#|| so much positive vibes tonight I can sleep so tightly

[luckyberet]

🌺 send this to ten muns you think are wonderful!! 🌺

Thank you so much! You too are wonderful! Always so kind and positive in messages, brightens my day! Been following you for ages and always joy to see you around. Excited for our ideas for ER threads!

[bokettochild]

Peace In Time

@silvercaptain24 you didn't say when exactly your birthday was, besides the end of the month, so I hope this is close enough!

As requested, I have crafted a little Warriors and Time bonding fic, with as much Dad Vibes as I could manage to shove into it, I hope you enjoy!

(Also on Ao3)

.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.

Time’s boys all have their quirks. 

Twilight tends to chew his cheek when he’s irritated, Legend will tap his feet or gnaw on random things, Wind will start snapping his fingers or picking at his clothes, and Hyrule will randomly twitch. When they’re upset, Sky’s shoulders will narrow somewhat, hunching in to make the other less noticeable. Four will blink furiously, eyes shifting colors and lips pressing closed tightly to prevent words they don’t mean from slipping out. Wild, when he’s upset, tends to go stiff, eyes glassing over slightly and body straightening to the soldierly poise they all hate to see in any of their number. 

There’s only one exception to this rule though; Warriors doesn’t change. 

Sure, the captain has his quirks. The man will stroke his chin when he’s thinking too hard, or any head of hair that happens to be close by. Wolfie has taken advantage of this many times, and he knows some of the other boys do as well. Warriors will also laugh in a certain way when he’s especially happy, and he might hum a bit when he’s feeling contented. However, all of those are hints and ticks towards the more positive.  

Unlike all of the others, when Warriors is upset, they have no way of knowing it’s coming until it has already happened. 

Which is what seems to be the case tonight. 

He never sleeps well, always wakes every third hour despite himself and has to check the camp. The boys know this, they’ve all mentioned it many times and Wind and Wild have both asked on occasion why it was or how he handles it. They aren’t the only ones, their two insomniacs, Legend and Warriors, have also questioned him about it, although with more subtlety and usually without everyone else listening. Still, it’s a well-known fact, so he’s not really sure why it catches the captain off guard. 

“What are you doing up, Old Timer?”  

He raises a single brow at the young man, sitting up from where he’d been lying only moments before and staring at the blood on the captain’s hands in a pointed manner. “I could ask the same. You’d been on watch for six hours now.” He doesn’t mention the blood, but Warriors doesn’t make any moved to hide it either. 

The captain’s eyes are dark, even in the light of their campfire. Where usually there is brilliant and holy light, like some sort of celestial being come down, the captain’s stare is like an abyss, dull and blank and endless. He can almost see the wall that’s been thrown up between them, can see the mask that makes his boy’s face smooth despite all, despite the ruined carving at Warriors’ feet and the bloodied knife by his side. 

He can’t see past the mask. 

Warriors knows he can’t. 

“Wars,” he repeats, a bit softer, “why are you still on watch?” 

The captain sighs, a short thing, and turns to glance over his shoulder. Time follows his stare, his own eye flickering over twin forms huddled together. Legend’s blanket is wrapped tight over Wind’s shoulders as the sailor and veteran hold tight to each other, the vet’s eyes hazy as they blink up at the stars, face otherwise still. 

“Wind woke about a couple hours ago,” the captain murmurs softly, “Legend was just about to relieve me but the sailor all but tackled him, sobbing and begging.” There’s pain so open now on the captain’s face as he stares at their youngest, tear-stained face gleaming softly in the firelight where it’s pressed to Legend’s chest. The pain shines in Warriors’ eyes too when he turns back to Time, shoulders loosening just ever so slightly from their stiff hold from a moment before. “He didn’t respond to anything I said or did.” 

Oh. 

Dreams plague them, all of them. For himself, Sky, and Legend, they’re most often visions, a foretelling of what is to come and what to be looking out for. Legend also deals with some sort of dream that tends to leave him fumbling with reality, and Wind shares his affliction. For Wild, Warriors and Four, they seem to see battles past and hurts long since healed. For his Pup and Hyrule, he doesn’t know, only knows they don’t care to speak of them and tend to be unable to sleep again after them. 

It’s why he encourages them to sleep together. More often than not, Sky will sleep better if he holds onto another person, and Wild and Twilight both rest better when the other is nearby. Wind likes to hold Four, the smithy being smaller than himself and thus resemblant of his little sister, and while Four seems to appreciate it as well, there are times when both will seek out someone larger to settle with for the night, if only for the feeling of being held safely in strong arms where nothing can hurt them. Hyrule will sleep near Sky or Legend, and sometimes Wild, usually holding their hands or curling against them back-to-back. As for the vet and the captain, the two usually sleep alone unless pulled in by the others, Warriors because he thrashes and Legend because he begins to feel trapped. 

That said, usually, when someone has trouble sleeping, they don’t dart fully across camp to get at the vet. 

“How did Legend handle it?” 

Warriors’ shoulders stutter in a cut off and bitter laugh. “Like a champ.” Something gleams in the man’s eyes. “He’s used to it.” 

Time raises a single brow in question, maybe just a bit of disbelief. 

“Apparently,” royal blue turns about their camp, dark and smokey, like embers about to catch light, “every single one of us has nightmares, and more often than not, either he, Twilight or you are the ones stopping us from losing our dang minds every night.” 

He can hear the creak of leather as Warrior’s fist tightens, gloves shifting and protesting the strength of his grip. 

“None of us, not even Wind, can sleep a night through by ourselves in peace. Not a single one of us knows how to rest easy.” The glove loosens as the first releases, as Warriors ploughs a hand through his bangs, leaving them tousled, mangy and bloody before his eyes, worse than the rancher’s own.  

He pulls himself up, pushing aside his blanket to move to the younger man’s side, feet soft and sure as he goes, careful not to wake his pups where they sleep just a few feet off from his own bedroll. “It bothers you.” 

There’s the laugh again, the bitter cut of hysterical thing he remembers hearing only at the worst of times during the war. “Doesn’t it bother you? Time, they’re kids! They’re- Legend isn’t even growing facial hair yet! Hyrule isn’t even old enough to be out of school! Wild may be a hundred seventeen, but he’s only got the memories of maybe two years to his name, and Wind-” Fists clench, eyes dart down, teeth bared in a snarl that he’s never seen as the captain’s eyes flash. 

He remembers hearing, as a child, from the soldiers on the field of battle. Remembers the stories they’d tell of a dragon that would spring from the heart of the hero and dart across the field, razing enemies to the ground. He’d never seen it, but he can now. He can see it in bared teeth and wild eyes and nails that dig sharp as claws into the mail covering the soldier’s thighs.  

“They’re just kids.” Warriors repeats, voice grating. “Why are they fighting? Why do they have to be the ones to face Demise’s curse?” 

There’s sorrow seeping into every inch of him as he settles at the younger man’s side. “I ask myself that every day, captain.” 

Blue eyes, so blue, so rich and full and unreadable past the veil behind them, stare up at him. Warriors usually has a few inches over him when standing, but the man is hunched in on himself, defeated, pained, and when he looks up, he has to tilt his head back to meet Time’s own single eye. “Why, Time? Why do the goddesses do this to us?” And though he can’t see them, he can hear tears threatening in the tremor of the captain’s voice. “Why can’t we, after the fighting is over, just have a little peace?” 

It’s pleading, it’s broken, it’s desperate. Warriors is turning eyes as blue as the ocean, the sky, as deep and dark and glittering as the expanse set above them, to him. And when he looks down to meet them, he wishes beyond all that he could give an answer. “I don’t know, Warriors.” 

“It’s not fair.” The captain clips, blinking furiously, cheeks flushing.  

“It’s not.” He agrees. 

More than anything, he wants to reach out, to catch the other’s hand or grasp his shoulder, to pull him into a hug, but Warriors is agitated enough. Touching him without warning, without his consent, isn’t something he can do. He’d tried it all of once before, and the results were anything but pretty. And that hurts. 

Yes, Warriors is speaking of their younger ones, but when he looks over the camp, he can see eight boys, barely men and mostly still children inside, boys who’ve been forced to grow up too fast and fight too hard. And he can’t comfort them. 

Legend shies away, feeling trapped. 

Warriors will start and panic if touched unexpectedly by most of them.  

Twilight flinches away from sudden motions. 

Four has trouble making eye contact in general, but especially when worked up. 

Sky has trouble with deep voices. 

Wild can’t handle gruffness or sternness at all when worked up, and just falls into a blank soldier’s stance of attention. 

Hyrule doesn’t like contact at all if he doesn’t initiate it, and will hide if he’s feeling upset or unbalanced. 

Wind is the only one who seems to understand how to seek out help when he needs it, and while he’s proud of the boy for it, immensely proud, it’s rarely him who Wind will come too. After all, he’s the kid’s idol and hero, Wind hates to show him any sign of weakness. No, their sailor turns to the salty veteran and the broken captain when he needs help. 

And those two are hardly more than boys themselves. 

“Warriors,” he pauses when he sees the other seething silently, eyes glittering with unshed tears as he stares into the fire. “Link,” he tries instead, “would that I could erase the pain you and the others feel. You’re right, it’s not fair that you or any of them have to know any of this.” 

“It’s our calling.” Warriors says it with bitterness, with hair hanging in his face. The captain is bedraggled and flushed, tears threatening to fall from brilliant eyes. “It’s all Hylia wants us for.” 

Despite himself, the words make him start. 

Warriors isn’t Sky, he doesn’t adore the goddess and speak of her with sadness but love. Warriors isn’t Wild, who knows only the benevolent guide and whisper that had given him aid in his adventures. Warriors is a knight, and one sworn to protect Hylia’s name, her people, her land; the captain has dedicated his whole being to the service of the goddess. 

Somehow, he’d thought that to mean the lad revered the goddess and her plans.  

“We’re just pawns,” the captain continues, “we’re just chess pieces on a board waiting to be moved and it doesn’t matter how small they are, how thin, how tired.”  

A tear sizzles as it meets the heat of the fire. 

“You can see their ribs,” blue eyes are swimming behind tears, face fallen, mask cast aside when Warriors looks at him, “Hyrule and Legend, they’re so thin. There’s not enough to eat in their world. None of them trust the water, none of them trust other people.” The captain swipes at his eyes. “Twilight’s scared of fire, Sky shakes when it storms, Four shuts down altogether sometimes and I don’t even know why!” 

Time doesn’t reach out, but when he lifts one arm it’s only moments before a golden head is hitting his shoulder, face hiding in his chest. “Why, Time? I just want my brothers to be safe, I just want them to be happy! Why can’t we give them that?” 

He doesn’t have answers. Oh, how he’s wished for answers! How he does every night as he stares at too young faces creased with pains and worries, stares at scars and dark bruises under eyes. But there aren’t any to give. 

Instead, all he can offer is an arm tight around the captain’s shoulders. 

When he looks down, it’s to see just another face, too young and too tired, trying to hide in his tunic. 

“I just want us to sleep easy, to be able to laugh. I wanna see my brothers smile, Time, I wanna see them smile for real and be happy and not have it shattered when those bloody monsters come traipsin’ through the woods to try’n kill us.” 

“I know, son.” He feels a million years as he says it, carding a hand through hair streaked with blood from an injured hand. He feels even older when the shoulders of the boy in his arms shake, when he can feel dampness pressed to his chest. “I wish, somehow, I could make that happen. You know I care nothing for Hylia, but I pray to her every night that she’d grant you peace. It’s my greatest regret that I can’t do anything more.” 

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

“I want to.” He stares down at a weary and pale face. 

Warriors talks about how the others are young, are small, are thin, are tired, but the captain himself isn’t much better. It’s easy to miss with the height and broad shoulders, the charming smiles and glittering armor, but Warriors is just a boy himself. He’s just a kid thrust into a war, not given time to run about and be wild like teens should. He’s a kid who had to grow up too fast, so that when he was old enough to be counted an adult there was no going back and no time for smiles and play. 

He knows, from the war, from talking to Linkle, from the captain’s own stories when Time himself had been small, that there is a family waiting for the other. There are six sisters who know hunger as well as Hyrule and Legend. There is a mother who avoids stares and flinches at loud voices like Four and Sky. He knows there is a father who is bitter and cross like the vet and a house that hardly held together on long winter nights. He knows that even before the war, the captain had known nothing but struggling and pain, knows that the other counts it as his lot. He knows Warriors accepts his own fate, considers it his duty, knows the boy in his arms has dedicated himself to providing safety and strength for those who grew up like he did himself. 

He knows Warriors is used to providing for the needs of others and likely forgets that though all their boys need rest, need peace and happiness, the captain does too. 

He strokes bloodied hair, holds his boy and rocks slowly, humming the song Saria would sing for him when he was sick or upset. It’s something he can’t quite remember, distant and fading, but it has broad shoulders sagging and breath deepening as the face pressed to his shoulder begins to dry again. 

“How about you rest now. I'll handle watch.” He murmurs, nuzzling against the other in a way he knows isn’t unlike Wolfie’s own signs of affection, but doesn’t stop regardless. 

“Can’t sleep anyways.” Comes the faint reply. “Brains too full.” 

He nods, and while he doesn’t want to pull back, there is a steadily growing red stain on his pantleg from the hand that rests over it, and he’d rather not leave it unattended. “Alright then, how about we get you fixed up first then?” He catches the hand in his own, not minding how crimson creeps between his fingers and instead inspecting the wound. It’s a clean cut, nothing too bad. A glance at the knife lying at the captain’s side assures him that at least the injury wasn’t dealt by an overly dirty or rusty blade. Still, it concerns him. 

“How did this happen?” 

Like a child being scolded, the young captain’s eyes trail over the forest floor rather than looking up to meet his gaze. “Nicked it. I was carvin’ sumthin’ to take my mind of things an’” -Warriors’ face twists up in a scowl, frustration lighting those blue eyes again, 

“And your hand was shaking too much to hold the knife steady.” 

The boy nods, free hand clenching slightly. 

The captain’s shaking hands have always troubled him. He remembers Warriors recounting to himself and Wind about how, back in his pick-pocketing days, the tremor would often almost get him caught before he could snatch whatever coin or jewels he was trying to get his hands on. It makes letter writing and paperwork difficult, makes buttons and buckles a pain, and Warriors can take all of fifteen minutes with his eyeliner just on account of the shaking. There are some things that have had to be cut out of his life altogether as a result: stitching, most instruments (the piano being the exception) and nearly all artistic pursuits. The captain hates it, but the only time the lad’s hands hold still is in those blood-rushing moments of battle or fear, his only successful stitches the lifesaving kind when death lingers just over his shoulder to snatch at his patients. 

Hands still shake now, despite the bitterness and anger in burning eyes, and as he cradles the bloodied one in his own, he wishes again to take this burden from the other. He doesn’t say as much though. 

“Let’s get this cleaned up. If we’re careful, Hyrule won’t even know about it.” 

It’s a bitter smile that the lad sends him, but it’s better than tears and it’s not anger or frustration. 

They use a red potion for the injury. Warriors protests that it’ll be a waste when there are so many worse injuries they might need it for, but considering how much his boys work with his hands he thinks it a justified investment. If he could cure Legend’s arthritis and the pricks Hyrule’s claws leave on his palms with a red potion, he’d do the same for them too. 

Despite using the potion, he still takes the time to bind where the injury was with a bandage. Warriors protests that too, but it’s more token than anything else. They have plenty of bandages, whether it be clothes from Legend’s scrap bag or simply the ones Uli, Malon, Granny and Pappy pile on them whenever they come to any of his boy’s or his own home. 

Even when he’s finished bandaging though, he doesn’t release the other's hand, just bigger than his own, and Warriors doesn’t pull back either. In fact, the young man just leans against his side and stares with him into the fire for a spell, letting him trace the scars on the paler hand, following their tracks to where they disappear under linen and reading what he can from the lines creasing the captain’s palm and fingers. 

It’s quiet for a bit. There isn’t anything to say, no comfort or assurance to the woes that weigh heavy over them. He can’t promise peace or happiness or even safety to the lad at his side, can’t promise it for himself or the others or even those dear to their hearts. He wants to promise every good thing, give it himself and solidify a promise from the goddesses themselves that no more harm will come to the family he’s found in these boys, but both he and Warriors know that such a promise can never be made. 

So instead, they sit in their silence, he lending his strength and Warriors seeping it up like a starving blossom.  

After a spell there’s the sound of shifting, and when they turn it’s to see Legend adjusting his hold on Wind, the vet doesn’t even glance at them, but he does start singing, or humming. It’s that siren song like melody Wind loves to ask for when he can, and it brings a hint of a smile to his face. 

Against his side, Warriors shifts, face twisting into concern for a moment as he watches Wind squirm closer to the vet, seeking more heat by burying his nose in Legend’s neck. It earns a start and a glare, but the sailor isn’t awake to see it. 

“Why don’t you go help those two keep warm.” He suggests, turning his hand a final time through his eldest’s hair. “I’ll keep watch over camp.” 

And this time Warriors doesn’t protest. The captain just nods, shucking some of his armor and packing it away before grabbing his own blanket from his pack and coming to settle down with the chilly duo. 

Time smiles as he watches Warriors pull the two into his arms, offering a weary smile to Legend and earning a half-formed twitch of the lips in return as the two older boys curl around the sailor to keep the heat accustomed young one comfortable. His boys may not have a promise of warmth and safety. They may never truly know peace, but for the first time in a long time he sends a prayer of thanks to the heavens that at least they have each other. His boys will hold each other in their worst moments and protect the others, they will make each other smile, will wipe tears, hold trembling bodies close to their own and they will find the safety and peace and love that the world denies them in the arms of their brothers. And, when he can bring them, when they will let him close enough and stop holding up their walls, they will find it in the arms of their Father Time. 

[big-tiddie-squad]

I did it again.... 😶🤫

The Tease in the Recording Studio

"Try it again, but more seductive. We're going for a sexy vibe for this song, you have to make them feel like YOU want THEM." The producer in charge of the recordings offers. "You've got this, the fans already want you. You just need to give a little extra back to them."

Bangchan runs his hands through his hair. He's been singing the same part over and over, bringing forth his most charismatic personality, but Ms. Park says it's not enough after every recording. "Alright," he sighs, "let's try it again." He puts the headphone back up to his ear but you can see he's tired and confused on what she wants from him now.

"No problem, have a quick drink and we'll roll it back and start at the beginning again." The woman watches Chan through the glass studiously, then turns to you to apologize, "I'm sorry we're taking so long Ms. Y/L/N, but the job isn't done until it's perfect. I know you've been waiting here awhile but I appreciate you being patient with us. It shouldn't take much longer."

You always liked this recording producer. She was brilliant at her job and she's also very sweet and always allowed you to sit in while recording when you got bored of waiting at home. "It's fine! I understand completely. Can I say something to him before you start again though?" You ask.

"Words of encouragement are always welcome. Go ahead!" She shows you what to press to speak to him. You wet your lips and speak clearly through the small mic. "Channie?" He straightens and smiles at your pet name before replying right away, "Its okay if you wanna wait at home sweetheart, I know it's taking me a bit to get this right but I'll be home at some point tonight, you don't have to wait for me."

"What-? I'm not going anywhere," you laugh, "I just wanted to let you know that you can do absolutely do this, I know you're tired but I also know that you've got this!! Just know I'm here to support you!" You offer up a cheesy grin and wink at him causing him to laugh as well.

"Of course I do. I'm sexy after all right? Singing seductively should come easy to me if I don't think too hard." His eyes brighten and he puts his headphones on before giving his producer a thumbs up to signal he's ready.

"Here we go again!" She says cheerfully, as you sit down on the couch to watch your boyfriend make magic happen.

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

A frustrated growl leaves Chan as Ms. Park tells him to take a break. It's been over an hour and he's made no progress. He chugs his water bottle and slams it down. You don't typically see him this angry and maybe it's caused by sitting here for so long but... it's kind of hot. He only gets aggressive when you guys are intimate, becoming a whole other person it seems. You get up to go eat something with him while you all take a break.

You both sit in the small break room together as you watch him eat the small sandwich you brought him from home hours ago.

"I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong?" He complains, furiously taking a bite. "How can I not have given off the right vibe by now?" He licks his lips and you're thighs close on their own, stirring up memories of what the two of you did last night. His tongue seemed to have a map of your pussy memorized. Oh how he took you on a mind altering trip. Bending you to his will, literally.

He notices you're staring into the distance and waves a hand in front of your face, "Y/N? You okay? Maybe you should go home and go to sleep now, it's already 11:18 at night." He reaches down and puts his hand on your knee, you'd worn a cute black skirt that comes about halfway up your thighs. Thanks to his touch alone, an immediate urge woke in you and caused you to almost jolt from the contact. Apparently, your poker face needs some practice because Chan picked up on it almost instantly. His eyes dilate a bit as he watches you take your lower lip into your mouth and your breath hitches.

"Oh princess..." he coos at you teasingly, "does my little love need some special attention?" He slides his hand up from your knee to your thigh and begins to stand up and lean in slowly, almost like a predator stalking his prey. "Well, do you?" Every nerve in your body is firing off and your brain is giving you a fight or flight command, but that's what he wants right? He wants you to feel like prey, like you need to run. You wonder if you don't back off... if you were a bit disobedient, maybe this time you could take charge...how would he react?

Wouldn't hurt to find out right?

"Why does it matter? It's not like we have any time for you to do anything about it." You smirk at him, folding your arms and leaning back. His face goes slack for about .5 seconds before his eyes turns a whole new shade of brown. So dark you could be lost in them forever. "Excuse me-" he begins, teeth gritted, just as the door opens to reveal a newly energized producer.

"LETS GO PARTY PEOPLE! We need to get this done and I feel like this next take is gonna be perfect!" She's comes and goes like a hurricane leading the way to the recording room, with you and Bangchan following behind.

Once you all get to there, Chan immediately goes into the small sound proof portion to begin. However, his eyes continue to flit to you, and you can tell he's a little annoyed with being interrupted in the break room. Especially after your last comment.

Ms. Park tells him he's definitely giving off the right kind of energy atm and to keep his head space where it's currently at for the song.

And then you have a wonderful idea. Seriously, you should be an evil temptress. He nods at her but doesn't take his eyes off you for long as he starts singing. Perfect. You look at the back of his Ms. Park's head making sure she's focused on what she's doing. Before swiping your tongue slowly and suggestively over your lips, making full eye contact with Chan. He stumbles over his words, and Ms. Park sighs and asks him to start over, jokingly saying that that was just a warm up.

You smirk it feels nice to have control especially when he isn't able to do anything about it. You're almost positive that this will come back to bite you in the ass but.... it's kind of fun. So you continue. You lean forward and dig through your purse, fishing out a sucker, but as you do you begin letting your breasts tumble out as much as possible. His voice has a slight subtle change to it. And the producer claps her hands excitedly. So far so good.

You sit up and unwrap the sucker placing it in your mouth as you open your legs widely before crossing them, knowingly giving Chan a peep show. His voice is radiating through your body now causing a deep aching in your cunt. Damn was this what Ms. Park was wanting from him. You didn't know how you felt about other girls receiving this special type of feeling from him. A small sting of jealousy courses through you and though you know how deeply you've both fallen for each other. It's just a song, you tell yourself.

You decide to keep taunting him, and you finally run your tongue of over the sucker. You twist it against your lips before sucking it into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you slowly pull it back out of your mouth smiling at him. His eyes haven't left you this whole time, and the dangerous and almost feral look he gave you was making you clench at nothing. Your pussy was already slick causing your panties to grow wet with your need. You didn't realize how much you were testing him.

He was already harder than hell but thankfully Ms. Park couldn't tell with his sweats and baggy hoodie on. He didn't know where you got this cocky and teasing attitude from but he couldn't wait to take you home and fuck it out of you. You'd never purposfully been this much of a tease before and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it. He takes a breath before going into his solo part in the song and in that exact moment, he knew you were going to be punished tonight.

You'd waited for his part to come up and just before it did you spread your legs to show off your soaking panties slowly slipping a hand down over yourself and rubbing gently. You were so caught up on teasing him you hadn't realized how sensitive you'd gotten. The moment you pressed onto your clit you're mouth opened a bit and you wiggle slightly at the stimulation.

And BOY does Chan notice, his hips jerk forward slightly. Chan watches as your legs close tightly around your wandering fingers, wanting so badly to to replace your fingers with his own. He's in the clear now. Finishing the song with a lusty, almost dangerous note as he sees you bring your fingers up to your lips and suck your own juices off of them with a minx-like grin. You pull your skirt back into place and pop the sucker back into your mouth.

"THAT WAS IT! THAT WAS AMAZING! It's exactly what we needed! We are DONE!" Ms. Park yells whilst jumping up and down. She turns to you and thanks you for your support. "I don't know WHAT you did on lunch to help him get the right mood but whatever it was we might have to have you in here more often!" She laughs. You all gather your stuff and part ways once you get out of the building.

Chan wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in tightly before leaning down, voice rumbling in your ear, "you have awakened a whole new side of me I hope you know that."

You look up at him with the biggest most innocent grin you can muster, the friction of your thighs rubbing together and the meaning behind his words and tone setting your stomach alight with a monstrous sexual hunger. The walk home was difficult for many reasons and at least one of them was because Chan had slipped his hand under your top, fingers brushing your bare skin and adding to the discord of tingles you already had.

"Who would've known you could be such a brat," he says as you both make it to your apartment. He opens the door and let's you walk in first slapping you on the ass and causing you to squeak out in surprise. He enters behind you and locks the door before quickly grabbing your hand and pinning you against the wall. Your lips meet and you can taste his need, the pure desire to ruin you tonight. His hand sneaks into your skirt and panties feeling how wet you were for him. You moan at the contact, your body almost crumbling in on yourself. "Chan" you manage say. "Babygirl- you have a three second head start." He tells you voice coated with a dominant and feral tone as he removes his hand from your warm sheath and licks his fingers clean. "1.......2...." and before he could get to three you bolt for the bedroom, the immense need to run taking over. You haven't even made it 5 feet away before you hear him say three. Before his foot steps are sounding behind you. And all you can think is.

It's going to be a long night.

[lizzy-williams]

𝗦𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀; 𝗣𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

Warnings: NSFW (smut, 18+), language, mentions of ADD

🕷️ Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qxHJWvIo218

Kids by Current Joys

((I took the day off from school today for a mental health day, and this is what I ended up writing. I have ADD so that will be mentioned a few times. Honestly I’m writing this for myself more than anyone.))

- Tom Holland Masterlist

- Masterlist

Peter hated seeing you like this. Studying so hard, so much that it was the only thing you were doing. SATs were coming up, and there was no way you could have stressed out more than you already had. 

Everyday after school, he would come over to your apartment and help you study, and even after he left for patrol, you stayed up, and always ended up falling asleep on top of a text book or paper. 

But every night he would always come back, pulling you into bed with him, holding you as you went into a deep sleep, even though you would need to wake up in 4 hours for school anyways. It hurt Peter to see you like this. 

For him, school came easy, he was a genius. But for you, it was harder. Focusing was hard, and having the motivation to assignments was even harder. Peter was brilliant, and in the back of your mind, you were mad at it. 

Tonight was a relatively rough night. Studying chemistry was killing you. Chemical compounds, theories, and even dates that some scientists were born. You worked with flashcards, quizlet, anything you could. 

As Peter came back from patrol, it hurt him to still see you up this late on a school night. Peter took in the sight before him as he looked in the window, You form sat on the floor, your laptop in front of you, your notebook and text book next to you. Mountain Dew and RedBull cans were scattered around you

 while you sat criss-cross, wearing nothing but his maroon crewneck he gave you and black underwear, your hair tied up in the best way possible. 

Even though you looked like a goddess when you were a mess. And it made him feel some type-a way. He knew what you needed. You needed some stress relief. 

He silently opened your window, your brain trying to hard to focus on the computer screen than to the noises around you. He pressed the spider on his suit, sneaking over the closet and pulling out his sweatpants and sweatshirt he left there for moments like these. 

As he got dressed he watched you. But his heart broke when he saw you hunch over, your fingers on the bridge of your nose, a light sob leaving your lips. 

“[ y / n ]?” Peter muttered, and you turned around. You immediately got up, embracing him tightly as you began to cry harder and harder. So hard it became hard to breathe. 

He picked you up, the both of you sitting on your bed as he cradled you, your face buried into his neck as he rubbed a hand up and down your back, comforting you, letting you let it all out. 

You stayed in this position for a while, Peter letting out small ‘shh’s and comforting praise. Soon you were calmed down, and you pulled back to look at him. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this, Pete.” you admitted, your hands gripping the bottom of his hoodie. 

“Hey, hey,” he put his hand on the side of your face as you leaned into it, “I’m here for you. You just need a break,”

“I can’t Pete, I have-” you were cut off by Peter’s lips brushing against your lips, and you leaned in, sealing the space in between them. 

The kiss was passionate. Slow. Calm. This was just what you had needed. 

The kiss became more and more passionate and heated as time went on, his hand slipping under your shirt, holding your hips and pulling them closer to him. 

“Pete,” you muttered against his lips, “I want you,”

“Of course, princess,” he smiled, his teeth peaking out under his top lip, his expression entrancing me, my lips finding his again as we teared at each other’s clothes. 

Once you were both nude, Peter’s mouth went directly to your breasts, making you gasp, your hands holding him close, one and on this back and the other in his hair.

You were so desperate for this escape, so needy, that you couldn’t get enough. All your worries about assignments melted away into the back of your head, making you feel total bliss in turn. 

“P-Pete, please,” you muttered, his mouth detaching itself from your throat, your gaze catching his, “Heal me,” 

Without another word, he pushed you down on the bed, your body slightly bouncing as he positioned himself between your legs, his hand running through your folds, his way of asking if you were ready. 

You nodded. His hips slowly drove towards yours, whimpers setting themselves free from your mouth, Peter soaking them in, encouraging him to go farther, deeper.

Once he was all the way inside you, buried to the hilt, he slowly started to move, his hips setting a rhythm that made you see stars behind your eyelids. 

As time went on, he thrusted faster and faster, lifting your legs and letting them rest on his shoulders, hitting a perfect angle. 

“Fuck... Princess you feel so good. Nice and perfect for me,” he groaned out, his pace never wavering. 

You could only moan in response, the sensations that enveloped you becoming intense as you felt a coil in you begin to built up and tighten. This caused your core to clench, making Peter let out a primal groan. 

“You close princess?” he coaxed, “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl?” he leaned down, his lips meeting just under your ear. 

After a few more thrusts, he muttered in your ear, “Cum for me,” in one of the most erotic voices you had ever heard. The change of tone sent you over the edge, a loud moan escaping your mouth, Peter’s climax hitting as he was helping you ride out your high. 

The two of you held each other tight, not wanting to let go. Once you two were finally back down to Earth, Peter got off of you, pulling out, your core feeling almost cold as the loss of contact. 

He crashed right next to you, pulling you to lay on his chest. 

“Thank you,” you muttered, knowing he heard you. 

“You don’t need to thank me. You’re my girlfriend. You needed a break. So I gave you one. Now will you tell me what was wrong?” he prodded. 

“I dunno. My ADD has been acting up, and no matter how many times I’ve head the text book, I still don’t get it, or I’ll get sidetracked. Not to mention the teachers aren’t too forgiving.”

“Just know that I’m always here for you. No matter what. I’ll always be there. All you need to do is call.”

You nuzzled yourself more into his nude chest as he pulled the covers over the both of you. 

“Goodnight, my sweet girl,”

All you could do was hum in response, before sleep finally got a hold on you. 

(( Hee hee hee, my ADD havin’ ass is NOT vibing. Especially with my biology teacher.))

[sweetestlamb]

Can You Feel The Love Tonight?

Summary: So-Bong stops fighting their attraction following the King's deception.

Author's note: I'm back and so excited to write a consensual steamy night! This continues from Episode 14 👀👀 enjoy my fellow royal pervs. Thank you to everyone who send me good vibes and positivity after Tumblr decided to wake up and choose violence and delete my first draft. I hope you all enjoy this version too you never saw the other version but I was feeling very good about it and this one just isn’t it so I’m being pretty hard on myself. Comments are always loved and appreciated especially in these trying times LOL. More possibly confusing pronouns but I did write from the King’s POV towards the end so the pronouns stop being too crazy. 

His breath stumbles out in choked tight puffs, saturated air squeezed from So-young's tired lungs. He feels restless, pacing the short distance of the room before he jumps at the door suddenly sliding open. Affection too strong to temper down washes over their body in a thunderous tsunami wave that crashes all his doubts and hesitations about his feelings for a particular monarch. 

"My Queen." The title is stated with all the awe and reverence befitting royalty and before he can second guess himself, he's flying across the room to pull Cheoljong into a tight embrace. The King’s gasp of shock doing little to stop him from holding on tightly, pressing So-yong's face into the thick cord of the King's neck.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. I thought she was dead. I really thought you let her die!" Their voice sounds shrill even to Bong Hwan's ears but he can't deny that his emotions are overwhelming, too close to the surface. Still too raw after the heartbreaking ordeal, how dare those bastards even suggest killing a child?

It's not until the King is drawing away, his dark eyes searching her face before his fingers reach up to brush away the tears that are streaming from her eyes. Bong-Hwan feels a tinge of shame in his stomach, embarrassed to be seen this way by anyone but especially the King, but the soft way he holds their cheeks eviscerates all shame.

"I didn't have any time to tell you my plan, I'm sorry I scared you. I would never let anything happen to her, she was just an innocent child and she saved you. I owe her a huge debt."

He allows the King to drag her shaking body further into the room, sitting on the plush bedding, face to face their hands tangled in between.

Listening carefully as he tells them how he placed harmless sleeping powder in the child's cup and in the darkness of night his brother would collect her body and bring her somewhere safe, no one else knew of the plan and would believe the young court maid to be dead.

All of the stress and guilt washes over him again and he breaks down, folding into So-yong's lap as hot tears cascade from her eyes drenching the night dress. The cries ravish her slight body until he's sobbing uncontrollably, finally realizing how heartless this Kingdom and almost everyone living in it was.

Except him.

He'd had no reason to save the young girl, had hardly known her and it did him no favors to spare her life. Yet, he did it because she asked him to. 

I'll do my best. 

"You kept your promise."

"My Queen?"

So-Bong lifts their head, moist eyes locked on the King's face reaching out to stroke his cheeks, trailing down to his strong jaw. The desire to kiss him surging through their veins.

"You said you would save her and you did. How can I thank you?" Gratitude coats each word as So-Bong crawls closer into the King's space, a breath apart now making his intentions apparent.

A slight blush spreads across the bridge of Cheoljong's nose, he looks beautiful in the dim candle light. Truly a sight to behold.

"You owe me nothing my Queen your gratitude is enough to warm my heart for days to come."

But he wants to, this desire isn't So-yong; at least not her alone. He wants the King. There's no denying it now, not faced with his selfless act. Now remembering the way his heart stopped when the King flew off the stage, bloodied on the ground reaching out for them. How desperately he wanted to shove everyone aside and have the King in their arms again. 

Without preamble he grabs the lapel of the King's hanbok, reveling in the look of pure lust that devours his face before their lips crash into each other. He groans at the wet swipe of a tongue at So-yong's lips, opening up immediately to give the King entrance. When a large hand grips the back of her head, he moans deeply licking deeper into the King's mouth, heating scorching through their body like a wildfire.

"Don't get hurt again. Don't leave me." He pants into the King's hungry mouth, grabbing onto him desperately.

Cheoljong pulls away, lips bitten and red, panting now firm chest expanding and compressing.

"I won't. I'll stay with you."

In a move quicker than lightning, the King embraces them before covering her body on the bedding, begging for permission with those seductive eyes at So-Bong's nod he's ravenous, movements wild and disorienting. He tugs the material holding her sleep dress intact and the material falls away, but there are several layers beneath. He skillfully undoes everything, leaving her body bare to his eyes.

"So beautiful." He breathes out, eyes racing down her heaving chest before landing on her jewel, he reaches down to caress her smooth thighs causing goosebumps to raise in the wake.

Without a word he returns the favor, undressing the King with more fervor eager to reclaim the pleasure he'd denied just hours ago. The most pleasure he'd ever experienced in his life.

The King has a breathtaking body, broad shoulders that temper down into thick muscled legs but the thing that catches his eyes, dangles between the space of those marvelous legs. His third leg. It's hard to believe that was ever inside of them, it looks angry and red mushroom like head peeking through foreskin. Precum already oozing and coating the flesh in viscous liquid.

You're beautiful too.

He can't bring himself to say the words out loud, already feeling far too vulnerable.

Cheoljong moves to penetrate, gripping their legs as he crawls forward eyes locked on the prize. And the night comes back to him in a sudden flash, the pleasure had been immense but unfortunately so had the pain. There'd been no foreplay and her wetness had not been enough to thwart Cheoljong's impressive cock. It would be different tonight, it was time to teach their good husband about foreplay.

"Wait."

Instantly the King halts his movement, longing and question in his eyes. He is shaking from his rigid control.

In a move any porn star would be proud of, he brings her legs up locking onto the King’s hips and swiftly rolls them over until they’re on top.

The King gasps in surprise at the sudden reversal but the arousal in his eyes make it clear that he's still on board, the thick cock pressing into her thigh is even more proof.

Reaching back to unbraid her tight braid, he shakes her hair free smirking at the weak moan that falls from the King's lips.

"Like what you see?" He teases, bringing her hair over one shoulder and gazing at the King from under wispy eyelashes, a picture of coy seduction. Cheoljong groans at the action, reaching out to hold her hips and squeezing at the luscious flesh.

"Don't tease me."

He almost laughs at the soft command, having no intention of listening to such a thing.

With a gentle placating smile, he leans down to capture Cheoljong's lips in a peck that transforms into something deeper and wetter. Twisting the King's head to his liking, then groaning at the sensation. While the King's distracted he trails a dainty finger down his body, stopping to caress his hard pronounced abs the tight skin jumping under her fingers. Then he continues his journey until he reaches his destination, without any warning issued he wraps her hand around the King's sword firmly stroking from base to tip, twisting her hand to collect his juices to ease the way.

The King jerks as if he's been struck by lightning in her hold, breaking the kiss to grunt and thrust harder into the grip with a loud roar as animalistic as he'd been their first time. Watching him squirm in pleasure causes more moisture to gather at her center, memories of them thrusting and crashing into each other filling his mind.

"My Queen...what. What in the heavens are you doing to me?

"This is called a hand job. It is a gift a woman bestow upon a man.”

"Like a blessing?" He replies, looking thoroughly dazed as So-Bong continues to stroke and pull at his cock, copious amounts of precum making the motion effortless.

He chuckles at the King's understanding of the word, in many ways a handjob is a blessing.

With her unattended hand he reaches down to fondle the King's heavy balls, distracting him enough to slither down his firm body before he's eye level with the rigid length. Hungry for the burst of salt and skin that will flood her mouth, but still wary at this role reversal. He's received many blessings in his lifetime as a renowned chef he already ever wants for bedroom partners, women typically throwing themselves at him. But face to face with the one eyed beast, he falters tongue heavy in her mouth.

How did I.....do it?

He simply stares at first, at a long vein that cords up the side pumping blood to the thick organ.

Nerves immobilize him before the King finally looks down, helpless stare on his face his bottom lip slightly trembling. He gives a little hump up trying to alleviate some of the pressure and So-bong makes up his mind.

Just start slow. You've seen enough porn and anything feels good when you're horny.

So he starts with a kitten lick barely touching the throbbing organ, unprepared for the bitterness that explodes on his taste buds. It's a new flavor one he’s never experienced before but the King's reaction is enough to make him want to do it again, and again.

Cheoljong stills at first, as tight as the the quiver of an arrow before he breaks free from his stupor and thrusts so hard his cock slides down her throat almost choking them. He's draws off the King, thunderous glare at his appalling blowjob etiquette.

"This is called a blowjob. It's stage two of the hand job, but if you can't control yourself, then I'm stopping."

Immediate panic flares across the King's face and he falls limp on the bedding, staring up with pleading eyes. Looking thoroughly chastised and shamefaced.

"My apologies my Queen. I will accept your blessing. I place myself in your capable hands."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Nothing in his studies could have prepared him for this immense pleasure his Queen is bestowing on him, a serpentine tongue curling around his most private parts. Despite the various rumors of his prowess and the many times he's been accosted, both in his youth and during his time in the kingdom he's never indulged in the passions of the skin but now feeling this exquisite pleasure he wants to curse at himself, has this been what he's been depriving himself of?

He's been a fool of the highest caliber.

Another part of him is grateful that he's sharing this moment with her, he can't imagine sharing this intimacy with any other. Especially the many women at the brothels that he has frequented, preferring a willing partner.

In his laps his Queen is the devil incarnated, swallowing him in short bursts that leave his body feeling equal parts numb and bursting at the seams. Her kitten like licks at his head make his toes curl into the bedding, until pleasure flashes behind his eyelids so intensely he has to twists away before it's too late; barely escaping in time.

He pants loudly, harsh breaths rushing from his lips.

He jolts at the sudden warmth of her hands on his face, bringing his head back to meet her eyes.

She looks at him softly stroking at his cheeks almost.... lovingly. It's too much to consider. That the Queen could feel even an inch of what he feels for her. It's inconceivable.

"Did you like it?"

"Was that not clear? Where did you learn such sinful techniques?" He questions her but suddenly he doesn't want to hear the answer, not in the slightest. Maybe there's a reason why the head of the Justice Department is so obsessed with her, perhaps they had a relationship that was more intimate than he imagined. Maybe....

"Stop."

He stops looking back at her, trying to squash the jealousy boiling in his blood.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop. I've never had...that in my mouth. Or anywhere else for that matter. If it was good that was because of my natural talent. " She rolls her eyes at him, stern look as she crosses her arms across her tempting chest, ruddy dark nipples making his arousal deepen.

He breathes a sigh of relief and satisfaction, trying his best to keep those emotions off his countenance but her raised eyebrow makes it evident he has hidden nothing.

Slowly she crawls over him, straddling him face looming above his and he can't resist stealing a kiss, a burst of salt overcomes his senses and realization dawns on him.

That's me.

It shouldn't be that arousing to taste his own seed on her tongue but the thought of her tasting like him makes his blood boil hotter.

She lets him kiss her, her body soft in his arms as he rubs a hand up and down her side and he deepens their kiss, lips slotting together like matching pieces of an erotic puzzle.

When she pulls away he chases but a small hands on his chest halts the action.

He stares in awe at her beautiful flushed face, lips plush and inviting, the memory of them on his cock enough to make him groan.

"Do you want to make me feel good too?"

He's nodding before the question has fully left her pouty mouth and he immediately begins to position himself at her warm center, thrusting between the folds of her flower. Eager to be connected with her in the most natural way. But again his plan is halted as she shifts away after a quick moment of grinding back onto him.

He groans, "My Queen, what is the matter? I can't take this torturous teasing. You were hardly this coy last time."

His words are true, just yesterday he'd been shoved into the bed and ridden like a wild stallion, she'd sheathed him with no warning her grimace of pain enough to make him consider stopping before she grabbed his shoulders and arched her back in a manner that couldn't be human.

He'd been lost to the waves of pleasure after that.

"I was drunk out of my mind last time, I'd have let you do anything to me."

His eyes widen at the admittance, too many ideas flooding his mind.

"Stay with me, you sex maniac."

He's not quite sure but what a "sex maniac" is but he hardly believes that he's the only one here who is one. He hadn't been the one to seduce the other after all.

"Remember how I told you there are levels? You need to do that to me."

He stares blankly before finally understanding, running his hand from her hips down to the vee between her legs. Soft hair greets him before he pries between the puffy lips, stroking up through the moistness before pressing one finger inside, barely a knuckle but she's so wet that his finger sinks in easily, until he's deep inside her hole.

She breathes out softly, whining in his arms as if to take him deeper. He begins a languid pace, in and out, wanting to take his time and enjoy every second inside his Queen but she has other ideas.

"Another! Harder!"

She's already bouncing on his lap, all too easily accepting another finger, his middle finger now crying out at the stretch from two digits pounding into her core.

He's sure all the servants can hear their coupling, but it does nothing to discourage him as he grabs her hair pulling her in for a wet kiss needing to taste her moans, the vibrations tickling his mouth. His fingers are sloppy wet and their noises are indecent as she quickens their pace into something brutal. He doesn’t care if he keeps the entire kingdom up. 

Always a quick learner, he shoves her down into the bed lifting her legs like a scarf around his neck and after a quick moment of eye contact he dives down to taste her, tongue sliding through her wet pussy with precision and certainty. She wails underneath him, screaming his name loud enough to wake those even miles away. Pride swells in his chest as he licks deeper into her sweetness, using his hands to spread her wider much to her boisterous satisfaction.

He grins when he feels her hand latch onto his hair holding him in place as she uses him, grinding onto his tongue. He's never experienced anything this blissfully erotic, never knew a partner could be this eager. All of his studies have shown women to be rather passive, simply laying as the man gains his pleasure. His Queen his anything but a passive participant.

Before he knows it she's whimpering, twisting and twitching uncontrollably and when she starts to pull away he clamps down harder dragging her back and forcing his tongue impossibly deeper, when he slips in a finger everything is wet, her juices flooding his mouth and he happily drinks it all hungry for more.

He continues to suckle until she pushes him away, hissing at him when he fights her at first.

"Too much."

He gently moves her legs from his shoulder and places them back onto the bedding. She's spent below him, eyes closed and chest heaving powerfully.

He flops down beside her, in a manner completely unbefitting for a King. Not caring in the slightest.

Her breath begins to even out, slowing down and he smiles tightly it seems he'll have to tend to himself. With a sigh he reaches down to wrap a hand around himself but almost instantly his wrist is grabbed.

"What are you doing?"

He turns to face her, almost laughing out loud at the look of offense that mars her face.

"You're spent my Queen, I can care for myself."

She scoffs at him, taking a fortifying breath before sitting up, he watches her lazily awaiting her next move. At first, she merely stretches light popping as she raises her arms over her head. He watches enthralled by the rippling in her taut body, she is a magnificent woman and he's merely a man. Then in a move as fluid as water, she raises to her knees before sliding down onto her arms, then lower onto her forearms. Her body a perfect arch, with her pert bottom in the air.  For his position he can see directly into her wet core, he's moving before the action registers in his brain.

He's seen this before, the cow position but then she looks over her bare shoulder and smirks at him.

"Doggy style. You do all the work and you get a great view."

What an interesting moniker for this position but he can agree that this truly does resemble dogs mating as well. His knowledgeable Queen, he will surely have to add this to his dictionary. 

He walks forward on his knees towards her until his cock is nuzzled between the meat of her thighs, thrusting once making stars explode behind his eyes.

"I must get oil." He sadly states, despising the idea of being away from her heat for even a second but before he can move she's thrusting back onto him, the head of his cock sliding inside with little effort.

This time his moan fills the room.

"I don't need that. Can't you feel how wet I am? Just fuck me already, I know you want to."

"Fuck you?" More new words, these one sounds filthy despite not knowing the full meaning. 

She grinds backwards consuming him the rest of the way, "Yes. Fuck me until I can't walk straight."

He's never been one to back away from a challenge and at her insistence he slams into her, hard enough that she falls forward chest crashing into the floor as her ass raises higher in the air, giving him more access to her sweet wet entrance. He grips her ass pounding harder and harder before pulling her back to her arms. Leaning over her shoulder, he finds a bright red ear.

"Do you know who I am?"

He doesn't give her a moment to reply to his spontaneous question, instead rocking into her again mesmerized watching himself enter her over and over and over.

But after a moment he slows down, barely retreating just slowly grinding into her.

"Who am I?" He demands, bringing a hand around to fondle her breast pinching at the nipples.

"What are you talking about?" She pants out, impatiently trying to get him to return to the frantic borderline painful pace. 

He pinches harder.

"Do you know I am right now? Are you in full control of your faculties? Who is fucking you right now my Queen?"

It's unbecoming but a vindictive part of him needs this, desperately wants confirmation that she wants this and is imagining no other. After all their other misunderstandings he couldn’t stand another one. 

"You petty bastard!"

He pulls out. Completely. Leaving her empty, her hole twitching at the sudden departure. 

"Now, now. Is that anyway to speak to your husband? It's a simple question, who am I? Who do you belong to? "

Seconds drag on and he wonders if he's taken it too far, has he made this uncomfortable? Has he ruined this moment completely?

As fear ravages his mind, he doesn't notice his Queen grinding her teeth before sighing.

She whispers, "My King. You are my King and you are the only one I'm thinking of."

Elation swirls in his heart and he's back inside so quickly she loses her balance, tumbling onto her best again but he gives her no chance to rearrange herself pounding away now, shoving himself as deep as he can go.

He props his strong arms on either side of her thrusting and biting at her neck, marking her for the world to see. Her whimpers are music to his ears as he prays that every man in the kingdom will hear her, and now that she is his woman. No other can have her, ever. Unless they want to taste his blade. 

When her legs give out he rolls them onto their sides, never slowing his brutal place lifting one of toned legs to thrust even deeper. Then he feels her hand where they are joined, looking over he sees her rubbing frantically at a small engorged bead glistening above her hole. Knocking her hand away he begins to stroke the delicate pearl rapidly, grunting when her tunnel tightens around him.

She begins to scream, head thrown back as he chases the light blaring in his mind, the emphatic slamming of skin booming in the room until she bends her back arching away from him and he grabs her hips chasing her over the edge, pounding until he explodes inside her his shouts joining hers both deafening in the room.

Everything fades to black.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

He loathes to leave her alone after the night they've had but he must check on his brother and their plan to save the young court maid, so he slips from her enticing heat almost undone when she grumbles at his movement reaching out for him. Her little grabby hands reminiscent of a small child. 

Alas he must go. He's doing this for her after all. They will have much time to discuss later.

And if it leads to circumstances like these, he's not opposed.

By late morning he has dealt with everything necessary for the young girl, her body being transported to another town where they have created a fake identity for her. He knows his Queen will be sadden by the young girl's departure but this is the only way to keep her safe.

He's racing as quickly as he can to get back to her when he hears a voice behind him.

"Your majesty."

He stiffens immediately guilt riddles through him, the royal consort. He'd hoped to avoid her until he figured out exactly what to say to her, he'd yet to tell anyone but the Queen his true feelings for her. He didn't want to hurt the other woman but despite her many requests he would not be warming her bed. His heart was no longer his. 

Slipping on a passive mask, he turns around plastic façade in place.

"Royal Consort, good morning to you."

She immediately closes the gap between them and grasps his hand in her own, he fights the urge to flippantly brush her aside. He knows that would be unnecessarily cruel to do to a woman he'd once been willing to lay down his life for once upon a time. It feels like centuries ago. 

"I've missed you. You have been sleeping alone these days."

He hasn't. At all. He hasn't slept alone in days, the Queen's leg a permanent fixture in his back now but he can't tell her that of course.

But another voice sounds from behind him.

"He hasn't been sleeping alone. He just left my bed this morning."

This time he does pull his hands free of Hwa-Jin's tight grip, tighter with the Queen's arrival.

"My Queen." He turns to her apologetically fearing her wrath, imagining his own ire if he'd seen her in a similar predicament with her cousin.

But her eyes are locked on the other woman when he turns, cold eyes and a tight grin. Taking a step forward she stands between them, her back pressed intimately to his front.

Her scent fills his senses nearly making him sway. Sweet jasmine and...cooking oil? Somehow it smells like ambrosia on her skin, intoxicating.

"But I'd hardly say we did much sleeping. There are so many other.... activities. But you don't need to worry about his whereabouts, he is my King after all."

Before he can react to the blatant possessiveness or her jealousy, his hand is taken and he's being pulled away, he only gets to see the affronted look on Hwa-Jin's face for a second before she turns away with moist eyes.

He knows he must deal with this carefully later, but at the moment all he can think of is his arrogant and seemingly possessive Queen dragging him away, shooing away any who dare to approach them. Until after many twists and turns they're back in her room, various plates covering the floor.

"Did you make all of this?" He asks, voiced filled with wonder.

Instead of answering she drops his hand stepping further into his space, instinctively he wraps her up in his arms. Nose nuzzled into her thick fragrant hair.

"I missed you."

She doesn't answer at first then a little hums hits his ear, one of disbelief.

"Yeah you definitely looked like you were missing me holding another woman's hand."

With wide eyes he pulls away, unable to control his mirth now that it's just them.

"My Queen, are you perhaps....jealou-"

A hand slaps over his mouth before he can finish. Scorching eyes glaring up at him defiantly.

"I'm not jealous. Why would I be? You can do whatever and whomever you like."

Laughter bursts out of his lungs and he draws her into another embrace not allowing her to fight him.

"Shhhh, don't be difficult."

She punches in his ribs and he knows asking her such a thing is the equivalent to telling her not to breathe.

He tightens his hold as her squirming intensifies stroking her hair in placating swipes.

"Just as you belong to me, I belong to you."

That makes her still in his arms, arms lifting to finally return his hug but only for a moment before she shoves him away. Inconsistent as always. 

"Okay, okay that's enough. I can't take all this sweetness so early in the morning. Let's just eat. When did I ever say I belonged to you? Sex declarations don’t count.” 

He chuckles but accepts her offer, grinning more when she grumbles how he should feel special and she doesn't cook for just anyone.

He does feel special, having a woman like this is truly a blessing and as he devours her delicious food he knows that he will do everything in his power to stay by her side.

Anything it takes.

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

Obi-Wan Kenobi NSFW Alphabet

 A/N: Posted, unedited, and then I’m gonna nyooom to bed. I know these have been done before, and there are some really great ones out there! I just wanted to add my flair to the mix 

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

It’s been said before and I’ll say it again: Obi-Wan Kenobi is the absolute king of aftercare. His soothing, deep voice against your ear, hands gently helping you clean up, arms pulling you into his chest. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. It’s a practical, logical option among a question laced with the opportunity for pride, which isn’t becoming of a Jedi. He likes what noises they bring from you, how he gets to hold you with him. He likes them because what they can do to you.

On you, he loves your eyes. He’s absolutely captivated with you, and while he certainly enjoys many areas of your body, he adores how flashes of emotion will shine through when you’re too overwhelmed to speak.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Obi-Wan loves to mark you with it, especially on the soft, tender flesh of your inner thighs. He feels coming on your face is degrading to you, and if that’s something you’re into, it’s going to take a long conversation, maybe several for him to consider it. 

Now, I have to thank @maybege for this one, because this wasn’t a thought I can take credit for, but I agree that he has a bit of a breeding kink, which you can read about in detail here.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

He likes the borderline sacrilegious way he uses the Force on you. Maybe it’s because it doesn’t feel unhonoring to the Force. On the contrary, it’s times like these with you he feels singular to the Light in a way that isn’t replicated anywhere else, doing anything else. So the way he holds you down with it, touches what his busy hands can’t reach? The way he melds your minds into one, your thoughts bonding in imitation to your bodies?  

It’s against the Jedi code to be attached, but the longer he’s with you, the more he’s intimate with you, he begins to wonder if Love and Light aren’t sometimes one and the same.

(My trademark is beginning to be Smutty Premise but Make It Feelings, prime example above. I have too many feelings about this man. )

 E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

SO much debate regarding this one, and I could see it both ways. Maybe he’s adhered to the Jedi Code to the strictest degree. But if I’m real? That charming, flirtatious confidence about him? I don’t think that comes from a man who hasn’t had at least a few attachment-free lovers before. Regardless, with his ability to discern so well and quite literally read your mind if you consent to it, he knows how to get you right where you need to be.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He’s happy to mix it up, try new things, different angles, but his favorties are anything where 

He can see your face, press his lips to your mouth or neck

He can touch other parts of you: fist a hand in your hair, drag his knuckles down your stomach, play with the sensitive flesh of yours that longs for his attention

He can penetrate you as deeply as possible

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Just like in the rest of life, he’s more serious, but that dry wit is right under the surface, ready to bubble up when the moment is right. If you’re the one to be a little goofy? It depends on his mood. Sometimes, he’ll chuckle against you, fondness flooding his face. Other times, he’ll shoot you a stern look that shoots right below your stomach because. He’s not playing silly games tonight, but your body shivers in anticipation for the game he does want to play. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well kept, trimmed, darker than the coppery tresses on his head and face. He shyly, secretly loves it when you decide to kiss down the trail of it that starts below his navel.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s a romantic. One of the most authentic ones to ever grace the galaxy, kept tightly maintained under serenity and his reserved demeanor.  But when he has the outlet for it, when he’s with you behind closed doors, all the affection he can’t display in public is bottled up, just waiting to pull you into his arms and show you everything you’ve both missed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I don’t think he’s one to do it much. The man hardly gets enough sleep and I’m pretty sure Cody is the only reason he remembers to eat half the time, and doing things for himself is hardly his forte. Seldom he’s desperate enough for the sleep, and he’ll indulge just for the release. Or when the ache of missing you is heavy in the front of his mind.

But once. You asked him to. While you watched. 

Normally so put together, so in charge of himself, he flushed head to toe, but obliged you all the same, quirking an eyebrow in challenge.

Let’s just say you couldn’t help but add your hands and mouth shortly after.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Besides the slight breeding kink already discussed,

Praise Kink, both exuberantly giving and reluctantly receiving

Dom/Sub vibes, mostly for the trust element. While I agree that he has some serious switch! Energy, I think he leans heavily into being a Dom. (all under the condition of lots of conversation because: consent king!) Loves watching you squirm under his husky commands, adores the way you clench harder around him when he calls you “little one,” how you just become so open in countenance and body when he pins you against the wall or the bed, how startlingly fast you become aroused when he takes your chin between his fingers, forcing your gaze up to his.

Biting/marking. Possessiveness isn’t something he fosters nor appreciates, but when he gets to mark you, your skin carrying the discoloration of where his mouth loved you lavishly, something deep in him sparks. He felt awful, the first time he saw it, and you had to reassure him profusely that you wanted it, that you craved the proof of the love you two had to keep secret. And the scratches between his shoulders? The bites into his clavicle? Well, his body is littered in scars he couldn’t be more indifferent about, but those he will treasure

Overstimulation, see U for Unfair

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s a private man, so anywhere he knows you two won’t be interrupted. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. Sometimes it’s as simple as the way you laugh, and he somewhat hates how his body decides to take that innocent cue. Sometimes it’s the way your clothes fit, either tightly accentuating or loosely alluding to. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything you say no to. Again, Consent King, and he won’t ever cross a line. For him personally, he won’t ever do anything that will seriously hurt you, even if you’d ask. He just couldn’t ever lay a hand on you that way.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Preference is definitely giving, and you were monstrously unprepared for how amply his tongue and lips deliver pleasure.

After convincing him that, yes, I want to do that, and he lets you get your mouth on him, he’s a mess. This is where you get to grate against the unwavering wall of his self-discipline, urging out the sinful noises he makes, even as he cuts them short, even as his knuckles turn white in tight fists in their fight against the sea of sensation. He has to shut his eyes. Because when he opens them? When he sees your lips stretched around him, swallowing down what you can? He’s not going to withstand that for as long as he wants. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It again depends on his mood. Either. Both. But his unshakable patience is certainly best suited for slow and sensual. Deep thrusts. Thorough kisses. Languid movement of his hips.

Although. You will never forget the first time he bent you over the nearest surface and took you from behind.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If a quickie is all there’s time for, he’ll concede on it, but he certainly prefers when he gets to take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Depends on what. If it’s getting caught, he’s likely to not, since too much is at stake. He’s willing to hear you out, within reason, but he’s always the voice of reason, tending to not do anything seriously risky. Although for experimenting, he’s such an inquisitive man, loving to learn, that he’s willing to try new things as long as they’re at least somewhat grounded.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Um. Um. Jedi thrive on stamina and patience, and Obi-Wan’s chosen lightsaber form (which he’s been deemed the master of), is based on the principle of stamina and outlasting your opponent. So, take that for what it’s worth.

Hint: it’s worth a LOT. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Don’t imagine he’s much for toys, he prefers to imitate whatever sensation via the Force or with his body.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Heh.

TEASE. 

THE WORST OF THEM.

THAT SMIRK? IT HAS A REASON.

It’s the only thing he’ll do in public, touch you with a tendril of energy when he’s across the room. Plant an impression of a thought against your mind.

And when he has you to himself?

Overstimulation. Teasing you to the brink and back sometimes. Sometimes letting you fall over the edge again and again, your body trembling and aching, overwhelmed at his pointed, too-knowing attentions.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not loud, but he tries to muffle his moans when they slip, but he can’t always catch them, and he stops trying so hard when he learns how much you love his noises.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When he learns how much his voice impacts you, he’s  thinking of the next thing he can whisper to you the next time he gets you alone. It’s where his mind just lives any moment he has to spare.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Welp. I’m gonna try to be classy here.

Someone said somewhere on this website (I lost the post somewhere, please let me know if anyone finds it!) that he has the politest BDE ever, and that’s the funniest truest thing.

Maybe it’s the way he sits with his legs spread, maybe it’s the way he caries himself. 

(Or maybe it’s the way we know Ewan isn’t shy in his nude scenes for a reason)

But yeah.

I can’t imagine he’s anything except just factually acknowledging of it, but the way you react to it? Well, if he feels just a little prideful at that, no one needs to know that except him. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s pretty tied to you. He’s gone years without, but when he has you, it’s awakened a kind of hunger he feels barely equipped to handle.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends on the situation. Usually, your hours together tend to be limited, and he wants to savor it. But he also loves the feeling of resting, your body against his. The deep sleep he gets just being with you usually takes him hours of meditating to achieve. 

[ladywinterwitch]

On Va Voir

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Avenger! Reader

Summary: During a mission you unexpectedly find a new kink: Steve speaking french.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex (wrap it tf up), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, language kink (?), a bit of a dom fight between the reader and Steve, 18 + so if you’re under that age you shouldn’t be reading this. You’ve been warned.

Word Count: 3205 

A/n: Just rewatched for the 34868 time  the winter soldier and I’ve never noticed before HOW MUCH of a turn on is Steve speaking french. So yeah, enjoy a bit of smutty Rogers. Also, this is pretty much no plot and total filth.

                                                  (Gif not mine)

You were on a mission with Steve, Natasha, Sam and Bucky. You had been paired with Bucky, while Sam was with Nat and Steve was alone, although you were constantly in contact with your auricular. -We’re inside the ship, front. What’s your position?- Bucky says with a gun in each hand. You followed behind him, with two guns of your own. -We’re in the control room. Working on the informations.- Sam responds. -Steve?- Bucky tries.

-I’m on the roof. And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone. How long have you got?- he asks. -Like, ten minutes, at least. This computer’s older than both of you.- Natasha responds and you can feel the smirk on her voice. You press your lips tightly to not chuckle, Bucky notices and shakes his head.

-Ah, very funny Romanoff.- the blonde sasses back.

-She got you there, oldies.- Sam commented. Bucky grunted with a ‘shut up’. After a few moments you realize that there’s no one in your area, so you lower your guns.

-We should come to you, Steve. We got nothing to do here anyways.- you say, looking at your partner that was still, but didn’t completely put off his guard. -Don’t worry doll, I got it.- but then you hear a gun shot, and glare at Bucky with wide eyes. He looks at you and starts to run. -We’re coming, pal, hold on.- he speaks while running. You both get out to the open and then come up the stairs to the roof.

When you arrive, you see a couple of men already on the ground, and Steve facing another alone. They are one in front of the other and he’s talking. You don’t hear what he says, but you hear Steve response. He drops the shield at his side and then removes his helmet, his hair a little messy. He has the slightest smirk on his face while he speaks. -On va voir.- you hear from the speaker. 'Lets see’. And in that moment something in your stomach shifts. You can’t really place what or why, but you just know that you feel a little too hot in your leather catsuit all of a sudden.

The two start to fight, but it doesn’t take long for the avenger to take him down. You glance at Bucky, who’s just leaning againts the door, with his arms crossed, guns slipped into the belt at his sides. A little knowing smirk playing on his lips. -Jerk.- he says amused. You turn around and see Steve that kicks his shield, making it jump back to his wrist. -Okay guys we have everything. We’ll meet at the quinjet.- Sam says. You clear your throat and look away. -Copy that.- you croak. - You all go back to the avengers tower safely and Tony decides to throw a party. Why? Cause he’s Tony. He didn’t really need a valid reason. So here you were, the day after, finding yourself in front of your full lenght mirror, in your matching blue lacy lingerie, fixing your wavy loose hair and your red lipstick. Normally at this time, especially after a mission, you would’ve all been lazy somewhere, but obviously your teammate couldn’t wait one more day to give you a wild night. Missions usually had as a consequence jet lag, a few bruises to heal, business to take care of and stuff to analyze, so it wasn’t exactly the perfect timing, but fortunately you were able to sleep like a baby the night prior. A particualr help came, indirectly, from Steve which helped your love-me session to end quickly and kick you out to sleep.

You should’ve felt ashamed for that, but honestly you were pretty sure you were not the only one in the world to get off at the thought of the broad and handsome Captain America. The only small detail was that you were his teammate and friend. You had a huge crush on him, but you feel more like a friend vibe from him and that’s okay. It sure avoids problems at work.

You couldn’t stop thinking about that phrase that Steve said in french the day before. It turned you on to no end. You didn’t know why, but the way he said it, with that smugness, his hair all messy and shit. It was just so sexy to you. In any case, the crush was your dirty little secret. Well, not exactly, considering that both Bucky and Natasha had figured out by themselves and Wanda just happened to be reading your mind in the wrong moment. But you trusted them, even if them teasing you about it whenever they had the occasion was beyond embarassing.

You slid into your tight, red bodycon . It was plain, above the knee and had a low cut sweetheart neckline. It was strapless and it hugged your body perfectly. It wasn’t much in your style, but you felt bold that night, also you may or may not wanted to find someone to get laid.

You gave yourself one last look before going down with the elevator. Your black heels were already starting to bother you. You weren’t really a type for parties, but you did it just for the team. And a good drink, yeah. You arrived at the floor and when you stepped out you saw that there were a lot of people, but it wasn’t Tony’s worst. You looked around and saw Sam, Rhodie, Clint and Natasha at the bar, Wanda, Vision, Thor and Maria at the couches, Tony and Pepper talking with a couple of people, and then in a corner near the big window wall, Steve and Bucky.

They were both handsome. Bucky was wearing a grey shirt and Steve a deep blue one. They both had the first few buttons undone and were holding a beer and laughing. The blonde turned his head and saw you. His smile dropped and his gaze wandered on your body, from head to toe. You looked away, kinda embarrassed that you had been caught looking, but a few moments later the two man came to you.

-Y/n! You look great.- Bucky greeted you with a hug. You laughed and hugged him back. -Doesn’t she, Stevie?- he said in a slyly. The captain didn’t took his gaze away from you. -She always does.- he responds with a low tone that made you heat up. -Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.- you motioned at the two in front of you.

-Hey doll, care for a drink? We could go to the bar and -the brunette started, but Steve stepped closer. -Sam wants to talk to you, I’ll accompany her.- he says with a small smile. You smiled back and Bucky frowned. -Since when that bird man wants to breathe my same air?- Steve shoot at him a glare and he raised his eyebrows.

-Ooh, yeah, about the.. Uhm.. The mission…- he tries to save himself. Steve relaxes and Bucky starts to walk away. -Alright, catch up with you guys later.- he gives you a thumbs up. Steve looks at you and offers his arm. -Shall we get that drink?- he smirks making you melt. You smile widely and take his offer. -We very much shall.-

-

You soon were joined by the rest of the group and were having fun at the bar. You noticed that Steve never took his gaze off you, but you weren’t certain, considering the amount of alcohol that you ingested. You felt a little claustrophobic at one point so you excused yourself getting up. -Want me to come with you?- Nat asked. You shook your head. -I’m fine babe, just need a little air.- you walked between the people reaching the big balcony.

You went closer to the glass barrier and propped your elbows on the edge, looking at New York City by night. You closed your eyes, breathing deep. -Did you really drank that much?- you open your eyes suddenly, turning back to the voice. Steve was just a few feet away, hands in his pants’ pockets. He was looking at you with a little smile. You mirrored his expression, turning back to the view. The glass door was closed and you were alone.

-Not really. I’m just a little dizzy, and I needed some fresh air, that’s all.- you responded. There were some moments of silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable though. You felt him getting closeer to you, almost too close. So close that you could feel his breath on your neck. -You look so beautiful tonight..- he whispered raising one hand and resting it on your hip. Your breath hitched.

-Maybe it’s the alcohol, even though we both know I can’t really get drunk, or maybe its the way Bucky flirted before, or the way you looked so flustered yesterday on the mission..- he started to caress your waist gently. You were slowly melting under his touch, his hand so warm in stark contrast with the chilly air. You had goosbumps. -But I just can’t ignore how I feel anymore.- he turned you to face him slowly. You locked eyes. -I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my life, and I think that you want me, too.- he paused. You didn’t know what to say. You were completely taken aback by his confession.

-But if I’m wrong, I’m gonna step back right now and I’m gonna stay away.- he continued, with a little of uncertainty. You widened your eyes, laying your hand on his chest. -No- you said quickly. -I do. I want you. God, I want you so bad.- in that moment he grabbed your cheeks with his hands and started to kiss you. It was hungry, fast and messy. You almost didn’t even realize that he placed you against the wall, away from the view of the people. You grabbed his hair with one hand and his shirt in the other.

-I wanna fuck you right now, I don’t care if everyone sees, the team, the other people.- he said kissing your neck. -Steve.. Please- you moaned. He looked at you with the best bedroom eyes he could give. -Please what, baby?- he cooed.

-I need you, please. Let’s.. Let’s go to the bedroom, please I can’t take it anymore- he nodded and you quickly went inside, careful to not be seen by the team you reached the elevator and pressed to your private floor.

You had to keep your cool because you weren’t alone, but when you arrived you ran like teenagers, giggling towards his room. He opened the door and then slammed it shut. You pushed him on the bed and he let himself fall, resting on his elbows while he watches you like you were his prey. What he didn’t know was that joke’s on him.

You stood right in front of him, a smirk playing on your lips, an equally predatory gaze in your eyes. You reached to your side, unzipping the red dress slowly, letting it pool around your heels. You stepped out of the dress, bending to pick it up and in the meantime giving Steve a perfect view of your ass. -Fuck baby girl, blue is definitely your color.- he groaned. You chuckled straddling his lap. His warm hands were on your body in no time, pulling you flush against him kissing you. It wasn’t sweet, at all. It was full of passion, all teeth and tongue and soft bites.

At some point he reached behind your back to unclasp your blue lacy bra, then tossing the garment in some part of the room. He didn’t lose time and quickly attacked one of your breasts with his mouth, while he touched the other with his hand.

-Eager, captain?- you let out a noise that was a mixture between a moan and a laugh. He released your nipple from his mouth locking eyes.

-Excuse me if I can’t resist my urge to worship the goddess in front, oh well actually, on me.- he said smugly making you laugh. You gave him a push on the chest to make him lay down.

-Sweet talker.- you tease him, trailing his neck and jawline with wet kisses. He chuckles a little, his hands travelling on your sides, back and ass.

-What? You think I’m just, saying it? It’s true, y/n. You are stunning.- he says sincerly, making you look at him for a second. You smile and place a sweet kiss on his lips.

-Well, thank you.- you respond and you’re caught off guard when he grabs you by the hips and flips your position, so now he was hovering you. You gasped for the surprise.

-And now I’m gonna show exactly how much I want you.- he smirked and started to pepper your belly and hip bones with open mouthed kisses, and at the same time he slipped off your panties, letting them fall on the ground. And now you were stark naked and totally at his mercy. You moaned and with all the strenght you could find you stopped him. He gave you a confused look.

-First, I think you’re not playing fairly there, captain. Then, I’m gonna tell you exactly what I want. Strip.- you order and he licks his lips, his cerulean, and now glassy, eyes were eating you up. He got up, standing on his knees, and started to unbutton his blue shirt, while you took care of his belt and zip. He took off his pants and boxers in one move.

-Happy now?- he asked amused, resuming his work with his mouth, this time he started from your ankle, going up as he went. You peeked at his hard lenght, tip already glistening with precum and angry red.

-Can say so.- you murmured, laying on your back and enjoying the show of Steve between your legs. Your breath started to hitch when he got closer to your center, but as the teasing bastard that he his, he stopped.

-C'mon Steve, baby, I need you.- you say, throwing out of the window yor dignity. -What do you need? Tell me sweetheart.- he murmurs against your thigh, looking at you. -I’d quite like you to speak French between my legs, captain.- you smirk, biting your lip. His expression was priceless.

-Fuck yes- he groaned spreading your legsmore in front of him. He then smiled mischievously. -Alors c'est ce qui vous a tous énervé hier, uh?- So that’s what got you all flustered yesterday, uh?, his tone was a mixture of teasing and realization. He licked a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit anthat made you almost scream, instead you opted for grabbing his blonde hair with one hand and the snow-white like sheets.

-Can’t really blame me. With your cute messy hair, showing off like that..- you responded mewling, your eyes closed and your head leaned back. He chucked sending vibrations trough your whole body. You clenched instinctively. -Yeah, 'cause I’m good at what I do doesn’t mean that I was showing off, chéri.- a particularly harsh suck on your bundle of nerves got your back arching off the bed and moaning loudly -Steve- 

-Tu aimes ça, chérie?- You like that baby? you moaned when you heard him speak French again.

-Yes, God, Steve right there- you answer struggling to not grind onto his face. He adds two fingers and that knocks the air out of your lungs.

-Tu es si doux. Si mouillé, est-ce tout pour moi, chérie? Mmh cette jolie petite chatte, tout à moi pour jouer- You’re so sweet. So wet, is it all for me baby? This pretty little pussy, all mine to play with. He kept talking in between licks and open mouthed kisses on your clit, his long and thick fingers pumping directrly on your sweet spot.

-Fuck. I..I can’t take it anymore, please..- you pulled his hair slightly and he growled, the vibrations went straight to your core and you felt the coil in your belly tighten. You started to gasp. -You’re close aren’t you? Come on baby, I’ve got you, let go honey- he hummed, back to english, speeding up a little his fingers. With that you came. Hard. You screamed his name arching your back of the bed, the sheets out of place because of your pulling.

He rode you thorough your orgasm, and when he felt you calm down a bit he extracted his fingers, licking them clean. You could’ve cum again just by watching him. But instead, you rose up and pulled him to you, kissing him. You hummed when you felt your taste on his tongue. Your hand reached out to stroke his cock, now even harder than before. He choked out a moan on your mouth. -Baby girl I need to be inside you- you nodded and he replaced your hand with his, stroking his cock a few times, he lined himself with your entrance and entered you with a sharp thrust that took both your breaths away.

-Fuck y/n, baby, you feel so good around me- he hid his face in your neck and you circled his shoulders with your arms. -Please move- you gasped and he complied, starting to move faster. After a while he took your leg putting it on his hip, reaching a deeper spot inside you.

-Oh, Fuck. Yeah, right..ah, right there baby.-you gasped, your nails scratching his strong shoulders. You started to feel his breath getting erratic.

-So beautiful- he murmured in your ear and you felt yourself melt a bit more. -Baby ’m gonna come, I’m so close. Are you with me?- you said kissing him on the lips, the cheek, the jaw.

-Right behind you, love.- the pet name made your heart flutter, but you soon forgot about it when he stated to pick up pace again, then adding his fingers on your clit, and that was it. You orgasmed for the second time that night and he followed a few thrusts later with a loud moan and your name spilling from his plump lips. He ride out both of your releases and then planted his forehead against yours.

-It’s okay, baby.- you murmured scratching the nape of his neck lightly, while he calmed his breath, making him hum approvingly. You looked at his parted lips and closed eyes, his blissed out expression making you smile. A few seconds later he opened his blue pools, smiling back quite shyly. -Hi.- you said softly. -Hi sweetheart.- he responded fondly, caressing your cheek. You stayed there for a while.

Then he got up and cleaned you both with a warm and damp wash cloth, bringing it back to the bathroom then he came back to bed with you. -I don’t really wanna deal with the team tomorrow.- you said with your head on his chest. Your fingers tracing imaginary patterns on his torso, him petting your hair delicately. -Me neither. But even if we don’t say anything they’re gonna find out anyway. We kind of disappeared and never came back.- he chuckled and you laughed with him. -Let’s just enjoy this, for now.- you responded. -Yeah. Everything else can wait.- he kissed your head.

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated ;)

[shortyisweird9]

'Lonely ghost serie'

"Babysitting is hard when you ,yourself, are a gremlin, baby"-part V

Tw⚠️: swearing, angsty vibes ( I think)

Your body moved in distress, turning the sheets all over as you left out a gasp of terror, your face clenching in pain. You have a nightmare, a usual occurrence that happens when you are stressed. Having such a big imagination, your dreams/ nightmares came vividly, with excruciating details. You could see them in colour however the images were blurry, hazy almost.

This nightmare was about Fatima, the sketch artist from up top. She was a senior here and usually the person in this block turned for guidance, relief and peace. She was from the South part of Sudan, fact that she lets it known by her traditional style fashion, her food and her drinks and the occasionally loud conversations she has with her folks back home. A peaceful artist with beautiful brown skin with yellow undertones, an oval face with a big smile plastered on it and shinning black orbs. An angel in disguise that you often seek when the world proved too much for you. Fatima never really showed her own worries and fears but you were one of the privileged few who did see her at her lowest, an experience that motivated you , scared you and hurt you. The amount of times your heart clenched those times matched with how many tears left her orbs.

You were ejected vertically on your bottom as your mouth left a silent scream, tears dropping from your eyes but you didn't have time to think it over since loud noises came from upstairs,Fatima's room. In your paranoid state you didn't question the musicality of the sounds ,chosing to ran out the door ,slapping it shut and jumping two steps each time till you reached her door.

Fatima was enjoying her second favourite types of music, Afro-Latina songs when a storms of pounds hit her door. Confused and terrified, she grabbed the nearby mop before she opened the door. It was just you.

You stood there in black shorts made from former leggings to long for your short legs, white ripped shirt stained with old paint from when you helped her renovate and messy long hair and tear filled puffy eyes.

"Y/n! My girl ,what happened?"

There she was, with a long white fit dress that ended in a curve at the start of her feet and silver grey hijab wrapped around her head. She look energised despite being 5 in the mornina Most importantly she was Most importantly, she was safe, unharmed and happy.

Your noise picked up the aroma of her handmade mix of tea that filled the textile of her dressing where now your head rest as your body convulse in a breakdown again. Shocked and confused, she wasn't stopped however from showing you the comfort your soul may need.

She caressed your long hair and rubbed your back as you two sat on the white tiles of the entrance. The door long close by her other roommate, Catherine Blank - a 26 years old from Dublin.

On Fatima's commends, the red haired freckled woman brought you a knitted blanket and a cup of water. Her hands found their way on your cheeks when you finally calmed down,rubbing them on your wet skin as you drank the water. Your eyes fell down in shame for disturbing them.

You didn't know why it happened. Just two hours ago you finished talking with Corpse and went over your notes one last time.

You seemed fine, too busy for any bad thoughts to bug you or anything such as. Yet here you are.

"Jesus ,girl. You scared us." Came the heavy accent voice of Catherine.

You looked at her standing in black leggings and a black top, skinny hands on round hips and a scowl of worry on her square face. Green eyes softening when they met yours.

"I..um..."

"You don't have to tell us right now, sweet girl. Come, let's enjoy each other with some select songs."

You all three burst in laughter at the ridiculous pompous tonality Fatima chose to express herself with.

You followed, grasping the extended hand of Catherine as Fatima rearrange the blanket around your tattoos covered body.

————————————————————

It was morning when you finally return back into your apartment. The door closed itself with a heavy thud that resonated within the insides of your shaky lungs. You calmed down significantly since that explosive outburst of fears and terrors.

You cleaned your eyes as the light of the morning painted you in a sick look: eyes blood shot, red nose, puffy face and pale skin. You looked like you died and came back alive, well maybe a fragment of your sanity died tonight who knows? Your shredded sigh echoed in the empty apartment ,the others already gone to work/university. Essentially you were alone. Again.

You cleaned your eyes as the light of the morning painted you in a sick look: eyes blood shot, red nose, puffy face and pale skin.

You looked like you died and came back alive, well maybe a fragment of your sanity died tonight who knows? Your shredded sigh echoed in the empty apartment ,the others already gone to work/university. Essentially you were alone. Again.

Your soul long desired the touch of another: to be grasp tightly and lovely by their hands, to be enveloped in their smell as they whisper sweet nothings into your ears, to have their warmth dry your tears, to bring comfort to your pain. You resigned years ago that you were never meant to experience this sessions, merely observed them. But your heart craved them and craving it did, as you watched in fake disgust the romantic displays in Ace's romances.

Right now, after crying your eyes out, your burns needed that comfort, needed that care and love but again you were denied of them, you can only thank yourself for that.

The cup was slapped in foolish fury as you tossed some hot water in it. The tea bag falling towards the end of the cup.

Three knocks were heard at the door and you curiously turned, cup left forgotten.

Opening the door, Omar was standing there with a little albino boy with clear big blue eyes and curly locks. He was wearing a red blue and white checkered shirt with beige church pants. He smelled nice ,his cologne hitting your your long narrow nose immediately after opening the door.

You raised a brow as he sheepishly smiled.

"Nice kid."

"Thanks."

Then silence.

You continued drinking your tea,staring at the man who finally realised that you didn't know the motive of his visit.

"Alma didn't tell you?"

"What?"

"She said you agreed to watch over Tj today."

Wait.

Your panicked grew was your eyes turned to the calendar to the right of you. There in bold yellow numbers the day of 5th November was left clear with the exception of being circled over with a gold marker.

"Shit ,it was today? I mean ...fuck. Sorry, Omar. It totally slip my mind."

The man laughed ,his brown eyes were warm and forgiving, no offense taken by your skip of mind.

"It's fine,Y/n. So it's alright if I leave this little guy with you for a bit?"

"Y-Yeah. But I don't have-"

As Omar entered the hallway, a grey bag you previously not seen was by the door , you picked it up before going to the living room.

He sat the kid dressed in a sailor white and navy blue stripped t-shirt and light grey sweatpants on one of the sit of your 1970s floral printed sectional sofa.

The kid was making sounds and hand gestures ,wanting to be picked up again by his father who was busy speaking with the 159cm tall woman.

"Tj here is a big of a love bug, get him to like you and you can't go anywhere anymore. Just like his mother I suppose. "

"Does he have any..um..food preference I should know about?"

"Um...Wait, Alma left you a notebook, ah well not you but me. Here ,it should have anything you will need. Again,thank you so much for doing this Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it." You said ,flipped the pages of the hard back notebook. Luckily Alma had a neat writing.

"Well, I need to go now. Be nice, little guy. "

Omar bent down to kiss his son's forehead, a sign of goodbye. The child stared at his father with a confuse look as he bubbled nonsense. His tiny hand reaching for the leaving figure.

Omar left soon after ,waving bye-bye to his son and almost kissing your forehead as a habit he picked up since he got together with Alma, their form of goodbye.

You stood there, staring at each other as the kid started to laugh and throw his toy at you. You caught it, he will throw it again and so forth.

You were tired however and knew the boy with too much energy will not be easily manipulated into sleeping. Opening the TV to the kid's cartoon channel , you settled on the opposite couch ,eyes falling victim to tiredness.

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

You must have been asleep 2 hours and so begore the loud crys woke you up.

Crys? Shittt! The kid.

Shooting out of your crouched position, you ignore the stirring pain of your sudden movement. Your legs' thud brought the attention of the crying mop of hair.

A wrenches smell filled your nostrils as your dread grew when you realised where its source came from. Looks like it's time to change a diaper. Oh ,man!

With a mask over your nose, hair tied behind your back and gloves you started changing the boy in the bathroom, you cleaned and washed him and brought him back on the layed blanket on the couch. Your disgust grew as you cleaned the sink and disinfect it.

You groaned as you threw your equipment in the bin, a bing didn't let your stomach cringe at the memory of the smell. It was a message from Corpse.

'Hey :)'

You smiled, quickly texting him back.

'Hey!"

'Up to play something today?'

'A new stream? You just finished one tomorrow, I don't want you to burn yourself out.'

'<3 But no, I mean to play together in private, just the two of us.'

You wanted to text him back, teasing him with the proposition of a date but the sounds of broking glass was heard from the living room.

With a scream , you quickly typed out :' Cant baby in troble.!'

The kid was fine thankfully , grinning and laughing at your panicked state. What was not fine was the white porcelain vase with blue florals Sabrina brought for her collection. She wouldn't be mad per say but she wouldn't be happy either.

The kid ,now standing to ran around the room ,using the coffee table to his advantage, your legs screaming from the workout. Luckily the broken vase was behind you away from the child.

Unfortunately, your phone started to ring. Who the fuck would call me now? Oh! It's Corpse. Wait..Corpse!

"H-hey Corpse ! What are you - come here you little block of swiss cheese."

The man laughed as the phone's speaker vibrated on your right ear where you lodged it.

Tj laughed innocently as you grabbed him and hold him to your left hip. Your hair,nerves and mood all a mess.

"A-Are you okay?" Corpse asked after recovering from the fit of laughter.

"Me? Oh ,sure. I have a gremlin here who's more trouble than his worth. Hey! Stop that!"

The happy face of Tj turned in a cringy crying one as he wailed. Apparently you wanting to stop him chewing on your white banda, tightly nicely on the top of your head ,was too much.

"Sounds like trouble. By the way, you called me?"

"I did?"

Your eyebrows clenched as you look at your calls history,you did actually. The icon of the call must have been press on accident or that it was a sign from the universe that you are in dire need of assistance.

"Y-yeah. Look, Corpse l-I gotta go. I will call you-"

And you stopped, your breath becoming more fast as your nose flared.

"Um ghost? Are you...Are you there?"

"Stay on the line,Corpse. This kid just pissed on me."

With that another wave of laughter hit the man as he thrown himself into the chair.

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

Finally, you changed the damn brat after cleaning him again and taking a shower yourself. You left a breath as you watched the chil playing with his blue rocket toy.

"Babysitting is much harder than the films makes it out to be." You grumbled, pouting as you listened to Corpse's chuckles.

They managed to calm you enough to turn the intimidating glare you had plastered all over your face into a more stern one.

Your body dressed in a clean pair of white jeans short, black tank top and blue checkered shirt over, leaned on the frame of the door. You were waiting for the milk to heat up, luckily the boy was only a month away from being an year old so you could give him cow milk without worrying.

"Babysitting is hard when you ,yourself, are a gremlin, baby." He said ,his voice making you visibly tingle.

You sighed, placing the phone near the wooden bread box and grabbing a cup. By now the milk should have warmed up.

"Um...goofball?"

"Yes,Corpse?"

"You...you are not wearing your voice changer. I..I am sorry, I should have told you from the start but I like the s-sound of it ,I didn't want it to stop."

You could hear the beads of his bracelets as he played with them, nervously waiting for your response.

"I-It's okay, Corpse. You don't need to be sorry."

You swallowed, this day really came for your neck. Your eyes stung as you fight them off, no reason to make Corpse's day shittier by being pathetic.

"You are not fine ,are you goofball?"

The kind and worried tone of this wonderful individual you became to take a liking of was enough to cause everything in you to break loose.

"N-No ,it's not. Everything been so fucking stressful and I-I don't know what to do Corpse. I try my might to fight these thoughts but everytime they resurface stronger and more disturbing. I can't keep them in control, Corpse. I just CAN'T. A-And I keep worrying about losing all: my friends, my belongings and my family. I feel like I will drive them away especially if I can't bring my share to the table. I don't even know why I tell you these to be honest, I don't want to scare you away but in the same time I ... FUCK!"

Your fists hit the table you been resting on hard , scaring the child in the living room. His cries only angered you more.

"Ghost. Ghost! Ghost! Gho-"

"WHAT?"

You instantly regretted shouting at him,stopping from your pacing too.

"Calm down,buttercup. I know how you feel and going down a warpath or an abyss of sorrows ain't the answer. Come, let me help. "

"You still want to?" Your voice came out timidly and shying away in fear, shielding your eyes in shame despite him having no possible way of seeing your face.

"Of course, you goof. Now let's see what we do with that kid."

You swiped a tear out of your right eyes ,smiling and nodding before remembering he couldn't see, just hear you. That made you more anxious now that you realised that he knows a close guarded information.

————————————————————

A smile ran down your face as you watched the child all wrapped up in his dark blue blanket struggle to jeep his bright eyes opened as his ears and energy were captured by Corpse's singing. It's was a lullaby about moon and love, being in Spanish you only understood unfortunately the words close to your mother language.

You almost lost yourself to the gentle hums , stringing of a guitar and over all wholesome cozy atmosphere when loud voices and thumbs came from the apartment near Fatima's.

An idiot called Tudor who plays the bass part in Sergiu's band lived there, he and his boyfriend Micah. Two assholes who had a bone to pick with everyone, well more like Tudor had ,Micah was a follower.

The sense of protection enveloped you as you caressed the child's hair and kiss his right temple, letting him with Corpse to fall asleep.

Your grey flippers cracked against the stone stairs harshly and quickly. Your glare being as cold as the staircase room.

You knocked furiously on the door, hurting your hands by the metal indentations carved into the door. Your ears picked up footsteps approaching the door in a lazy manner, the two making jokes about what kind of bitch could be bothering them.

The smirk on his long face vanished when his pale blue eyes meet your fiery dark ones. He puffed a lock of dirty blond hair , saluting you in a cocky but intimidated manner :

"I wonder why the Red Riding Hood is paying us a visit? What do you think ,Micah?"

He leaned back to let his dark skinned boyfriend take a look at you. His eyes showed fear but he continued the masquerade in order to please his scumbag of a lover.

"I don't know, babe. Maybe she wants a threesome."

Tudor laughed like then pig he is, Micah lipped an apology to you, his black gems cowering in shame.

Micah wasn't a bad man , he was just naive and a people's pleaser, with no sense of stern morals but even awareness to know he is the wrong. You never understood why he wasted his breath by staying at the side of this buffoon of a dude. You ignored his half-cocked insults, knowing they didn't really had a backbone to them.

"I will appreciate if you could tone it down a little. No one needs to know you two are making a sex tape."

This seemed to anger the taller white as mayonnaise man who dismissed his boyfriend with a wave of his painted hand and moved forward to you. The red door of his apartment shutting up with an echo.

You two glared at each other, not one of the other backing down. Your breath was forcefully calmed down by your anger , last thing you needed is for him to know he was affecting you by coming too close. Your hands shook in their tight grip and you were pleased you cut your nails earlier.

"Just because Sergiu lets you come with us when we play, doesn't mean you and I are friends. Got it, girly?"

His rough tone only displeased you.

"And just because you can string two cords and not sound like a dying cat doesn't mean you are a great singer either, buddy."

"Fuck you." He said that to you in a clasped breath, his teeth biting on his lower lip as his face appeared more furious.

If this motherfucker puts his hands on me ,I swear I will...

"Y/N? Y/N!"

It was Sergiu.

The man in a punk style leather jacket ran quickly up the stairs, his armored black boots clicking away.

His face was twisted into a fearing expression before turning into a more pissed off one. He knew of Tudor's dislike towards you and knew that the both of you won't hold back if this turns physical. He needed to be smart about this.

"Man, come on. Leave her alone."

He moved to come between you ,Tudor's movement of hand stopped him.

"Nah,man. This bitch thinks she come here like she owns the fucking place and tell me what to do? I am sorry, princess, but you got another thing going. "

"TUDOR ISAAC POPESCU!"

A female voice caused his blood to ran cold and you to smirk.

Behind Sergiu, a petite woman in her mid fifties glared at him. Her greying hair caught in a bun,her olive wrinkled face was in a madden frown as her blue eyes shield by fuchsia framed glasses stared at him. The madame in green suit pants and white and black blouse was his mother.

His mother, a teacher at your University, was a lioness of a woman, never detour from the right path of doing things and more importantly never afraid to tear down anyone if they being dickish. Not even her loved son.

Sergiu grabbed gently you without a word as you two left the mother and son quarrel in peace, a part of you already starting to feel bad. You hate when you argued with someone but your anger sometimes got the better of you. Today truly has been an exhausting day.

————————————————————

You are in your room,Corpse still on the phone with you. You already explained what happened and know you enjoyed just talking with him about everything and nothing at the same time,trying to not fall asleep for how calming his voice was.

"You sure you don't want me to end the call. You must be tired from all the noises. "

You stirred, cleaning the droll of your left wnd of your lips. Your head ache as you saw that night has befallen.

"Wh-What?"

"Goofball,I was talking if you wanted me to let you rest but you already beat me to it."

"T-Tj?"

"Your friends said they will take care of them. They were so surprised to find me singing to him, though."

"Ah,shit. Sorry Corpse."

"Nothing to be sorry about, pumpkin. "

"Pumpkin, seriously?" You asked ,snuggling back into the comforter.

"Yeah, why not? The fall season is still up for a month or so."

"Hmm, I prefer goofball better."

"If you say so, princess. You *yawn* you sure you don't want me to let you sleep?"

A panick arised into your soul as you quickly told him no.

"P-Please stay."

"A-Alright."

He began to continue the story one of his subscribers send him as your eyes shut. A smile on your lips at last.

————————————————————

Hey,guys!💖

Hope you enjoyed the fifth part of the serie. It was a roller coaster to write.

Anyway, stay safe!💗

Tagged💖:@moolujk @magenta-skyline @yikesyikesyikes95 @simonsbluee @cherry-piee @yoyoanaria @gaysludge @mythicalamphitrite

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 13

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, and learns to be a person. And, amid all of that, confronts his past by helping others like him.

Content warnings: traumatised child, starvation (referenced), very brief hint of lifespan angst

Chapter summary: Caleb is good with kids. Clerics are good with Calebs.

Chapter notes: Chapter title is from An Act of Kindness by Bastille. Pardon the comma splice; it gave me a better vibe than anything else.

***

Chapter 13: Kindness is what you showed to me, it holds me 'til I ache

Much later, Caleb tucked Luc into bed. The boy had been dozing for some time now, and Caleb himself was exhausted. He and Essek retreated to the spare bedroom. The room wasn’t large, and therefore the bed took up most of the space, but it wasn’t the most cramped quarters the two of them had shared. It was warm, lived-in, and belonged to one of Caleb’s dearest friends in the world.

Caleb flung off his coat, tossing it onto the chair crammed in the corner of the bedroom. Essek hovered closer, deftly plucking the buttons of Caleb’s shirt until it opened. Essek kissed Caleb’s collarbone, and slid the shirt down his arms, tossing it onto the coat.

“Did I make you uncomfortable earlier?” Essek asked, slowly running his fingers across the reddish-brown hair on Caleb’s chest.

“No. I was surprised, is all.” And very tired, but he knew Essek was aware of that.

Essek kissed Caleb’s sternum, just below the meeting of his collar bones. “We can discuss this another time. I just want you to know I am not trying to… discard you.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

They undressed. If they had been alone, they probably would have just collapsed naked on the bed, but there was a child in the house who had no boundaries, so they drew on the last dregs of their energy to pull on nightshirts and climb under the covers.

Essek wanted to be the big spoon tonight, and Caleb indulged him. It was adorable, really, given Essek was significantly smaller than him and wound up looking like a humanoid backpack. But the soft, warm pressure of Essek’s body was soothing as always, and Caleb drifted asleep.

For a while.

Then, there was a soft tapping on the door. And then the hinges creaked. Essek was already sitting up, so Caleb lay there a moment longer.

“Luc,” said Essek. “Are you all right?”

The boy didn’t speak, but he did sniffle. Caleb dragged his pants off the chair and stepped into them. Then, even in the dark, he found Luc’s small form and knelt before him.

“What happened, liebling?”

In the light from the moon, and the permanent driftglobe in the hallway Caleb had Pumat make for the Brenattos as a housewarming gift, he could see Luc swipe tears from his cheeks. Then he held up his arms in the universal signal for carry me.

Caleb scooped Luc into his arms and stood, settling the boy’s weight on his hip. Luc buried his face in Caleb’s shirt.

“Is there anything I can do?” Essek asked, halfway out of bed.

“Nein. I’ll step into the hallway. You rest.”

Essek huffed at him, but climbed back into bed. Caleb took Luc into the hallway and shut the bedroom door. Out here, it was easier to see the tension through Luc’s tiny body. He had Caleb’s shirt tightly gripped in his fists.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Caleb asked softly. Luc nodded. “All right. Would you like to talk about it?” Luc shook his head. “All right. I will hang onto you for a while, until you can sleep again. Does that sound good?” Luc nodded.

Caleb normally tried not to dwell too much on the memories of his childhood in Blumenthal, especially when he was out of sorts, but he could recall a conversation his mother had with a woman who had asked her advice on putting her newborn to sleep. He could hear his mother’s voice, sweet and gentle towards the woman who was on the verge of exhausted tears. Una had told her to hold the baby and walk up and down the house, slowly, until he fell asleep. It was not a sure thing, but it could help.

So Caleb slowly paced up and down the hallway, rubbing Luc’s back. He swayed a little as he walked, like his mother had once done for him. Even when he was just old enough to remember. Just a little younger than Luc was now, as Caleb had started to remember things very young. Not with the same clarity as he did as an adult, but more than most children at that age.

After some time of wearing a path into the wooden floor, Luc’s grip on his shirt loosened a little. The boy settled into Caleb’s arms more comfortably.

“Uncle Caleb?” His voice was still thick with years.

“Ja, liebling?”

“Can you tell me the story of the cat prince again?”

“Ja, of course.” Caleb had the story memorised in Zemnian and Common by now. For a long time, he had only known it in Zemnian because of the nights his mother and father had read it to him, over and over. Since reading it to Jester, however, he could tell it in Common almost as well. And he had told it to Luc several times before.

He continued to slowly pace as he told the tale, quietly into Luc’s ear. Luc relaxed by inches. Yeza poked his head out of his bedroom door and watched quietly. They barely made it through the reveal of the cat in his crown of golden leaves, before Luc had relaxed fully, asleep against Caleb’s chest.

Yeza, who had been tense himself, also relaxed. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Caleb smiled at him, not daring to speak lest he wake Luc. He slowly carried the boy to bed, tucking him in with a kiss on the forehead he decided to give at the last second. He crept out, closing the door. He and Yeza leaned their ears against the wood, listening for a moment. When it seemed that Luc was properly asleep, they stepped away.

“He’s been like this a lot,” Yeza whispered. “At first, when we were in the hideout, I thought he was gonna be okay. And he was for a while, until we came back home. Veth’s been good with him, but it’s wearing on her. On both of us.”

“These things often don’t hit right away,” Caleb replied quietly.

“Yeah, Veth said that, too.” Yeza sighed. “You’re good with him. Where’d you learn that?”

Caleb shrugged. “My mother, and I remember the things Veth has done to help me. I am not a little boy, but the principles are similar.”

“We need to have you over more often.” The exhaustion was all too evident in Yeza’s voice. “Your students will be lucky to have you.”

Caleb managed a smile through his own exhaustion, and that personal brand of self-loathing that rarely went away. “We will see. Gute nacht, Yeza.”

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

They separated. Caleb went back to the guest room, where Essek was sitting cross-legged on the bed in his trance. As soon as Caleb slipped under the covers, Essek shifted.

“Is everything all right?”

“Ja, Luc’s asleep.” Caleb buried his face in the pillow with a sigh.

“You are good with children. Have you ever considered…” Essek laughed softly. “Hm. I feel that is a loaded question, given our relationship.”

Caleb put the meaning together. “Ja, I don’t know. I used to see myself raising a family when I was younger, but… things got complicated. Maybe in time. For now, let’s see how I go as a teacher.”

Essek hummed softly, and did not continue the discussion. This required both of them to be more energised. Given the difference in their lifespans, and the fact Essek was a wanted criminal and Caleb a likely target for members of the Assembly looking to cover their tracks, it would not be an easy decision. It could wait. It needed to.

Caleb reached out blindly until he found Essek’s knee. “Cuddle me.”

Essek chuckled. “All right.” He lay down, manhandling Caleb until they were both in a more comfortable position, Essek’s head tucked under Caleb’s chin.

***

The morning was warm and bright, and Essek was soft in Caleb’s arms. Back home, Caleb would have held Essek close, slowly rubbing the heat of Essek’s back through his shirt until they were both too distracted to make it to breakfast. Here, however, he had to make do with several deep, promising kisses. And Essek grazing his collarbone with his teeth, one hand between Caleb’s thighs, until they both took a deep breath and, regrettably, stopped.

Maybe they would take the tower tonight, or a room at the Chateau. Veth would Send to them if she needed help with Luc. She had begged Essek to teach her so she could keep up the ruse that Yasha could communicate with her across distances. Caleb was fairly certain Yasha was fucking with her by this point, but he always enjoyed watching Essek teach.

Regretfully, Caleb forced himself out of bed and away from Essek’s wandering hands. He was definitely grumbling under his breath as he dressed, while Essek reclined in bed and watched with warm amusement.

“What’s so funny?” Caleb muttered, stumbling into his trousers.

“Caleb Widogast.” Essek smiled sweetly. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

“I am pretending I didn't hear that,” Caleb said weakly. Because he was this close to jumping back into bed with this man.

Essek took pity on him and climbed out of bed to dress, though the way he pressed up against Caleb’s back to kiss his neck was pure evil. Nevertheless, the two of them managed to get dressed and out of the bedroom without further incident.

Luc seemed more like himself at breakfast, fiddling with his crossbow once again. Veth kissed Caleb on the cheek in a silent thank you for the previous night. Essek, as usual, braided Caleb’s hair after breakfast.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” Veth asked, as Yeza brushed her hair and braided it as well.

“My brother,” Essek said, with a professional tone that sometimes came out when he wasn’t prepared to express a particular emotion. He tied off one braid at the side of Caleb’s head, starting on the other side. “Verin was always a handful. I learned to fix the mess he made of his hair when he was off climbing trees or chasing animals, or people. It was important we both presented ourselves well, and that included grooming.” His fingernails lightly grazed Caleb’s scalp. “Verin… well. Someone had to fix his hair, preferably before our mother found out.”

There was something a little steely in Essek’s voice. A defense mechanism probably. Essek rarely spoke of his family, especially now that he probably wouldn’t see them again. Caleb got the impression Essek wouldn’t miss most of them, but he may have been closer to Verin.

Essek finished the second braid and pulled them into a half-ponytail at the back of Caleb’s head. He sighed, and ran his fingers through the rest of Caleb’s hair far longer than strictly necessary. Caleb caught his wrist and squeezed, just for a moment.

***

After breakfast, Caleb and Essek headed to the Chateau following a message from Caduceus requesting Caleb’s presence. Essek peeled off to trade novels with Marion, leaving the three of them alone in Jester’s childhood bedroom. Here, Caduceus and Jester had set up a scrying ritual. The materials were mostly floral in nature, indicating this was for Caduceus.

Caleb caught on immediately, though he didn’t get the words out before Jester shoved him onto her bed. Then, it was irrelevant, as Caduceus had already begun the ritual to scry on Nico. Caleb appreciated they had asked him to be here for it.

Jester sat with Caleb, nuzzling his shoulder and very nearly stabbing his eye out with her horns. And, of course, squeezing him so hard he was afraid of cracking a rib. It felt good, though. The anxiety coiling in his gut struggled to keep its foothold.

He had been afraid to ask Caduceus or Jester to scry on Nico again. What if the thing he feared most had come true? Nico’s fireball had knocked Caleb out cold. That really should not have been possible, even if Caleb had the constitution of wet tissue paper. He was still much tougher than he used to be.

Unlike Caleb, Nico didn’t have clerics on hand to pull him from the jaws of death. Nico could have curled up to sleep one night, out in the cold, and not had the strength to wake up again. Even when he hadn’t been injured, Caleb had come close to freezing to death many times in the years between Vergesson and Veth. The eleven years of no magic, and his long-discarded outright fear of fire, had almost spelled his doom.

Maybe Caleb’s messages never received a reply because the recipient was no longer alive. He was not experienced with the Sending spell; maybe he was misreading the lack of response. Maybe there was a pattern in the magic that should have told him whether the message met its mark. Caleb knew he was smart. He knew he was methodical. But he was also emotional. Maybe he had missed something.

Jester squeezed him tighter. He was spiralling. He had to breathe. He had to think. Panicking was of no use. If Nico was dead, they needed to find his body. It had only been a few days, and Caleb had created a new Transmuter’s Stone--focusing on that had helped steel his nerves these past few days. And he was sure Jester and Caduceus had the right quality of diamonds. Even if Nico was dead, he could still be saved.

And if he was alive, they needed to know. They needed to keep trying to talk to him, try to get him to safety in whatever way they could. And even though Caleb had never had a proper conversation with the boy, he knew he would do anything to keep him safe. Anything.

What Nico was going through now, Caleb had suffered alone. He would never wish that on anyone.

Being held by Jester always brought up complicated feelings, but he was grateful she was there to physically hold him together. She was babbling about something, and Caleb genuinely tried to listen, but most of his focus was split between his whirling thoughts and watching Caduceus.

He did catch the end of her babble.

“And then King said, ‘Were you gonna tell me I had magic blood or was I supposed to find that out when I cut myself shaving?’” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “He found out because he cut himself shaving.”

Caduceus jolted, and then he was back with them. “Nope.”

The words fell out of Caleb’s mouth before he had fully considered them. “Can you tell the difference between resisting the scry and…” His brain caught up with his mouth, and choked him.

Caduceus stepped in before Caleb could spiral further. “Yeah, we can tell the difference. He resisted.” Caduceus began to collect the flowers, bundled herbs, ashes, and bone fragments. A piece of petrified wood Caleb had found him during their travels. A few botanical drawings made by Jester. Fresh seaweed from Fjord. He carefully scooped up each piece of the ritual and put them away.

Okay. Nico was alive. That was something. But they couldn’t see him. He could have been anywhere within a few days of Rexxentrum, and each of those places was freezing cold. Nico had fire, but did he have the capacity to use it? Had he found shelter? Water? Where the fuck was he?

And it was possible to be alive and conscious and on death’s door. He wasn’t dead. Yet. That could change at any moment. Caleb needed to know. He couldn’t take this uncertainty anymore.

“Jester.” His voice was little more than a scratchy whisper. “Please.” Talking hurt.

She gave him one last squeeze and let go. “Of course, Cayleb. I’ll try. Caduceus gave me a picture.” She slid onto the floor and began to set out little dick statues. A tiny figurine of the Traveller. A little collection of unicorn statues, many of which were new to Caleb. “Hey, Artie. We really need to see what Nico’s doing, okay?”

Caleb no longer had Truesight, but Artagan never bothered to hide his presence in Sprinkle anymore. Or when his cloak would appear and sweep over Jester. He only hid from the Nein to fuck with them these days. So, the green flash of Sprinkle’s eyes and the sweep of a green cloak were a familiar sight by now.

Caduceus took Jester’s place on the bed beside him. Neither Caduceus nor Caleb were given to filling empty space with sound unless they genuinely had something to say, so they sat quietly. Shoulders barely touching, but that was enough of an anchor for Caleb to stay calm.

Time crawled by as Jester worked through the ritual, until, finally, she looked into the distance. And she wasn’t seeing the room. Hope bloomed, sharp and painful, in Caleb’s chest.

“I see him,” she said. “It’s hard to see anything else. I think I can see green but I can’t make out shapes. Nico’s sitting on… grass, I think? There’s a campfire. Bandages. He found bandages somewhere! He looks pale, but… focused. I think? He’s bandaging his arm.”

She spent the next ten minutes describing everything Nico did. Aside from bandaging, he spent most of the time staring into the campfire. He’d found a coat somewhere, but no shoes. Shivering a bit, but nothing that would indicate a threat of hypothermia. Best she could tell, he was surviving.

Until they could get him to come back, that would have to be enough.

Once Jester had finished scrying, she squeezed onto the bed on Caleb’s other side. “Are you okay, Caleb?”

“Ja.” Knowing Nico was more or less in one piece, and did not seem to be in immediate danger, had lifted a great weight from Caleb’s ribcage. “Thank you. I was afraid to ask. Caduceus, I hate to ask that you spend another spell, but...”

Caduceus waited patiently, smiling faintly as he often did. He would say yes. Caleb knew he would.

So, despite feeling weird about asking for things like this, he did anyway. “Would you mind asking the Wildmother a few questions?”

“Give me three questions and one minute,” was all Caduceus said in response.

Caleb had spent so long worrying about this kid that coming up with three questions was easy. “First, is he in the Pearlbow Wilderness? Second, has he found clean water in the last twenty-four hours? Third, has he eaten since Rexxentrum?”

Caduceus slid to the floor once again and began setting up the ritual. “Good questions to ask, with simple answers.”

The wait was easier this time, knowing that Nico wasn’t dead, or close to it. The burning incense curled through the air, reminding Caleb fondly of his time with Frumpkin. He hoped his little friend was having a good time, wherever he was.

“Is Nicolaus Baumann in the Pearlbow Wilderness?” Caduceus asked quietly, eyes closed. Caleb could not sense the Wildmother’s response, but Caduceus nodded to himself. “Has the boy found clean drinking water in the last twenty-four hours?” A moment, and Caduceus nodded again. “Has he eaten since the meal I fed him in Rexxentrum?” This moment stretched longer, and the corner of Cad’s mouth tightened. He released the ritual, blinking his eyes clear until he could focus on them. “Nico’s in the Pearlbow Wilderness and has found clean drinking water in the last day. He has not eaten since Rexxentrum.”

Caleb swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Caduceus.” Those words could not adequately express his gratitude; how much lighter he felt knowing that Nico was surviving. They could get him back to Rexxentrum. Caleb would keep talking to him, as would Felix. It was doable. “And, Jester. Thank you.”

The two clerics exchanged a look, laced with meaning that Caleb could not read. But he suspected they had discussed this whole thing in detail long before they had invited Caleb here. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to having friends who would literally team up to take care of him like that. It frightened him a little, but he knew the fear was irrational. They loved him as much as he loved them. Not always in the same way, especially when it came to Jester, but it was love all the same.

Then Jester’s mood shifted, and she was grinning. “Hey, Cay-leb.”

“...ja?”

“Did Essek bring his parasol?”

“Ja, of course. It’s Nicodranas.”

“Cool! I got you guys a huge beach umbrella. Meet us downstairs in an hour.” She kissed his cheek, and tore out of her room. “BEACH TRIP!!”

Caduceus chuckled softly, unfolding himself from the floor. “She has been planning this all day.”

“Ja, I figured.” Caleb had missed the beach. So different from his old life that it was easier to let go of things there. “Are you coming?”

Caduceus laughed openly at that. Of course he was coming. Nobody said no to Jester Lavorre.

This was probably the last time the two of them would be alone in a while. There were things Caleb wanted to say. Needed to.

“Caduceus,” said Caleb. “Thank you. For all of this.”

“Caleb.” Caduceus smiled, but he allowed the sadness of it to break through. “You were alone for a long time. So was I. So were… all of us. We’ve all grown together. And you… I always knew you were being shaped into something. What that something was… that was your choice. Reaching out to people who went through what you have, taking your pain and what you have learned to protect them from the worst of your experiences… that’s growth, Caleb. You’re healing. I’m proud of you. We all are.”

The words hit hard, drawing tears from the corners of Caleb’s eyes. But they were good tears. It felt like a poison was leaving his body.

“You helped,” Caleb said, standing to face Caduceus properly. “All of you. And I know I didn’t always listen to you, but I remember everything. Your words mean a lot to me. Thank you.” He felt a surge of affection and a sob escaped his throat. “Can I hug you?”

“Of course.”

It had never occurred to Caleb that firbolgs would give great hugs. They had giant heritage and were stronger than they looked. Caleb had come to prefer hugs that crushed his soul back into his body, so this was perfect. He let Caduceus squish him, tucking his face into the folds of his robe. Caduceus always smelled of herbs and earth. A grounding, calming scent to match a grounding, calming man.

Caduceus had been exactly what the Nein, and Caleb himself, had needed after they lost Molly. And he continued to fill that role, gladly, even when it caused him personal pain. Caleb loved him dearly.

They were still hugging when Jester came to grab a few things from her room, and she gladly jumped in, babbling about the beach trip and all the plans she had made for it.

Caleb breathed easier than he had in days.

[pixiegrl]

For the prompts: 16 fluff with lashton?? it gives me very strong lashton vibes!!! or 12 angst if you feel like writing something more angsty?

Okay so! I’m going to write both but I wrote 12 first bc I was in that head space so I’m posting that now and then I’ll post the other later! I wrote this entire thing to cardigan and it’s 2017 Lashton so. *jazz hands*

12 Angst: Why are you awake

Luke is sitting outside on Ashton’s porch, curled up in one of the chairs, holding Petunia tightly when Ashton finds him. It’s late, probably close to midnight, and the L.A. air is crisp. The only light coming in this far away from the city is the light from the moon and Luke isn’t sure how long he’s been out here. He couldn’t sleep in the quiet of Ashton’s home; couldn’t relax or shut his overworked, anxious brain off, the broken record of “you’re not enough.” and “no one would miss you if you were gone” playing over and over again until Luke could cry from the frustration and exhaustion. He’d gone outside, Petunia close at his heels, hoping he could just breathe for one moment.

Luke turns when he hears the sliding door open, pulled from his morose thoughts, and finds Ashton standing in the doorway, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. Luke hopes Ashton can’t see how red his eyes are from the tears he’s been desperately holding back since he got out here. He feels bad that he’s woken Ashton up, made him get up to come get him, and Luke turns away, focusing instead on rubbing Petunia’s ears.

“Luke, it’s 12:30am, why are you awake? Why are you out here?” Ashton asks quietly, coming to sit in the chair next to Luke. He sounds tired, exhaustion clear in his voice and limbs as he leans over to rub Petunia’s head, fingers bumping into Luke’s and making Luke feel warm. 

“I just. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t shut my brain off,” Luke mumbles, aware that his voice sounds strained and choked. Luke feels fragile, feels like he’s moments away from breaking; he has been for weeks now. It’s the unspoken reason he’s been staying at Ashton’s. They’ve been tiptoeing around the reason Ashton invited Luke to stay with him for a few days, which turned into weeks, which is verging on close to 2 months now, during the band’s hiatus. Luke doesn’t trust himself to be alone and doesn’t trust the broken-record voice in his head telling him that he’s a burden, a problem, and that he’s holding everyone back and they’d all be better off without him. 

Ashton has been so sweet and kind and the solid rock he’s always been, holding Luke up and going out of his way to make Luke laugh and smile everyday. He’s been playing music with Luke and forcing Luke out on walks with Petunia and making sure he’s eating three real meals a day and that he’s showering and functioning. He’s implemented a rule where at dinner he and Luke have to describe one positive aspect of their day. Ashton teaches Luke how to cook and they watch a movie together every night, curled up on the couch with Petunia between them, snuffling in her sleep. It feels strangely domestic and Luke’s scared that if he mentions it to Ashton, it will all go away and Ashton will realize that he’s been wasting his time on Luke and will send him back to his empty home, alone with his thoughts.

Luke appreciates Ashton, always has appreciated Ashton, how he’s driven to make sure everyone is happy and healthy, but it’s starting to drain Luke. He feels like a burden to Ashton and a little like a child who can’t be trusted to be left alone. It feels like they’re dancing around Luke’s mental state, afraid that if they breathe it into existence Luke will finally crack under the pressure.

It also doesn’t help that being stuck with Ashton, this close to him day in and day out, has only reminded Luke of the crush he’d had on him for years. Luke thought he’d squashed and buried it long ago and moved on from his childish crush. Only now Luke realizes that this crush is still there, that he still loves Ashton. At fifteen his crush sent his heart racing, made his palms sweaty and voice crack whenever Ashton so much as looked at him during band practice. The feeling eventually faded and Luke just assumed that he’d gotten over his crush now that they’re friends. Now, at twenty-one, Luke realizes that his crush just grew up with him, so whenever he watches Ashton laugh at a joke he makes or whenever he bumps his shoulder while they’re cooking, Luke feels warm inside. He feels warm and happy and he’s only just now realized that it's because he loves Ashton. He wants to kiss Ashton whenever he smiles, hold his hand on the couch and curl up next to him in bed every night. He loves Ashton and he’s always loved Ashton and he’s  scared that if he says or does anything he’ll lose Ashton and everything they’ve had the last few weeks. 

“Lu, hey. Where’d you go?” Ashton nudges Luke’s hand gently with his from where its been resting next to Luke’s. He links their pinkies together, smiling gently at him. 

Luke doesn’t even realize how quiet he’s been or that tears have been slipping down his cheeks until one falls onto the back of his hand. Luke can’t contain himself any longer, muffling his sobs with his other hand. Ashton makes a noise of concern, reaching over and wrapping his arms around Luke. Luke leans into Ashton’s shoulder, crying all his hurt and anxiety and unshed emotions of the last few weeks out. Ashton rubs Luke’s back, holding him tightly as he shakes.

Eventually, he runs out of tears and his sobs taper off, developing into quiet hiccups. He can hear Ashton humming quietly in his ear, still rubbing his back.

“Am I a burden?” Luke whispers. There’s a pause and Luke hopes that maybe Ashton didn’t hear him.

Ashton makes a broken little sound at the back of his throat and pulls back, cradling Luke’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumb gently over his cheek. “Of course not, Luke. You could never be a burden. You’re one of my best friends. What could possibly make you think that?” 

Luke leans into the touch and shrugs. “I just feel broken. Like there’s something wrong with me and I just can’t fix it. And you’ve been so nice to me the last few months and I don’t want to be a burden on you and make you try to fix me when I’m broken. You guys would be better off without me in this band holding you back.”

Ashton looks at Luke, sadness creeping into his eyes, before he pulls Luke into another hug. “Luke, I love you. I would fix you over and over again if you needed me to but there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re the heart of this band, you know that. What would we do without you?”

Petunia snuffles her discomfort at being disrupted again by Luke’s movement and hops off his lap onto the ground, curling up at Luke’s feet. Luke giggles at the disgruntled look she gives him and Ashton smiles fondly at Luke. Luke rests his forehead against Ashton’s shoulder, sniffling lightly and tightly gripping the back of his shirt. It feels like yet another moment of domesticity in the long string of moments they've shared since Luke moved in. Luke’s heart aches from Ashton’s soft words, but also because he knows that Ashton’s love isn’t the same as his. 

They stay like this for a few moments, wrapped up in one another. Luke feels exhausted and wrung out from crying himself dry. He feels his eyelids drooping but he can’t bring himself to break away from Ashton’s grip to go back inside to sleep.

Ashton must sense Luke’s exhaustion or he himself is just tired enough to finally jossle Luke and tug on his hand. “Come on Lu, you’re gonna drop dead out here and it’s far too cold and uncomfortable to sleep outside tonight. Besides, the sun will wake you up early and I think we both deserve a lie in.”

Luke lets himself be pulled upright, bending down to scoop Petunia up, and Ashton guides him back into the house and upstairs towards the bedrooms. Luke starts to make his way towards the guest room he’s been sleeping in, but Ashton puts an arm around his shoulder, guiding him towards Ash’s room. Luke lets him pull him in that direction, warmed slightly by the idea that he wants to be close to him, that he gets to sleep next to him. 

Luke places Petunia on the foot of the bed, where she fixes the comforter to her liking and curls back up, snoring within minutes. Ashton smiles and pulls the covers back, pulling Luke down into the bed. Luke feels warm and happy in this moment. They settle into bed and Luke stares up at the ceiling for a few minutes, trying to will himself to close his eyes and go to sleep. He can hear Ashton’s breathing even out and he’s suddenly overcome with how safe and warm he feels like this, Ashton’s hand brushing against his, close enough to feel his heat.

“Ash, I think I love you,” Luke whispers, unable to contain the feeling inside. He’s not quite sure if Ashton’s awake or not, but he feels a little braver now with the reassurance that Ashton will always be there for him.

“I know,” Ashton whispers back.

“Not like that Ash. I think I love you.”

“I know,” Ashton insists again, rolling over on his side to press a soft, quick kiss to Luke’s lips, “I love you too, Lu. It’s too late to be this awake, let’s just talk about it in the morning. I’ll let you make your terrible coffee and you can wax poetic about how much you love me.”

Luke wants to be offended at Ashton, but who is he to argue when Ashton presses a kiss to his cheek and rolls them onto their sides, pressing against Luke’s back and wrapping an arm around him. Luke smiles softly and drifts off to sleep. Maybe the morning will be a better day, maybe Luke will write some music, maybe they’ll walk Petunia after dinner, maybe he’ll bride Ashton with kisses to let him watch Frozen again. Knowing that Ashton loves him like he loves Ashton makes the world feel brighter.

[softballum]

So here’s something no one ever asked for. I’ve never written fic in my life, but heres 2k words of my ramblings.

I thought about this all day yesterday and had an idea for a ‘fix it’ for after Monday 1st’s episode. I really thought Ben might actually confide in Callum but I guess not. 

Anyway, hope you enjoy if you do read it!!

I’ve Got You

He’s been squeezing his eyes shut for what feels like hours now. The rooms pitch black and for once its completely silent in and out of the flat. Callum can only hear his own anxious breathing and the faint mumblings of the buildings plumbing. The t-shirt he wears to bed offers him no comfort like normal. Its scratching the back of his neck, the stitches feel like they’re burning into his skin. He’d managed a few pints with the lads earlier and was content with how the night had gone. The alcohol would normally make him drowsy, make him yawn till his bones ached and he carried himself off to bed. Right now though, it's like he can feel it buzzing in his veins, angsty to get up from the horizontal position he’s in.

He can’t sleep if he knows Ben is supposed to be next to him. Sometimes he’ll briefly wake up in the small hours of the morning and brush his hand across the mattress. Just to feel Ben’s warm skin beneath his fingertips. Some days he still can’t believe that what he has with Ben is real, that he wants to spend the most vulnerable hours of his day, lying next Callum. He knows he’s overreacting. Ben had let Callum know he’d promised to put Lexi to bed tonight and spend some much needed, quality cuddling time with her. He’ll have let her stay up a little longer so he can read an extra few pages of Lexis favourite fantasy. Unique character voices and all. Or he’s sat having a cuppa with his Mum. Kathy fretting over him with extra cake she’d made for the cafe that morning, knows its Ben’s favourite. It’ll be as simple as that. Nothing for Callum to worry about. 

But he knew he got a weird vibe from Ben this morning, shooing him off like that. Ben didn’t want to be a hindrance to Callum making new mates and now he’s avoiding him. He goes to pick up his phone from the bedside table almost knocking it off completely. He squints when he unlocks the screen, the brightness edging on his irritation. He opens up his text conversation with Ben, the glasses wearing emoji in his contact grinning at him. He sees that Ben still hasn’t replied to his earlier message about when he’d be home. He contemplates sending another, starts tapping on the back space with a loud sigh.

“He doesn’t need you checking up on him, you idiot. You ain't his mother” he mutters to himself, scowling at the wall in front of him. But Callum just cares, cares with his whole chest and he hates the thought of Ben avoiding him. After Ben’s confessions and brash words in the middle of the square the other night, things have been a bit…off kilter between them, but it won’t stop Callum from caring about him. He knows Ben still has this hard exterior up and its only being built higher the more he believes he’s not worth Callum’s affections.

Callum jumps when he hears the flat door slam a moment later, startling him from his thoughts. He waits for the increasing volume of Bens feet up the stairs, but they don’t come. Callum lies on his back holding his breath. His eyes darting about the dark ceiling like it will give him the answers he’s looking for. After a few unnerving seconds, the heavy thumps of Ben’s boots make their way on to the landing. Callum open’s the bedroom door with a gentle touch not wanting Ben to think he’s been clock watching his arrival back to the flat.

“Ben…?” He says it so quietly, he struggles to hear it himself. “Ben.”

Ben sees the change in light of Callum walking closer to him out the corner of his eye. Whipping his head up to meet the creased expression on Callum’s face.

“Hi, you alright?” He signs as he speaks. “Lexi enjoy her story yeah?”.

It takes Ben a moment to put it together. He clears his throat, teetering on the edge of nervousness.

“Yeah, she’s great..yeah” he answers, still glancing at Callum’s hands in mid air.

“I text you earlier. Didn’t want to leave you on your lonesome too long if I was out. Didn’t think you’d still be at your Mum’s.” He makes sure Ben can see his mouth move with each word, but even he can feel himself rambling.

Ben’s staring, mouth just slightly agape in concentration but he’s not caught a word. He blinks harshly against the little light coming from the living room lamp. His head is bursting. The ringing in his ears is still ever present and it feels like it’s pushing down on him from above. The pressure is too much. His hands feel cold but his palms are clammy. They’re balled up into fists, shoved deeply into the pockets of his leather jacket. He can’t even feel the pain of his nails digging into the calloused flesh. Hands that not all that long ago were holding a gun, punching some thugs and driving the get away car for him and Phil. He can feel his breathing picking up, leather jacket sticking to the back of his neck, like a bad dream following you around. He knows he needs to put on a show now, best lying performance of his life. Show Callum that everything is as it should be. Take his hand and lead him to the bed they share and at least try and get some rest. He can do that. He can. He’s lied to Callum about dodgy jobs and his family life so many times already, hidden his darkest secrets from him time and time again, it should feel easy. Easier than this. He needs to get away, run to the bathroom or grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Anything to get out from under the careful gaze of Callum. If he’s not looking straight at him, maybe, just maybe he could get away with the facade. But he’s stuck to the floor, his boots suddenly weighing an absolute tonne. He feels nauseous now and the room is spinning, seconds away from being sick. Doesn’t know whether its because of his ears or if the need to lie to Callum for the umpteenth time that week, is finally catching up on him. It was different when it was about Keanu. He could just push and push and it worked, for a time. It’s different now though. He needs Callum, needs him so much even he doesn’t realise. He can’t just push him away anymore, he agreed to be better, but right now he can’t do better.

“Phone Ben? Did you get my text?” Callum’s thumb hovers over his other four fingers, motioning to him.

Ben blinks again. Swallows hard, his throat dry and scratching. Concentrate, he thinks.

“Uhh no sorry. Not picked it up for hours.” Another lie, good. He drags it out his jean pocket ready to chuck it on the kitchen counter, forget about it and got to sleep with his boyfriend and pretend this night never happened. His thumb knocks the lock button though, the screen lighting up the picture of Lexi as his background. There’s a text from his Dad.

“Remember. Not a word to Callum.”

He feels himself choke, throat constricting. His eyes sting and he’s breathing harshly through his nose. He’s squeezing his phone so tightly, the bone of his knuckles could simply tear through the skin on the back of his hand. He’s getting hotter and hotter now, the rage bubbling up underneath the surface. His muscles all cramping up at his frustration. The remaining adrenaline from earlier only adding to his impending outburst.

Callum swears everything is stuck in slow motion. He sees Ben’s eyes focus on his phone, reading the same line over and over again, quicker each time he scans over the screen. Then his expression changes. He’s never seen Ben like this. Vulnerable, upset, cocky, confrontational but not this, he’s never seen him like this. He hesitates to react, doesn’t know what Ben will do or say next. No idea what could have been on his phone to make him like this. Panic starts to set in.

A sharp moment later. Ben lets out an aggressive scream, all his emotions finally coming up to the surface for air. His throat feels like its bleeding but its no match for how his head feels. His phone suddenly rips out of his hand and makes a heavy thud against the fuchsia-coloured wall of the flat, narrowly missing a photo frame. It rattles to the floor, the screen smashed and blacked out. It’s how Ben feels, bashed about and empty underneath it all.

Callums shocked into action then and runs to him, socked feet padding over the length of the living room. Ben’s pacing now. All shadows and amber street light, seeping in from the curtains. His hands grab his ears like he’s trying to pull them off. Huffing through gritted teeth, droplets of spit gathering on his lips. Eyes red raw as he scrunches them as tight as possible, defiant not to let his tears spill over and down his cheeks. Callum grabs his elbows and Ben starts to sob, noises only a broken, young man could make when he can’t carry on anymore. His cries wrack his chest, desperate to get a breath in but his emotions pull him deeper. Callum’s eyes are darting all over Ben’s figure trying to work out what could possible have happened to him and why he’s crumbling in his hands.

“Ben. Its okay, I’m here. What is it? Whats wrong?” His subconscious is using his police and army training to keep his voice as level and calm as possible,  feeling anything but.

Ben continues to cry hysterically, his shallow breaths echoing in the small space of the flat.

“Ben, please? Please let me help you. Tell me. Whatever it is”

There’s silence for a split second and Callum thinks he’s imaging all this, but Ben’s body is still trembling under his hold.

“I can’t do this” Its barely a whisper and Callum wonders if Ben even realises he’s spoken out loud.

“You what?”

“I can’t do this Callum. I can’t. I can’t do it.” And shallowly, for a moment, Callum thinks he’s talking about them. But that’s not Ben, he wouldn’t be upset like this, he’d act the hard man and pretend he’s only being that way for the protection of Callum. No, this is different.

“You can’t do what Ben? Whats happened.” He trails his hands up to the back of Ben’s, still gripping on to his ears. He tries to gently prise them away from the sides of his head. If he can’t hear or look at Callum, he can’t communicate and Callum needs Ben to know he’s there for him.

Ben slowly glances up, still huffing in short pants. His face is blotchy red and wet from his cries.

His hair is all over place, in tufts from where he’s been grabbing at it in frustration. Callum thinks he hears his own heart shatter when he finally sees his face, Ben has never looked this broken before. Callum thinks if he lets go of the sides of his head now, he might just fall apart like fine china. This is not a Ben he’s ever seen.

“I can’t Callum” he repeats.

“Cant what Ben!?” Ben can see it from Callum’s expression what he’s asking him but that’s the only way he can tell.

“I can’t hear Callum.”

“What? I know you can’t hear Ben! What are you on about?” Ben concentrates on Callum’s lips through his blurred vision.

“No Callum.” He hiccups out a broken sob. The words are right on his tongue, but its like a bad taste in his mouth. He just wants to swallow and get rid of it, but what else can he say. He takes another second, the air between the two of them fully charged. Callum just stares at him in anticipation.

“I’m deaf. I can’t hear you. At all.”

The floodgates open then and Ben is back to harsh, violent cries. His lips curling in and his eyelashes soaked with thick tears. Callum holds on to him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Ben crashes into him, head straight into Callum’s chest, balling up the cotton of his t-shirt in his hands, holding on for dear life.

Callum just holds him. Wraps one arm around Ben’s back, the other cradling the back of his head, fingers brushing through the short hair there in an attempt to soothe his boyfriend. He stumbles a little with the sheer amount of weight Ben is pushing on him. Can feel his chest tighten too, his vision becoming blurred as a stray tear rolls its way down his flushed cheek. He’s scared, scared for Ben and what this means for him. But Ben’s strong, they’re strong and Callum will do anything to see him through his.

He dips his head so his mouth meets the crown of Ben’s hair. He presses a small kiss there, silent and soft.

“Shhhh.” He hushes. “I’ve got you Ben. I’ve got you.”

[rosesareviolentlyread]

WIJ Day 3: Love

WOO the first actual prompt is here. This is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. So this is meant to be an introduction to Pastor John/The Reverend, who is my first attempt at an intimate whumper. Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for inspiring the Reverend with Bram, def check out all her stuff if you haven’t

CW: religious whump, creepy whumper, whumper who doesn’t think they’re a whumper, kinda abusive relationship vibes, drugging, taking advantage of someone’s emotional state

John sits, listening to the record player in the corner crackle with the sounds of a congregation’s singing. His students tease him for being a ‘hipster’, but there’s something satisfying about their amateur voices, captured imperfectly, naturally, using a technology that reminds him of pottery, or weaving. Sound pressed into something physical, ethereality brought to his fingertips, his ears, across time. 

It’s a pleasant evening all around. John savors every detail as he takes a sip of scotch - a gift from a colleague in Edinburgh - settling into the thick leather chair by the fireplace, just musing in his mind while he waits for the brownies to be done. Perhaps he should grade, or write a lecture, or work on his sermon. But these moments in time, of being in his body, of feeling fire in his throat as sparks flick out as his toes, these are God’s moments, moments of perfect creation and harmony. 

But still, he isn’t bothered by the knock on his door, despite the late hour. The students know his door is always open. He’s become used to them coming to his couch after a late temptation, or perhaps a lapse in their faith. Perhaps just a personal dilemma. The community too, though they typically take the ‘door unlocked’ policy as is. 

No, the timidness of the youngest in his flock always brings a smile. It seems no matter how many departmental or congregational dinners he hosts, how many times they come knocking, they always knock. It is part of their youth, not cemented in their beliefs, in knowing that God will provide. So he provides, until they can become sure, can understand how a trinity of a different kind, God, his Son, and their Pastor, will be there for them. They are lambs, learning to stand on their own legs, which is why this is his favorite place to shepherd. 

“Coming!” He calls out, setting the glass carefully on a coaster before opening the thick door to the cottage. It takes a few blinks to clear his eyes from the rush of cold air that assaults them. The weather always seems to surprise him, just one of many things in this beautiful world. 

But what doesn’t necessarily surprise him is to see, red-rimmed eyes, a flushed tear-tracked face delicately wrought in its complexion, set upon a lithe frame that hides immense strength, an immense spirit that positively glows normally with ash-blonde hair and bright gray-blue eyes. Faith. A sense of calm comes over him, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days. 

“Oh, my girl, I was hoping you’d come by” Before she can get a word out, John wraps strong arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Immediately he feels the telltale shake of her shoulders, small hands gripping the back of his sweater tightly, a damp spot right near his heart growing. 

Yes, John expected this. For how long, he isn’t entirely sure. Perhaps, always. Perhaps, because somewhere in him, he knew God had bigger plans for them both.

Faith had been a special student to him, from her first year intro course in the Theology department. A bright girl, a good girl, who believed with her heart and soul in Jesus’ saving grace for even the most dastardly of sinners. He hadn’t recognized it well at the time, but even he had fallen prey to the negativity within the church, the ones who said Supernaturals were truly the devil incarnate, incapable of being saved. 

But Faith, she took it upon herself to prove them all wrong. She’d been hesitant to propose her thesis to him, as her advisor. A piece to study the beliefs and communities of Supernaturals locally, from a theological and sociological perspective, in order to understand how those beliefs might be reconciled with modern Christianity. A piece that would allow for the Evangelical church she came from to see the same possibility of salvation she did. To choose love. 

“It’s alright, shhh. Why don’t you come in? The brownies for tomorrow’s potluck are almost done. I’ll put on some tea, dandelion right?” Gently, he pried her away from him, thumbing tears as she sniffled away the last of her outburst. 

“Thank you, Reverend. I just...I didn’t know where else to go. Yet.” The downcast of her eyes nearly breaks his heart at the cruelty of this world. For his fellow Christians had chosen to hate, to cast her out of their flock, after she bared her thesis, her work, no matter how unfinished. All because of what she was. 

Peter 1 4:8 comes to his mind: Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.

So what if she was truly born Fae, a natural sinner of the largest proportions. Does her desire to be saved, to save others, to feel Jesus’ healing light not garner love in them? 

Her desire, her faith, does in John’s chest, a warm feeling better than the finest scotch as he gently leads her to couch, leaving her with some tissues to compose herself. 

The moment feels so right the longer he’s in it. The brownie timer goes off right as he enters the kitchen, and he pulls them out. Perfect. He leaves them to cool as he flicks on the kettle, fingers moving through his vast collection for just the right blend. Dandelion, reminiscent of shortbread cookies, Faith’s favorite. They’ve shared so many cups over late night thesis meetings, church group meetings, dinner meetings that the box has only one left. Pulling out the last packet, he tucks away in his mind to buy more boxes. 

They’ll go through a lot he imagines, in the next few months. It’s easy to prepare, like a moment meant to be, as he lets the tea steep, adds two spoonfuls of sugar, and drops in the pills, stirring until they dissolve evenly. 

He brings it all out, tea, brownies, to the couch, where she’s already claimed a throw. It’s good, he thinks, that she already feels at home here. It’ll be easier that way. 

“Thank you,” her hands grip the warm mug, breathing in the steam, and he watches attentively as she takes a sip. “It’s been...I was scared. That you’d turn me away too” 

“My dear, you have never had anything but love for Jesus and God in your heart. Why would I believe something like this would change that?”

Of course he had been worried, in the beginning of her thesis, that she would be swayed. That they would convince her with their wicked tongues, guile her with magic and false miracles, false idols. Yes, now that he looks back, perhaps he did see it all coming. No, she hadn’t been swayed. 

But she’d swayed him. To believe in the possibility of truly saving those damned souls. So much that he’d begun his own research, his own plans, prepared for the possibility. And now, it appeared God’s plan was working perfectly, dropping her right on his doorstep on the eve of her transformation between worlds, an apostle for a new era

“Everyone else seems to think that, that this is wrong. How though? How can being who I am, the person God made me, be wrong?” Her voice is quiet in the night, barely above the crackling fire in its hoarseness, tinged still with tears. 

“He does nothing wrong. He made you this way for a reason, so that you may show others. Think of it, your work, is this not His plan?” John tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, to remain calm, collected. Gentle. Yes, he must be gentle, to do this in love for the Lord. 

She pauses, sipping more. “I...I don’t know. I just, I need some time, I think. I was walking to the bus stop when I passed your house and thought...I don’t know. I guess I hoped there’d be something I could come back to, when I was ready” Her eyes stare into the surface of the tea, growing distant. Tired. It’s working fast, he knows, likely due to her exhaustion from the past few days. 

“It’s alright to not know. The Bible does not have all the answers, but it leads us to where we need to find them. Perhaps that’s why you came here. Why don’t you get some rest, stay here tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance for you to find your way.” 

“Thank you, Reverend. That..that sounds nice. You’re right, I need to-o-o-o” the sentence is interrupted by a yawn and he chuckles. 

“It sounds like the only thing you need right now is a good night’s rest. Come on, I promise this couch may be old, but she’ll service you well. She’s saved me from several late night grading sessions” Taking the tea, he lets her settle down, and grabs a quilt from the closet - a gift from an older parishioner - and tucks it around her. 

“Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a busy day” she mumbles something slurred, incomprehensible under the effect of the drug. Still, he sits and waits, gently petting the silky hair until her breathing fully evens out, deepens into a rhythm that could be a lullaby to itself in his ears. 

So beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. Truly, this is his and her purpose: to show that the souls of the supernatural can be saved through Jesus’ light. 

It is with that thought that he picks up the limp bundle of girl, and carries her down into the basement.

Tags: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly(let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for this series)

[afictionaladventure16]

two part ask!! 1) do you have a taglist for RDJ/Tony Stark and if so could i please be added to it? i'm already on a few fics. and 2) if your requests are still open could i request one for RDJ daughter!reader when reader is a bit of a wild child and gets into trouble a lot? thanks so much, keep up the good work but don't forget to take time for yourself! 💕

Don’t Repeat My Mistakes (Robert Downey Jr. x Daughter!Reader) 

A/N: You’ve been added!! And you’re welcome and thank you! I love you so much! I hope you enjoy the fic! 

Song Title: Safe Inside by James Arthur

Actor Fics Masterlist

Want to be in a Character Taglist? 

Warnings: Character injury, arguments, mentions of drug abuse and alcohol

Word Count: 1,653

You walked out into the living room, you were texting your friends that were waiting for you outside, notifying them that you were walking out. “Where do you think you’re going?” Your father’s voice rang through your ears, causing you to quickly turn around.

“Out,” you deadpanned.

“Out?” He raised his eyebrows, not impressed with your answer. Stealing a quick glance at his watch, he let out a sigh, “it’s almost nine in the night, Y/N, don’t you think it’s a little late to be going out?”

You rolled your eyes, you’re young and you wanted to have fun with your friends. You were afraid to miss out and to be called out on it the next day. You didn’t want to be that person in the group, you shrugged in response. The sound of a soft bell filled both of your ears, you quickly looked at your phone, seeing it was another message from your friends, “I’ll see you later.”

“No,” he said sternly.

You groaned in response, “dad, you’re really killing my vibe right now.”

“I don’t care,” he crossed his arms, giving off a vibe that he wasn’t going to budge with his decision, “you’re not going out, it’s too late.”

“You used to do the same thing when you were my age! Why can’t I!?”

“That is totally different! I used to hang out with the wrong crowd!”

You scoffed, “Whatever,” you began to walk away.

“Y/N, I’m serious, don’t you dare walk out of this house.”

“Or what? You’ll ground me?” You asked sarcastically, “please do, I’ll just sneak out when you’re asleep anyway.”

“Y/N!”

“Ugh, can you just! I’m not you, okay!? I’m not gonna go get high off drugs with my friends, alright!? Fuck, can you just like chill and let me have fun? Let me enjoy going to the movies with my friends!”

Your response shook Robert to the core, he never expected you to blow up on him like that, bringing up his past like you were ashamed of it, “you’re right,” he said softly as he looked over at you with glossy eyes. Eyes that you ignored, “you’re not me,” he sighed, “I’m just trying to prevent you from making the same mistakes I did.” There was a honk outside, you didn’t have time to process what your dad said, “go,” he said, almost as if he had given up. But you didn’t care, you walked out of the house and into your friend’s car.

You never expected your friends to have plans after the movies, but somehow you all had gone to a party and somehow most of your friends got wasted. Occasionally you would do the same but tonight you just couldn’t, the argument you had just had with your father kept replaying in your mind like an old movie projector. You wished you hadn’t brought up his past the way you did, it came out meaner than expected.

“Y/N?” Your friends voiced shook you from your thoughts, you turned to see them looking at you as if you were an alien, “well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you coming or what?” Your friend dangled the car keys.

“You’re driving?” Questioning his sobriety, it was obvious he was drunk, you had seen him with a beer in his hand a couple of times through the night.

“Well, I’m the only one here with a license.”

“Maybe we should just call an uber, have your parents pick the car up tomorrow?” You didn’t feel comfortable getting in the car with your drunk friend driving.

“My parents would kill me if they knew I left the car at someone’s house,” he slurred, “just get in the fucking car or we’re leaving you!” You sighed as you slowly got in the car, you didn’t want to be left behind. Throughout the drive, you tried your hardest to just be free, let go of the negative thoughts that kept racing through mind about your drunk friend behind the wheel. You felt the car jerk a little, your drunk friend behind the wheel let out a belted laugh, “sorry,” he said as he took his eyes off the road to look over at the backseat, “I swear, I thought I saw this cat-”

“Y/F/N! Look out!” You yelled out but it was too late, the headlights from the other car drew in way too fast for him to react. The sounds of metal bending and crashing against each other filled your ears. You felt the impact of the metal on your skin as you let out a piercing scream, everything then went black.

Robert was startled by the sound of his phone ringing, he took in his surroundings, he had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for you to come home. He quickly answered his phone, “Hello?” his voice was still groggy from sleeping.

“Robert?” Robert looked over at the Caller I.D. noticing it was your best friends dad calling him.

“Oh, hey, Jason,” Robert said as he rubbed his eyes, he slowly got up off the couch, not knowing what time it was. He thought you must’ve snuck in the house, deciding to check your room to make sure you were asleep.

“Robert, I don’t know how to tell you this,” it was then that Robert noticed the tone in Jason’s voice, the way he sounded as if he had just finished crying.

“Tell me what?” Robert asked as he made his way down the hall.

Robert slowly opened your door, “there’s been an accident.” Robert’s face fell when he noticed the empty bed. You hadn’t come home.

“No,” he said softly.

“They won’t tell me her condition but they’ve allowed me to notify you,” Jason explained, “but by the looks of the car,” Jason took in a deep breath, “you just need to get here quick.”

“What hospital?”

~

It didn’t take Robert long to get ready, of course, he woke up Susan and told her what happened. She wanted to tag along but he told her it wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do, taking toddlers to the hospital.

Robert walked into the hospital, he hoped that you only had some minor scratches, maybe a small concussion, nothing too bad. Just enough to teach you a lesson? Robert thought that maybe that was cruel, maybe he should’ve been more firm with you. Locked you in your room? No, that felt cruel too. All he wanted to do was give you freedom but he just didn’t want you to go down the road he did at your age.

Robert walked up to the desk, “I’m looking for my daughter, Y/N Downey?”

The nurse gave him a nod before looking through some files, she sighed, “follow me,” she said softly as she walked from behind the desk towards the hallway.

“Is she okay?” Robert asked as he followed the nurse.

“She’s fine, just a broken arm, some stitches in her abdomen area from glass, along with a couple of stitches above her eye,” she reassured, “she’s lucky to be alive.” Robert let out a relieved sigh, the nurse stopped in front of a door, “she’s asleep right now, but you can wait in there with her.” Robert watched as the nurse left, he then focused his attention towards the door, opening it slowly as he prepared himself for what lied ahead.

His breath hitched at the sight of you, “oh, hon,” he choked as he closed the door behind him, walking over to your bed, he grabbed a chair so that he could sit next to you. He felt relieved that you were somewhat okay, he was worried sick that maybe you could’ve been in worse condition.

~

You woke up in a panic, you quickly took in your surroundings of the unfamiliar room. Sounds of someone snoring caused you to turn to your right, you noticed your dad was sitting in an uncomfortable position, you wondered how he could sleep like that.

You looked down at your cast, feeling a weird sensation on your abdomen, you checked it out. You saw a bandage that was covering up stitches of a six-inch gash. You let out a shaky breath, you wanted so badly to not be left out that it got you into this mess. You wished you could’ve gone back in time, talk some sense in you.

The sounds of your sobs caused your dad to wake up, he rubbed his eyes, slowly realizing that you were awake. He quickly went to your side, “hey, it’s okay,” he whispered as he sat on the bed with you, gently placing his hand on your hair.

“I’m so sorry, dad,” you choked out, “I should’ve listened to you.”

Robert knew this wasn’t the time for an ‘I told you so,’ he sighed as he looked down at you, “did you drink?”

You shook your head, “no!”

“Y/N,” he said sternly.

“No, dad, I didn’t! I swear! I couldn’t drink, I just couldn’t!” You tightly wrapped your arms around him, “I kept thinking about what I said and how I didn’t mean it, how I was just acting that way because I didn’t want to feel left out.”

Robert let out a soft sigh, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, now wasn’t the time to scold you, although, he felt he didn’t have to. You had learned your lesson and he knew, you would never make the mistakes he did, “It’s okay, I believe you,” he said softly, “I’m just happy you’re okay.” You slowly calmed down, your head against your dad’s chest. You no longer wanted to follow the crowd, you hated the thought of feeling left out but you didn’t care, so what if you were left out? Sometimes it was better that way, sometimes being with the crowd was more dangerous than being without it.

Permanent Taglist: @unapologeticallymimi   @glitterquadricorn @lady-of-lies  @cassmoreiraxo @just4muggles @mellorine-paprika @agirlruinedbybands @yougottalovefandoms @avngrsinitiative @lizlil @otomefan @dejaazaro @culturebay @kpopishilarious @fireproof-heaven @iloveyouthreethousand-o6  @weappreciatepower @whereyoustand  @white-wolf-buckaroo @spider-woman22 @coffee-habit @supernaturallover2002 @barnes-parker @therealmrshale @myinternetissoslow @myhippiehopes @benhardyswifeee @celyndavies @xzowiex @ximaginx @wooshytooshy @ellaorelizabeth @rororo06 @just4muggles

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[dreadhaus-literature]

{Collection} A Haunted Haus : Day One

Welcome, spooks and ghouls, but most especially a gooey warm welcome to the star of this collection, our very own resident zombaby, Monica~♥

This is the first day of Spooktober 2019, a 31 day celebration of my favorite time of year, Halloween! As detailed in the Prompt List, there’s a multi-faceted collection taking place this month, prompts on weekdays and chaptered short stories on weekends. Diving a bit deeper into that, I’ve decided to follow Monica’s oh-so-tempting route and am making the prompts linear, so everything written in the next month will be connected by a single plot point.

A plot point that we’ll be introducing tonight, so give me tonight to set up the plot and then we’ll get to the really good stuff in the later prompts. And like any witch’s cauldron, you can expect a wealth of ingredients to this spooky concoction--

Mystery, murder, monsters--oh my!

My witty alliterations aside, I hope this collection is enjoyed. ♥ I went back to our roots and made it Family-centric, as I feel there’s no better time to celebrate Family than the holidays. That’s why we have them, right?

So you can expect the usual cast of characters, but reader beware...

Day One, Start.

“If you say let’s split up, Gun, i swear to god.”

The man in question allowed his jaw to snap shut audibly, effectively trapping the predicted sentence from escaping and inciting Brendan’s wrath. The shorter male had the decency to look sheepish at being caught in his cowardice, but it didn’t change the fact that he did want to suggest splitting up. The fact of the matter was Gunnar couldn’t get far enough away from his current location. He’d be surprised if he ever felt safe again.

Around Brendan and Gunnar the October night sky was inky and dim, stars hidden behind clouds but there was no obscuring the orange sliver of the moon as it sat in it’s perfect crescent shape, as if winking down gleefully at the start of All Hallow’s Eve. It may only be the first of the month but the air was beginning to bite with crisp frost that caught at the mens’ jackets like wolves’ teeth, leaving them shivering from cold just as much as fear. Being on the outskirts of New Senzannini was normally not a scary experience in and of itself; the streets were well-lit and traveled, the populous continent was typically abuzz with life at any given time of day but tonight seemed unusually quiet. Neither of the men were the least bit surprised by this, given they’d had a very unusual past few weeks. Coincidences were one thing, but Gunnar’s battered face and the limp that kept Brendan’s right leg from fully straightening out were just a few telltale signs these two-bit thieves had had a rough time of it as of late.

The reason behind their sour luck was clutched like a lifeline in Brendan’s dirty hands, wrapped in a sheet tied with rope because neither man could stand that thing looking at them anymore.

“Well if you don’t wanna fuckin’ split up, then what do you wanna do?!” Gunnar demanded in a hissed whisper, dark blue eyes glancing at the sheet in Brendan’s hands unconsciously, as if he couldn’t stop himself from checking to make sure it hadn’t moved.

“I don’t...” Brendan exhaled in a rush, teeth worrying his lower lip. “I don’t know, just let me think.”

“We ain’t got time for you to think,” Gunnar shot back immediately. “Besides, it was your dumbass thinkin’ that got us into this fuckin’ mess.”

Brendan’s head snapped up as if pulled by an invisible string made taut. “The fuck it was! I wanted to leave after the first room, you were the one who thought this thing would be worth a fortune and decided to grab it!”

Gunnar whirled away in agitation before he hauled off and hit Brendan--and for what? Being right? It had been Brendan’s idea to do the job but Gunnar had taken one look at the ugly but valuable artifact now wrapped in the sheet and his sticky fingers hadn’t been able to help themselves. He’d known he’d made a mistake the second he’d picked it up--it had felt wrong, like entering a room that was supposed to be full of people only to find it dead silent and empty, but he hadn’t had time to think twice about it. Being a thief was about being opportunistic and being fast; he and Brendan had done countless jobs together since dropping out of high school decades ago but this was the one that went south and not in a way either of them could have predicted.

It had started from the second they’d gotten into their get-away car and driven away from the darkened manor and it hadn’t stopped since.

The larger homes in New Senzannini were often owned by old money and with that came the understanding that a family legacy could be worth millions if thieves could pinpoint which families had heirlooms worth lifting. This particular manor had been non-descript, just some old coot who was a recluse with little to no family left but more money than anyone would know how to spend. The manor had no security guards and a minimalist security system that could be easily patched into from a low-tier smartphone. The job had seemed too easy to these seasoned criminals but low-hanging fruit is often hard to ignore. They’d decided to go through with it anyway and initially it had seemed a great mark. They’d loaded up on valuables ranging from fine antiques to electronics and even cash, but Gunnar had felt something...odd from a room with a quadruple pad-locked door. He and Brendan had initially decided that what was out and easy for the taking was more than enough to justify the breaking and entering but Gunnar hadn’t been able to resist that pull. The more he stared at that ominously locked door, the more he wanted to open it and get what was inside. Brendan had put up a few weak arguments to the contrary but Gunnar couldn’t be dissuaded and after prying the door open with his crowbar, Gunnar had come face to face with a stark room that was completely barren with the exception of a grotesquely hideous looking figurine sat right dead in the center of the room. Gunnar’s flashlight beam threw the thing in such stark relief it had nearly taken his breath away. It had no real discernible facial features but it did have a place where a face should be; instead there just seemed to be an endless void with two pits for eyes and a gaping mouth that seemed capable of fitting his entire fist inside it. The “head” was misshapen, almost as if someone had stepped on it repeatedly, but had been unsuccessful in completely destroying it. It had four arms, not two, and all four of them were twisted in obscene ways, in ways no arm should ever be contorted. They were thick from shoulder to wrist and the “hands” were just three prongs, like a fork--sharpened so that Gunnar was certain a slight poke would draw blood. It’s “legs” were arranged in a tripod, the knees bent at such sharp angles it seemed ready to pounce on the first thing that moved.

It had been difficult to explain why Gunnar felt so put-off by the thing. It just looked...wrong, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from entering the room. Like a car accident leaving bodies twisted and mangled on open display he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his fingers around the torso of this toddler-sized talisman and picking it up. It was heavy, like lead, and the closer he brought it to himself the sicker he felt. What...was this thing? Gunnar turned it over, to the left and right, and marveled in almost horror at the way his flashlight beam seemed to be swallowed up by the black obsidian this thing was made of. Why had it been so tightly secured? It seemed so ominous, that the locks were positioned on the outside as if to keep the thing inside...but that was just silly, right? Gunnar was a grown man, a hardened criminal who was here to rob some rich old man so he could support a few vices. He didn’t have time for ghost stories or “bad vibes” from some weird collector’s item. He’d just take it and pawn it with the rest of the shit--with his recent good luck gambling streak maybe it would turn out this thing was ancient and worth more than the house it was currently being kept in. He could make a killing and pay off his debts and then some. He’d move, maybe give up this criminal shit, be comfortable enough to give life a proper go instead of sleeping in crack houses or in the back of Brendan’s truck when it wasn’t safe to go home--

Gunnar had nearly dropped the thing when it’s head turned toward him with an audible snap!

...It had no eyes but Gunnar would have sworn on a stack of bibles the thing was looking at him.

A split second later, Brendan had stuck his head in to see what Gunnar had found and audibly voiced his distaste for the thing, demanding Gunnar “leave that ugly shit here, it can’t be worth a goddamn.” But Gunnar wasn’t going to hear it. There was a reason this thing was in this house and there was a reason it was so tightly locked down when nothing else had been.

Gunnar had been right, of course, he just had the reason wrong.

Once outside in Brendan’s pick-up, their loot in the backseat, the two had been clipped by a run-away semi-truck that had come barreling out of nowhere. Then in the hospital, Brendan’s stitches got infected and Gunnar’s medication got swapped out for high-dose insulin three times, nearly sending him into a coma. Once out of the hospital, their luck only got worse. Brendan’s wife left him, for some reason fed up with his thieving ways when before she’d been more or less passive, and Gunnar’s dog ran away, never to return. While that could be explained as “bad luck” or “coincidence”, as the days ticked by luck began to be the least of their problems. Brendan started hearing voices in his ear at night, as if something was leaning over his bed and whispering horrible things to him.

“You’re gonna die soon.” “I’m going to kill you.” “Open your eyes, Brendan. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!”

But there was never anyone there.

Gunnar was seeing things. Demons, monsters, ghosts--he didn’t know what they were but he hated them. Their faces were always wrong, half-melted or oozing pus from their eye sockets or so horribly twisted their heads were on backward. He’d be washing his face and straighten up to see one in the mirror behind him, or roll over in bed and find one lying beside him.

It hadn’t taken the men long to realize the one piece of loot from the old man’s house they couldn’t unload was the cause for their waking nightmare. No pawn shop would take it, no street level trader wanted anything to do with it, no one wanted the thing and when Gunnar got fed up and threw it away, he woke up the next morning to a frantic call from Brendan that the thing was on his kitchen table. So Gunnar threw it into the ocean, only to wake up the following day and find it lying next to him in bed, one of those sharp-armed prongs so close to his eye if he’d coughed it would have blinded him. Whatever material it was made of was like stone and wouldn’t burn, and even locking it in the trunk of Brendan’s car did nothing to stop their horrible visions, the whispers, and the god-awful luck--bad luck that was beginning to turn life-threatening. What started as inconveniences like runaway dogs or mild infections was now people “accidentally” pushing Gunnar off the crosswalk into on-coming traffic or Brendan’s brake lines failing for no discernible reason. As days turned to weeks with this horrific doll in their lives, Brendan and Gunnar knew they were going to die, that it was only a matter of time.

The final straw happened at 9:37PM on September 30th, nearly seven hours ago. Brendan and Gunnar had been drinking beers at Brendan’s kitchen table, the doll tied up in a bedsheet on the table in front of them when they’d heard it. The doll itself never made a noise, and while it moved it rarely did so while they were looking at it, so the men knew what they were hearing wasn’t coming from the doll...but it was coming from Brendan’s upstairs hallway.

Thump...thump...sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

Thump, thump...sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

They still didn’t know what it was. Gunnar had just gotten to his feet when Brendan let out a shallow cry of terror at the distorted face that loomed into view. The creature was like something from a nightmare, glistening gore and elongated limbs, teeth made for tearing into something until that something never moved again. Brendan took off like a shot, only just having the presence of mind to grab the doll before he was gone and as Gunnar took off after him, the creature made the most horrible sound, a cross between a wounded animal and the rage of the predator tearing it to pieces.

Brendan’s house was now blocks away but any time the men slowed down, the creature caught up. It just kept coming! It left them with no idea what to do; they had to get rid of the doll but just tossing it aside didn’t break the curse. They didn’t know what it was and thus had no idea how to transfer ownership. They’d stolen it, thus taking possession of it, and they needed to unload this onto someone else before they were ripped to pieces by the thing chasing them down the darkened streets of New Senzannini.

It was Gunnar who saw the creature first, letting out a bellow of surprise before turning and shoving Brendan in the opposite direction with a fierce, “Go, fuckin’ GO!” and the men took off, running as fast as they could with the terrible knowledge that that thing would never get tired. It wasn’t human, it wasn’t natural, so it couldn’t be stopped. They were running on borrowed time and they’d become so sleep-deprived, so battered down by the doll in Brendan’s hands, that they were on their last leg. They weren’t going to last much longer.

Desperation can make a man do things he might not, otherwise.

That thought was the reason Gunnar slid to a stop in front of the massive gate on a very notorious bridge, reaching out to catch Brendan’s jacket.

“Wait, here!”

Brendan turned and drew up to his full height, chest heaving with exertion. He took one look at the gate before glancing at Gunnar in disbelief. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! Do you know where that bridge goes?!” Without waiting for an answer, Brendan gestured with one hand toward the foreboding, starkly lit gate. “The Stone Spider Family lives there, we can’t fuckin’ go there!”

Thump, thump...sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide.

Gunnar glanced over his shoulder, hearing the creature dragging itself ever closer with that god-awful sound and he turned back to his partner. “We don’t got a choice, Bren. We gotta unload this cursed piece of shit or we’re gonna die.”

“And what’re we gonna do, go up and knock on the door and offer it to one of them like a house-warming present?! We’ve tried gettin’ rid of it before!”

“We’ve tried tossin’ it away, like trash, but givin’ it away is what we ain’t tried.”

“Yes we did, no one would take it!”

“Willingly,” Gunnar stressed, pushing Brendan toward the gate. “But I got an idea. I know your leg’s fucked so I’ll give ya a boost up but we gotta go, Bren.”

Brendan had never experienced true fear before this moment. At their back was some unspeakable evil, a creature that shouldn’t exist according to natural law, running them down like dogs with the desire to break them, rip them into unrecognizable pieces and for what? Because of this doll clutched to his chest. Brendan didn’t dare drop it, risk angering it even more, but he still didn’t understand what Gunnar was planning. The Stone Spider Family were infamous in New Senzannini, people you just did not fuck with. Gunnar and Brendan had been thieves since they were teenagers and never once had they ever had the desire to even attempt to rob anyone even remotely affiliated with this powerful Family. And now Brendan was scaling their security gate with a cursed doll, waiting to be shot dead at any moment for trespassing. He might welcome that, especially with the thing bearing down on hm and Gunnar--and he definitely didn’t want to face any one of the Family members. He’d heard enough horror stories to put him in an early grave, if this damned doll didn’t do it.

But as he landed on unsure feet on the other side of the gate, nothing happened. No gunshot rang out, no security camera swiveled to their position and demanded identification. Gunnar landed next to him and gave him a hard shove toward the bridge but Brendan didn’t feel a sense of relief putting the formidable gate between himself and the creature.

If anything, heading toward what was known as the Stone Spider Haus seemed the greater of two evils and Brendan didn’t know how to feel about that.

The bridge was high over the ocean, connecting the Family island to the mainland. It was not a trafficked road, only utilized by those affiliated with the Family, but given the late hour the bridge had not a single car on it. It was well-lit but the fog rolling off the ocean kept visibility lower than either man would have liked. Brendan hoped Gunnar knew what the fuck he was doing because he himself had no idea what he would do if asked who he was or why he was there. He couldn’t explain why the security cameras hadn’t followed their movements; this Family was infamous for a reason and it wasn’t for lax security. No one trespassed, no one broke-in, no one fucked with this Family and there was a myriad of reasons for that and Brendan had no desire to find out any of those reasons...it was just bothering him that he and Gunnar had gotten in so easily. Were they so over-confident they didn’t care who approached their island? That didn’t seem right. Brendan glanced down at the silent sheet he was holding onto and some part of him wondered if the doll didn’t have something to do with that. He couldn’t hear the creature chasing them, anymore, either. Was the doll happy with this turn of events? Had Gunnar made the right choice?

The bridge was lengthy, likely over a mile and by the time the two men reached the other side they were nearly spent. Lungs burned and legs ached, Brendan’s already injured so badly it nearly gave out when he finally slowed to a stop. He braced himself against the steel barrier that separated the end of the bridge from the drop off to the ocean below, trying to catch his breath. Gunnar had his hands on his knees, drawing in deep gulps of air but he’d noticed the creature didn’t seem to be chasing them, anymore--he didn’t feel out of the woods, yet, but almost as if the doll was waiting to see what they would do. Either that, or he’d been driven insane by the goddamn thing and was now making up thoughts for the inanimate object. He didn’t know and at this point, he didn’t care. He just wanted it gone.

“So...” Brendan managed between puffs of desperate air. “What now?”

Gunnar’s battered face looked haggard under the two lights that illuminated the edge of the bridge. Before them, the bridge bled into a single, lone road that wound into a forest so dense neither man could see anything between the trees. It was as if there were black sheets draped between the huge trunks and the wind that whipped through them seemed kissed by the ocean and felt like icicles in their lungs. No matter what was chasing them, neither man wanted to set one single, solitary foot into those woods.

“We’re gonna bury it.”

Brendan lifted his head in confusion. “Bury it?”

“Yep.” Gunnar reluctantly reached for the sheet and Brendan hurriedly handed the doll to him. He would never, for as long as he lived, forget the heavy, dead weight of the thing in his hands.

“...Will that work?” Brendan couldn’t even be ashamed of the hope in his voice. He wanted that thing out of his life.

“Dunno,” Gunnar stepped off the bridge, a few more steps off the road, to the base of one particularly large tree. “But this ain’t our land, and maybe if we bury it here it’ll latch onto them instead.”

Brendan hesitated. “That don’t seem right, Gun.”

“What, like all the shit we’ve done our whole lives has been? Don’t grow a fuckin’ conscience on me now, not when we got a chance to get rid of this cursed piece of shit.” Gunnar all but spat from the side of his mouth, dropping down to his knees at the base of the tree. He dug at the soft earth, found the soil rich and yielding as it settled beneath his fingernails. He didn’t know if this would work, but he thought he remembered some shit from his church-going youth, something about planting evil like a seed and letting it sprout where it lay. Maybe this thing would take a liking to this Family, find some tastier prey to fuck with than two low-life thieves who’d made the biggest mistake of their lives.

Brendan moved a little closer to Gunnar, glancing around nervously. The creature might not be chasing them anymore but he felt eyes on him all the same. They shouldn’t be here, doing this, and they both knew it.

“Maybe...” Brendan faltered, trying to find a way to make himself feel better. “Maybe they’ll be able to handle it?”

“If anyone can, they can,” Gunnar muttered.

The doll, still wrapped in it’s sheet, was dropped in the shallow grave and hurriedly covered, buried like a horrible secret at the base of a tree that could never tell a soul. Gunnar straightened up, brushing the dirt off his hands with finality. He didn’t feel great about it, but thieves aren’t known for their honor. Better someone else than him, as far as he was concerned.

“Do we just...go?” Brendan asked.

“And hope it don’t try to follow.” Gunnar replied, turning away from his dirty deed with the slumped shoulders of a defeated man. Brendan fell into step beside him, the men moving back onto the bridge with ever intention of quietly slinking home with their tail between their legs--

Thump, thump.

But that dead, beating pulse resonating from the buried doll sent them sprinting away into the fog, to the creature still waiting for them at the gate.

The doll was done with them. It had found a new Haus to call home.

- x -

“If you say let’s split up, I swear to god.”

“...Well I wasn’t wasn’t going to say that.”

There’s something to be said about a “disappointed Mom tone”. Helen Brigham usually hears Monica tell Dot she has it, but Monica had it too, and it was truly to the delight of everyone except the one she’s disappointed in, to hear it. The loving amusement in the Shadow Reaver’s green eyes was uncharacteristic and would surprise anyone who knew her, but given the person she was looking at, should be self-explanatory. Seated in her home office, behind her hand-carved desk (made from wood blessed centuries ago), Helen was hard at work going through the field reports handed in by Beauregard Frenzy, her Junior Detective for The Society. He’d had a busy week, what with the seasons changing and the barrier between dimensions waning and all. Helen preferred to read his reports personally, and if asked she stated feeling responsible for the young man--but the truth was she had a soft spot for him and that had everything to do with Monica.

The beautiful young woman in question was seated in a comfy, plush panda bean bag chair, surrounded by snacks, while Beau sat cross-legged beside her in his own wolf-faced bean bag. The two were playing a co-op video game, survival horror in nature, and it amused Helen to no end the decisions that Beau made (or attempted to make) in-game. It was partly so amusing because Monica was having none of it.

“Why the hell would we split up?! I know you’ve seen horror movies, Beau. We all watch them all the time.”

“Because this isn’t a horror movie,” Beau reasoned, holding up one finger to accentuate his point. “It’s a horror game.”

Monica stared at him.

“...So the...logic is...different.” Beau finished, a lot weaker than when he started.

“We’re not splitting up.” Monica declared definitively as she turned back to the screen.

“I concur.” Helen chimed in, her accented voice softer than usual as it was whenever she spoke to Monica. The young woman smiled, a little nervously perhaps, but all that did was warm Helen’s heart. The Reaver turned back to the current report she was reading, perusing a few lines.

“Ms. Helen,” Beau called over his shoulder, eyes never leaving the screen. “Have you gotten to the part where I shot the Bigfoot in his big butt?”

“...No, I haven’t.”

“...Oh, okay.” A pause. “Because I shot a Bigfoot in his big butt.”

Helen, by the grace of a nameless god, was able to keep her poker face firmly in place. “You don’t have a firearm, Beau, what did you shoot it with?”

“Jax’s slingshot.” Beau sounded incredibly proud of himself. “And some of Usopp’s stinkbombs that I think I actually got from Wade. Who I’m pretty sure he said were just his burrito farts but--”

Helen downed the contents of her wine glass in two gulps before speaking. “No off-regulation weaponry, Beau, and for god’s sake do not use anything Wade Wilson gives you.”

“Monica does,” Beau said by way of defense.

Monica had finally stopped laughing enough to turn to him. “Don’t tattle!”

“What?! She’s not Diesel, she’s not gonna take them away!”

“Take what away?”

Beau and Monica both froze as if realizing too late that too much had been said.

“D-Don’t you need more wine?” Monica turned, gesturing toward one of the Haus servants standing obediently nearby. “She needs more wine!”

Helen didn’t take her eyes off Monica as the servant rushed to fill her wine glass. But Beau was right, Helen wasn’t Angelo, and she let Monica get away with anything and everything, freely and happily, because that little girl was the source of Helen’s smile. She was an angel and could do no wrong, and so the Reaver turned back to the report, now dreading getting to the “Bigfoot’s big butt” part.

The start of any Holiday season was always cause for celebration amongst the Haus and October was no different--it was the beginning of Halloween and the hallways and rooms had been decorated accordingly, with the Staff working for the past week to ensure October 1st greeted each member of the infamous Stone Spider Family with cobwebs, hanging spiders, bats and ghosties and even the Haus menu items reflected the time of year, from Frankenstein Franks for lunch or Dracula’s Devil Food Cake for dessert--Helen wasn’t sure which Dracula that particular dish was named after but she figured, ask any one of them and they’ll likely claim it. That was the overall feel of the Haus; it was a Family, the Family, infamous and known to all of New Senzannini and while Helen had never had much use for family prior to the merging that brought literal thousands of people together, she found she wouldn’t know what to do without it, now. It was a sentiment shared by every other member that lived in this happy halls, and the reason? The reason was currently kicking quite a bit of zombie ass on screens broadcasted throughout the Haus.

Monica was, rightfully so, the center of the Family. She often found herself too shy to really think too hard on that, and perhaps other days found her mood lacking and allowed the thought to slip to the back of her mind--but all she needed to do was look around and she’d be reminded just how much she was loved. It was in the way the Family supported her, took care of her, loved and adored her and desired to be apart of every single aspect of her life. Case in point? The right side of the screen she was playing on had a running chat with the Family all chiming in with words of praise and encouragement for Monica as they watched her play her game. That was her life, day in and day out, and Helen was among the countless others who took up protective vigilance to make sure her world was always happy and safe--

Thump, thump.

Helen felt her pulse still, her entire body stiffening like a predator who just noticed another in it’s territory. Centuries of life lived knowing danger was just around each and every corner meant Helen was always hyper-aware of her surroundings and even at home, at the Haus, she never let her guard down. It was this vigilance that allowed her to hear that dead, hollow beating like a dying heart, that insidiously crept into the walls of the Haus. Monica and Beau missed the sound, so entrenched in their video game and conversation, and Helen was grateful for that. The sound reminded her of the wet splatter that breakable bodies make when they connect with solid concrete from a 100 foot drop. It reminded her of the last gurgles of a drowning victim, the desperate fight for air when only water is filling the lungs and mouth.

It was the sound of imminent death and it chilled her to her bones.

Helen remained still as a statue, her entire body attuned to the surrounding environment as she listened for the sound, again. What the bloody hell was that? As much as she didn’t want to hear it again she desperately needed to, to place the sound and the feeling of horrible dread creeping up her spine like frostbite. But only silence greeted her, the whisper and whip of autumn wind and the trees dancing in the October night air, shaking their leaves loose in preparation for snow. Around her, the fireplace was aglow with warmth and the wine in her belly met the heat evenly. Monica and Beau were laughing, enjoying the entertainment on screen and the Haus itself was alive with it’s usual activities. The world kept spinning, seeking to put her at ease but she’d heard something. Something that told her their world was no longer happy and safe.

“Ms. Helen, did you get to the part yet?” Beau, childlike exuberance on full display, couldn’t help but ask again. But when silence met his excitement, he turned and the smile dropped off his face immediately, replaced with uneasy concern. “Ms. Helen?”

Monica turned when Beau did, the two watching as Helen stared, still and silent, out the window. She didn’t seem to hear them, and Monica was surprised to hear that Helen’s heart wasn’t beating. Her entire body had gone completely stone still and Monica, gifted Supernatural that she was, could tell Helen was poised, waiting for something. Listening...but for what?

Knock, knock.

“Ms. Helen?” Thomas Grady, long-time partner and Head Detective at The Society, was all concern as he politely knocked and then let himself in to the spacious office. He spared Monica and Beau a smile that was meant to reassure, but Monica caught the uneasiness in his ocean blue eyes. The Detective stepped fully into the office, shutting the door before clearing his throat. He didn’t want to bring attention to an unsettling prospect, especially in front of Monica, but felt he had no choice--especially since Helen was now looking at him expectantly. “...Did you...happen to feel that disturbance a few minutes ago?”

Monica and Beau exchanged a glance. “Disturbance?” Monica asked, looking between Thomas and Helen. “What happened? I didn’t feel anything.”

Helen looked from Thomas to Monica with an expression the young vampire had a hard time reading. She seemed...relieved, but concerned at the same time. The Reaver was breathing again, her heart once again beating steadily, strongly, but she took a moment to consider her words before she moved to speak--

Only to be interrupted by an automated voice overhead. It was JARVIS, and he sounded concerned.

“Ms. Helen, I beg pardon for the interruption but I’ve received several reports from members of the Haus who have heard or felt something peculiar in the last few minutes. I thought it pertinent to bring it to your attention. Would you like to see the recordings?”

Helen glanced down at Monica and Beau momentarily, as if weighing the pros and cons of having them present for these unsettling recordings of that horrible noise she’d heard, but Beau was training to handle these types of scenarios and shielding Monica wouldn’t necessarily protect her. Still, she held out her hand to the younger woman, and was relieved when Monica stood and came over. Helen gingerly took Monica’s hand, guiding the shorter woman onto her lap, where she could provide a safe, protective presence for what was sure to be an ugly reveal. Anything bad happening on Haus property was never, ever a good sign and the Reaver was not pleased with this turn of events. Not pleased at all.

“Go ahead.” Helen finally gave the all-clear and JARVIS’s overlay took command of both Helen’s computer screen and the game screen Monica and Beau had be utilizing, allowing Helen and Monica to watch on the computer while Beau and Thomas watched the television.

The first recording was the Patriarchs, Angelino and Atamu, who were seated in their den with several other members of the Council of Elders. The group were sharing drinks and stories, enjoying one another’s company, laughs and loud conversations abound until something unseen and unheard happened--it seemed Atamu heard it while Angelino felt it, as the werelion’s dreaded head snapped toward an unheard sound, while the vampire placed a single large hand on his chest as if gripped by some unknown emotion that was openly hurting his heart.

The second recording was of Cavon and Ewan, sharing drinks in Ewan’s “shed”. Ewan was sprawled on the ground while Cavon was half on the couch, half-off, the two fully relaxed until the same unheard and unseen thing happened--then Cavon was on his feet, ready to fight but with no target to be seen, while Ewan had his hands over his ears as if the sound was over-amplified by his blood alcohol content.

The third recording was of Stephen Strange, who was in the process of flipping through one of his magic tomes when the sound reached him. It was subtle, but very telling, in the way he froze and then slowly, slowly turned to look out the window at something the camera couldn’t pick up.

The fourth recording was of the Fancy Club, but not everyone in the room seemed to be aware of the unheard, unseen disturbance. Zaos noticed, his long ears wiggling, bending at the tips as his entire body went rigid, tea cup poised in it’s saucer as the sound washed over him, through him, like a wave of nausea. But Savon, who was in the middle of talking to Renee, hadn’t seemed affected by whatever happened, and could be heard asking, “Zaos? What, what is it?”

The fifth recording showed one of the playrooms in the Nursery, or more specifically, Alma and Alessa, who were having a tea party. The unseen sound seemed to freeze both little girls in their tracks and as Monica watched, their teacups were rattling in their saucers. Whatever the sound was, it was so loud, so physically present, it was shaking inanimate objects--but a little ways away, Little Walter was napping undisturbed, snuggled in his blanket, unaware of the sound.

The sixth recording was down in the Haus Labs, where most of the “Science Bros” were currently working. Bruce Banner was standing at a whiteboard with William Birkin, the two computing some hellacious looking equation together when the sound seemed to hit them both the exact same way--they jumped, shrinking back as if physically attacked by something coming from the same direction...but of course, there was nothing there.

The seventh recording was from the adjacent lab, where loud rock music was blaring while Tony Stark and Franky were working side by side on what could only be described as a Mecha Suit--though for who still remained to be seen. Monica somehow doubted either of them would be able to hear anything over the music but what startled her was the music went dead. One moment it was playing and then it was just dead silence and it was in that moment that Tony’s reactor seemed to flare to life as if his pulse spiked, the man yanking his goggles off his eyes to look around the room as if for an assailant. Franky’s massive arms were raised, guns cocked as the sound finished rumbling up his spine like an earthquake.

But of course, there was nothing there.

The eighth recording was of one of the training rooms, where a lot of the younger superheroes could be seen training. A combination of mutants, spiderlings, robins, and super-babies combined were sparring, practicing, but the same strange phenomenon occurred--some of them reacted, like Doreen Green shrieking and putting her hands over her furry ears or Jason Todd very loudly asking “What the fuck?!” as he yanked his distinctive red hood off. Miles Morales was perched in an intricate web that was shaking but he couldn’t seem to tell why, while Jon Kent nearly fell out of the air where he’d been hovering nearby, hands flying to his ears to block out a sound that none of the recordings had picked up.

“I’ve many more similar recordings, Ms. Helen, from many different areas of the Haus. But none of the recordings have picked up on what so many are obviously hearing or feeling. I’m afraid I’m at a loss.”

Thomas turned from the screen to look at Helen. “Did you hear it? Or feel it?”

“Both.” Helen replied.

“I felt it.” Thomas supplied without Helen having to ask, knowing she wanted to know. He patted his chest, his other arm supporting the move. “And it was...awful.”

“I don’t understand,” Beau stood from his seat, looking around the office. “What was it? Why didn’t Monica or I hear it? Feel it?”

“You were distracted,” Helen ventured carefully. “I believe it didn’t necessarily want to be felt or heard.”

“What didn’t?” Monica asked quietly, her tone prompting Helen to rub her back in a gesture designed to comfort.

“I’m not certain yet, dear. It could...perhaps only have been a passing disturbance.” But Helen didn’t believe it; she was a realist, not an optimist. The words weren’t meant to be hollow but rather to provide Monica an alternative to much bleaker possibilities--that something wicked this way comes.

The office door opened a moment later and in strode the Patriarchs, their faces matching and grim. Atamu immediately crossed the expanse of the office to scoop Monica up--whether for himself or her, neither could truly be certain. The male simply needed to hold her, to reassure himself that she was fine and his protective instincts were absolutely in over-drive. He’d heard something and though he didn’t know what it was, he knew what it sounded like and it was not a sound meant to set anyone at ease. Helen didn’t protest, though her long fingers lingered down Monica’s back before Atamu moved away, his little one held in a vise-like grip to his strong chest.

“What was that?” Atamu asked, deep voice a rumbling growl. The werelion was close to shifting, agitated by the disturbance he couldn’t put a name to. His strong fingers were stroking through Monica’s hair in a gesture meant to comfort--himself or her, again, was left undetermined.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, not yet.” Helen moved to rise from her desk. “But, I will be ordering a sweep of the Haus and it’s grounds for any clues as to what was heard, or felt.”

It went unsaid that on such a huge property, that was going to take time.

“For now,” Helen offered by way of reassurance, “staying vigilant is going to be our best defense should this turn into something.”

“Though we hope it won’t,” Thomas couldn’t help but add. Ever the optimist, he found Helen’s abrupt, realistic plans too jarring when situations were bleak or uncertain. He even turned to give Monica a handsome smile, wanting her to know that no matter what, everything would be okay.

Helen, for once, didn’t chide him or even send him a withering glare of censure. Typically she found such optimistic musings like adding flowers to a grave. What was the purpose? But with Monica here and so much uncertainty in the air, for once she allowed the flowers without complaint. It was the way of families, she’s learned, to take care of one another in times of uncertainty and crisis. Love and optimism have their place in families, even if she isn’t the one to provide such comforts.

Perhaps, if she were to be proven right about what she felt, that familial bond would be just what the Haus will need in the coming month.

Beau seemed to pick up on that, looking around the office with a smile of reassurance. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m sure it was nothing, we’ll be fine--”

It was a nice sentiment, but it seemed a little deliberate that in that moment, every light in the Haus burst, plunging the Family into collective, oppressive darkness.

Day One, End.

[jeffrinamichelle]

Ugly Christmas Sweater

So my Pitchmas recipient  is @magda-adgam. It totally won’t let me tag your blog. Lame. 

Anyway, I am hella sorry that you are getting this late. And trust me, I feel like a total dick about it. But, emergencies happen and they always seem to happen to me. So, to make it up to you, I am going to give you at least two parts to this story. Maybe three. I like to ramble when I write.

You won’t have to wait 100 years for the next installment. I am almost done with it.

Once again, I am so sorry. Merry Pitchmas/New Year!!!

How losing a bet and having to buy ugly Christmas sweaters changed Beca’s life. 

Read on AO3

There were few things in life that Beca hates more than movies. If she had to pick one thing that was almost as painstakingly awful as losing two hours of her life to some predictable cinematic snorefest, it would have to be Christmas. Without a doubt. One would think that she would hate Valentine’s Day more, seeing as she was perpetually single, but no. The only reason why she could stomach Valentine’s Day just a smidgen more is because she has a soft spot for the candy hearts. Her best friend Stacie makes fun of her all the time because she tells Beca that they taste like chalk. And maybe they do, but Beca still thinks that they are delicious.

Maybe the reason behind Beca’s distain for Christmas is the fact that she worked retail throughout high school and college. Stacie never knew the horrors of dealing with bitchy people who absolutely needed the newest video game console for their bratty child. She is insanely smart and got into college on a full ride scholarship. Beca wasn’t dumb by any means, she was just lazy in high school. After she graduated, she tried to talk to her father about her college plans. She wanted to major in music management and production. He immediately freaked out and told her that he wouldn’t pay for her college education if she chose that path. According to him, she needed to major in something that would give her a lucrative career. He wanted her to be a college professor like he was. They argued about it for months. There was no way in hell that Beca was going to become a teacher. Not that she didn’t respect teachers or anything, that just wasn’t the career choice for her. Since she was a child she had loved music, and she’d be damned if her father stopped her from going to school for her dream job. So, at the end of the argument, she refused to change her career path. In turn, her father refused to pay for her school. So, she put herself through college working a horrible retail job. It paid well, but she was miserable for the entirety of it. Thus came her hatred for the whole holiday season.

Aside from Beca’s affinity for the chalky heart candies that made Valentine’s Day, she can never seem to turn down a bet. Most of the time when she bets against Stacie, she loses. But for some reason she can never stop herself from agreeing to Stacie’s outrageous bets. After fifteen years of friendship, she should know better. But, she just can’t help it.

~*~*~*~

“Come on Becs, let’s go dance.” Stacie eyes her best friend with a grin before slamming back the last of her jack and coke.

“Ugh, why? You know that I hate dancing.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re so good at it. And I need you to be my wing woman.”

“What lucky dude does the hunter have his eye on this evening?” Beca asks with a grin as she finishes her tumbler of whiskey.

Stacie tsks softly, cupping Beca’s chin with the palm of her left hand. She leans down to lightly kiss the corner of her best friend’s mouth.

“Now Bec, you know that the hunter doesn’t discriminate when it comes to sex.”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that the hunter is so fluid. So, let me rephrase. Who is on the hunter’s radar tonight? Which lucky lady or guy will you be attempting to seduce tonight?”

“I’m getting some very sexy, sapphic vibes from a tantalizing brunette at the bar.”

“Stace, I don’t even know what the hell that means.” Beca turns her head to look over at the bar, only to be stopped by Stacie’s hand gripping her chin tightly.

“Don’t look over there. You’ll ruin the air of mystery.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, woman?”

“She thinks that we here together. That’s why I need you to dance with me. It’s like she’s having some kind of internal battle on whether she should come over here and talk to me or not.”

“Any how exactly does us dancing together help this situation?”

“Because, jealousy is going to seal the deal. After she comes over to break up our dance, I’m going to take her back to our apartment so that I can make her squeal.”

Beca scowls at Stacie’s choice of words before smacking her arm lightly. “Ew! Dude, that’s so crass. You sound like a fuckboy when you talk like that.”

“I am anything but a fuckboy, Bec. I know how to treat a lady. I won’t apologize for being crass. Now are you going to help me bag this babe or not?” A perfectly sculpted eyebrow raises in question as Stacie eyes her best friend.

“Okay, fine. But when this girl shuts you down or punches you, I’m going to laugh.”

“Keep talking crap Becs and I’ll hide your beats that I bought you when we get home. And then I will fuck that hottie all night long.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wanna bet?”

“No, because I know that you’ll do it. I love you but you’re kind of an asshole.”

“Right back atcha, babe. But since you are so doubtful of my seduction skills, how about a little bet?”

Honestly, Beca is also well aware of her best friend’s sexual prowess. She has fallen victim to it many times in their fifteen year friendship. Beca isn’t ashamed of it either, she knows that her best friend is insanely attractive. And Beca is very, very gay. When the opportunity presented itself, she would’ve been a fool to say no. It hasn’t made their friendship suffer in any way either, which is something that Beca is monumentally thankful for. Stacie has a high sex drive, and rather than risk getting some sort of std, she made a deal with Beca. When Beca is single, which is more often than she’d like to admit, they sleep together. It keeps Stacie safe and it keeps them both satisfied.

So, taking this bet is really a horrible idea. But Beca has the best punishment if she manages to beat Stacie.

“Fine. What’s the bet?”

“I bet you that I can take this girl home tonight.”

“That’s it?” Beca looks over her shoulder at the girl that Stacie is talking about. She’s attractive, yeah. Tall, brunette, and she looks kind of bitchy. She’s exactly the type of girl that Stacie usually goes for. And she’s totally flirting with the very male bartender. There’s no way in hell that Stacie is going to win this bet, because this girl is totally straight. Beca smirks in the girl’s direction, Stacie totally oblivious as she runs her hands up the bartender’s bicep. “You just want to bet that you’re going to take this girl home?”

“Yup,” Stacie pops the ‘p’ loudly, biting down on her bottom lip with a smirk. “I can’t wait for you to lose this bet. I have plans for you.”

The tone of Stacie’s voice makes Beca shiver. She just hopes that whatever Stacie has planned for her is as awesome as her plan.

“Deal.”

“Oh, babe, you are so going to regret this.”

~*~*~*~*~

As it turns out, Beca didn’t stand a chance when it came to this bet. They didn’t even make it through the first song of their dance before the brunette approached them. She introduced herself as Aubrey, eyes raking over Stacie’s body shamelessly. Honestly, the way the two women were eyeing each other made Beca incredibly uncomfortable. So uncomfortable, in fact, that she quickly excused herself so that she could make a beeline for the bar. She’s positive that Stacie and her flavor of the night didn’t even notice her absence.

The bartender gives Beca a sympathetic look as she slides a tumbler of whiskey over to her.

“Tough night, Becs?”

“You have no idea, C.R,” Beca mumbles from around the rim of her glass. She swallows her drink with a grimace. “I didn’t even want to come out tonight.”

“So, why did you?”

“Stacie needed to get laid. Finals have been kicking her ass.”

C.R. chuckles softly, wiping the countertop with her rag. She turns her attention to a customer, quickly making them a drink before turning her attention back to Beca.

“She’s the one that decided to go after her graduate degree. Nobody forced her to stay in school, therefore she has nobody to blame but herself.”

“This is true, but that girl is so fucking smart. She’s going to change the world.”

“Or destroy it.”

The two women share a laugh as Beca drains the last of her drink. C.R. is quick to refill Beca’s glass, pouring way too much into the tumbler.

~*~*~*~*~

The night drags on as Beca waits for Stacie to seal the deal with the angry brunette. Beca knows that she’s lost this damn bet, so she’s going to drown her sorrows in whiskey. Whiskey that Cynthia Rose isn’t going to let her pay for at the end of the night. The upside to having a close friend that is a bartender is free drinks. As long as Beca doesn’t ask for expensive, high end drinks, that is. But, she’s a college student, she will drink Jack Daniels if she doesn’t have to pay for it.

It’s nearing two a.m. when she hears her phone notification ping. She’s pleasantly buzzed, nearing on being drunk. She fumbles with her cell phone as she pulls it out of her tight jeans. Her vision is a little blurry, but she’s just going to blame it on the fog lights. Yeah, definitely not the Jameson that she has been borderline binge drinking for the last three hours. She just has to squint a little bit in order to read the text.

Best Sex Ever: (1:55 a.m.) Aubs and I took a Lyft home. Thought that I should let you know so that you don’t worry about me.

Broody Bitch: (1:56 a.m.) Did you change our contact names again?

Best Sex Ever: (1:56 a.m.) Like two weeks ago, babe. Lolz.

Broody Bitch: (1:57 a.m.) What the fuck, dude? Why?

Best Sex Ever: (1:57 a.m.) Aww, baby, don’t be mad. You know that I love you the most.

Broody Bitch: (1:57 a.m.) It’s weird that you’re telling me this while you are probably fucking another girl.

Best Sex Ever: (1:58 a.m.) Aww, Bec, are you jealous?

Broody Bitch: (1:58 a.m.) Not even close, dude. I’m just worried about the hunter’s sexual prowess. Why are you texting me, instead of making that hot chick ‘squeal?’

Best Sex Ever: (1:59 a.m.) Oh, I fully intend on making her squeal. And you know first hand just how much sexual prowess the hunter possesses. How many times have I made you scream?

Broody Bitch: (2:00 a.m.) That statement goes both ways, asshole.

Best Sex Ever: (2:00 a.m.) I’m not going to deny that you know how work this body. You just didn’t seem to be in the mood tonight. So, I decided to bring somebody home.

Broody Bitch: (2:01 a.m.) You know the rules. Also, it’s not my fault that work was a bitch today. I really just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until tomorrow. But I know that you needed some sort of release.

Best Sex Ever: (2:02 a.m.) I’m sorry babe. You manage the studio though, so you could just fire all of the incompetent assholes that work for you.

Broody Bitch: (2:02 a.m.) I know that. Stacie, remember the only rule that we have.

Best Sex Ever: (2:02 a.m.) No fucking on the couch.

Broody Bitch: (2:03 a.m.) Thank you.

Best Sex Ever: (2:03 a.m.) I don’t know why we still have that rule. We have sex on the couch all the time.

Broody Bitch: (2:04 a.m.) That’s different.

Best Sex Ever: (2:04 a.m.) It’s literally the same thing, but whatevs. I gotta go, Aubrey is all sorts of naked on my bed right now. Love you, bitch.

Broody Bitch: (2:05 a.m.) Love you too, asshat! Also, I hope this goes without saying, but don’t fuck that girl in my bed!

Best Sex Ever: (2:06 a.m.) I’m sorry, the person you’re trying to reach is currently preforming cunnilingus. Please try again later.

Broody Bitch: (2:07 a.m.) Anastacia Marie Conrad, I swear to Lesbian Jesus that I will tit punch you if you have sex in my bed again.

Beca slams her phone down on the bar top with an annoyed sigh. Cynthia Rose smirks at her friend as she refills Beca’s tumbler. She should probably cut Beca off, but she knows that the brunette can hold her liquor. Despite her small stature, Beca can definitely drink with the best of them.

“Last one, Becs.”

“Whyyyy? C.R., you’re killing me.”

“I’m not in the business of letting you get white girl wasted. Remember what happened the last time that you did.”

“It wasn’t my fault, dude. That skeezy guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. I told him that we played for the same team and he refused to leave me alone. He even grabbed my ass.”

“So that gives you the right to break his nose?”

“He touched me first. Sorry, not sorry.”

“Regardless, you are not allowed to get wasted when Stacie isn’t here to keep you from kicking the shit out of somebody.”

“I have you.”

“I have to close the bar. And I’m sure that I have other people to get drinks for before I kick everybody out.”

“Ugh, fine. Take away all my fun.”

“Whatever, you love me.”

“Hardly.”

~*~*~*~*~

The buzz of her alarm startles her awake at what she knows is a godawful hour. Her head feels like somebody is jackhammering inside of it, and her mouth is as dry as the Sahara. Beca groans painfully as she stretches out her sore muscles.

“I’m never drinking again,”Beca grumbles to the otherwise empty room. She reaches out blindly, scrambling to grab her phone off of the bedside table. Her hand smacks softly against a glass cup that definitely wasn’t there when she went to bed at three a.m. She opens one eye slowly, looking over at the table. A fresh glass of water is sitting where her phone was last night. Two round orange pills are next to the glass, sitting on top of a folded piece of paper.

“What the fresh hell?”

Beca grabs the pills hastily, throwing them into her mouth and swallowing them dry. She sits up with another groan, rolling her shoulders to work out the knots. She grabs the glass and chugs down the water, slamming the glass back onto the table a little too hard, wincing at the loud clunk. She then turns her attention to the folded up piece of paper that she knows for sure wasn’t there this morning. She grabs the paper and unfolds it, tired eyes roaming over Stacie’s loopy scrawl.

Becs,

You lost our bet, babe. I don’t know why you continue to bet against me when you almost always lose, but whatever. I’ll bask in my glory.

I made a fresh pot of coffee. When you’re feeling human enough to leave your room, come get some. Aubrey and I are in the living room. You and I have a date to go shopping this afternoon.

Love ya,

Stace xoxo

Beca groans, crumpling up the note and tossing it onto the bed. She gets up, wincing at the painful throb in her entire body. She walks to her en suite, stripping off her dirty clothes and leaving them carelessly in her wake. If she has to go shopping, taking a shower is a must.

She just hopes that whatever Stacie has planned for shopping isn’t completely horrible.

~*~*~*~*~

“Stacie, no.”

“Stacie, yes.”

“I’m not going in there.”

“But you are.”

“Why?” Beca whines petulantly, frowning at her best friend.

“Because you lost our bet. And my punishment for you is that for the next two weeks, you have to wear ugly Christmas sweaters. A different one each day, to be exact.”

“I….but you know that I hate Christmas time.”

“I know.” Stacie laughs softly. “That’s what makes this punishment even sweeter.”

“You know, when you said that we were going shopping, I thought that this punishment might be fun.”

Stacie grips Beca’s shoulder as they walk through the front door of the store. The fluorescent sign above the door says ‘Aca-amazing Threads.’ Just the name alone makes Beca want to vomit. She can tell before they walk in that there is going to be a really perky, annoying salesperson. The store will more than likely be playing Christmas music, even though it’s barely the fourth of December. A tiny bell announces their presence before Beca can make a stealthy escape.

“Hi!” An all too perky voice calls out as Stacie and Beca make their way into the building. Beca hasn’t completely recovered from her hangover, so that cheery voice just makes her cringe.

“No, Stace. For lesbian Jesus’ stake. I am too hungover to deal with that voice.”

“Beca, you seriously don’t have a choice in this matter.” Stacie’s grip on Beca’s shoulder tightens slightly. Beca winces at the movement, but not in pain. To be honest, the forcefulness of her best friend is kind of turning her on a little bit. But now is not the time or the place for that.

“Dude, I will literally do anything else.”

“Nope, I think that this is the right punishment. Aubrey actually helped me come up with it.”

“Of course she did. I knew that she looked evil as hell.”

“That woman is amazing, not evil.”

“Awww, Conrad. Are you getting soft on me?”

“Hardly. I’m just letting you know that I’m going to marry that girl one day. So you should probably be nice to your future….I was going to say sister-in-law but that thought just kind of makes me want to puke. It makes us sound like sisters.”

“Ew, dude. Sisters don’t do the things that we’ve done to each other.”

“At least, not normally.”

“Welcome to Aca-Amazing Threads, ladies. Are you looking for anything in particular?” The chipper voice is closer now, making Beca finally turn her attention away from her best friend.

The first look that Beca gets of this chipper woman takes her breath away.

The woman is gorgeous. Absolutely stunning.

She’s a little bit taller than Beca, with bright blue eyes. Her red hair makes her eyes look ridiculously blue. Her smile is so bright that it makes Beca’s sensitive eyes hurt. Beca does a once over of the other woman, looking at her nametag after what she hopes is a subtle glance at her boobs.

Beca is so, so gay and this woman is one thousand percent her type.

Her subtle staring might not be so subtle because before she knows it, Stacie is jabbing her in the stomach with her elbow.

“Ouch, what the fuck dude?”

“Becs, tell Chloe the reason why we’re here.”

“I need a sweater….” Beca mumbles quietly, still gob smacked by this outrageously attractive woman.

“Okay, that’s a start. What kind of sweater are we looking for?” The woman enthusiastically grabs Beca’s hand, pulling the brunette alongside her.

“What my best friend is looking for is a Christmas sweater.”

“Okay. We have plenty of Christmas sweaters. Tis the season after all.”

“I hate you so much right now, Anastacia.” Beca grumbles as Chloe stops them in front of a very elaborate display of Christmas sweaters. She turns her head to glare at the best friend, scoffing when she is nowhere in sight. After looking around the store, Beca notices her, standing by the front doors, looking down at the phone with a goofy grin.

She’s probably texting that girl from last night. Amanda or Ashley or whatever her name was. Beca makes a mental note to give Stacie so much shit when they get home.

“Are you guys looking for matching sweaters? I always love it when couples have matching sweaters.”

“Oh no, we aren’t a couple.” Beca’s eyes roam over Chloe’s body once more. It dawns on her at that moment that Chloe is still holding her hand. Her entire body feels warm next to the other girl. She wants nothing more in that moment than to pull Chloe’s body against hers.

Whoa. You’re treading dangerous waters here, Mitchell.

“No? You guys sure argue like one.”

“No. Not even close. She’s just my best friend. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

“Gotcha.” Chloe clears her throat softly. “So, do you see any sweaters that catch your eye?”

“Yeah, that one.” Beca blindly points to the sweater that is closest to Chloe. She has literally no idea what the sweater looks like, to be honest. She just needs to get far away from this girl before she does something stupid.

She’s actually surprised that she can still form coherent sentences at this point. Usually she becomes a useless mess around pretty girls.

Chloe is so breathtakingly beautiful that Beca should probably be drooling troll by now.

Beca watches Chloe as she walks away to look for the sweater in her size, which she totally didn’t tell the other girl. She is about to call out to the other woman, but all the can think about is how cold her hand feels without Chloe’s wrapped around it.

“Becs? I am going to leave you here in Chloe’s very capable hands. I’m meeting Aubrey for lunch down the street.”

Stacie’s voice breaks Beca out of her reverie.

“How am I supposed to get home? You drove here.”

“Well it just so happens that the bistro that we’re going to is like five blocks down the road. So, after Chloe helps you pick out your sweater, you guys can meet us there.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Beca’s eyes widen as Stacie’s words sink in. “Wait, what?”

“Oh didn’t I tell you? Chloe is Aubrey’s best friend.”

“What the fuck dude?!” Beca hisses under her breath. “I can’t go to lunch with her.”

“Why?”

“Because, dude, she is so fucking attractive.” Beca huffs indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know how I get around pretty girls, Stace.”

“I know. You become a useless lesbian.”

“I can’t be around her. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“Would it help matters or make them worse if I told you that she thinks you’re totally hot.”

“That doesn’t help, at all Stacie!” Beca squeaks, her neck flushing with embarrassment. “Also, how do you know that?”

“Um, so I’ve maybe been dating Aubrey for the past month,” Stacie whispers. “Look, Bec….”

“Are you fucking kidding me!?!?” Beca yells at her best friend, waving her arms in the air.

“Seriously Becs, I’ve been meaning to tell you. It just hasn’t come up.”

“That’s a copout and you know it. We spend a lot of time together, you could’ve told me at any point. Were you guys dating while we were still sleeping together?”

“Yes.”

“Stacie….”

“No, you gotta hear me out. We were only kind of seeing each other. It wasn’t anything serious. But I really like her Beca. And for the first time since I dated Joey Presley sophomore year of high school, I can see myself falling in love with her.”

“That’s great.” Beca shoves her hands into the back pockets of her skinny jeans. She’s mad, sure. But she hasn’t seen this look in Stacie’s eyes in the last eight years. So, really she wants to support her best friend, but fuck, she really hates it when people lie to her. “Really it is, Stace. I’m happy that you found somebody to make you want to settle down. But you didn’t have to lie to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“You kind of did though. Lying by omission is still a lie. And what’s worse is that you felt like you couldn’t tell me that you met somebody.”

“Becs, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Save it. I’m gonna go. Have a good lunch with your girl. I’ll see you later.”

“Beca…”

Beca holds a hand up to stop Stacie.

“Just, don’t right now. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Without another word, Beca walks out of the store.

~*~*~*~*~*

The next three days are absolute torture for Beca. She doesn’t like fighting with her best friend. But she is mad and a little bit hurt. Not because Stacie found somebody that she wants to be exclusive with, because honestly Beca wants that for her best friend. It just kind of makes her feel gross to know that Stacie was still sleeping with her while dating another person. Just because it makes her feel like a little bit like a homewrecker, even if they weren’t technically together.

So, for the past three days Beca’s been crashing on Cynthia Rose’s couch. She’s pretty sure that C.R.’s girlfriend Denise is ready to scream from having little to no privacy. But she’s too nice to say anything.

She’s done her fair share of housework and cooking to try and make up for the fact that she’s basically freeloading. She also hid money inside of C.R.’s refrigerator last night. She’s not planning on telling her until after she leaves the apartment, because she knows that C.R. will find a way to slip it back into her bag.

Stacie has tried texting and calling her nonstop since she stormed out of the clothing store. Beca wasn’t ready to talk to her, so she has been ignoring her best friend’s messages. If she’s completely honest, she’s still not quite ready, but she’s out of clean clothes and C.R.’s laundry room is out of order. So, if that isn’t a sign from Lesbian Jesus that she needs to go home, then Beca doesn’t know what is.

Luckily, when Beca gets dropped off by Denise, Stacie is still in class. Beca thanks Denise before trudging up the two flights of stairs that lead her to her and Stacie’s apartment. She goes into Stacie’s room to grab her dirty clothes so that she can wash them along with her own. After starting the washing machine, Beca grabs a beer out of the fridge and plops her body onto the living room couch. She puts something menial on television to pass the time until the inevitable conversation the she will have with her best friend.

She’s so immersed in the cooking competition on the television that she doesn’t notice the box on the table right away. It isn’t until she goes to put her feet up on the table that it finally catches her attention. Well, the attention of her feet, anyway.

Beca grabs the box and pulls it into her lap. She studies the box curiously. She’s not quite sure what it is, but her name is written on top of it. It’s in a loopy cursive scrawl that she knows isn’t Stacie’s. She unties the ribbon on the box and opens it.

Beca isn’t able to stop the sarcastic chuckle from escaping her lips when she sees the most godawful Christmas sweater that she’s ever seen in her life. On top of the sweater is a folded up piece of paper. Beca grabs the piece of paper out of the box and then sets the ugly ass sweater on the couch beside her.

With a sigh, Beca reclines her body against the couch and unfolds the paper.

Beca,

Here’s the sweater that you picked out. Although, I’m pretty sure that you just blindly pointed to one. Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas sweaters but this one is just terrible. You left before I could bring it out to you, so I bought it and had Stacie bring it home for you.

I’m pretty bummed that you didn’t come out to lunch with Stacie, Aubrey and I. While we were eating, Stacie told me about the whole not telling you about her relationship with Aubs. I’m sorry that she kept that from you, it totes sucks.

I know that I didn’t really get to talk to you much while you were in the store, but here is my number in case you want to get together sometime. I think that we’ll be fast friends.

Enjoy the sweater!

Chloe XOXO

Beca laughs softly at the cheekiness of the redhead. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and immediately opens up her text messages. She types in Chloe’s phone number and creates a contact, listing her under ‘Redheaded Babe.’ She starts a new message thread using the acquired phone number.

Beca takes her time planning out her message to Chloe. She doesn’t want to sound like a complete idiot if she actually sacks up and sends the text. She barely knows this girl, there is no reason for her to be so damn nervous. She’s such a gay disaster and Chloe just might be her undoing.

After much deliberation, she finally types out the message. She presses send before she can talk herself out of it.

Unknown (4:30 p.m.) Hey.

When she rereads what her ridiculous brain actually came up with, she wants to punch herself in the throat.

‘Hey.’ So freaking eloquent, Beca.

If Chloe didn’t think that you were an idiot before, she surely will now. There’s no way Chloe’s going to respond to that stupid message. No way in hell.

With a resigned sigh, Beca tosses her cell phone onto the couch cushion next to her. She’s just going to sit in place and die of embarrassment now. She leans back against the back of the couch, bringing her left hand up to her face to pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She’s so busy chastising herself that she doesn’t hear the ping of her phone.

TBC

[taeyongtime]

soleil luna

genre: ceo!au feat. long distance relationship | three dashes of angst | four tablespoons of fluff

group & member: NCT / Doyoung

word count: 4.2k

a/n: sun and moon-esque for LDR vibes 

“You’re not taking me with you?”

Doyoung catches onto the disappointment in your voice, reaching a hand over to grasp your fingers tightly. He eases the clipboard out of your grip and places it on his desk, first thinking over the best way to deliver the upcoming news. 

“I need you here to keep things from sinking in my absence.”

“But…”

“I trust you,” he continues quietly. “I wouldn’t let just anyone work as my substitute, you know.”

“You’re planning to make me your replacement?”

“You’ve been here long enough to know how things work.” His voice is firm as he slides over a manila envelope. “You’re the acting CEO now whether you like it or not.”

You wiggle out of his grip, fingers fumbling once your eyes scan the contents of the envelope. 

“Doyoung!”

“Come here.” 

Pulling you onto his lap, your boss and current boyfriend buries his face in your neck, arms tightening their hold around your waist.

“Let me go,” you scowl, squirming to free yourself from his hold.

He shakes his head and you adjust your position just enough to face him while remaining seated on his lap. 

“How long will this so-called business trip of yours last?”

“��� Six months,” he begins with a sigh. “And don’t scream.”

“SIX MONTHS?”

—

Six months was a long time of not seeing Doyoung.

It wasn’t that you hated him for going away for business. You were fully aware that sometimes excursions were necessary for the company to flourish via activities overseas. Simply relying on local sources for revenue was not enough to maintain the economic success of the Kim Conglomerate, and truthfully you had wanted Doyoung to tell you that you’d be joining him on the trip rather than having to step up as acting CEO while he was gone.  

“This is it,” Doyoung tells the driver as the last of his luggage is packed into the back of the vehicle. “We should get going before traffic becomes a problem.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

The familiar frown makes its way on your face again and Doyoung spots it right away, reaching for your hands and swinging them lightly to lessen the tension in the air.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t want you to go,” you mumble, unable to look him in the eye. “Six months is such a long time.”

“I have to go, it’s for the company.”

“Can you… Can you at least call me every day so I don’t miss you too much?”

A snort of disbelief leaves his mouth. 

“I’ll call you every hour if you want me to.”

“No,” you whine, shaking your head. “International calls are expensive.”

He smiles at your small fit, finding it endearing that you were still looking out for him despite not being a fan of the current arrangement of things. 

“Then I’ll make sure to video call you at the end of each week. Fair?”

“Mmm. I’ll also give you weekly reports then.”

“Text me about yourself, too,” he adds right before letting go of the hands he was still swinging. “I have to go now.”

“Watch me end up bankrupting the company,” you joke, making light of missing him for the next six months.

“If that happens, you know that’s only going to hurt you more than it hurts me.”

—

Two weeks into his first month away and you were already swamped with a workload five times more chaotic than your daily duties as head secretary. Having to oversee practically everyone and everything running in the office, you didn’t have enough hands for all the documents that needed signing and to hold all the folders of records from past years to make accurate predictions on this year’s budgeting. Two eyes weren’t enough to read through every word on the pages and not even two legs were enough to get from department to department for progress checks and demanding reports from each manager and their teams. Now you knew why Doyoung practically went through each day drinking coffee like it was water.

“The annual midnight gala is scheduled for this Thursday, should I RSVP to the committee’s invite now or would you prefer to do that yourself?”

You look up from your papers and frown. 

“Doyoung won’t be here to attend that.”

Your secretary smiles apologetically. “Yes, but as acting CEO, it is still expected of you to attend… Boss.”

A heavy sigh leaves your mouth and you end up nodding away your Thursday night, making a mental note to pick up a proper dress to wear at your favorite boutique before the event. 

“Anything else?”

She shakes her head and you ask her to shut the door on her way out, burying your head into the open folders of company records and other archival documents clamoring for a second of your time. Too many things piled on your plate when this wasn’t what you had been hired for.

“I wonder if he’s asleep yet,” you mumble, opening the video calling app on your phone. Fingers hovering over Doyoung’s contact, they press down just when the notification of an incoming call shows up on screen and you manage a smile at seeing Doyoung sitting in bed with his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Whatcha reading?”

You arch an eyebrow in question at the offered paperback. 

“Really? The Great Gatsby?”

“What?” he replies defensively, hugging the book close to his chest. “It’s a worthy read!”

“Did you receive any of my emails? I need replies on at least five of them asap.”

“I’ll answer them after I finish reading tonight’s chapter.” He picks up his phone and and turns the camera so all you can see is text rather than his beautiful face.

“I don’t want to read,” you protest. “Turn the camera back.”

The sound of turning pages is all you can hear as Doyoung stops speaking to read his book instead, glancing back at you for a while before his attention is reclaimed by the novel.

“I forgot to tell you, but I’m going in your place to the gala this Thursday.”  

The phone camera reverses back and Doyoung takes off his glasses, mouth twisted to a frown. 

“Are you going with a date or what?”

“I was going to ask your brother if he’d like to go with me since he’s really the only person I know who would be willing to go.”

“Thank goodness you’re not going with that one guy from finance. God, do you remember how—”

“No, Doyoung, we’re not going to talk about how he walked in on you getting ready to fuck me in the conference room.”

The scowl on his face brings a chuckle from your end. “I’ll let you sleep now, I have more work to do.”

“Send me a picture of your dress Wednesday night.”

“My Wednesday or your Wednesday? There’s a difference.”

“Mine,” he laughs. “Since when did you start giving sass to your boss?”

“Since I became my own boss,” you reply with a playful shrug. “Good night.”

“Good night. I’ll dream of you and good luck with the rest of your work.”

—

Some days Doyoung would wake extra early to catch you after you ended work at six.

“How early is it over there?” you ask him, frowning at his constant yawns.

“4am?” he mumbles incoherently. “Yeah, 4am.”

“Please go to sleep.”

He sits up, shaking his head as he blinks furiously to shake off the sleepiness. 

“I’m good.”

“You look like you’re about to collapse at any moment,” you say bluntly to your camera. “Just sleep.”

“Hey, I need to make sure you’re doing your work properly,” he shoots back, voice regaining its signature snappiness after the barb. “And make sure you’re eating well.”

“I eat well.”

“What’d you have today?”

“Toast for breakfast, a BLT for lunch,” you recite, counting off your fingers in tow. “Two chocolate bars at 3:30 and now I’m going to get fried chicken for dinner.”

“Where are your vegetables, don’t you know what a balanced diet is?”

“Sorry, I don’t know what that is.” You angle your camera at the sign outside the restaurant. “I can smell it from outside, it’s so good.”

The jealous groan from the other end of the line fails to make any impact as you put in an order for chicken and add mashed potatoes to the side, flaunting off the receipt at a sleepy Doyoung and making sure he received the perfect view of freshly fried chicken and creamy mashed potatoes once your order was ready for pick up.

“It’s so good, Doyoung,” you say through a mouthful of perfectly crisp chicken. “Juicy and the sauce! I really wish you were here to eat this with me.”

“You’re the worst, I’m going back to sleep.”

—

Other days when Doyoung called, you had to cut things short since that was usually when you needed to get ready for another day in the office.

The most memorable instance would have to be the time he called you while you were in the bathroom taking a shower, your phone practically blowing up with missed notifications until you called him back without even putting on your day clothes.

“Are you out?” he asks once your face enters the frame.

“I was taking a shower,” you groan. “Jeez, I have to get to work in an hour and I didn’t even change yet.”

“Oh, let me see.”

“Fuck off, you nasty rabbit.”

You call him again after changing and stay on the line while commuting to work, chatting animatedly during the 30-minute subway ride amongst the sea of people also heading off to start their days, occasionally sneaking pictures of passengers to him and giggling quietly as he rambled about how weird they looked or compared them to some of your coworkers in his familiar sharp humor that not many could relate to. It was like having Doyoung right next to you as you stepped off the train and headed upwards through the appropriate exit, stopping just before the entrance to the office building to start your day.

“I have fifteen minutes to get up there,” you say as you show him his office building.

“You can afford to be late,” he snorts. “You’re the CEO, for goodness sake.”

“No, I can’t, I have to set an example.”

Doyoung snickers at your goody two-shoes attitude and turns the camera away from his face, giving you a view of his window from his hotel room in France. 

“For you.”

“It’s beautiful, Doyoung.”

“I’ll take you here someday,” he promises. “We’ll go up the Eiffel Tower and explore the Parisian streets like all the couples here.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I know. Now get to work before it’s too late.”

“Bye,” you mumble. “I miss you.”

“I miss you more,” Doyoung smiles, his sharp features softening as he points at his cheek. “A kiss before you go?”

You blow a kiss at the screen and he pumps a fist triumphantly in the air.

“You’re such a nerd, Doyoung.”

—

Not everything is rosy and golden in long distance relationships, especially not when the distance between you and Doyoung seemed to grow with each passing day.

The video calls dwindled from once a week to once every three weeks. Any quick texts from either you or him led to curt replies of “Busy” or “Talk later”, usually resulting in missed opportunities altogether since you were almost a full day ahead of him. Busy work upon busy work loaded up on your end, you haven’t kept in touch with Doyoung for almost two whole months now and it was starting to take a toll on your emotions after he hadn’t responded during your first mental breakdown as acting CEO.

“Boss, we need to respond to the staff from marketing before 6. It’s already 5:30.”

“Give me a minute,” you hiss at your secretary, rubbing at your temples as you shuffle through the stack of papers on your desk. 

“Where is the file for 45A?”

“On your right.”

You locate the folder you wanted and quickly skim through its contents, not finding the information you needed to reply to the secretary’s request. 

“Give me ten minutes.”

“But…”

“Ten minutes.”

She leaves the office without another word and you dial Doyoung’s number, not even caring about international fees as your foot taps anxiously underneath your desk, waiting for him to pick up your call.

“Please pick up, oh my god, please.”

The dial tone rings endlessly until you force yourself to come to terms that he was too busy to pick up. Hanging up, you toss your phone to the other side of the room, ignoring the sharp clatter of the device against the wall as you take a deep breath and step out of your office.

“Tell Marketing they can stop. We’re scrapping that entire project.”

—

Six o’clock comes around in a blink of an eye and you are just about to put on your coat to leave when your phone rings, the screen blinking furiously with Doyoung’s name at the very top.

“Not now,” you groan, shutting it off completely.

An hour of running errands leaves you tired as hell as you step through your front door at fifteen past eight; you remain slumped on the couch for a good thirty minutes before you remember your phone and the missed call from your actual boss. Turning the power back on, your eyes roll at seeing the 40 notifications of missed calls and urgent texts demanding for your reply. Not in the mood to touch anything work-related, you turn your attention away from the phone and head to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower, feeling warm after the fifteen minutes of indulgence before your phone twiddles its ringtone again.

You finally pick up the phone after pouring a cup of hot coffee to help with the upcoming scolding. 

“Hello?”

“Where have you been?”

You immediately hold your arm away from your ear. 

“Calm down.”

“Calm down?” Doyoung echoes, furious at your indifference. “I’ve been trying to reach you nonstop for the past two hours and you’re telling to me to just calm down?”

“What do you want?”

“It’s 9am on my end and is it true you scrapped the library renovation project today?”

“What’s it to you that I scrapped it?”

His voice raises two octaves. “I’ve been planning that renovation project for the past year and you just… toss it out? Why didn’t you ask me beforehand?”

“You think I didn’t try?” you snap. “I’ve been trying to reach you the entire day yesterday and guess who didn’t answer? You.”

“I was out the entire evening,” he retorts. “It’s not easy trying to keep up with all these executives from the companies over here. I had to sit through so many—”

Your ears pick up what sounded like feminine giggling, blood practically running cold at the brunette that suddenly comes into frame,. Her arms loop around Doyoung’s shoulders as she peers curiously into the camera, large eyes blinking rapidly and lips pursed into the biggest pout you’ve ever seen.

“Is this your girlfriend, Doyoungie?”

“Who,” you begin curtly, “Is that?”

Doyoung opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it, tilting her head to the left playfully. 

“Hello! My name is Chisato! One of Doyoungie’s new friend!”

“New friend.” Is this fucker seeing someone new overseas? “How did you and Doyoung meet?”

She turns to Doyoung in confusion and he puts the phone down, the faint murmur of conversation inaudible before you can see the two of them again. 

“Party yesterday!” Chisato answers enthusiastically. “Doyoungie is very good at guessing games and can drink so much sake!”

“It’s not what you think,” Doyoung begins. “Chisato is calling it a party, but it was really more of a—”

“He was very cute!” She squeezes Doyoung tightly and places a loud kiss on his cheek. “Like a bunny, cute!”

“I gotta go,” you say through gritted teeth. “Bye, Doyoung.”

“Wait, you still didn’t…”

You hang up before he can finish. Nine in the morning and he calls you with some random girl hanging off his arm. 9am and your evening had taken a downward spiral for the worse as you watch her kiss him like he was hers. You were on one end of the ocean while he was on the other side, a stretch of distance in between that made it hard for you to do anything about the issue simply because the only effective method of confrontation would be to fly over to talk to Doyoung yourself. There were clearly problems in the current workings of things, taking its toll on your relationship both professionally and privately. You weren’t just his secretary, but also his girlfriend as well, and right now it didn’t seem like this long-distance thing was working when you had so much to handle from your job and your boyfriend potentially not loving you anymore after finding someone new overseas.

“God, I fucking hate this.”

—

You and Doyoung operate at opposite ends of the same planet, one always ahead of the other despite the efforts from both sides to reconnect as one.

He wanted to talk it out with you but you’d be sleeping when he was awake. You had an inkling to listen to his explanations but always chickened out last minute, not wanting to disturb his sleep when he was already so busy during the day meeting with people and negotiating deals for the company. The timing was off and truthfully you didn’t know how to even fix it when he wouldn’t be back for another three months. You didn’t know if you could last that long before breaking down again from the exhaustion that came with running an entire company by yourself.

“Meeting adjourned,” you announce once all the departments finish presenting their monthly progress. “I’m not feeling particularly inclined to wake up early tomorrow, so morning meeting will be changed to an after-lunch meeting.”

Shouts and whoops of delight at sleeping in echo across the conference room and you roll your eyes at your coworkers. Those working on the bottom rungs of the ladder were easily pleased with the smaller things in life when they didn’t have to worry from the things going on at the very top.

“If even one person from any of the teams shows up late because I pushed the meeting time back tomorrow, that person is getting fired,” you finish. “No excuses.”

As the line of people trickle down to zero persons, you stare at the empty conference room and sigh, standing up from your seat at the front. If only Doyoung were back to take hold of the reins.

“Do you do this all the time when I’m not here?”

Your head snaps up, weary eyes glowing just a bit brighter at seeing your boss give you the stinkeye from the doorway. 

“Tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“Nope.” Doyoung places a hand on the table and knocks twice. “I’m actually here.”

“I thought there was still another month before you came back.”

“Decided to return early.” He brings his hand back to his side and stares at the floor. 

“I missed you.”

You freeze and mumble something inaudible, not getting past the door at all when a firm hand holds you back.

“Can we talk?” Doyoung asks quietly.

“Sure, I guess.”

—

The conversation leaves the office and resumes at one of the flats owned by the Kim family, a quaint little place that was by no means little as Doyoung takes your coat and hangs it by the parlor, nodding to the butler who greets him before informing the staff to start dinner in two hours.

“Come in,” he speaks up as he opens the door to his room. “Sit down.”

You shake your head and remain standing by the doorway.

“I won’t bite.”

“You say that now,” you mutter. “But then you’re going to nag me for abusing my power as acting CEO.”

A sigh leaves Doyoung’s mouth and he opens his arms. 

“Can’t you let me hold you? I haven’t seen you in five months.”

You reluctantly take a step forward, then two more until Doyoung is just able to brush his fingertips against your wrist. He leans forward to grab hold and you let yourself be pulled to the space next to him.

“I need to talk to you about Chisato.”

“Can we not,” you begin, spitting bitterly, “I didn’t come here to hear you talk about how much fun you had with some random—”

“Her father runs a publishing company and I was trying to befriend her so she could put in a good word for my library renovation project.” 

He takes out his phone and clicks on the screen, the high-pitched voice speaking all too familiar to your ears.

“Hi, Doyoungie’s girlfriend! He said you might be sad at me for kissing him so I’m very sorry! I just really think Doyoungie is cute and he is very nice person, please forgive me! Me and him only friends, promise! I help him tell Father to give books for his little library and in return Doyoungie take me around Europe! That’s it!”

“I had to nag her to act proper throughout filming the video,” he adds. “She kept giggling when she messed up a word and it took her ages to calm down.”

“Isn’t she bubbly,” you deadpan.

“That’s just her personality.” Doyoung puts away his phone after the video comes to an end and nudges your side. “She’s really just a friend, Y/N.”

“Did you fly back just to apologize?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re losing out on a whole month’s progress just for me, you know.”

“Well, you’re worth it.” He snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you close.

“Move your hand,” you complain. “It tickles.”

His arm remains locked around your waist and you sigh, already giving in before you could even try to remain mad at him. 

“Okay, I’m not mad at you anymore.”

Doyoung’s mouth widens to the gummy grin you love so much and he rests his head against your shoulder. 

“I love you.”

“You’re unusually clingy today, Doyoung.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Just an observation,” you tell him, running a hand through his soft hair. “It’s endearing.”

The two of you remain in such a position until the call for dinner sounds from downstairs, neither of you in the mood to move.

“Wait here.”

Doyoung gets up and the facepalm is all too real when one of the maids enters with a tray full of food, your lazy boyfriend opting to have both your meals delivered upstairs instead when the silverware and trays had already been set up in the dining room downstairs.

—

“First item on the agenda,” Doyoung begins as he scans the clipboard before him. “Marketing, I want to hear how you aim to advertise for the new library that’s scheduled to open mid-August.”

The tension in the conference room is palpable as a representative from Marketing stands up, voice quivering as he begins to present his team’s idea to Doyoung. You scan the seats around the table and take note of the stiff backs pressed against the chairs, fingers tightly clasped and eyes expertly looking at everywhere else but Doyoung’s direction. Still as intimidating to his subordinates even after being away for so long.

“Take a deep breath and relax,” he says crisply. “You’re mumbling so much I can barely hear a word you’re saying.”

The employee does as asked and Doyoung gestures for him to begin again. 

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“That went better than usual,” you comment after the meeting ends an hour earlier than expected. “Where’s the real Kim Doyoung?”

“The old Doyoung can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead.”

“Please tell me you did not just quote what I think you just quoted.”

A smirk plays around his mouth and you roll your eyes at his supposed joke. 

“Not funny.”

“Guess someone’s not getting that bonus at the end-of-the-year.”

You narrow your eyes. “You wouldn’t dare cut my bonus.”

“Maybe I will. Since you scrapped my project and all.”

“Doyoung, I didn’t know what to do! We were tight on funding and you—”

He shuts your blabbering mouth up with a quick kiss and you practically melt at his touch, frowning when he pulls away with a knowing glint in his eyes.

“No, we’re not going to fuck in the conference room.”

“No one’s going to walk in this time,” he insists, getting up to close the open door and pulling down the blinds. “I already told everyone to go home and end the day early in the email I sent out yesterday.”

“Doyoung, no.”

His fingers bravely creep along the hem of your blazer and tug at your skirt. 

“Come on, don’t be such a party pooper.”

“If you want it that badly,” you sigh, letting his fingers slink into your skirt, “At least fuck me in your own office where the walls are soundproof, you idiot.”