing them of your whereabouts. Who knows, you might end up snapping her neck dead for doing so and you didn’t care to waste your energy. Marcel and Josh could be trusted not to tell a soul, however, they’re trapped in the compound.

You released your sharp teeth from a poor soul’s neck on the dance floor undiscovered. The warmth of her blood brought you satisfaction. “Go wipe that up in the restroom.” You compelled her and she walked off like a zombie.

(Meanwhile…)

The longer time passed with the magical barrier being up, the more Marcel and his vamps’s hunger grew for blood. It wasn’t looking good for Kol and the werewolves. They were practically walking blood bags.

To make matters worse, Klaus’s patience started running out. He needed to get to you before you caused any havoc or came to any harm. This is the first time you’ve ever turned your humanity off so he has no idea what to expect. The feeling made him sick to his stomach. Not to mention, the white oak stake can be anywhere but he trusts you’re smart enough to have it hidden somewhere good.

The entirety of the barrier will not diminish until nightfall and they couldn’t wait that long. But to their luck, it’s a miracle that Davina fancied Kol. She received a phone call from him, needing her assistance for a spell to lift the barrier and she put whatever she was doing on hold to come to his aid. 

They were almost certain that the spell would work. However, being that Finn is channeling something extremely powerful, they were only to be given 60 seconds for the barrier to be down. The plan was to have the wolves, Kol and Klaus exit the vicinity. 

Davina and Kol now stood face to face with the invisible barrier in between, palms as close to touching as it would allow them. Small, lighted candles lined up in front of the witches and a circle of salt surrounded them as they continued muttering their spell to one another.

Due to the spell taking its course, all of the vampires needed to resort to cowering in the shadows until after Kol and Davina’s spell die out. Klaus and the wolves were allowed to wait beside the barrier. 

A gust of wind abruptly flew through Kol and Davina, causing the candles to blow out and some of the salt to scatter. They exchanged smiles and were relieved to have the chance to touch palms. 

“Okay, Jack. Now!” Hayley announced.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jackson didn’t hesitate to rush his pack out of there, guiding them towards the exit along with Hayley.

“Remember, 60 seconds!” Kol reminded them. He was eager for the werewolves to egress and then he followed suit. 

But before Kol could take another step, Klaus dashed to him, holding him by the shoulder. “Slight change of plans, brother.” In a trice, he threw Kol in the air until he landed about 50 feet away, grunting in pain. “I no longer have to treat you like anything but the treacherous liar you truly are.” The hybrid spat. Davina’s neck snapped to him, bewildered. 

“What the bloody hell?” Kol gradually sat up, feeling just as confused as Davina.

“Where is she?” Klaus questioned, vampires eyeing his brother hungrily while they still waited in the shadows.

“Please, they’ll kill him!” Davina pleaded.  

“Well, he should’ve thought about that before he betrayed our sister.”

“What will Y/N think?!” She added.

 “Not to worry about my beloved’s opinions of Kol’s predicament. Let’s just say, she’s not herself today.” Klaus replied to Davina before returning his attention to the mischievous Mikaelson, who now rose to his feet. “Rebekah never made it to her new body, did she? Seeing as how you casted the spell, and well, you’re you. I’d hardly call it an uncrackable case.”

“Rebekah’s fine, Nik. It was a prank.” Kol quicked marched towards his older brother. “Nothing more than what you lot have done to me.” He pointed a nagging finger. “But I guess it’s different when it’s one-” The magical blockade was up and running again and its wrath burned Kol’s pale hand, causing him to reel backwards and hiss in pain.

“Barrier’s back up.” Klaus flickered his eyes at the ravenous vampires coming out of the shadows. “And those vampires look oh so hungry.” 

Kol grew anxious as the vampires made their way to him like a predator ready to take down its prey. Davina’s eyes began to well up in tears, yearning to come to Kol’s aid.

“I was willing to welcome you back into my home, but you had to return to your selfish petty jealousies.” Klaus said. “Well, let’s see how they help you survive when you’re stuck in there!” He stormed off towards the exit without the thought of a glance. He felt no remorse whatsoever for his little brother.

(Meanwhile…)

The sun began to set and it was no secret that you look damned good in the tight dress and towering heels. A handful of men even offered to pay for your drinks and you obviously obliged although you could’ve easily compelled them to. This made your job much easier. 

Since you were pretty buzzed and in an amazing mood, you allowed one of the pathetic men to dance with you, only being allowed to touch your arms or your waist. 

Due to the substantial amount of liquor in his system, his confidence was at an all time high and he attempted to lean in for a kiss. You snorted at his juvenile gesture and turned the other cheek. “N-Nice try. Fun’s over.” 

“Oh come on.” He insisted. As you were about to free yourself of his hold, he tightened his grip on your waist and it caught you off guard. Little does he know that you aren’t human, so you prepared yourself to use your vampire strength to free yourself. You smirked, allowing him this minor moment before you stripped it away from him. 

The drunkard fool leaned forward once again to press his lips onto yours while his hands stroked your waist. You rolled your eyes, snickering as you seized his wrists. “I said-” In a flash, he was thrown across the dancefloor but it wasn’t because of you. Some of the clubbers' attention were focused on what just happened and others acted like nothing happened. Before he could think to stand to his feet, one of the sizable bouncers roughly brought him to his feet to begin dragging him out. 

Everything happened so fast and you focused your view to the only person standing beside you to your left. Klaus Mikaelson. “Oh fuck you, Nik.” You grimaced at your inessential savior, your heels rapidly clicking off of the dance floor towards the exit. As much as you wished to vamp speed away, you were smart enough not to do it in the public eye. Humanity off or not.

Instead of hiding off in an alley, you stayed put by the entrance of the club where passersby can clearly see you, leaning against one of the brick walls. You searched through your small purse until you found a cigarette and lighter, but as you were about to light it, rough fingers pulled it out of your mouth. 

Klaus didn’t mutter a word, but you can tell by the expression on his face and his body language that he was seething inwardly. You were revelling in the moment. “I’m a vampire. I can’t get lung cancer, idiot.”  You scoffed at him. As much as you want to try to light another cigarette, you know that Klaus is just going to toss it. 

“We’re going.” He grabbed a hold of your bare upper arm, signaling to follow him or suffer the consequences. You shook his grip off, unphased by it. 

“You’re hilarious.” You said, keeping your feet planted to the ground. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I’m serious, love. This isn’t a game. Let’s go.” Klaus remarked, towering over you. 

You peered up at him through your lashes, shooting daggers. “Did you forget? I don’t fucking care. Now leave me alone.” You shot him a glare and attempted to walk past him, but he stepped to the side as a wall.

“You out of all people know what I am capable of.” Klaus started. “And yet, you are determined to incur my wrath.” 

“Your wrath?” You snorted. “Okay then, show me. Right here, right now. In front of all of these people.” Klaus took a peep over your head, unmoving. You hummed in amusement. “I thought so.” 

You wasted no time and began trekking down bourbon street’s sidewalk, unsure of where you are headed as long as it’s away from Klaus. You freed your cell phone from your purse and began endlessly scrolling through social media, ensuring not to bump into anyone coming your way.

To your misfortune, Klaus materialized beside you, walking on the outside of the sidewalk.  “Oh, you’re still here.” You said dryly, eyes never leaving the screen. 

“In what world is this heretic worth your humanity?” He asked, disgusted. His eyes flickered from straight ahead to you. 

“My world, apparently.” 

“You know, you have people that could have helped you. There’s Stefan, Damon, Kol.” One by one, Klaus counted up to three fingers in the air before going back to relaxing his hand at his side. “Even Rebekah, if it weren’t for Kol’s foolish prank.” 

“Good to know, Nik.”

He gazed at you, swallowing before speaking. “You also had me.” 

“I can see that since you keep following me.” You finally peeled your eyes from your phone, throwing it back in your purse, raising your chin up at Klaus. He briskly narrowed his eyes, not allowing your cold response to get to him.

“Oh come now, sweetheart. Let’s not make this difficult for the both of us.”

“You’re making it difficult for yourself.” You waved an airy hand. “Now shoo, you’re killing the vibe.” 

“Alright then, Y/N. I’ve been far more patient with you.” Klaus creeped up behind you and swiftly cracked your spine so that you were comatose. Then, he scooped you into his arms so that he held you bridal style. 

To his luck, his swift, yet flawless gesture didn’t get a second look from anyone in the crowd. It seemed as if you were absurdly tipsy and he prevented you from falling to your knees. He felt a pang of relief and his tense shoulders relaxed knowing he can safely bring you home.

(Later…)

Finn’s barrier spell throughout the Mikaelson compound is now nonexistent. It is dead silent and the only two souls occupying this vast structure are you and the original hybrid for now. Your limp, unconscious body is tied to a wooden chair including your wrists and your ankles. 

Klaus has been pacing for the past few minutes, conjuring up different plans to mentally bring back the woman he loves, instead of this facade of a nightmare that is taking over. And hell, if it weren’t for your humanity switch, he would revel in tearing that dress off of you and making love to you until the sunrise. 

The sudden sound of your groaning put a halt to his steps. He watched as your head steadily moved up and you cracked your neck. Your eyes caught a glimpse of your surroundings which appears to be one of the many rooms in this godforsaken building. You raised a brow at your lover who is standing merely a few feet away just ahead of you. “This doesn’t look like the Ritz-Carlton.” You said in your head. 

“It would be impolite if I didn’t ask how your catnap was.” Klaus commented, wearing a shit eating grin.

“It was fantastic.” You returned his cocky expression with a flashing smile of your own.

“Now that I have you where you can’t simply walk off, let’s get to business then, shall we?” Klaus took amble strides towards you and kneeled until he was at eye level with you. “This will only take a second.” He noted, voice low enough for only the two of you to hear. 

As soon as his irises stared into yours, you turned your chin to the right, but Klaus was quick to seize your jaw with his strong fingers, shifting your view back to him. You knew exactly what his intentions were at that very moment. 

He’s going to compel you. 

The location of the white oak stake is still unknown to him and since he is closer to getting you back to your normal self, he’ll finally get the stake back. 

“Get on with it already. I don’t have all day.” You implied. Klaus kept his frustration in check from your moronic remark and went on with what he intended to do.

Your eyes focused on his, observing his pupils fascinatingly growing and shrinking. "You will put an end to this madness and turn it back on.” He released his grasp on your face. 

You blinked twice and your lips parted, chest rising and falling. “Nik.” You paused. “I-” Klaus began freeing one wrist from the bindings.

“What is it?” He asked, concerned.

As soon as one wrist was free, you sneered at him and before he could blink, you tore off the arm of the chair, flipped it over so that the sharp bit pointed out and stabbed Klaus in the neck with it. “Ah!” He called out, face contorting from the unexpected laceration.

Obviously, you could have simply kept playing it off as if your humanity was back so that Klaus frees you of all of the restraints. But, you wanted to poke fun at him instead. Inflicting pain onto Klaus was significantly more gratifying right now.

“You really thought you had me there, didn’t you?” You let out a burst of laughter. Klaus cried out in pain while pulling the stick of wood out of his neck and tossing it to the floor, taking heavy breaths as the gash healed. “Nice try, Nik. But I’ve been drinking vervain as of late. Thanks to Stefan and Damon for the tip.”

Instead of inflicting the pain back to you or snapping your neck to shut you up, Klaus stormed out of the room to overlook the courtyard from the railing. As much as he wanted to rip the railing off from his frustration, he shockingly kept his cool and an idea came to mind. He obtained his cell phone from his pant pocket and dialed a familiar number.

After many rings, his call was answered. 

“Klaus?” The voice on the other line said.

“Hello, old friend.” Klaus grinned, oddly comforted to hear their voice. “I’m in need of a favor.” 

-

A/N: Hope you guys appreciated the longer chapter!! I know the last one had a lot of Y/N x Kol moments, so I gave you guys more of Y/N x Klaus moments in this one. I have to say, it was quite fun writing with Y/N’s humanity off. And it was especially fun writing Klaus’s responses to it lol...Oh and I’m sure you guys can guess who Klaus’s ‘old friend’ is :)

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[sparkypantaloons]

Only Pieces

Every time he sees Jason he has to remind himself that it’s real. His son, his precious boy, is here and breathing and living. But, alive or not, he still died. And that bit never goes away.

Jason came back, but Bruce still mourns his death.

Love is the whole thing. We are only pieces.

It hits Bruce out of nowhere. Like a rabid wolf materialising out of the warm afternoon air, savaging him in to pieces of the man he once was. Breath, bone and sinew; torn apart and thrown up into the atmosphere. He can’t see, he can’t hear, he can’t speak. Why would he need to? He’s nothing but fragments now. Left to rot down into dust.

“You okay, B?” Tim asks, looking at him concerned.

He pulls his mortarboard hat off Jason’s head, elbows his brother in the ribs.

Bruce blinks. Tries to pull the shards of himself back together. Cobble them into something that resembles human.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, old man.” Jason says, side-eyeing him. He shrugs off the graduation gown as he speaks, throws it over Tim’s head.

Tim huffs, grabbing at the swathes of fabric. His hair sticks up in all directions as the cloth falls into his hands.

Bruce manages a stiff nod. Clears his throat. “We need to leave in five.” He says. The words rise in his throat like glass.

Tim shrugs. “Ready when you are.”Jason doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the older man, eyes narrowed.

Bruce turns. Leaves the library. His vision is blurring, he feels like he might be sick.

Somehow he finds his way to his study. He closes the door more heavily than he intended and it rattles in its frame. The sound is like an assault, all at once too loud and barely audible over the rushing in his ears.

He sits in the chair behind his desk. Gropes for the second drawer down on the right hand side. The whiskey bottle rattles as he yanks the drawer open. Then the liquid rattles down his throat as he drinks straight from the bottle. It doesn’t burn the way it used to, but it still works. Just.

His senses return. Taste first, then smell, the woody flavour of the spirit left lingering in his mouth. Then he can feel the bottle in his hand, round and smooth under his calloused fingers. He watches the liquid settle as he places it down on the desk, the blurring at the edge of his vision disappearing. He can breathe again.

He slumps back in the chair, tilts his head back and takes a deep breath through his nose. A tear escapes the corner of his eye before he can stop it. He wipes it away quickly and takes another deep breath. He can’t do this now.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred is stood in the doorway. His eyes slide from the younger man to the bottle on his desk, and he tilts his head knowingly. “The boys are waiting.” He says gently.

Bruce nods. His eyes are in danger of blurring again. “Jason, he…” He croaks. He screws his eyes shut, takes another steadying breath.

“I know, Master Bruce.” Alfred says kindly. “I saw.”

~

Bruce drives Tim to his graduation ceremony and Dick comes too. Tim makes his brother sit in the back because even if Dick is the oldest, it’s Tim’s graduation. They chatter away on the journey and Bruce makes sure to laugh or interject at the right moments, to frown or make disapproving sounds when he should. But he’s gripping the steering-wheel too tightly and he’s not fool enough to think they haven’t noticed.

When they arrive, they have photos taken of the three of them. Dick and Bruce in dark blue suits, Tim in between them in his academic regalia. They grin brightly but Bruce only just remembers to let go of Tim when it’s over. Remember’s that he can’t hold his children in his arms forever, no matter how much he wants to.

They mingle before the ceremony, meeting some of Tim’s friends and their families. Brucie Wayne comes out, and Bruce manages to lose himself in the performance. He almost convinces himself that he’s okay, is sure that he will have at least convinced the boys. But when he and Dick take their seats in the hall and Tim has left to sit with the rest of his class, Dick reaches down and takes his hand. He squeezes it tightly and says under his breath “You’re okay, Bruce. It’s okay.”

Bruce has to take another deep breath, then makes the command decision that enough is enough. He slips his hand out of Dick’s, takes out his phone and opens an old WhatsApp group. He sends a short message, then mutes the chat before any replies come through.Today is about Tim.

Bruce slips the phone back into his pocket. He can fall apart later.

~

Tim accepts his degree and they have more photos. He throws his mortarboard higher than any of the other graduates, and then he puts the cape on Bruce and the hat on Dick for one last photo, grinning between them and clutching his certificate, one arm wrapped tightly around Bruce’s waist.

Back at the Manor there are more photos and Alfred opens some champagne. Steph and Babs are there, Cass and Damian and Jason too. Together they laugh and hug and clink glasses and order pizza for dinner, because Tim didn’t want Alfred cooking when he should be celebrating with his family.

Bruce lets himself slip under the surface of the noise, the sound of his children, bickering and joking and breathing and growing. The sound of the living. He lets the sheer life of them wash over him, feels the splinters of his heart float to the surface. He can breathe again.

Dick watches him from across the room. Bruce pretends not to notice.

~

It’s a long few hours later when he checks his phone. The old group chat full with unannounced messages.

He slips quietly out of the drawing room. The hallway is cold away from the warmth of his family. He suppresses a chill and makes his way to his study.

Sat at his desk in the quiet and the dark, he feels some of his resolve seep out of him. The Zoom loading wheel spins, then faces begin to populate the screen. There’s Judy in the top right, her horn rimmed glasses sitting atop her thick curly hair. Sal is just beneath her, his French bulldog snoozing in his lap. Top left is Bhavin, Ganesh sat on a shelf behind him, peeking out behind the cloud of white hair. Beneath him, in the bottom left of the screen, is Bruce. Elbows resting on the desk, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

“Oh darlin’.” Sal’s southern drawl comes through the speakers. “What happened?”

Bruce can’t speak. His throat has closed up. He’s trying desperately to force his tears back into his eyes, but they slip down under his hands anyway.

"Didn’t your boy graduate today?” Bhavin asks. He’s lived in the US fifty years, but his voice still carries the sound of his native Mumbai.Bruce manages a nod.

“Ah damn.” Judy says softly, pushing a hand to her chest. “That’s hard.”

“It’s been years.” Bruce croaks out. “This shouldn’t… I shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t what?” Bhavin asks him sharply. “Shouldn’t still mourn your child? What his life could have been?”

Bruce takes a deep breath. He finally looks at the screen. “I just… I know today was about Tim, but all I could see was Jason in the cap and gown, clear as day. And all I could think was how he should have graduated. How he should have grown up and been safe and happy and whole and…” He trails off. Stops himself before the tears threaten to spill again.

“He should have.” Judy says emphatically. “Jason should have had all those things. And so should my Tiana, and Sal’s Michelle and Bhavin’s Darshan.”

“It’s not fair.” Sal adds. “It’s not fucking fair and it’ll never be easy. Because you love your boy and he shouldn’t have been taken so soon.”

“My Darshan died forty years ago.” Bhavin says solemnly. “I still cry. I still wonder what he would be like now, who he would have become. Still rage he is not here with me. It never goes away.”

Bruce nods, and it’s Bhavin’s last sentence that keeps the guilt at bay. Because of course Bruce can’t tell them that Jason isn’t dead anymore. He can’t tell them how Jason dragged his small broken bones out of his own grave and clawed his way back to life. How he’s currently sat not fifty feet away, under Bruce’s own roof, surrounded by family and warmth and love.

And part of it doesn’t feel fair. That his boy came back when their children didn’t. But he’d gladly spend the rest of eternity paying whatever debt it is he owes for that miracle. Every time he sees Jason he has to pinch himself, remind himself that it’s real. His son is alive, his precious boy is here and breathing and living.

But, alive or not, he still died. And that bit never goes away.The grief of it comes out of nowhere. On a Tuesday afternoon, in the middle of a board meeting, or out on patrol on a Thursday night. It’ll hit him when he’s eating breakfast, or brushing his teeth, when he’s in the gym, or lying in bed… and the ground will fall out from under him. He’ll plummet into an abyss of grief and despair and rage. His boy, his darling boy. Dead. The life he could have lived, the wonder he could have been. Gone.

Because even if Jason is back, is alive, the dying never goes away.

All the pain and torment that came with it is here to stay, for good. He’ll never be what he could have been and Jason never deserved that.

It’s these three people, these once-strangers, who in some ways helped keep him alive just as much as Tim did, that bring him back from that edge. People who understand just as well as him that feeling of loss. How a taste or a smell can mean nothing one day and have you drowning the next.

Bruce hadn’t bothered to respond when Leslie had suggested he join a support group. She couldn’t possibly understand what it was to lose a child; what value could her advice possibly have? But then the rational part of his mind, what sad, little fragment of it was left, said that a support group could understand. That that was the whole point.

So he’d done it. Apprehensive though he was, he’d shown up on a rainy Wednesday evening all those years ago. At a church hall that wasn’t quite warm enough, serving coffee that was all but cold. Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd’s father. Turns out grief takes the edge off celebrity. Judy and Sal and Bhavin didn’t care who he was, only what he’d been through, only what he’d lost. Being a billionaire didn’t make you immune from loss. Hell, neither did being Batman. Nothing did. They understood that. In a way no-one else in his life did. And all these years later they understood it, still.

“You’re allowed to be sad, Bruce.” Judy says. “A hundred years from now you’re still allowed to be sad. But you have to keep on.”

“Remember Tim did it for him too.” Sal says. “Your boys and Cass are living for Jason too. Just like you are.”

Judy and Bhavin nod in agreement and Bruce finds himself joining in.

“Thank you.” He says. And he means it. “As always.”

“Any time, beta.” Bhavin says. “Any time.”

The screen goes black, and Bruce sits with his thoughts a moment. Already a weight has started to lift and he finds himself glad the night isn’t over yet. That his family is waiting just a short walk away.

Ace pads into the room, rest his head on Bruce’s knee. He scratches the dog behind his ears.

“Err… what are you doing?”

Bruce startles. Dick is stood in the doorway, staring at him with a look of concern.

“Why are you sat in the dark?”

Bruce can’t quite help himself when he says. “I’m Batman.”

Dick rolls his eyes so aggressively they might pop out of his head.

“What are you two doing?” Jason walks in to join them. “Why are you in here in the dark?”

“Why are you in here in the dark?” Dick shoots back.

“I came looking for you.” Jason shoves Dick lightly.

“I came looking for him.” Dick shoves him right back.

Bruce stands and walks towards them. He can't help but smile. “Mission accomplished.” He says. “What fine detectives you both are.”

This time Jason rolls his eyes, but Dick says, “You okay, B?”

Bruce nods, puts his arms around both of their shoulders as they leave the study, and maybe, just maybe, he squeezes Jason a little tighter than normal, relishes the solid aliveness of his second son in his arms. “I’m fine.” He says. “Just fine.”

#batfic #batfamily #jason todd #bruce wayne #angst #red hood #spbfic #batfamily fanfic

[jaeyleo]

5 and 8, with Marvin and anybody :]

Restrained by caretaker.

“Stop touching me!!”

Marvin and Jonathan!

tws: hallucinations and delusions, mentions of child death (no kids die in this), slight gore. lmk if i should add more!

. . .

Shoes pounding on the ground. Heart pounding in his chest.

Jonathan races through the streets, tearing through every block as if each one is smaller than the last. The terror that courses through him is enough to keep him going. Enough to make his eyes glow scarlet. Enough to make him cry. There is a reason to his running.

A black wolf, eyes yellow as the sun. Teeth sharp as swords. It’s claws hit the ground with each step it takes, heavy and hard and loud in the child’s ears. He feels like prey. He feels as though he is a deer, he is everything Pseudo says he is. He’s just Bambi, just a great wolf’s food.

Jonathan takes a sharp turn down the block and finds himself in an empty street. It’s filled with trees and cars and lights, white fences and trimmed lawns. It’s a perfect suburban picture, perfect for the crime scene photos. Will the children here ride their bikes through his blood stains, not knowing what the red is from? Will the parents here try to power wash the ick off their perfectly paved sidewalks? He wonders how much of him will stick in the cracks, and how much will run into the sewer drain at the end of Penny Lane.

Out of a desperate need for safety, Jonathan clambers over a fence and into the backyard of one of the residents. A playhouse sits in the grass, and without a second thought, he rushes inside and shuts the flimsy plastic door. Perhaps he will be safe here. Perhaps he should have broken inside the real house.

The wolf enters the yard, snarling and growling low. Foam drips from his mouth as its paws press into the grass, one by one, stepping closer and closer to the playhouse. The mud seeps between its toes and leaves a trail of paw prints. Giant, ugly paw prints.

Jonathan cannot breathe. Bambi cannot move. His hand comes over his mouth, and his form turns invisible. Not even a shadow casts upon his body.

But a wolf doesn’t need its eyes to see where the food is, does it?

The little dear watches the wolf creep closer and closer. Its form reaches far above the little house, its wide stance and hearty muscles enough to cast a large shadow in the moonlight.

Bambi’s life flickers before his eyes. Is this truly his last moment alive? Afraid and alone inside a child’s playhouse?

He wants his Uncle more than anything in the world.

The playhouse door opens, and Bambi is frozen. The snout of the wolf enters through the door, but its giant head, meaty and disgusting, ravenous and horrific, cannot fit through.

Sniff, sniff, sniff. It doesn’t see the child with its eyes, but its nose is strong enough to see him clear as day.

“Jonathan,” the wolf says. It’s voice is softer than he expected. “Come out of there.”

Bambi doesn’t move a muscle. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.

“Jonathan,” the wolf says again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Bambi can see the wolf ripping him apart. His body lays in pieces on the grass.

“You’re safe with me, child,” the wolf croons. “Take my hand.”

A large paw enters through the door. Claws sinking in. Blood cast upon the grass. Will the garden grow lush with Bambi’s bones rotting beneath the soil?

“Please,” the wolf whispers. “I don’t want to force you out. I don’t want to. Please.”

The paw inches closer, but it is not taken. Jonathan’s form returns to visibility, for with the wolf so close now, the child can see the animal is blind.

Bambi takes one last chance to run.

He uses the playhouse back door, which is much smaller than the front. Shoving himself out as fast as he can, he takes off back towards the front yard.

Shoes pounding on the ground. Heart pounding in his chest.

He gets a good thirty seconds away, but like many situations in nature, the wolf catches the deer.

Bambi screams aloud, writhing and thrashing inside the wolf’s jaw. Tears stream down his cheeks once more as he waits for the teeth to sink, for the claws to tear, for the weight of the wolf to smash him into nothing but ick.

The deer begs for its caretaker. The deer begs for its safety. “Jameson!” he screams, screams!! “Jameson! Jameson!!!”

“Hush,” the wolf begins to soothe. With arms warm and safe it pulls the child close, curling itself around him as he thrashes and cries and begs, begs, stop touching me!! Begs, begs, begs, please, please!! Jameson!!

“Shhh, shhh,” the wolf breathes. “I promise you’re safe. It’s Marvin, I’m Marvin, you’re safe. I promise.”

Johnny shakes and shakes, fighting the hypnosis now sinking into his brain. His thrashes turn to weak squirming. His screaming turns to desperate pleas and breaths he can’t seem to take anymore.

Marvin moves to carry the child in his arms instead. Holding them close, he begins to walk, crooning at the poor little thing in his hands.

“I want Jameson,” Johnny whispers. The wolf’s chest is warm. The wolf’s fur smells familiar and sweet. The wolf has not torn him apart yet. Bambi lays his head against its chest, weeping soft into the fur. He waits to die, too weak to fight anymore.

“I’ll bring you to him,” Marvin replies, pouring more magic into the child’s mouth like its medicine. “I’ll bring Jameson.”

“Please. Please.”

Jonathan’s tears come heavier now.

“I need him. I n- need... I need my uncle..”

Marvin sighs, kissing the top of the child’s head.

“He needs you too.”

#i’m like #i’m reaaaalllly not sure how to feel about this one?? #idk #anyways #i hope it was fun to read!! #jacksepticeye #jse egos #jacksepticeye egos #my egos #jackieboy man #teen!jackie #jacksepticegos #marvin the magician #marvin the magnificent #writers of jack #whump #caretaker #child whumpee #hallucinations tw #delusions tw #gore tw #child death mention

[heliads]

Revenge

After you find out your best friend, Liam Dunbar, was responsible for getting you kicked out of Devenford Prep, you turn to Theo Raeken for a way to get back at him. The only thing you didn’t plan on was falling for Theo in the middle of your payback plan.

masterlist

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You actually believe this?”

You look over at the man sitting in front of you, incredulous. Your arms are folded across your chest, and it’s taking all of your self-control to stop yourself from doing anything more than just sit in this office chair.

Your principal looks over at you sadly from across his desk. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but you know the rules. Destruction of school property, especially on this level, is going to lead to your expulsion from Devenford Prep.” 

You throw your arms up in exasperation. “I wasn’t even there! How can you expel me for something I didn’t do?”

The principal gestures to the photos lying on the desk in front of you. In them, you can see the lacrosse coach’s car, which has been destroyed and shattered. “THIS IS YOUR FAULT” has been slashed into the side. 

You look from the photos to your principal and back again. “You really think I did this? I don’t even know how to key a car, let alone damage one this way.”

The principal steeples his fingers together, looking to all the world like a man sadly disappointed with the affairs of his students. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve had several accounts of you being there the night of the crime. You were involved with the destruction of the lacrosse coach’s car, and so therefore we have no choice but to expel you from Devenford. I’m sorry your career here has to end in such an unpleasant manner, but we have multiple anonymous tips that you did this.”

You look at him, irritated. “What anonymous tips? I wasn’t there- I was doing math homework in my house! Who said that I was there?” 

The principal sighs, now looking more exasperated than merely let down. “The whole point of anonymous tips is that they are, most importantly, anonymous. I can’t tell you who said that, but I can tell you that there were legitimate informers.” He stands up, ushering you to the door. “Apologies once again, Y/N, but you are expelled from Devenford Prep as of today.”

You still can’t believe it. Somehow, you were falsely accused of destroying the lacrosse coach’s car, and you were expelled from Devenford just like your best friend, Liam Dunbar. At least you know you’ll have one friend on your first day at Beacon Hills High, right? You meet up with Liam outside school, where he’s already made a new friend.

“Hey, Y/N! This is Mason. Mason, this is Y/N. She got expelled with me.” You sigh, waving a hello to Mason. “It wasn’t my fault, by the way. Some kid lied about it and now I’m here.” 

Mason just laughs. “That’s rough. Glad to meet you, anyhow.” 

Beacon Hills High School ends up being a lot better than you had hoped- even with considerably less funding, it’s full of fun people and, as it turns out, plenty of supernaturals.

When Liam had first come to you and Mason, telling you how he was a werewolf, you had believed him immediately. You’re not sure why, but something about the honest look in his eyes and the strange way he’d been acting lately just made you trust him. Liam being able to extend claws from his fingertips and make his eyes glow gold also helped you believe he was a werewolf, but he still appreciated you believing him at first.

After you learn the truth about the supernaturals in Beacon Hills, you become a fast ally of Liam as well as Scott McCall’s pack. When they need a place to lie low from hunters, you open your doors. When they need an innocent-looking human to scout out an area, you’re there. When you’re in the middle of a school day and Liam’s seconds from wolfing out, you’re helping him calm down. Liam had always had anger issues; after turning into a werewolf they just got worse.

When Theo Raeken moved into town, your life got considerably more interesting, if that was even possible. Now you had to deal with the existence of chimeras, and the constant tension in school between Theo’s pack and the rest of your friends. You had been there to mend the rift between Liam and Scott, and you were able to help maintain a cool head and discern between truth and fiction in times when betrayals seemed almost commonplace.

You suppose that’s why you didn’t believe Josh at first. You had been minding your own business, chatting with Liam as you opened your locker at the end of the school day, when Josh had first walked coolly up to you. 

You raised an eyebrow when you saw the chimera approach. “What do you want?” You asked, looking at Josh with feigned disinterest. 

Josh just crosses his arms and smirks. “Did you know Liam’s been keeping a little secret from you?”

You sigh and turn back to your locker, grabbing a folder or two and placing them into your backpack. “If you’re going to tell me he’s a werewolf, you’re a month or two late.” 

Josh snickers. “No, I’m aware. I’m talking about the situation with you, and how you got kicked out of Devenford Prep for the destruction of the lacrosse coach’s car. Liam’s got a bigger involvement in that than you think.” 

You glance at Josh. “I know Liam’s involved. He destroyed the car, and because I was his closest friend at Devenford, I got mixed up in it. Case closed, go bother someone else.”

Josh takes a step closer to you, putting his hand up against the wall of lockers in a slow movement that carries an unspoken threat with it. “I’m not talking about just that. There’s something more.” 

Beside you, Liam looks oddly uncomfortable. Josh continues speaking. “You want to know who the anonymous tip came from? None other than your good friend Liam. He was the one to head over to the principal’s and confess that you were there alongside him.”

You laugh incredulously. “You really expect me to believe that Liam’s the one who got me expelled? He’s my best friend, he would never do something like that. Liam, tell this guy how wrong he is.” 

Yet when you look over at Liam, he’s strangely silent. You turn to him, suspicion starting to cloud in the back of your mind. “Liam. This isn’t true, right? Tell me that you weren’t the one to get me kicked out of Devenford.” 

Liam scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Look, I didn’t mean to. I was questioned by the principal when I was still angry and not thinking straight, and all I could think about was that I needed to have you with me so I wouldn’t go out of my mind again. I just wanted you to be at the same school as me.”

You slam your locker door shut, making Liam flinch. “You’re kidding me. You, my best friend, are the one who got me expelled? I trusted you! I stood by you every step of the way, and you did this to me?” You turn to leave, and Liam throws out a hand to stop you but you brush it away. “No. Don’t talk to me. I can’t believe you.” 

You storm away, leaving a guilty Liam behind you.

Thankfully, the school day is over, so you can stomp out of school and not have to see anyone that reminds you of Liam for the rest of the day. You’re practically bubbling over with anger. How could he do this to you? How could he think it was okay to blame you for something he and he alone had done? 

You intend to head straight home and not talk to anyone until you’re forced to tomorrow, but as you round a corner towards the parking lot, it looks like you won’t get your way.

You’re walking quickly, so quickly that you almost don’t notice Theo Raeken leaning against one of the school’s walls until you almost bump into him. He raises an eyebrow at you, and straightens up to come to a stop in front of you. 

He looks at you, cool in contrast to your frustrated figure. “What happened to you, L/N? You look like you’re about to kill someone.” 

You heave a frustrated sigh. “I just might, actually. I’m going to take a guess and assume you know why I’m mad.” 

Theo smirks at you, rocking back onto his feet. “Liam. Right.” 

You glower at him. “Look, are you going to keep standing in my way or can I go home? I’m not really in the mood for your condescension right now.” 

Theo adopts a grin. “Actually, I have an offer for you.”

You look at him suspiciously. “An offer. What’s this about?” 

Theo folds his arms across his chest, glancing down at you with a smug smile that makes you more than a little worried about what he’s about to say.

“We both have an issue with Liam Dunbar right now. You, because of the expulsion mess, and me, because he’s interfering with members of my pack. I propose that we both come together to make him pay for it.” 

You tilt your head up, curious. “And how do we do that? I’m assuming you’ve got some sort of evil plan?” 

Theo laughs. “Somewhat. See, nothing makes Liam more angry than seeing his friends and allies hanging around with his enemies. Case in point: Hayden. You’re going to spend time with me and the rest of the pack, and ignore him.”

You purse your lips together, thinking. “It’ll make him go crazy.” You nod slowly. “I’m in. Let’s make him furious.” 

Theo smiles triumphantly, finally moving out of your way with a parting wave. “See you tomorrow.”

At first, you’re not sure whether or not the plan will really work. All you have to do is hang out with Theo instead of Liam? It seems too simple. Yet when you walk in with Theo the next day, talking side by side as if you’ve known him your whole life, Liam’s shocked gaze hardens into anger. When you eat lunch with Theo and his pack, you can feel Liam’s stare burning into your back the whole time. His anger just makes you laugh- finally, this is payback for ruining your life.

On one of these afternoons, when you and Theo are taking advantage of a study period to go over your notes outside, you can’t help but grin. “Look at him, he’s furious. We’re not even doing anything and he’s practically got steam coming out of his ears.” 

Theo glances at Liam from across the field and laughs as well. “You can’t hear what he’s saying but I can. He won’t stop complaining to Mason about us. I think Mason’s so sick of it he might join us too.”

You start to grin, turning away to hide your amusement when Liam looks your way. “Looks like we’re good partners.” 

You look up at Theo’s words. “Looks like it. We should have done this earlier.” 

Something about this afternoon just feels perfect- the warm air, the sunshine, the gleeful feeling of revenge. As you look around you happily, your gaze falls upon Theo.

He’s poring over some notebook, going over the bullet points he’s jotted down before a test tomorrow. His hair is just long enough that it starts to fall in his eyes, the tips of it blowing lightly in the wind. His storm gray eyes look warmer in the sunlight, and he purses his lips just slightly when he focuses.

All of a sudden, you come back to reality. What are you doing? Why are you thinking about his eyes, or his hair, or the way you feel calmer and more confident when you’re around him? It shouldn’t matter- no, it doesn’t. 

It doesn’t matter that you might like his smile or the way he put his arm casually around your shoulders that one time because Liam was looking at you. It doesn’t matter that Theo’s given up on having you hang out with his pack, because now he spends time with you and you alone. It doesn’t matter that you want it to be you and Theo more than anything. It doesn’t matter because none of this is real.

You only started being here with Theo because of a stupid prank, because you wanted a way to get back at Liam. You’re here pretending to be friends, and only friends at that, because Theo wanted to rub it in Liam’s face that he’s out here winning. It’ll never be anything more than that. Never in a million years.

You suppose you’re quieter after that, and your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sure, you’re there, still saying the same things you would have, but even Theo can tell that something isn’t quite right. You say you’re fine, and quickly change the topic, but it doesn’t stop the fact that it feels like there’s a hollow in your heart, one that won’t go away any time soon.

One week later, you’re sitting inside the school cafeteria when you see Theo look up, suddenly alert. 

You glance at him. “What’s wrong?” 

He just nods his head in the direction of one corner of the lunchroom. Immediately, you can tell what the problem is. Liam is sitting with his friends, and he’s getting angry. Too angry- he’s starting to wolf out. His hands are wrapped around the edge of the table as he tries in vain to calm himself down, but you can already tell it won’t work.

Before you know it, you’re on your feet and sliding down into the empty seat next to him. Your arm wraps around your former best friend’s shoulders. 

“Hey, hey. Liam. It’s alright. Just listen to me.” 

Liam’s voice comes out roughly, sounding more like a growl. “It’s not alright. Josh, he-” 

You cut him off smoothly. “Josh doesn’t matter. He isn’t here, but I am. It’s going to be alright.” 

Gradually, Liam listens to you, and he breathes out slowly before calming down enough to remain human. “Thanks, Y/N.” 

You smile at him, lightly tapping your hand against his shoulder. “No problem. I got you.”

You finally look up from Liam long enough to make eye contact with another face across the cafeteria- Theo. Now he’s the angry one, and he tosses you and Liam a furious glance before heading swiftly out of the room and away into the sunshine of the parking lot out back. 

You remove your arm from across Liam’s shoulder, standing up quickly. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.” 

You walk quickly out of the school, following the same path that Theo just took.

You find Theo a short distance away, standing out back where no one can see him. He looks up when he hears you approach, but scoffs when he sees you. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Want to tell me what’s going on with you?” 

Theo laughs bitterly. “What’s going on with me? You’re the one who was just cozied up with Liam like we haven’t been avoiding him for weeks. Tell me, were you thinking about how he got you kicked out of school when you had your arm wrapped around him?”

You take a step back from Theo, stung. “What are you talking about? Like it or not, I’ve known Liam for years. I’m sorry I didn’t want him to wolf out in the middle of the cafeteria, I should have just sat there and let him turn. Would that have made you feel better?” 

Theo breathes out harshly. “Why did you even do all this if you were just going to run right back to him? Were you just wasting my time?”

You look at him through pained eyes. “Theo, none of this was to hurt you. You were the one who came up with the idea in the first place! I have agreed with you every step of the way, why are you yelling at me now for wanting to do something small?” Your voice breaks, turning shallow and quiet. “Why did you want to do this? Why are you so angry now?” 

Theo breathes in and out roughly, then moves towards you impulsively. For a second, you’re almost afraid, and then his lips are on yours.

You don’t know what to feel, what to think, what to do except just stand there. Theo kisses you for a moment, then breaks away, still standing mere inches away from you. “That was why. That was the only reason why.” 

He looks at you for an instant longer, then turns to walk away, clearly expecting you to hate him or worse. For some reason, it is at this time that your voice fails you. 

All you can do is say something in a whisper, a quiet whisper that can barely be heard over the wind. “I love you too.” 

Theo turns back around. You’re not sure how he was able to hear you, some combination of werewolf healing or just plain hope, but he’s got a light in his eyes that you haven’t seen in days. 

“What?” His voice is cracked and quiet. 

You hold out your hand to him. “I love you, Theo.” 

He walks back to you, and stands there, unmoving for just a moment. He brushes a piece of hair away from your face, and kisses you once more. He loves you. He really does.

#last fic of 2020 here we goo #teen wolf #theo raeken #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken x reader #theo raeken imagines #teen wolf theo #teen wolf theo imagines #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagines

[freddieslater]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scydia/McMartin | Scott McCall x Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @wonderdoves & anonymous

"This place is…"

Scott can't even think of a word. He just gazes ahead of them in wonder and awe. For miles, all he can see is snow. A thick white blanket of it covering the entire path ahead, the roads, the cobblestoned buildings, the trees—god, even the trees feel like something out of a fairytale, with long, twisting branches that have a dusting of snow themselves. And it's still going, trying to make them part of the scenery, too.

"You'd think you'd never seen snow before," Lydia teases. 

"I haven't—not like this! California's snow is nothing compared to this." 

Lydia just smiles, a certain fondness in her eyes. She squints up at the sky, her nose wrinkling slightly, their suitcases dragging along through the snow behind them as they continue their way from the ferry port. Something else that Scott is admittedly still in amazement over; he'd never actually been on a ferry before. 

It's just a good thing that the snow stopped long enough for them to actually reach Ireland, or else they'd have still been holed up in their cabin, stuck somewhere in the middle of the sea. Not the worst scenario he can think of, to be fair. But he's glad, nonetheless, because this is so much better. 

"I don't know," Lydia says. "I think I prefer the warm winters. I'm just hoping that Gran and Nana make their hot chocolate like they used to when I was younger, I'm telling you, it's the best thing ever."

Scott smiles, finally looking at Lydia as they come to a stop outside a two-storey, cobbled house with a gate around the garden. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her nose a pale pink. Snowflakes have clung to her green hat, along the shoulders of her matching green coat, and to her eyelashes. There's a gleam of pure excitement and joy beneath them as she stares at the house. 

When she takes a deep breath, it returns like a puff of smoke. Scott gently squeezes her hand and holds it up in his own, bringing her gloved knuckles to his lips.

"You look nervous," he tells her softly. 

"A little," Lydia says, nodding. "Only because I haven't been here since I was… nine? And there's so much to tell them. I mean, I know my mom filled them in on pretty much everything, but still."

Scott nods as well, saying, "I know. It's a lot. But it'll be okay."

"Yeah, of course," Lydia agrees. Her smile seems a little more confident as she gives another nod.

They walk through the gate, into the garden that Scott's now seeing is teeming with things; empty plant pots, kids toys, an overturned bicycle. Even the stones of the house are more interesting than he had initially realized, with bright murals painted across the whole front of the house. 

As soon as they enter the house, the door closing behind them, they're hit with unexplainable warmth. And the shouting and giggling of kids that whiz past them, nearly knocking them off their feet. 

"I forgot how loud it gets here," Lydia says, but she's laughing. Scott can see it in her eyes as she looks around the entrance hall, beautifully decorated with lengths of tinsel, and handcrafted baubles hanging from the ceiling. 

Framed pictures line the walls up the stairs as far as he can. The closest one, hanging by the bottom of the stairs, has a familiar little girl, giving her biggest smile to the camera beside a young woman with a striking resemblance. 

"Is this you?" Scott asks, his smile wide. 

Lydia looks at the photo. "Oh god, yeah. I think that was when I was, like… six? I came up here every Christmas and New Year before my parents divorced. That's my gran."

"You look like her," Scott tells her, and he can hear the joyful skip of heart, hear it in her proud little hum of agreement. 

"Well, maybe without some of the grey hair," a voice says from behind them. 

They both turn around, and Lydia's face lights up. She's already squealing and dropping her suitcase and Scott's hand. 

"Gran!" Lydia practically flies at her, hugging her tightly. 

Her gran laughs, caught by surprise but only for a second, wrapping her up in her arms. "I've missed you too, Ariel!" 

"Haven't heard that name in a while," someone else says, with a distinctively more Irish accent, but still holding the same fond, overjoyed tone.

Scott looks at the woman who appears at their side from the room behind Lydia and her gran. He recognizes her instantly from all the photos. 

Maddy places a hand on Lorraine's shoulder as she and Lydia pull apart. Lydia looks on the verge of tears as she buries herself into Maddy's open embrace as well for a second, both laughing now. 

"And you…" Lorraine looks over Scott with a smile and a gleam in her eyes. A certain kind of knowing. "... You're Scott McCall."

Scott returns her smile and nods. "I am. I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Martin."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about you as well," Lorraine tells him, and he knows. 

He knows she isn't just talking about him and Lydia being together, but about everything. The deadpool. She knew who he was and what he was going to be before he even hit ten. 

For a moment, his worries from the ferry come back. Not all supernatural creatures are a fan of each other, and with the destruction that werewolves have a history of causing, banshees can't be that fond of them. And especially with everything that's happened to Lydia. 

But then her smile grows and she says, "I'm glad to finally meet you! And, please, call me Lorraine. This is my wife, Maddy."

"So, this is the little wolf that got your heart, huh?" Maddy jokes to Lydia, an arm around her shoulders. 

Lydia looks at Scott. She bites her bottom lip through her smile, and her eyes are saying everything. 

She nods and softly says, "Yeah. He is."

"Then you're more than welcome here," Lorraine says.

Relief starts to lift the weight off of Scott's shoulders and chest. The warm, welcoming atmosphere is hard to resist, and he's already feeling at home. 

-

Lydia was right. The hot chocolate is one of the best things he's ever had. Creamy and overflowing with marshmallows with a candy cane to stir it around. Not to mention the plate of cookies. He has never had a gingerbread man that tastes this good.

It's already dark outside, the sun having set an hour or two after they arrived. They already changed into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and settled in front of the fireplace in the living room to get rid of the chill from the snow. Lorraine and Maddy insisted. Didn't want them getting sick, and ignoring their protests about not being able to actually get sick.

"Your cousins don't look like they're having a good time," Scott comments quietly, watching the half-asleep couple sitting in the corner. 

"They have five kids, all under the age of ten," Lydia replies. "I think the only thing they can feel right now is exhausted."

Scott snorts. He looks around the room. He's met nearly everyone on this side of the family by now. Every cousin, second cousin, aunts, uncles. The kids that Lorraine and Maddy took in have been especially eager to meet him. 

His attention is drawn back to the little boy sitting cross-legged in front of him. He's only nine.

Scott wasn't expecting it when Lorraine and Maddy told him that around ten years ago, another banshee had found them. She was only nineteen and had no one and no idea what was going on with her. They took her in, Lorraine helped her. And from then, it's like their home was its own supernatural beacon, but for kids who had nowhere else to go. 

Sean, the little boy currently sneaking another gingerbread man from the plate, is a werewolf. His family, his pack, were hunted down when he was four. Lorraine felt it coming. She and Maddy found Sean. 

There's a little yelp and Sean clutches his hand. Scott catches a glimpse of tiny claws where nails should be. 

"Can I…?" he asks, holding out a hand. 

Sean hesitates, but he glances at Lydia, who smiles and nods encouragingly, then back at Scott. He slowly gives him his hand, palm up. 

"I don't know how to control it…" Sean mutters, looking down sheepishly. 

Scott inspects where the small trickle of blood is coming from. Three little lines where his claws accidentally caught his skin in passing. 

Shaking his head, Scott speaks gently, and draws on the pain in Sean's hand. "It's okay. You're still learning."

"Yeah, it's actually harder for born wolves," Lydia chimes in, nodding convincingly when Sean lifts his eyes to her with curiosity. "You'd think it was the other way around, but one of our friends—he was born a werewolf."

"And he didn't learn until he was sixteen," Scott tells him. "It just takes time."

"And knowing what keeps you grounded," Lydia adds. "Your anchor."

Sean looks at Scott. "Do you have an anchor?"

Scott nods. "I do. I had to learn to let me be my own anchor, but when that doesn't work for me, I focus on all the people I love. My mom, my best friend, my pack." 

He glances at Lydia only to find her already gazing at him with the softest smile, her cheek leaning against her shoulder. She places a kiss to his shoulder, her hand resting on her arm for a second.

"You just need to find something that makes you feel more in control," Scott finishes, turning back to Sean. "Even if it's an emotion."

Sean nods slowly. His expression is one of deep thought, trying to work to figure out what his own anchor could be. 

"Now, you should go clean this up," Scott says. "Just run it under warm water with some soap, okay? It might sting a little, but just ask Lorraine or Maddy if they have any antibiotic cream, and then put a bandage on it."

"Are you a doctor?" Sean asks.

"No," Scott can't help but grin as he says, "I'm just a vet."

That answer only seems to confuse Sean. But he gets up and hurries off to go do what Scott instructed. 

When Scott turns back, Lydia's still watching him. She has this look on her face, a thoughtful glaze in her eyes and a certain kind of smile that he can't read. 

Chuckling, Scott asks, "What is it?"

She lets a beat pass. She shakes her head, takes a slow breath in, then looks over at the window instead.

"It's still snowing. Do you wanna sit in the garden? There's a nice bench out back."

Scott's eyebrows furrow a little, but he stands with her, following her to the back door from the kitchen. Stepping outside is like what he'd imagine stepping into a walk-in freezer would feel like. 

But the cold biting at his skin is unimportant. The awe hits him all over again as he takes in the sight of the garden, feeling like he just stepped into a fairytale instead. Everywhere he looks, everything is white and sparkling. From the entire ground, to the gazebo at the end of the garden. 

Somehow, in amidst it all, there are flowers. Whole roses and everything, snow dusting across their dark red petals. 

"This is…" Scott breathes out, his eyes wide, "... I don't even know what this is. This place doesn't feel real."

Lydia laughs gently. She wraps her arms around her and nods, looking around as the snow falls around them. 

"Yeah, it does feel kind of… magical."

"We could actually make a snowman," Scott continues. "Or have a real snowball fight. Are snow angels things that people actually do?"

Lydia's eyebrows are raised when he looks back at her, and she's shaking her head. But she's got a smile that stretches to the corners of her eyes and he can feel emotions radiating off of her.

"You are so dorky." She moves closer, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "And I love you."

Scott smiles. His voice is soft and giving away all of the fondness he feels for her when he says, "And I love you."

She leans in, her head tilting. Her lips are soft against his. He pulls her a little closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. The cold and even the snow is easier to ignore.

Lydia pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders. Scott doesn't let go at all. 

"I'm really glad you're here with me," Lydia tells him. "And my whole family now loves you, so that's a nice bonus. I think you even made a friend."

Scott grins, shrugging. "Your family is great, and I am… beyond relieved that they like me. And, I think with Sean, it's a werewolf thing."

"Oh, no." Lydia shakes her head firmly. "Maybe that's a small part of it, the whole Alpha thing and all, but all of the kids in there love you."

They pull apart. Lydia sits down on the bench. Scott follows, and can't help but start piling the snow from the arm of the bench into a ball in his hand. 

"You were amazing with Sean," Lydia comments, glancing at him. She's doing the same thing with the snow on her side. 

Scott shrugs again. "I just told him the same as I told Liam. And Alec. It's how I wish I could have been introduced to all of this. With someone reassuring me that it would be okay."

Lydia nods in a shared understanding. Neither of their starts in the supernatural word were exactly pleasant or comforting. Scott's only sorry that Lydia was brought into it the way she was. 

She rests a hand on top of his, curling her fingers beneath his palm. She squeezes gently. 

He knows that she can tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he worries that banshees have the ability to read minds as well. But the look she gives him and her hand there with his draws his thoughts away from the past. Everything is okay. It's better than okay. 

"It's amazing what your gran and nana have done, though," Scott says. "Taking in supernatural kids who have nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, it's like a little foster home, but… for werewolves, banshees, and everything else," Lydia jokes, but her smile is sincere. "It's a really good thing they're doing. The kids are so happy here."

"I can see why," Scott says, gazing back out across the garden. The snow has the sky practically glowing, in no way looking like it's dark enough to be night. 

There's a slight pressure against his hand from Lydia's fingers, moving slowly. 

"Do you… do you think that's something you'd ever want to do?" Lydia asks, careful with her words.

Scott looks back at her. She's watching him again, with curious eyes. His heart drops many beats.

"Wait, are you—?" he starts to ask, but Lydia's eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head.

"No!" she hastens to answer. "No, I'm not! I just meant… you know, in general, is it—is it something that you can see for the future? Not necessarily the foster home part, but… you know."

She chews her bottom lip. Scott takes it in, letting the question process. After a moment, a smile curves the corners of his mouth up.

"Imagine, the first werewolf-banshee hybrid," he says.

"That can't have been done before," Lydia agrees, a laugh to her voice. "I wonder if one side would skip them, or if we'd be creating a whole new species."

Scott actually does laugh now, and Lydia joins him. His stomach is buzzing with butterflies or bees, he can't tell. 

When they both go quiet, Scott slowly nods. He lifts his eyes to meet Lydia's.

"I like the sound of that," he says softly. "Whether it be a werewolf-banshee hybrid, or even an orphaned werewolf with nobody else… yeah. It's something I see for the future."

Lydia takes in a deep breath. She presses her lips together as her smile threatens to take over her entire face. She just nods, and breathes out slowly.

"Good to know," she says. "I do too, for the record."

"Okay, that's great," Scott says, grinning from ear to ear. 

Lydia hums in agreement. Then the ball of snow that she'd been forming hits him square in the chest. 

It's safe to say that it is freezing. The snow instantly seeps through his Christmas jumper, melting into his skin. He gasps while Lydia laughs behind her hands, hee eyes wide.

"You said you wanted a snowball fight…" she reminds him. 

Scott nods. "You're absolutely right. I did."

The ball of snow in his own hand hits Lydia. She gasps, snow sticking to her jumper as well now. 

"Oh my god, so cold!" she exclaims. "Why is that so cold?!" 

"Because it's real snow," Scott says, his excitement quickly returning. 

Lydia looks at him, her eyes narrowing. A familiar, competitive smirk forms on both their faces. 

"Game on," she says. 

Next second, they're trying to dodge out of the other's way, snowballs flying across the garden. There are gasps and shouts and laughter when they successfully land a shot. 

Maybe it's a little unfair that Scott taps into his heightened abilities to move faster. But the advantage doesn't stop Lydia from managing to sneak up on him and tackle him into the snow. It's so deep that they sink a few inches into it, laughing until their sides and faces ache, and neither of them actually win, both claiming they did. But they end up just lying there in the freezing snow, curled into each other, staring up at the night sky. 

#teen wolf #twedit #twrarepair #scydia #mcmartin #scott mccall #lydia martin #scott x lydia #lydia x scott #twelve days of rarepairs #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedits* #wonderdoves #OKAY SO I LOVED WRITING THIS #you really let me just go for it with that prompt damn I love that thank you #and scott and lydia are like one of my favourite otps for teen wolf so once again THANK YOU so much for allowing to let them be soft #hope that you enjoy!! #also if any rarepairs are late at all over the next twelve days... no they aren't you can't see that

[lluvguts]

Cool Blue ; Chapter Three

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recurring visions of such sweet days

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☽ warnings: slight nsfw (wet dreams, unresolved tension)

☽ fic masterlist

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He stashed the photos--really he flung them like a frisbee--onto his unmade bed and slammed the door shut before Giulia could inquire about his back pressed to the door, hands on the knob, a cross of a nervous grin and a suspicious glaze over his wavering eyes. But, after careful consideration and with both his sister and father's backs turned, Alberto wiggled back into his room to retrieve the precious pictures and put them carefully on the nightstand. He felt dirty knowing he'd tossed them onto his rumpled sheets, sitting there like he didn't care about them.

But he did.

He didn't expect to register all that had truly happened until tomorrow. His eyes dropped to the glass of tepid water from that morning and the pile of photos next to it, the memories coming back.

Luca's expectant yellow eyes watching him as he traced his shapes and scales with a paintbrush on the canvas.

When Luca grinned like a little puppy and pointed at the painting Alberto had propped on his knees, of none other than the boy himself.

Luca's chin jutting out in defiance when Alberto offered to take Luca's picture home, since keeping it at his home would only result in ruining it.

And, equally defying, the sharp curve of Luca's jawbone as he stuck his tongue out at the sky, leaving Alberto still. He could see his soft features working under there. The faint pulse of his throat, a thrumming instrument but all the same slightly animal. When he had rolled his eyes and begrudgingly scooted his own painting over with a claw, splattering water on the edge, Alberto's eyes fixed on his scales ripple and shift on display when Luca moved.

Somewhere on the surface of the ocean, (the ocean skin as Luca called it fondly, but Alberto couldn't possibly think of that now) a boat's amber light hung in the darkness, the only thing to see from outside and, Alberto bit his lip, holding one meaning.

They were hunting for sea monsters on that boat. Ercole's parents, no doubt.

He walked by the bed to the window, almost in a trance, and slammed it shut. The smells of the sea were cut off, night sounds silenced. He wished he wasn't able to see it anymore, but Massimo's aged house hardly had the proper plumbing to operate let alone some goddamn curtains. It frustrated him that though the mental image of Ercole's father on the boat had lifted, that glowing yellow light remained to taunt him.

Luca said he had a family. A mother and father who cared for him and maybe loved him enough to keep him safe from the surface. But where was he now? These men, more monsters than people, with spears and blades sharper than Massimo's, scanning the calm sea with searchlights? Would the lights scare Luca?

He caught himself on the ledge of the windowsill, holding the wood frame tight. He felt it sigh under his weight it was so old.

What was happening?

"Fratello! Papa is not happy that you're letting his dinner get cold! Again!" Giulia, as Alberto could tell by her voice, was pressed to his closed door and resorted to gleeful knocking again and again.

Alberto slid the lock into place on the window, staring out into the night for a breath. Once, twice, then cleared his throat and called back.

"I'll be just a minute!" He tried to wipe the thought of Luca thrashing in the grip of a fisherman's net from his mind as he spoke, but his words came out wobbly and restrained.

Giulia's annoying pounding on the door stopped. "Okay, but I'm not doing your stupid chores for you anymore! Papa says so!" He saw her shadow hover by the bottom doorframe then whisk away to the light of the kitchen.

But through all of the sweaty panic Alberto cherished the quiet moments spent eating. Neither asked where he'd hurried off to so early in the morning while he wolfed down his dinner. (Truly Alberto wasn't sure of the answer himself, he only figured that if Luca was indeed a sea monster, maybe he was up with the rising of the sun like the fish Massimo and Alberto caught at dawn). But they, mostly Giulia, did however beg to know where that pasta was going if all Alberto did during his free time was sit and draw. They didn't know it took grueling work to paddle out to the island, and equally challenging talent to wrestle your way out of a sea monster's grip. He kept that to himself, of course, even if Machiavelli was snippier than usual at Alberto's presence when he thought about it, bringing a suspicion on what he did during the day that neither Giulia or Massimo seemed to care about.

Alberto nudged the pouchy white cat with his bare foot and Machi bit down on his heel. He pulled his legs back under the chair as far as they could go and as an apology for the fishy smell on him, and for trying to make him move, he dropped a few pieces of sausage down on the floor. He was sure that if no one else in the house was to know, Machiavelli was on Alberto's case, but the cat only growled and ate the peace offering.

He sighed. He was safe for the time being. That made him laugh around his bite of salad.

"Think of something funny, son?" Massimo looked up from his plate. Giulia had finished long ago and was only spinning her fork around in circles on the tablecloth.

Alberto nodded with a smile. "The cat."

"Speaking of cats! There's one that I keep seeing in the alley by the Gelataria, Papa, and I think that Machiavelli likes her!" Giulia perked up and was speaking with passion to Massimo now, Alberto's little quip forgotten.

"The black cat? Giulia, they're bad luck," Massimo put on his best apologetic face but it only spurred Giulia on. Alberto stared at his empty plate and debated whether now was the opportune time to slip away to his room with them distracted.

"But please, Papa! We could have kittens!" Giulia pleaded, hands splayed on the table for effect. From under Alberto's chair Machi was stewing. He stood from the table and took their plates, looking calm. Massimo was holding Giulia's small hand softly in his larger one, but it looked as though the girl was next to tears.

Alberto knew she was faking it, though. He listened smugly with his back to them while rinsing the plates and cutlery.

"Kittens are a lot of work."

"Alberto is a lot of work, but we still keep him around!"

"Giuletta. Manners."

"Sorry, Papa."

"Where would they sleep, Giulia? In your bed with you? You are allergic, my dear."

"Only mildly! And besides, if I start sneezing or something, they can stay in Alberto's room! Plain and simple."

"Excuse me?" Alberto whipped around. "Who said that I was okay with having roommates?"

Giulia giggled until her nose went pink. "You've been sharing that Pescaria smell with the two of us since yesterday, and last I checked, we didn't ask. So think of it as an upgrade."

"Like you smell any better!"

"Actually, Alberto." Massimo turned to him. "It...is an odd smell on you. It's not entirely fish."

"Yeah fratello. It's worse."

"Okay, that's it. I'm excusing myself now. Giulia you get to pick the record to play tonight."

"Go take a shower!" Giulia hollered at him, earning a grumble of disapproval on Massimo's part.

"Y-Yeah, sure thing!"

But the whole time his mind was reeling. Massimo had caught it. Giulia had caught it. Even the cat noticed it, too. Alberto pulled his tank up and over his head once the door was shut, bringing it to his nose. It smelled like sweat and salt, the usual things, but he was right. There was something else. It was mild with his nose so close, but still sharp and tangy, as if the sea-sprinkled wind had a personality that stuck to his clothes.

But that wasn't it. It was...oh no.

It was Luca.

Despite his efforts, it took him a solid ten minutes of scrubbing in the shower to get rid of Luca's smell. It wasn't that he hated it, he was used to smelling like fish from hours spent on Massimo's boat--but Machi had kept Alberto up almost all night yesterday, growling and scratching at Alberto's door because of the smell on him.

From in the kitchen, Giulia had chosen one of Massimo's more upbeat records to listen to while they finished cleaning up. He could hear her off-key singing, and Massimo's baritone jumping in with her, which made him smile.

The polaroids were still there, sticking out from underneath a sliver of the water glass. But of course they were, why wouldn't they be? Door locked, window overlooking the sea mostly covered, Alberto let his bath towel fall to his ankles. A line of shower water tickled his chin, or maybe it was sweat, he wasn't sure. He needed to get dressed. But he picked up the first of five photos.

A blurry little square of the pool that morning, just to test the camera, but around the edges sprigs of grass sprouted up through cracks in the island rock, making the picture much more beautiful than he thought.

The next three were of Luca. All taken as close to the top of the water as Alberto could get, too afraid to stick a hand under and gesture Luca to the surface, and also because it wasn't his camera. Body curled under the water, examining things along the walls of the pool too far to see, tail moving slow and practiced. His dorsal fins were the only things that translated best over film, a brilliant cool blue that Alberto had checked (and double-checked) he had the right color paint for.

He let out a tiny sigh at the final photo. Luca facing him from below, his expression a scowl, looking so human it was hard to believe that he wasn't.

But, as Alberto's fingers pinched the corners of the photos, of Luca, holding his breath as he knew it was definitely sweat he was now feeling on his neck, wasn't he human?

His chest ached, drumming a painful harmony from his frantic heart all the way down his abdomen, and if he moved the photos from his line of vision and looked down--

Oh no.

He relentlessly put everything he had into hurrying to throw on some clothes and turn off the lights. crawling into bed, so transfixed on the polaroids and—was it possible? Really? Had he just…?

No. He refused to encourage that line of thinking.

Luca was a sea monster, and probably asleep someplace far below the surface with his family, dreaming of seaweed or whatever else things that were not human thought about.

But, as Alberto lay there rigid and aching, staring at the ceiling waiting for that to go away, part of him wished he could be there with him. To make sure he was okay.

Pfft, sure. Make sure he's alright. That's all.

/ / /

Luca was not dreaming of seaweed.

But he was convinced he had died in his sleep, over a dream of soft touches. Phantom hands running down his scales, someone's calloused fingertips grazing the hollow of his throat so tenderly it made Luca squirm. Luca grabbed his imaginary person's forearm, begging to be touched. One hand remained tracing patterns on his chest while Luca felt another take hold of the side of his face, rubbing circles into his gills until he was sure he was going to pass out from the stimulation. He was so...sensitive there. Around his cheeks and his gills and especially his tail. But all he could do was tilt his face back in guilty bliss and allow whatever was happening to him to continue.

He'd never in all of his years had a dream quite like this.

"P-Please..." Luca whispered. Please stop, or please keep going? Even he didn't know.

He swore he heard a chuckle echo, a familiar chuckle, a confident one, but some sort of reaction all the same.

Luca blinked in his dream, almost crying out because the touch was gone, but then he realized it had only moved. The imaginary touches returned, this time a cool fingertip along his dorsal fin to his tail, while Luca shivered around it, biting his cheek. His legs twitched, and his tail curled around the forearm of this imaginary hand, feeling safe and comfortable enough to do so even if it was touching him in ways his mother had warned him about. The air around him (around them? no one was there) felt absurdly warm, but he realized it was only coming from his scales. The smell that hung in the air was overpowering, thick and heady in sweetness with just a trace of salt that Luca could almost taste in the air. A familiar smell...

He couldn't take much more of it. He had to wake up before...something happened. Something bad.

The cold water of his bedroom startled him into consciousness, the subdued blues and greys in much starker contrast to the tropical greens he'd dreamt of. That white-hot feeling came back, this time stronger and with a ripple of pain that burned in the pit of his stomach. When he opened his eyes the water around his bed felt warmer, like it had in the dream, and when Luca stretched out a hand his fingers were cool though his forearm was not, as if he was the one causing all of this heat.

Huh. Weird.

The last memories of the dream were still a thick haze on his thoughts, racing around and replaying the scenes over and over again until Luca buried his face into the sewn kelp of his bed to keep from whimpering.

He let his hand press to his belly, where it hurt the most, then slip down the waistband of his pants to rest between his legs. His fingers came back covered in something slick.

"Alberto..." Luca whined, rolling onto his stomach to alleviate some of the discomfort.

His eyes flung open. Alberto?

Oh.

Oh no.

#luca #luca fanfiction #luca movie #luberto #luberto fanfic #alberto x luca #alberto and luca #alberto scorfano #luca2021 #luca paguro #luca pixar

[prurientpuddlejumper]

You’re a Mean One, Mr. Kneef (Part 3)

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

For @thatesqcrush​​’s Naughty or Nice Holiday Bingo! Filling the Mistletoe square

Bryan Kneef x Female Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Rough-ish hate-sex, mild degradation. Enthusiastic but dubious consent! They both want what’s happening but Bryan is reader’s boss who coerced her into the date and reader is now (half-jokingly?) blackmailing him. It’s super healthy 🙃 

5,400 words

Bryan wished he were drunk.

He reclined in a leather armchair, a warm weight in his lap. He stared intently and with disinterest at the embroidery on the edge of a red Christmas stocking hung above the fireplace in his parents’ living room while his tiny nieces and nephews giggled at holiday movies.

If he had been drunk, he would at least have an excuse for his behavior tonight.

No, not for making a dozen paralegal nobodies miss Christmas, leveraging his authority to coerce you into doing a personal favor, or introducing NC-17 language to a family dinner. Those were all par for the course for the most ruthless litigator at STR Laurie.

It was the particular favor he had coerced you into—asking you to pose as the MILF he’d been banging when she dumped him via text on Christmas Eve.

Just so he wouldn’t have to explain why Sydney wasn’t with him. 

Just so he wouldn’t be alone for the long drive.

Fucking brilliant.

Now his most obstinate, irritating, antagonistic employee knew about Sydney, knew how attached he’d gotten, had met his mother, and seen photos of him getting a bubble bath in the sink. (He loved his mom, but sometimes he wondered about murder.) Making you do such a humiliating favor seemed like a good way to finally control you. But his upper hand was quickly reversed.

You were right. The whole thing was pathetic.

Still, you were playing along better than he could have expected.

The strangest part was, you fit in with his family so much better than Sydney would have. She was hot, but honestly, dumb as a brick, and as difficult as Bryan himself. He had a better time with you. The way you gently teased him, commiserating with his family over what a pain in the ass he could be. The way you smiled so naturally… he saw how things could have been with Syd. With someone who called out his bullshit, but cared about him anyway.

It was a shame you were just pretending.

Try opening your heart sometime.

Fuck that.

He didn’t need to open up more. He needed to get back to the Bryan Kneef he used to be before some bitch fucked with his heart. He needed to get Syd out of his fucking mind and replace her with someone else. Anyone else.

He needed to fuck someone.

And you…

His attention turned to the weight in his lap.

You were there.

*****

When did the pretend little gestures start getting to you? Start feeling enough like real affection that there was a lonely ache in your stomach?

You fucking hated Bryan Kneef.

But there you were, your fingers tangled in his beard when no one was even watching.

You’d been sitting on Bryan’s lap for what felt like hours—you could probably figure out how many based on the number of Christmas movies that had played and how many of the children had gone off to bed in various guestrooms.

Now the fire in the hearth was burning low, and only the adults remained hanging around in the living room.

His hands were wrapped around your waist, and you had gotten so comfortable, you were practically nodding off to sleep against his chest. Bryan was getting more comfortable, too. You idly stroked his beard, and he didn’t disguise the way he nuzzled into your hand.

The private whispers you shared started as touchy warnings not to screw up your “Sydney” act and counter-threats to expose him if he crossed a line. But that invisible line kept moving, and the whispers became more like the sweet nothings between lovers they were meant to resemble.

He even started stroking your hair. Bryan Kneef, gently running his fingers over your scalp. It was a Christmas miracle.

You might have drifted off in his arms, except for one major distraction—the bulge pressing against your ass.

“What the hell is that?” you asked, close to his ear.

“My dick.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Stupid question, then.”

“Fuck you.”

“Want to?”

You accidentally let out a heady sigh instead of an offended gasp, and his hand moved a little higher, slipping under your knit sweater, grazing over your belly. You meant to tell him to fuck off. Really. You should have told him to cut it out. But the problem was, you didn’t want him to.

“My offer’s still on the table,” he murmured. “Since you’ve been such a good girl tonight. You deserve a reward.”

Being called a good girl did something to you, even though it was—or maybe because it was—somewhat demeaning. Your skin prickled. You swallowed the dryness in your throat. Your skin felt too hot… much too hot, and his thick cock was still trapped firmly between his hips and your ass. His offered reward.

“Y-yeah, I deserve a medal of honor.”

For what, again? For helping out your coworkers? They were already home with their families—you didn’t have to stay this long.

Maybe continuing the charade was just more fun than sitting in your apartment eating Chinese takeout. You accused Bryan of being lonely, but the truth was, you were the one who had nowhere to be tonight—everyone you cared about was half a country away. And your horny, irrational side wanted to feel that cock without so much clothing in the way. Wanted to feel exactly how a selfish asshole like Bryan would ravage you with it.

He would devour you like the big bad wolf…

“That wasn’t a no,” he observed, his beard tickling your ear.

“Shut up!” you hissed back, loud enough to draw attention.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations of his chest at your back. “Yes, kitten.”

To his credit, Bryan didn’t try anything further. His hands behaved themselves, chastely stroking your hair, and eventually his erection returned to its pre-arousal size. You had been on his lap for a long time, your ass grinding against his groin whenever you shifted. It was a natural, physical reaction… That was all.

The fact that it felt so good you were soaking through your panties was just natural biology, as well.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bryan Kneef was the worst boss you ever had. He had no respect for his subordinates (or for anybody—you recalled the deposition in which he’d told a name partner of Reddick, Boseman & Lockhart to “call her own ass”). The fact that he was handsome just made you hate him more.

But god, his lap was warm. The smell of his cologne, and the steady rhythm of his breath…

You got to see a human side to him tonight. The way he acted with people he couldn’t treat like shit. A private side no one who knew him professionally—and you doubted any of the fifty-two other women he hooked up with per year—ever got to see. You were peeking behind the curtain of his life, and it made Bryan squirm. It was kind of cute. And your wild, horny side was clawing at the inside of your brain to give in to all the lewd promises he kept whispering.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

*****

Martha yawned and patted her husband’s knee. “Well, us old folks are going to bed. Feel free to stay as late as you like, just turn the TV off when you go. No one’s in your bedroom if you do decide to stay over,” she added. “I’m making waffles in the morning.”

You swiveled your head around at the empty couches and realized it was just you, Bryan, and his parents left in the living room. Everyone else had gone home or gone up to bed. Bryan had been so cranky about wanting to leave right after dinner, but after you settled onto his lap, neither of you had found a reason to move.

Bryan stood and dumped you unceremoniously off his lap—you barely stuck the landing. He stretched.

“Nah, we’d better head out, too. Thanks for dinner, ma.” He kissed her cheek and hugged her and his dad goodbye. “Get your things, Syd,” he snapped.

Sounded like girlfriend-duty was over. Good. You could stop pretending to like him.

Good.

“Be nice,” Martha chided, batting him on the arm. “Go help her find her coat; she doesn’t know the way around.”

Bryan put his hand on the small of your back and led you through an archway to the entrance hall.

His father cackled as you passed through it. “Look up!”

Mistletoe.

Bryan glanced up at the bundle of mistletoe without moving his head, so it looked like he was rolling his eyes. Then he looked at you and quirked a brow. You let out an awkward laugh, which he took to mean kissing was not part of the deal.

“It’s depraved that you want to make your children kiss,” he said dryly. “You do this to Tim and Steve, too?”

“We did, and it was adorable.”

“It’s tradition! Kiss. Kiss!”

“We are not going to kiss for you like trained monkeys,” said Bryan.

His parents passed under the arch and pecked each other’s lips.

“I love you, dear,” said his mom to his dad.

“Love you, too,” said his dad to his mom.

“No,” said Bryan.

“’ Night, peanut.” Martha pinched his cheek, and she and her husband took their perfectly hideous matching holiday sweaters upstairs.

“There,” Bryan sighed as his parents’ bedroom door clicked shut. “That wraps it up. Good work tonight.” Genuine praise from Mr. Kneef was rare, and sent a strange flush of heat between your legs. He turned toward the closet to fetch your coat, but you caught his wrist. He turned back to you.

“It is tradition…”

“Is it now?” His eyes narrowed, and a confident smirk turned the corners of his lips. He stepped closer, dangerously into your space, pushing you back against the corridor wall. “We wouldn’t want to defy tradition...”

Fuck, fuck—what were you doing?

His scent was overpowering and masculine, his presence overwhelming your senses, making him seem so much taller than he was as he shadowed you from the overhead light. You grabbed the front of his cashmere sweater and pulled. His lips crashed into yours, as hungry and fierce as you dreamed they’d be. There was no slow mounting of intensity—the moment his mouth was on yours it was fighting for dominance, wet and hot, his tongue forcing your lips open, not giving you a second to catch your breath. He tasted like cocoa and peppermint. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and you felt it in yours, his tongue was buried so deeply down it. You wrapped your arms behind his neck, tangling your fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair, drawing his weight down on you, letting him trap you against the wall. Someone was making a pathetic high-pitched whimper, and you realized it was you, desperately clawing at his sweater to grab more of him, rocking your hips forward until he reciprocated and his erection pushed against the aching heat between your legs.

When he finally pulled away, you were panting, lips drenched and throbbing from his aggressive technique. His hand was unabashedly cupping your ass, rolling the fat of it in his palm.

Oh, fuck.

No. No, no, no. He’s an asshole. A shallow jerk, and you hate him. You were not supposed to give him the satisfaction of seducing you.

He brought a hand to your face, holding it firm to keep you looking at him. His green eyes were dark with lust and energetic with desire. He lowered his face to yours and licked the saliva off your mouth. You shuddered, hips twitching forward into his cock.

Then again, it wasn’t like this meant you had feelings for him. He certainly didn’t have any for you. This was about sex. About your satisfaction. What was so wrong about fucking your boss?

The same dominating, shameless personality that made him a nightmare to work for would be right up your alley in bed. You wanted those big hands all over you, holding you down. That filthy mouth degrading you. You wanted him to call you kitten and sweetheart while he had his way with you.

His big hand was still holding your face, his lips still breathing your air as they hovered over yours.

That was it. The floodgates were open, and there was no closing them again. The wild, wanton part of you won out and took control. There would be no more rational decisions tonight.

“Can I have my reward now… Mr. Kneef?”

“Yeah?” he breathed against your lips, still pinning you. “You want the medal of honor?”

“Fuck you.”

“Since you asked nicely.” He grabbed your hand and dragged you up the master staircase, down a hallway, and pushed you into a bedroom.

As soon as the door was closed behind you, his demeanor shifted slightly. His strong hands were pawing at your ass, roving under your clothing, but he pulled his head back when you tried to kiss him. “You sure you want to do this? To be clear, this is not part of our arrangement—I don’t want to hear from HR later that I forced you to fuck me.”

“I plan to leave this part out of the complaint I’m filing.”

“Good to know you’re still filing it.” He pinched one of your nipples through your bra to punctuate the thought. You tried not to melt in his hands.

“Maybe that depends on your performance,” you purred, letting a slow, wicked smile spread over your lips. “You’d better fuck me like your job depends on it, Mr. Kneef.”

“Treacherous little bitch,” he growled. “I like this side of you. You just tell daddy exactly how you want it...” His teeth grazed your ear. A flight of goosebumps broke out over the back of your neck.

“Oh, fuck… I want that nasty fucking attitude of yours. You never hold back, never have any respect for anyone—I bet you like giving it hard, don’t you?” You pulled his hips toward you and snapped yours against them.

“Is that what you want? You like it rough?” His fingers tangled in your hair and pulled your head back, exposing your neck. His lips were hot and his beard scratchy as he sucked a mark onto the soft skin of your throat while you moaned.

“Yeah. I want you to use me. Think you can do that?” you challenged, only a slight hitch to your breath betraying what his mouth was making you feel.

Despite the soft domesticity of your performed cuddling earlier, you could only imagine Bryan one way. And soft wasn’t it. One tolerable night didn’t mean you liked him… but it was kind of hotter if you didn’t. You had your own frustrations to work out.

The big bad wolf could fuck you hard enough to forget you were alone on Christmas.

“I think I can handle it.” He pulled harder and sucked another mark, this time enough to leave a bruise.

You let a moan slip out, grateful it was the time of year you could get away with wearing a scarf all week until those faded… because you wanted more—a whole little collection from Bryan Kneef’s filthy mouth.

“I knew you were a slut deep down…” He found the hem of your sweater and yanked it off over your head in one motion. “Having such filthy thoughts about your boss is naughty behavior,” he tutted. “Santa’s going to bring you coal.”

“And what about sexually harassing your employee?” You cocked an eyebrow, using the temporary space between you to posture with your hands on your hips defiantly.

“You’ve got no case for that one, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly, stroking your cheek with unsettling fondness. “You barged into my private office and asked me out for drinks. Sounds like you’re just a slut.”

You glowered at him incredulously because… he wasn’t… wrong.

“It’s OK. I like sluts.” He smirked. The thumb stroking your cheek worked its way over your chin, brushed your pouted lips, and slipped between them. Your tongue instinctively darted out to taste the salty pad, and his eyes darkened with desire. “That’s right… take it, you filthy little—” He hissed when you nipped him hard enough to get his attention.

“And you’re lucky naughty boys are fun to play with.” You ran your tongue over his thumb soothingly.

His chest reverberated with a predatory grumble. You were going to pay for that. Within seconds he had your top off, and then your bra—his hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, not waiting for permission.

He wrapped one strong arm around your back to brace you and lowered his face to your breasts and started sucking on them, hard. His free hand kneaded your other breast, rolling the hardened peak under his thumb. Lightning shot through your body, making your back arch, your chest rising into his mouth. “Oh, Mr. Kneef…” you moaned, curling your fingers into his thick hair.

He was so ravenous his beard burned your skin, his tongue leaving wet trails of saliva along your abused breasts. Your nails dug into the back of his head as you pulled him deeper against you, encouraging every dangerous graze of his teeth and every mark he left on your skin that turned your lower body into molten lava.

“Fuck… yes, Mr. Kneef,” you panted. Always “Mr. Kneef.” It did something frenzied and primal to remember you were fucking your boss. Bryan wasn’t the kind of man you would fuck unless he was your boss. He wasn’t a lover, he was a kink.

Just when your raw nipples couldn’t take anymore, his mouth was on your lips again, assaulting your tongue with his, deep and persistent. There was a blur of movement. Your stomach lurched, the room spun, and suddenly you were on your back, on a mattress with Bryan on top of you.

Then he was sitting back, pulling his cashmere sweater off and unbuttoning his dress shirt while your fingers grasped at his belt, fumbling to unbuckle it. The tent straining the fabric beneath it was considerable, and that melting heat in your core was desperate for it.

You could see the dark need in Bryan’s eyes, but he managed a little more restraint than you were capable of in the moment. “Ground rules,” he said. “If you want to go through with this, there’s none of that fake lovey-dovey shit, understand? You are not my pretend-girlfriend. I am not going to be tender. There’s no cuddling.” His white undershirt fell open and revealed a broad chest covered in a forest of greying hair you wanted to get lost in. He followed the path of your eyes, and one corner of his lips twitched into a greedy smirk. “I am going to fuck you. Hard,” he growled, lowering his body on top of you, so close you could feel the heat of his skin on yours, the tickle of his chest hair on your sore breasts. His half-undone belt hung down and dragged on your hips. “I am fucking pissed about being dumped, and you are just a replacement. A body for me to fuck. That’s the deal—do you understand? Don’t come running to me Monday expecting any special attention.”

“Deal. On one condition.” You grabbed his beard and pulled his face down so his eyes were locked with yours. “You don’t fucking tell anybody about this. No one at work hears a word. No disgusting locking room talk. I am not one of your conquests. You want to tell anyone you got laid? It was Sydney.”

“Deal, Syd. Now shut the fuck up.”

You released his beard and pat his face condescendingly. He caught your wrist with an annoyed grunt, fingers circling it effortlessly, and pinned it beside your head on the mattress. Then he was stealing your breath with another fierce kiss, all teeth and tongue and snarling into your mouth. You felt dizzy when he finally broke it to pull his shirt the rest of the way off and toss it aside.

“Oh fuck, Mr. Kneef… you really are attractive,” you commented, running your free hand over his muscular chest and arms. God, those arms were the size of your head, with thick veins running their length.

He glanced down at you but barely took note of the way you were salivating over his body. He knew how hot he was. It wasn’t news. What interested him was you.

He slid your skirt and panties down over your hips, stripping you completely naked on the bed, and looked you over appreciatively. For someone who dressed so conservatively all the time at work, you were sexier than the real fucking Syd. He was starting to think it was a good thing the bitch dumped him—look at all he was missing out on being chained to one pussy.

“You OK?” you asked. You noticed him pause after getting your clothes off, and he had that strange sort of sad look again.

He blinked, and his eyes hardened.

His pants dropped to the floor so he was standing just in his boxers. Then he was on top of you, pushing you back down into the mattress, using his knees to spread your thighs apart. That wild, needy heat flared up within you, anticipating it.

You reached between his legs to cup his bulge through his underwear, his heavy balls, the stiff erection above it. His cock was so thick you gasped as your fingers surrounded it to take in its size, and couldn’t wrap all the way around.

“Fuck. Oh wow, fuck. That’s huge,” you husked, voice slurred with desire. “I guess when you strut around like you’ve got a huge dick, it’s for a good reason. I always thought you were compensating for something.”

He growled and thrust his hips between your spread legs so you could feel that massive cock grind against your pussy.

“Ohh—fuck!” you groaned. You considered the monster between Bryan’s legs, and suddenly the idea of him fucking you with it as hard as you asked for made your throat go dry. “I don’t know if I can take this all at once.”

“You won’t be able to walk right on Monday. Everyone’s going to know what a great holiday you had,” he promised sinfully. “I’m going to rip you in half.” He rocked his hips again, rubbing your clit with the pressure of it, and you felt yourself getting wetter.

“I fucking mean it, Bryan. You are actually going to hurt me with that thing.”

His face grew serious. “You want me to stop, say stop—any time. Say no. Slow down. I’m not going to fucking hurt you.”

That was entirely relieving, actually. You’d kind of jumped into this hoping he’d ride you hard and push you around, but the fantasy didn’t work if you weren’t in control if he pushed too far. You were actually putting a lot of trust in a man you hated because you were horny.

He felt like shit that you’d think he would actually hurt you like that. But he could hardly blame you. “If you can’t speak, tap out. Can you do that? Show me you know what I’m fucking talking about and you’re not just nodding along.”

You scowled indignantly and tapped three times on his arm.

“Good girl.” His beard was tickling the soft skin of your chest as he made a path of bites and kisses down your body. “Don’t worry, kitten. When I’m done, you’ll be begging for me.”

He lifted your legs over his shoulders and sucked a long, teasing mark into one of your thighs, pinching the flesh in his teeth, determined to leave a lasting impression with this one—so anyone else who might fuck you in the next few weeks would know he was there. Then he moved his attention to your already-drenched heat. He dipped one of his long, thick fingers in first, and you gasped, flinching as it plunged its full length up to the knuckle into you, and he chuckled at your reaction.

“You’re tight even around one finger,” he said. “Am I making you nervous?”

You looked down your body at Mr. Kneef, your asshole boss, between your legs, slowly pumping a finger inside you. “Fuck you.”

“Trying, but I’ve got my work cut out. What a beautiful pussy, though…”

Without warning, his tongue darted out and licked your clit. You felt yourself clench around his probing finger and relax again, flooding with warmth. He grinned against your heat and began eating you out relentlessly, filling the room with filthy wet sucking and lapping sounds. Your soft, whimpering cries filled the air, too—you tried not to make too much noise with his family in the house, but you couldn’t stop a few from slipping out. You yelped as he added fingers with just as little warning, stretching you open a little at a time. He changed up the pattern and speed of his tongue on your clit, always backing away just as the molten heat of your orgasm began to build to its delicious, irresistible heights. He didn’t stop until his beard was soaked, and your pussy was practically sucking his fingers in with the need to be satisfied—until you were begging for it.

“Please… Mr. Kneef—ah! Please let me come?”

“Now, now. You’re going to come on daddy’s cock.”

“Yes!” you gasped, clawing at his hair, “Yes—fuck me. Oh god, fill me up with that perfect cock.”

He stripped his boxers off, and his red cock sprang free, already glistening with arousal, the smooth head pulled out of his foreskin. Veins snaked up the sides of it just like his arms and the backs of his hands. It was every bit as big and solid.

Kneeling between your legs, he gave his cock a few strokes and rubbed it through your dripping wet folds. The blunt, hot pressure of it sent waves of arousal up your spine. Your legs opened a little wider without your bidding them to.

“Wait!” you choked out, coming to your senses. “Condom.”

Bryan grumbled. “I’ve only been with one partner for the last three months. I’m clean.”

“Put a fucking condom on—”

“Or you’ll tell HR?”

“And your mom, too.”

“Bitch.” He smiled, the corners of his bright eyes wrinkling. Nobody ever called you that like it was a compliment before.

“Asshole.”

There were condoms in his business card case, as if he had rather expected the night to go this way.

When he finally entered you, he was studying your face almost tenderly for signs of pain or hesitation. He worked you open in a steady movement—not rough as promised, but not patiently waiting. His blunt head stretched you more than his fingers, but you were so sensitive already—so close—your walls eagerly gripped him, reshaping for his size, and the sore, burning sensation of being stuffed past your limit was one you relished as much as the pleasure.

Your legs hooked around the back of his thighs and guided him in until he was buried in your tight warmth.

Slowly at first, he rolled his hips fluidly until he was sure you could take it. When he felt you relax around his cock, your eyes on his with lust-blown desire, he snapped his hips against you once, the smack of flesh echoing through the quiet dark of the bedroom. A deep, startled moan followed it, torn out of your chest.

You were already at the limit of pressure your body could take just being filled by Bryan’s cock. The hard thrust went even deeper—too deep. You had never felt such a fullness before, and—fuck—he was hitting something so deep inside. Something that made your whole body start to melt. It didn’t matter if you could take it or not.

You wanted every inch of this bastard.

“Yes… That’s it… More. Give it to me.”

Bryan lifted your legs up onto his shoulders and leaned over you, pushing them toward your head. The new angle made him feel impossibly large, and when he found just the right angle for leverage, he started fucking you harder and deeper than you’d ever experienced. Every ruthless snap of his hips hit so deep it knocked the air from your lungs and drew a wailing moan from low in your throat.

He clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes a warning. “Quiet. Don’t wake the house.”

“Oh god… oh fuck, Bryan, you’re so… big.” Your voice shook as you tried to speak and hold back another moan.

Unlike the high, breathy gasps you usually gave, Bryan’s massive cock was pulling a new level of moan out of you, as penetrating as his thrusts. Another tore from your throat. You couldn’t hold it back if you wanted to, when his cock slammed into that spot that made you melt. It came from so deep within it shook your bones.

His hand covered your mouth again, and a fire kicked up in your stomach. The warmth of his salty palm pressing over your lips, pushing your head down into the mattress as he jackhammered into you—you were lost and aroused at the dominance of it. This time you grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand over your mouth tighter.

He tipped his head at you curiously, and you shot him a defiant look, grinning against his palm as he realized how much you liked being gagged.

“You like that, you little slut?”

You moaned even louder, letting him muffle you. You didn’t have to hold back now—the harder he rutted, the louder you wailed into the weight of his hand, which meant he didn’t have to hold back either.

The entire bed shook, legs scraping the floor with every powerful thrust as he fucked you into the mattress.

“Take that cock,” he grunted. “That tight pussy feels so good.”

Every stroke bottomed out, hitting depths you never thought possible, and hitting something that ached exquisitely and sent tendrils of molten heat out to your fingertips and down the base of your spine.

It came on so gradually you almost didn’t notice the warm tension building up in every part of your body until it was breaking over you like a wave. Bryan tightened his grip to silence your climax, sobbing into his hand, kissing it, but mostly just letting yourself cry out louder as wave after powerful wave shook you from toes to fingertips, making the world lose focus. All you could feel was him filling you so completely, fucking you through it as your walls convulsed around his cock, and the weight of his hand on your mouth holding you down, anchoring you.

He grunted, pumping faster, shallower as your walls clenched too tight to penetrate, then just as you were starting to come down from your high, his hips jerked, stuttering in their rhythm, and he heaved an exhausted, satisfied sigh as his hot release filled the condom.

His hips stilled. He slowly released your mouth, and you kept moaning, “Fuck… fuck… oh my god, fuck. That was so good.” Your skin was still prickling with warm needles, and you felt… vulnerable.

You felt him start to pull out and grabbed his thick ass, pulling him flush against you.

“Don’t...” you panted. “I want to feel you inside me a little longer.”

“I told you none of this clingy shit,” he frowned. His brow was beading with sweat, and a sheen covered his chest muscles. His pink nipples were hardened peaks in his greying chest hair.

“Shut the fuck up,” you sighed, head falling back on the pillows. You relaxed your legs off his shoulders and crossed them around his back, holding him in place. “I just love your cock. You’re still an asshole. Just shut up and pretend you’re someone nice for a second while I catch my breath.”

It wouldn’t last long before he grumbled about needing to shower and dispose of the condom. But for a few minutes, the callous Mr. Kneef did as he was told and held you as the stars faded behind your eyelids, and your breath stopped trembling. When he was quiet like that, his solid presence was comforting—an anchor when you felt like you might float away.

When he wasn’t taunting and condescending—being himself, in other words—you could imagine he was the kind of person you would want to hold you.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tagged: @beccabarba​ / @caked-crusader​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @welcometothemadxxhouse​ / @stardust-fray​ / @dreila03​ / @the-baby-bookworm​ / @ireadfanfictionontheweekends​ @storiesofsvu​ @xixxiixx​

#Bryan Kneef #Brian Kneef #bryan kneef x reader #Raúl Esparza #thatesqcrush holiday bingo #moodboard #my writing

[1piece-for-you]

𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭 — 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

[𝐀𝐒𝐊] - 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨😊𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲 — 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐒𝐋... 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫?🙏🏼 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬𝐬𝐬

[𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄] - 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐒𝐋! 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐊𝐢𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 

━━ 𝐄𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐝

— In the eyes of the public, Kidd is indisputably an uncontrollable savage; a menace that is shrouded in death and terror. He stands with an unwavering form that spits ichor and acid towards every authoritarian, barbarian, and civilian in his path, and his crew proudly shares the same sentiments as their captain, for they are just as ravenous and power-hungry as Kidd.

— And as his lover, a sense of pride thrums beneath your skin whenever you read headlines detailing the Kid Pirate’s most recent bloodshed. It is a thrilling sensation, knowing that Kidd possesses such monstrous strength, yet he treats you so wonderfully gentle with the right degree of roughness. 

— The strong grasp Kidd has on you are both enthralling and welcomed. The implication of being kept in his hardened arms with no escape never ceases to send biting tingles down the curve of your spine. His possessive behavior towards you is no secret; the mad scowl resembling that of hellhounds were enough to signal to all the unworthy individuals that you were undoubtedly claimed by him.

— Though selfish mannerism is befitting for the walking explosive that is Eustass Captain Kidd, the word jealousy never did quite seem to belong in his vocabulary. 

— And you were inclined to believe such a notion; Kidd is incredibly brazen with his earthly desires and greed for treasures he deems worthy of belonging in his collection. There never existed a reason for him to be jealous since the planets were constantly aligned in his favor. Whatever his target was, it will inevitably end up in his clutches.

— But the truth is, that attitude was only retained until you stepped into Kidd’s life. All the people he held in his bed before were for cheap, fleeting pleasure, and the materialistic goods in his possession are nothing more than replaceable, inanimate objects. You do not, nor ever will, belong in either of those categories; you are too precious to be labeled as anything other than Kidd’s treasured lover. 

— And so, after officializing your relationship, an unforeseen development was occurring within Kidd’s psyche. In the open air, where his sharp eyes take notice of the lingering gazes and judging stares your presence attracts, a newfound threat looms behind him. The sickly green claws of jealousy ropes around his neck, clawing at his throat to shout threats of murder towards any and all of your pursuers. 

— He would never admit it, but the slumbering insecurity buried deep in his metallic heart had finally awoken, rearing its ugly head whenever jealousy seeps into the cracks of his frame. 

— While you are considerate of Kidd’s feelings and would genuinely never wish for him to feel even the slightest bit of distress, your more sadistic side is a little too tempted to garner this reaction out of him. And as destructive as his rampages could be, which hinders the livelihood of both the innocent and Kid Pirates themselves, the entertainment you derive from them is intoxicating.

— There is plenty to notice of Kidd’s hostile behavior during his jealous outbreaks; the prominent veins throbbing on his neck, the faded white on the knuckles of his clenched fists, the feral eyes of a beast that craves red to be spilled. It is these same details that made Kidd so alluring in the first place.

— The most notable event of Kidd lashing out was when journalists for the News Coos had sought you out for an exclusive interview on your boyfriend. It was during one of those rare occasions when you had the privilege of self-isolation whenever visiting a relatively secluded island. Being asked to an interview was certainly a strange occurrence, but otherwise, you gladly accepted their invitation, just for the pure enjoyment you would receive when Kidd learns of this; it was sure to be a spectacle. 

— And oh, how right you were. You would even dare to compare the next morning of cotton candy and yellow rays to a night of vivid, scattered fireworks. The imaginary sparks that flew from the grinding of his teeth and the vicious glare that was scorching the newspaper to char as he traced the front headlines; the sight alone had undoubtedly left you high on cloud nine. A shame that Kidd did not share your view on the matter. The article was entirely laced with inflated lies and pompous descriptions courtesy of you, which the journalists easily lapped up, but those details were not what pressed Kidd’s gears.

— The picture accompanying the interview was none other than one of you; a quaint, charming photo that encapsulated your smile. It seemed that the editors deemed photos of Kidd to be both unnecessary and tasteless; he is a renowned pirate, his fiery red and crazed snarl is engraved into everyone’s mind. And so, that day’s newspaper had essentially settled you in the limelight. For that, he was livid beyond the orbit; he was furiously seething. You were swarmed with harmless threats, stuttered quibbles, and poorly disguised compliments for nearly a week.

— “How can you interact with these nobodies?” “If you wanted to talk about me, then I’m right here to listen, you know!” “Why would you let someone take a picture of you? Now the world will see how-! They’ll know about your existence!” “How dare you look so- look so damn cute!” - How brazen of you, to find a riled up Eustass Kidd be your guilty pleasure.

— But you know his limits, as any lover should when it concerns their partners, and to calm down that brute of yours, you resort to the two most effective methods; hushed whispers of sweet honey and melting wax, or close contact of bodies with not even a hairsbreadth of space in between. 

—But really, it never matters what you do, Kidd is always happy to indulge your needs and his own, especially if it rids that grotesque, sliver of doubt that nips at his mind as he drowns himself in the nectar of ecstasy. As long as you remain by his side and in his embrace, he will be content, and the same goes for you.

━━ 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

— Killer is a dangerous man. He is the manifestation of dreading silence and disguisable malice; his mere presence of which that is both suffocating and daunting never ceases to send his foes onto trembling knees. It is honestly a shame that people allow his estranged mask to cloud their better judgment and underestimate his true strength, for they would be no different from mindless sheep wandering into the wolf’s den.  

— But perhaps there is some delight to be found in the fact that the masses remain ignorant of Killer’s more feral side, which lies beneath his metal veil of mystery and obscurity. Though, the real pleasure of it all truly descends upon your core when you are graciously given the chance to witness him succumb to the boiling heat of jealousy.

— Killer may be the level-headed one of the crew, with his silent bravado and hardened resolution, but that simply means he is more capable of hiding his true intentions. In a sort of absurdly humorous way, Killer could be compared to the infamous Pandora’s box; dare yourself to probe the enigma and be rewarded the gift of miserable consequences. 

— Typically, it would be an utter chore to garner any sort of instinctual response laced in ire from Killer; his patience and composure do rarely snap, but then again, it may be due to the iron pride he latches onto that refuses to falter in the face of his enemies. Well, whatever the incentive is, Killer effortlessly deflects and counters any shunning whims and mockery throttled his way, no matter the level of triviality in the situation. 

— And yet, when those supposedly trifling incidences drag you into its cesspool of festering problems, a rivulet of frigid panic whirls within him. There was something so prolifically revolting about heeding his lover involved in such situations, and that bitter inkling only deepens when he finds some weak nobodies casting empty promises and vapid flirts at you. The confinement in his chest would be too tight, suffocating his velvet rope in endless unease; it was impossible for him to ignore it, to ignore the desire to show you were his. 

— Now, Killer will never act out so intrusively at a scale that would cause you discomfort; he greatly respects your boundaries and privacy, shown through his timid head tilts and hovering hands as he waits for your confirmation to coddle you in tender intimacy. But sometimes, Killer’s need for a release from the thrumming tension and frustration distorts his reasoning, whether in the form of cloaked malice or blatant aggression. 

—  If it is the former, Killer would quietly come in between you and the other party with feigned formalities and subtle contact. His bold assertions range from small doting to shameless proximity; a brush of his bronze skin against your own warmth, a possessive embrace around your waist to pull you back against his steel frame, a shift of view to his mask, where you knew that Killer was riddling you with all his passion and reverence through his masked gaze.

— Ah, even the smallest of his grazes has your mind muddled in pink sugar.

— But as much as his fervid touches leave you teeming in a swirl of rousing electricity, there was no denying that the sparking sensation utterly surges when he follows up with a more assertive approach. And oh my, how his killing intent permeates the atmosphere when he is edged on by the crawling eyesore of your flatterer laying their sullied claws on your petaled features.

— Really now, just who did those specks of grime think they were, to project themselves upon you so invasively? Slamming an object down may be enough to scare off your contriving admirers, but the temptation to simply utilize his raw, brute power to ensure they never awake from their slumber was just too much of a rush for him to reject. However, Killer is more civilized when it pertains to social settings, so brawls prompted by him are not a common affair; but you could still list the numerous times he punched somebody for more warranted reasons, especially when they unmindfully slip themselves into your space by force.

— But the part that swoons your heart into torrid oblivion are the aftermaths of any of his invidious turmoils, when your ever so reserved giant, who can be reduced to melted chocolate and thawed hearts with a touch of your own, returns to you with a shameful expression. Through the veneer for his unmerited insecurity, you could vividly picture the confliction swimming in the depths of his cerulean eyes. 

— As unreasonable as it may sound, Killer is entangled in the firm belief that you had this sparkling image of him where he is this reposeful, yet formidable pirate who also happens to be the ideal boyfriend. It is this same notion that spurs Killer to play the role of a perfect lover; the unfortunate product of his childhood, where he spent years in hiding out of self-doubt. And so, when he finds himself reacting senselessly violent towards a mundane situation, fueled by nothing more than petty feelings, he is inclined to believe that he somehow has broken your trust.

— So it is in your best interest that you remind him of just how perfect he already was, how you adore his qualities, his potential, and his flaws; Killer does so much to deserve that melodic reassurance. Imagine, the radiant blissfulness that would cocoon his being once your comforting voice sends honey swirling through his body. And besides, his possessive arrays are enticing performances, because everything Killer does for you was just so profoundly romantic, even with the couple splashes of crimson here and there.

— Of course, there are other traits of Killer’s for you to wholly cherish him for other than the ones that lean towards his violent streak, but how can you gloss over such displays of ferocity without proper appreciation? He deserves at least some slick pressure poured in with unbridled love and infinite urges, from the top of his crown to the underside of his jagged jawline; perhaps even lower if you are ever so daring.

#one piece headcanon #op headcanon #one piece headcanons #op headcanons #kid x reader #killer x reader #eustass kid #killer

[tonystarkbingo]

3 Prompt Summaries Game

reunions, masks, body worship - suggested by @polizwrites

@polizwrites - Now that Rhodey was full time military, Tony hadn’t seen him  in months.  They  made plans to meet up in Key West  during Fantasy Fest  —  wearing masks (and very little else), they could finally indulge  their own fantasy of being a couple in public.

@psychiccatpanda - Rhodey took the kids trick-or-treating on his own because Tony had been called away on business again.  When they get back, Tony's home and has set the place up for a Halloween party for the kids and their friends. When the kids' friends go home and the lights go down, Rhodey takes his time welcoming his husband home.

@somesortofitalianroast - It was 5 years since Steve Rogers had last seen Bucky Barnes, when Barnes left in the middle of the night after they had sex for the first time, leaving the country the next day for a lucrative job, and Steve heartbroken. It had been several years since Steve had thought of Barnes, though he’d recognize the man anywhere, even behind a domino mask at a masquerade ball. Just seeing Barnes made his blood boil, and he wanted to charge across the ballroom, slap the man silly, and then worship every inch of the man’s body. Too bad he was at the ball with clients and there was no way he could do that without losing a very important contract.

@darthbloodorange - (ShrunkyClunks) - He waits in the shadows of an old warehouse, a mask obscuring his identity. No one could know he was here; not only would his reputation be tarnished, but that of the Avengers as their leader. But there was something about the dark assassin that drew him in. Barnes treated him like no other in this world. Treasured him, possessed him, worshipped him. Not like a hero as the world did, but as a man and lover.

Keep reading for lots more!

cookies, mermaid, dancing - suggested by @somesortofitalianroast

@somesortofitalianroast - Darcy didn’t bake for the Avengers all the time, and she never made her mermaid cookies, since they were complicated and she needed to pay attention to the details when icing them with fancy icing. So it was a big deal when she made them, the sort of thing that made you want to dance in the kitchen.

@gavilansblog - Luca AU where Tony introduces mer-people Steve and Bucky to cookies and dancing

@deehellcat - Morgan's eighth birthday party featured a mermaid theme, cookies with sparkly decorations, and dancing.

@psychiccatpanda - Bucky Barnes never dreamed he'd ever be put in charge of kids.  Who'd want the Winter Soldier for a babysitter?  But this little girl - Tony Stark's little girl - stared up at him, waiting for a reply.

He was pretty sure the last time he'd been this nervous was when he came back to the States after Wakanda.  "Yeah, we can do that.  Sounds like fun."

Which was how he found himself not-quite elbows deep in blue-green frosting for the ocean reef cookies they had baked (that he had baked) while Morgan spun around the kitchen dancing in her mermaid costume.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony looks at the tray of raw cookies in dismay. Whoever had designed the mermaid cookie cutter clearly had no concept of the baking skill of the average parent. 

He had managed to press out all the pictures without causing more damage than the occasional lost arm or misshapen head (and a couple of 'defective' cookies are always required for taste-testing straight out of the oven). But the process of transferring the cookies from the bench to the tray had caused the raw dough to stretch and fold and tear; leaving figures better described as some sort of vaguely-humanoid aquatic eldritch horror... 

Impatient, Morgan clambers onto her stool and gasps in delight. "Look, Daddy! The mermaids are dancing!"

@darthbloodorange - (Thundershield) - Thor set out on his boat to the middle of the lake. A smile on his face and a song on his lips. People feared the lake and the creatures that dwelled within. He didn't see why. Peering over the edge of the boat, he watched the mermaids dance. His eyes drawn to one in particular; the blond with the silvery-blue tail. He unwraps the cookies and sets them on the edge of his boat, hoping to draw the merman close again.

picnic, dragon, promises - suggested by @psychiccatpanda

@deehellcat - Steve and Bucky slip away from the village every chance they get to spend time together. Their favorite place to picnic is perilously close to a rumored dragon's lair, but they dare it for its beauty. imagine their surprise when one night as they stargaze and promise forever to each other, a dark shadow flies overhead then lands nearby. It's the legendary dragon, who greets them and offers to witness their solemn vows. (spoiler alert, the dragon is Tony, and I'm not sure what his relationship to them would end up being.)

@psychiccatpanda - Tony hated picnics.  He'd been on so many for photo shoots with his mom and Howard, then for Stark Industries, and the occasional summer charity event.  Picnics sucked.  There was either too much sun or not enough, not to mention bugs, screaming kids, or other couples making out. 

"You promised, Tony," the love of his life reminded him.  "And I got you a surprise." The surprise was a kite in the shape of a dragon. Suddenly, the day was looking better.

@somesortofitalianroast - Steve was walking to a picnic on the beach when he found a baby dragon, abandoned on the side of the road. He picked it up, intending to take it to the local fantasy animal shelter, but as soon as he touched it, he knew he would never be able to let it go. Which is why he was standing on the dunes, murmuring promises to the dragon in his arms.

@rebelmeg -  pepper sighed.  "tony, you promised you were gonna stop doing that." pointedly looking away from her, the red and gold dragon roughly the size of a large dog pointedly opened his mouth, and stuffed the donut hooked on his claw inside.  puffs of smoke emitted from his nostrils and he chuckled in a rough, growly way when a sandwich in a baggie smacked him in the back of the head. 

"we're never going on a picnic when you're shifted again, this is ridiculous."

@darthbloodorange - (Stucky, Fantasy AU) - Steve walks up to the den of the dragon; his once best friend and lover. Baskets of meat in hand, and his heart weighted heavily in his chest. He'd kept his promise for over 70 years, and he wasn't about to break it now. "Bucky, it's me. I know you remember me. You're in there somewhere, I feel it," he says in his elvish tongue. Within the den comes a mighty roar, seeming to shake the very core of the mountain. But Steve is not dissuaded.

bread, defenestration, jingle - suggested by @rebelmeg

@rebelmeg - standing at the window and very calmly eating her sandwich, natasha watched as clint climbed out of the bushes underneath and went streaking for the street, where an ice cream truck was driving past.  the second he'd heard the jingly song, the idiot had flung his own sandwich in the air and literally dove out the window.  wondering if he'd realize he didn't have any money on him, nat smirked.

@psychiccatpanda - (WinterIronHawk implied) To be fair, Clint had not thought about 'costume integrity' or the fact that the Christmas elf pajamas did not count for much in the way of bodily protection.  On the other hand, though, he'd just been planning on eating as much of the freshly baked panettone bread as Bucky let him get away with while they waited for Tony to get home.  Getting thrown through the  window of Tony's Malibu house by some Hydra experiment had not been on his radar at all. (Not Bucky - to be completely clear, he was cute and Clint didn't think mean things about people who baked him a nigh-endless quantity of sweets.)  At least he managed to keep the hat with its little bell that jingled cheerfully as Clint sailed through the air.

@darthbloodorange - Stony (probably a 5+1 fic) - Tony frowns as the familiar jingle of his phone drew him away from kneading his sourdough. He groans when he sees who it was that was calling. He nearly doesn't answer, but Barnes almost never calls, so curiosity gets the better of him. "Stark," the man greets, voice as gruff as ever. "What do you want?" he grumbles. "Arm's acting up again. Accidently threw your husband out a window. He's hanging on about the 26th floor? Thought you should know." "Damn it!" Tony cries, armour assembling around him quickly. He wishes this was the first time Barnes' arm had thrown an Avenger out the window... but it wasn't.

@lbibliophile-mcu - Tony likes bread as much as the next guy, but he is this close to swearing off the stuff entirely. He tenses as Clint moves behind him, his humming looping into yet another round of the jingle for the local bakery. He snaps. "Clint! If I hear another note I swear I will throw you out this window! And not send the suit after you." Clint grins, opens his mouth and... shuts it again. Silent.

Werewolves, Gardening, Hurt/Comfort - suggested by @darthbloodorange​

@somesortofitalianroast - (preserum!steve/werewolf!bucky) When he moved into the house, Steve was looking forward to growing a garden, with a large vegetable patch, all the herbs, and some flowers for the colors. He wasn’t expecting to get overheated. He certainly wasn’t expecting the werewolf to bound out of the woods to take care of him. He’d think he imagined the entire thing, except the werewolf stuck around. Still taking care of him.

@tehroserose - Steve and Tony had retreated into the woods. Obadiah had taken over Tony's birthright, and Hydra had encroached on Steve's home of Brooklyn. They met there, and lived off their wits. Tony did most of the smithing for the various exiles, while Steve gardened vegetables that were rare and valuable. They were content, and while they wished they could save their homelands, there was no real hope of doing so. No hope until one night, when Steve was doing one last check of the garden before going to sleep, he found a big, bleeding wolf.

@rebelmeg - "right here, honey," pepper pointed to a spot in the dirt, and tony padded over, pawing at the spot a few times before starting to dig.  "yep, that's enough." she stopped him when the hole was deep enough, then held out a hand for the flower morgan had cupped in her hands, cradling the ball of roots and dirt with care.  "see, now it's perfect!  you wanna take a ride on daddy now, morgan?  i  think he's getting bored with gardening."

"yeah!"  morgan jumped up with a shout, and scrambled up onto the werewolf's back with no problems.  "go, daddy, go!" with a woof, tony took off at a run, morgan holding tight to his fur as she giggled, and pepper smiled as she watched them.  tony hated going through a transformation during the full moon, the pain of it pretty extreme, but they'd found a lot of ways to make up for it.

@psychiccatpanda - Tony had avoided Barnes since Steve had brought him to the compound.  The werewolf had done the same.  Howard hadn't had anything good to say about weres in general, but everyone knew wolves were the worst.  It was part of the reason that part of the Avengers had been politely asked to leave Wakanda.  Opening the door to his patio, Tony caught the shine of eyes and Barnes scrambled back from what he'd been doing.  Tony scanned the patio and only saw a trowel, some loose dirt, and a flat of plants - wolfsbane. "Doesn't that stuff give you blisters or something?" Tony asked, knowing that it was probably true.  "How about you come in and wash your hands and tell me what you're up to."

@darthbloodorange - (Ults Stony) - After Steve is infected with Lycanthropy, Tony took him to one of his parents' houses out in the country. Everyone expected Steve would get over it, given time, as he did with the vampirism. But the lycanthropy sticks, appearing to have fused with the serum. While SHIELD's scientists look into a cure, Tony stays with Steve. Growing bored of the overly-manicured, emptiness that was the green fields surrounding the country house, Steve takes up gardening as his current mission. Tony watches, completely enthralled, as Steve slowly transforms the area around the house.

letter, basket, book - suggested by @rebelmeg

@jamesbuckystark - Someone left a basket on Tony's doorstep containing a book, a map, and a magnifying glass. Inside the book was a letter dated 1942. He's curious to find out what this means

@tehroserose - Morgan put down the letter. It was the last one. Her father had written her one for every birthday and potential special occasion. This one was for when she became a mother. She couldn't have them hidden away, they were on a basket on her dresser in her room, but that didn't make them any less bittersweet. He left her behind. To save the world, but he had left her. 

 She went to sit in the rocking chair next to her child's crib and began to read the children's story her mother had allowed all those years ago. "Iron Man and the End of Thanos". Any children she had would know their grandfather.

@somesortofitalianroast - When Bucky decided to become a librarian, he thought it would give him access to all the books all the time, in exchange for maybe some shelving. He didn’t realize how much work went into collections development and management, nor how much time was spent looking books up for patrons on their own system when asked if the library had a particular book. Boring and frustrating. He just had to stick it out until he paid off the worst of his student loans. Until the day the letter arrived on his desk, sitting next to a gift basket from a local fancy food store. A letter letting him know that the gift basket was from his secret admirer.

@jacarandabanyan - After waking from the ice, Steve took to reading voraciously to catch up on what he'd missed. Despite Tony's offers, he never did come around to a screen reader, though, and instead opted to keep a pile of books on his bedside table. When the pile of books got too big, he had a whicker basket to put the overflow in. 

 Tony feels like the two of them can't have a conversation outside the heat of battle without devolving into arguments and personal attacks, so he takes to slipping notes into Steve's books. Over time, the notes get longer and longer, until it would be more proper to call them letters than notes.

@rebelmeg - tiny!tony is digging through a basket of new books the jarvises got him, a mix of kids books and textbooks and novels.  as he digs, one of the books falls open, and out falls an envelope.  the letter inside seems to be written in code... but he's also pretty sure that's his mama's handwriting.  a grin spreading across his face, he sits down next to the basket and starts working out the code.

@darthbloodorange - (Stucky? Witch/Fantasy AU?) - Steve sits in his chair by the window and opens his favourite book. With careful hands, he pulls out the letter from his mother, which he'd been using as a bookmark, and carries on where he'd left off. Library, his familiar, jumps from her basket into his lap and curls up, butting her head against his hands. Despite the warmth and happiness he felt here, it wasn't complete. A part will always be missing until Bucky returns.

@psychiccatpanda - Whoever had suggested they stay at this rickety, 'quaint' seaside hotel had apparently never seen any island murder movies ever, Tony thought with disgust.  The wood floors creaked and the building made weird noises at night.  Combined with the crashing waves, it was not what Tony called relaxing.  Somebody knocked and Tony assumed it was the room service snack he'd ordered.  Instead, he found a basket with a book tucked inside.  Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None.

"That's not ominous," Tony muttered to himself, flipping through the pages. Then he saw the letter tucked inside.

#tonystarkbingoflash2021 #tsbflash2021 #tsb discord party #3 prompt summaries #party game