#I am not putting the goddamn tag for the other character cause you know damn well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gingerbreadmonsters · 2 years ago

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I posted 2,211 times in 2022

That's 1,862 more posts than 2021!

559 posts created (25%)

1,652 posts reblogged (75%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gingerbreadmonsters

@sri-rachaa

@ejunkiet

@sealriously-sealrious

@slushrottweiler

I tagged 1,972 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#ginger reblogs art - 213 posts

#redacted asmr - 165 posts

#icymi <3 - 148 posts

#a cheeky timezone rb - 97 posts

#rae beloved <3 - 76 posts

#ginger speaks to anons - 69 posts

#ginger speaks to lovely blogs - 66 posts

#gingerbreadmonsters - 59 posts

#ginger writes - 42 posts

#ooh a game! - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#i will most likely end up posting the same version here and on ao3 bc can you imagine reformatting the whole thing like that 😵‍💫😵‍💫

My Top Posts in 2022:

ALL MINE

or: it’s easy to have a good time, if you don’t mind getting a little messy - all it takes is meringue, cream, and strawberries.

the long-awaited finale of LOVE HEART! gn!reader, domestic fluff to smut, absolutely and without exception minors dni. this is… a lot more explicit than i thought it was going to be - i really didn’t think i had this in me, but what @ejunkiet wants, @ejunkiet gets! i hope this does the hot boi summer aesthetic justice :) sweetheart’s a brit because i say so - it’s not necessary for the plot, but quite frankly i think it’s a crime that eton mess and trifle don’t exist in america, and this is my only way of promoting them, so there you go. @solclaw is the source of all knowledge, and i am making trifle in their honour - rowan darling there is always an extra bowl for you!

sweetheart is gender neutral, and their anatomy is not described. milo’s skin is stated to be of an appropriate colour to show love bites, but no specific colour is mentioned and the reader’s skin is not described at all. milo being an excellent sous chef for just over 3600 words.

this fic contains explicit content, and is 18+ only. minors please do not interact with this one i am BEGGING you. thank you.

“sweetheart, you’ve, uh… you’ve got a little somethin’ just there…”

“here?”

“a little higher, to the left - no, no, your left - let me just-”

he licks his thumb and strokes it over your cheek, wiping away the stickiness as your lips pull into a very familiar smirk. christ, he knows that look, knows what it means when you run your tongue over your teeth, eyebrow cocked and head tilted to the right - it usually means that whatever you’re about to say probably isn’t fit for polite company.

“it’s not fair - how come i always get it all over my face?”

damn that mouth of yours - even when he knows it’s coming, you still get him blushing up a storm. “not my fault you’re such a messy eater, sweetheart. maybe i oughta have you wearin’ an apron next time.”

you smack lightly him in the arm with the wooden spoon, laughing at his mock-outraged expression as you go back to your cake batter. “go and get me one then, lover boy. it’s weird to hear you telling me to put on clothes, though.”

he… yeah, he doesn’t really have a comeback to that.

the two of you have been in the kitchen all morning, putting together the desserts for david’s birthday party this afternoon. it’s pretty fucking warm today, early summer and all, so you’ve got all the windows open and the fan going full blast to try and balance out the heat from the oven. both of you are sweating from the humidity, so he’s can’t really be surprised you’d forgone the apron for a little while.

david always insists that he doesn’t want anything for his birthday, but the rest of the pack - as happens every year, and’ll probably happen until the end of time - has other ideas. about a month ago, his mate had sent him off on some errand or other and got straight on a video call with you, sam, and ash’s mate to get something together.

(he still can’t figure out how the four of you seem to read each other’s minds, ‘cause the lot of you can be fucking terrifying when you’re on a mission. if he’s honest, he’s still not recovered from that goddamn prank with the door, and he knows that ash has lived in permanent fear of sam’s overhand serve ever since his mate had made the dubiously-successful suggestion of late-night tennis. it’s got to be something to do with this secretive “mates’ group chat” he’s heard legends of…)

(it gets a little more complicated when you’ve got to get the actual wolves involved, but david’s mate is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to organising shit. jesus, it’s like they’re the alpha, sometimes, and you’ve told him that you’ve met superiors at DUMP that are less intimidating. it’s no bad thing - that’s what you need when you’re dealing with a crack team like the one right here.)

(well, maybe less of a crack team, and more of a team on crack, but that’s what you get for trying to get him and ash to actually stop bickering and decide on a playlist or whatever.)

in any case, the pair of you have been put in charge of desserts for today - well, nobody was going to have ash go anywhere near anything that needed to be edible, and sam had declined politely, saying something about how “unless david’s developed a taste for O negative, i might not be too much help in the caterin’ department”. fair enough.

it doesn’t help that basically the whole pack is coming, and wolves aren’t exactly known for their, uh, delicate eating habits. you’re going to need a lot of food, and as if that wasn’t enough, you’re going to have to impress david fucking shaw. looks like the fridge is going to be working overtime in this weather, huh?

you’d taken it as a challenge, which meant that yesterday evening had been dedicated to all of the shit that needed to set overnight: tiramisu, cheesecake, chocolate tart, caramel shortbread�� he doesn’t know how the hell you managed to balance it all in the fridge, but he’s not touching it, not a chance.

(it’s got to the point where he had to ask you to grab him another can of soda off the shelf because he wasn’t looking to accidentally knock something over - you’d thought it was funny, but he’d been dead serious! that new flavour you bought - the ones in the pink cans? - is really good, especially in this heat, but it’s not worth a dessert catastrophe, alright?)

(he’s especially not going near the trifle on the middle shelf - it looks pretty freaking impressive, what with all the layers and shit, but he doesn’t need you mad at him for swiping one of the raspberries off the top.)

(he remembers you making it last time, when his ma’d come over for lunch at the weekend, and you’d damn near kicked his shit in for accidentally trying to put the custard in before the cream. let’s just say he’d got the message loud and clear - he doesn’t get in the way when you make trifle any more.)

this morning’s endeavours have got you two dashing about trying to get the last few desserts finished, in a flurry of buttercream and baking powder. neither of you could remember whether david likes chocolate or vanilla more, and his mate’s not picking up, so you’d just made both - the victoria sponge is cooling on the rack over by the microwave, and the chocolate cake’s just come out of the oven.

fuck, it’s hot in here today.

the morning is almost unbearably humid, sun beating down outside between a few, sparse clouds. looks like you’re both going to need a shower before you go, as if there wasn’t enough to do. his shirt’s unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up to the elbows and collar hanging open, and he’d be tempted to take it off entirely if he didn’t know that when he does that, you almost always end up late.

you’ve got all of the ingredients for cream puffs (at least, he thinks that’s what they’ll be? you’d rattled off some fancy name, and he’d just kind of nodded and gone back to his strawberry mousse) laid out on the counter, while he slices up some kiwi for the fruit salad.

he’s not bad at cooking, by any means, but you’re the pro when it comes to desserts - he’s really just your sous chef today, and the system seems to be working pretty well.

(hey, it’s not like he minds you bossing him around a bit. he certainly hasn’t been complaining about the view today, seeing as the warm weather’s got you wearing a little less than normal.. and christ, when you do that thing where you grab him by the hips to move him out of the way? you know exactly what that does to him, you little minx.)

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174 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

in the style of @yetdevout

214 notes - Posted August 14, 2022

fizzing hot day!

or: he feels like seawater, drying on soft skin.

gn!reader, no content warnings, unless you count shirtless simeon (which, let's face it, we probably should). oh simeon, my sweet and tragic beloved. is this an established relationship? you’re looking at me like i have any idea. inspired by MIKA’s ‘sanremo’ and ‘tiny love’ - strongly suggest listening to those as you read! i am convinced that late afternoon on the beach in the sun is a different world altogether. simeon discovering what beach days are for in just over 1100 words.

it’s a beautiful summer’s day today, and you’ve decided to go to the beach.

you’ve been here before, so you know roughly which parts of the waterfront to head for and which to avoid. luckily, there’s only a handful of other people here today - no families with noisy children, or big get-togethers with loud music, or holidaymakers dragging huge umbrellas across the sand only to inevitably sit right in front of you.

just the occasional few people, scattered across the beach, peacefully soaking up the sun and the breeze and the quiet.

“so, how exactly does this work again?”

you get the feeling that simeon still doesn’t quite understand the purpose of sunscreen.

“but humans need sunlight to live, surely. when we’re in the devildom, you and solomon have to eat those… the little yellow marble things in the jar? why do you have to protect yourself from the sun when you eat your sunlight pills every day anyway?”

or, apparently, what your vitamin d supplements are.

(you explain it to him every time - you know by now that it doesn't work, but his concentrating-face is so adorable that you do it anyway. his big blue eyes go all wide and earnest, his lips part just slightly, and your heart goes all fluttery, every time.)

it doesn't matter. you take the bottle from his hand and squeeze a good amount into your palm. time to get to work.

"but d-aaah…"

his body is smooth and pliant under your hands, muscles relaxing into your firm touch as you rub the sunscreen into his back. you work over the crest of his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back, watching the soft, rich shimmer of his skin under the summer sun. the breeze is cool and gentle as it washes over you.

he stretches out on the sand underneath you like a cat, lithe and lean, and all of a sudden you suspect that he won't protest the next time you offer to put sunscreen on him.

"well, if you - mmm - put it that way, i can see why humans - hahhh - why humans bother with all of this."

exactly.

it takes a little while to get yourselves sorted, considering how distracting simeon's general state of undress is, but before long you're both settled under the umbrella. it's too heavy for you to normally bother bringing it, but it turns out that simeon's angelic strength is good for more than just opening jars and manhandling solomon away from the oven - who knew? it's a good thing too, what with the way the sunlight beats down over the sand, shattering over the waves.

for a little while, the world is quiet.

just you and him. the smell of salt, the crunch of sand, the rush of water. the sky is a rich and endless blue.

you open your eyes. you're not sure when you closed them, but when you turn your head, the distant shapes of seagulls twist and scatter in the sky. from here, the water looks cool and inviting - perhaps it'll be nice to go and dip your toes in.

“mmm, that sounds good. here, let me help you up, love.”

the sand scrapes pleasantly between your toes as you walk towards the water, fingers entwined with simeon's. as you get closer, an idea pops into your head - does simeon know how cold the water is the first time? you start to run, laughing, pulling him by the hand as he stumbles along, damp sprays of sand kicking up behind you both as the balls of your feet leave clumsy divots behind you.

simeon’s laughing too now, eyes scrunched up into happy half-moons as the water comes rushing up to meet you, still running full-tilt into the surf as you brace yourself for the inevitable-

“mc, d-hahhhh!”

yep, after an hour or two spent lying under the warm sun, the water is just as coldcoldcold as you’d predicted - and, if the way that he’s clinging to your waist and shaking his head frantically in protest is any indication, much colder than simeon had been expecting.

“you’re - hahh - mc, you’re so mean to me!”

he smiles playfully into your hair as he says it, and as you chase away the goosebumps across his back with your palms, it sounds like“i love you”.

you don’t let go of each other, but somehow you drift a little further into the water until you’re up to your waist - the temperature gradually gets a little more bearable, but you still shiver into him every time a cold current sweeps past. he doesn’t seem to mind.

you don’t say anything. your mouth is too full of clouds, soft and airy and light. the seagulls cartwheel across the endless blue above you, and you think that simeon’s is too.

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218 notes - Posted April 23, 2022

SWEET TALK

or: you’ll always be his favourite flavour.

an apology - this is written in american english, which i do not speak, for a character with a very strong regional accent, which i do not know very well! readers are encouraged to please raise cringe shields to maximum as a precaution. gn!reader, all fluff all day, no content warnings. thank you to the lovely @virtualizated for science support - have a tube of smarties on me! did you know that M&M’s are from new jersey? inspired by ‘my baby just cares for me’ by nina simone, which you should definitely listen to while reading this. milo finding out what love means in 1800 words or less.

(for context - "sweethearts" are a type of small, brightly-coloured confection sold in america that are made of chewy wafer stuff and have short, lovey-dovey phrases printed on them. we have an equivalent in the uk, called "love hearts", which (unlike the american version) are made of sherbert.)

“hey, sweetheart. you got a minute to talk?”

it shouldn’t be as hard as it is to get the sentence out.

it’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to you, and he never gets tired of talking to you - hell, he’d listen to your voice all day and all night if you let him - or anything like that. it’s just that this is about something kind of important, and he really doesn’t want to screw this up.

he fishes another candy out of the box and pops it clumsily in his mouth. this one is purple, and it says BE MINE.

he’s always had something of a sweet tooth. can you really blame him? david used to get on his case about always having some kind of candy in his schoolbag when they were kids, but by now the rest of the pack knows it’s just the way he is.

it works out pretty well - he’s always got something for when the kids (and ash) get restless at long pack meetings, and he knows it makes david smile just a bit whenever he sees the half-open packet of M&M’s on the counter.

(he still remembers the look on ash’s face when he’d first overheard him calling you ‘sweetheart’ - he’d had to tackle him over the side of the couch to stop him from telling you exactly what his favourite candy was.)

(you’d thought it was just their usual antics and gone into the kitchen to get some water, while he’d been busy telling ash to shut his goddamn mouth before he could embarrass him any more in front of you. yeah, so you make him all soft and gooey when he looks at you, but that doesn’t mean he needs the whole freaking pack to know why he calls you that!)

your work phone rings just as you’re walking over - both of you know that that ringtone means it’s important. you smile sheepishly at him as you rummage through your bag, but he doesn’t mind. it’s just an occupational hazard of dating the best, most gorgeous, intelligent, hardworking investigator in all of dahlia.

you kiss his cheek on your way out to the living room, and he blows you a kiss of his own as you disappear down the hall. you’re cute.

he slumps backwards onto the bed, legs hanging off the side, and takes a deep breath. the light above his head makes him squint up at the ceiling as he reaches for another candy. your voice, echoing from the living room, the lingering heat of your lips on his skin - god, how did he get so lucky? he thinks about you (as he always does), as he chews on FOR EVER.

it must have been, what, the thousandth date? millionth? he’s never been one to leave his sweetheart lonely. he likes to say that your little encounter with that shade was your first date, but you always argue that it was actually a few days later, when he showed up on your doorstep with a bunch of flowers, cotton candy pink, and his ma’s yelling still ringing in his ears. what a couple of romantics, huh?

(god, she’d been beside herself with worry when he’d turned up at her place. he’d staggered back from your apartment in a daze - mostly from your kisses but a little bit from blood loss - and realised that he’d have to bite the bullet and let her finish up the healing you’d started. he’d managed to play it off as a souvenir from work, but since when had that ever stopped his ma from telling him exactly what she thought about it?)

(she loves you though - always inviting you over, telling you stories about what a handful he’d been as a kid, sending you home with enough leftovers to feed the whole damn pack twice over.)

(he’s half convinced she thinks you’re far too good for him, and she’s probably right, but it never stops her from giving him that look when she catches him staring at your lips like a goddamn fool, or pulling your chair out for you at dinner all fancy-like. it’s not his fault you deserve the world on a silver fucking platter, and if he wants to treat you like royalty, then he damn well ought to do it right!)

he’d made sure to take you on all of those classic dates you like - the park, the movies, the arcade, the theatre, the ice rink (god, that one had really been embarrassing), all that sort of rom-com type shit that makes him look like the most lovesick idiot on the planet. this one had been in the summer, august-time or something, a saturday in the middle of the heatwave.

you’d called and said you’d take him out for ice cream at that sundae place downtown, and he remembers the way, after you’d hung up, that he’d screamed into his pillow over how goddamn sweet you’d sounded on the phone, calling him up out of the blue like that.

(of course - he forgets sometimes that you ever used to live somewhere else. he’d asked you to move in with him about two months before and you’d said yes, but you’d had until october left on your lease, so you were waiting until then to properly move out.)

you’d turned up at his door an hour later, looking like a million dollars even in the blazing california heat, and oh, the way your whole face had brightened up when you saw him? he could have died a happy man right then and there.

the ice cream parlour had been busy, but you’d grabbed a booth by the window and told him to go up and order for you - you’d reeled off a list of toppings as long as your arm and beamed up at him, and he’d blinked, nodded, and wandered off towards the counter in some sort of love-drunk haze, still replaying the way your eyes had softened and sparkled when he’d held the door open for you a minute ago.

(he’s not sure how, but he’d actually got all the toppings you’d wanted correct - even the extra wafer in the top and the two different flavours of ice cream. the girl at the register had looked at him like he was crazy, but it had been worth it to see the look on your face when it had arrived in front of you. it’s his favourite photo in the world.)

(he’d only asked for one extra kind of candy on his. he remembers you laughing when you noticed, when the waitress who brought them had recited the order back to him, you want me in your mouth that badly, milo greer? and god, he had, but he wasn’t about to admit that to the whole damn room - he’d just stuck his tongue out at you playfully and jammed a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth to stop him saying something stupid.)

spoon in hand, you’d been in the middle of a story about the department handler guy two cubicles down from you - something about glitter gel pens and a restraining order? - when he’d felt it.

there’s a word on his tongue. he rolls it around his mouth, feels it clinking off his teeth and melting all sweet and sticky. KISS ME is written backwards on the inside of his cheek, but that’s not the word he’s thinking of.

his mouth is full of words - ALWAYS, ME & YOU, ONLY YOU - and that’s nothing new, not when it comes to you, but this one tastes different. he knows why.

the rest of the date had been good, despite the crushing heat outside. he’d walked you home and kissed you senseless on your doorstep - you won’t admit it, but his shifter hearing isn’t just for decoration, so he knows he heard your cursing as your legs gave out once you shut the door. he’d gone home with a word in his mouth, tucked behind his teeth, and he’d wondered if you’d been able to taste it on his lips.

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236 notes - Posted April 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

no thoughts only vincent, lovely, and darlin' INSISTING that "sam" is short for "sandwich" - vincent started it and now the three of them all have him saved as "sandwich collins 🤠" in their contacts

lovely, shouting up the stairs: we're going to be late! sam, come on!

darlin', trying not to laugh: sandwich collins, you get down here this instant!

sam, head in hands: for the last GODDAMN TIME-

will, across the room, thoroughly bemused: now now, sandwich, i won't have such language under my roof.

411 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #HAHAHAHAHAHA #i cannot BELIEVE that my top post is the fucking sandwich post that's BRILLIANT #also hello fizzing hot day! wasn't expecting you to be here but i am very glad to see you!#also I TOLD YOU I WASN'T KIDDING THIS IS A RAE SRIRACHAA STAN ACC BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE #also yes i know i mostly reblog my own posts YES I GET IT #that's all my self rbs when i write something lmao #ykw i'd say its been a pretty good year in gingerbreadmonsters land #we have fun on gingerbreadmonsters dot com 🥳🥳

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lilalbatross · 3 years ago

Note

Owen and/or Tommy for the ask meme?

ask for two and ye shall receive two, my darling

Owen first

Sexuality Headcanon: the man is bi/pan/queer he hasn't quite figured out the label thing but it's okay he'll get there if/when he gets there

Gender Headcanon: cis

A ship I have with said character: come now. (it's Billy/Owen, it simply must be when we've written over 60k together and it's the entirety of my ao3)

A BROTP I have with said character: gotta be Tommy. they simultaneously bring out the best and the worst in each other and it's just delicious. she's also like...pretty much the only one to ever be soft with him??? i know he's a grown man but he needs more people lookin' out for him

A NOTP I have with said character: there's far more Strandcest in his ao3 tag than i ever cared to see

A random headcanon: he hasn't been to the cabin since everything that went down in the ice storm, but he still doesn't want to sell it. he's got a neighbour who checks in occasionally to make sure it hasn't been trashed, and the 126 are free to borrow it whenever they want, but Owen can't bring himself to go back. at least, not yet. he isn't quite sure what's stopping him.

General Opinion over said character: he definitely wasn't my fave at first, but he's grown on me a lot (especially in s3 when we finally got some goddamn backstory for our main character). the fandom in general is far too harsh on him. yeah he fucks up, but at least give the guy the benefit of the doubt and stop taking the least-charitable reading of every single thing he does

and then Tommy

Sexuality Headcanon: Tommy's bi this is just a fact

Gender Headcanon: cis

A ship I have with said character: i don't really ship her with anybody??? but if they gave her a short girlfriend i would die. i'm talkin' 5'4 absolute max (how short am i? shut your damn mouth)

A BROTP I have with said character: Tommy&Grace is S-tier obviously, but i would kill for more Tommy&Nancy as well. love love love their stuff in 3x12, but it's usually TNT as a trio and I want those good good one-on-one mentor vibes

A NOTP I have with said character: Owen/Tommy no fucking thank you

A random headcanon: since she worked at the 126 before having the twins, she worked with Billy Tyson for many many years, and nobody can obliterate Billy quite the way she can. everybody knows Grace can put Billy in his place but not everybody realizes it's cause Grace learned from the master

General Opinion over said character: she fucking Kicks. Ass. i dunno what it is about the 911 franchise but they consistently replace a character in s2 with an infinitely superior version and hoo boy is that ever Tommy

#asks #ask memes #911 lone star #owen strand #tommy vega #billy x owen #alas i have no interesting gender headcanons for anybody

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mindninjax · 3 years ago

Note

for the anonymously tell you what i think without commenting thing. and if you want you can respond with a meme to combine the two memes together ^^

here is what i think about you.

you are a top notch writer and one of my favorite Baku and Kiri content out there. not to mention you do anyone else you write for such justice. you keep to their character and i appreciate it so much! ^^

the way you write...not that's were the magic is. your style, the words you use. i LOVE your inner monologues of characters. you have such an uncanny ability to describe how they feel in such an accurate but professional fashion sometimes i just get giddy over a single sentence you wrote cause i love it so much! your writing is a total gem and i am so glad i found your work as your one of my top favorite writers on here.

now you as a person. you are SO funny XD it never fails i feel like concrete shit and i'll read something you write or a response to something and i will laugh uncontrollably. mostly because you always seem to say what im always thinking but you put it in such a funny fashion i lose it XD not to mention your tags SLAY ME! XD in fact your the reason i started reading tags regularly to find gems like yours on others works XD we always seem to be in the same wave link when it comes to simping, characters, and just in general everything and i love that. honestly i say all the time how honored i am to be friends with you -which i totally do and still feels like a dream come true- but it was just a matter of time XD LOL

you are one of the few people on here that i wish with all my soul i could meet in person and hug. i think hanging out with you would be a blast and i wish it pretty hard XD

when im stuck and needing to get somewhere in my writing your one of the first ones i come to skim through to inspire me in my writing -especially if im writing baku or kiri- for x readers cause for some reason they are difficult for me DX but your so good at them. ^_^

anyway i think thats it from me! i hope you have a brilliant day and i apologize i meant to send this last night but things got busy and had to write it this morning instead ;) go for the moon Puffs! i'm right behind you~

THE WAY I HAD TO RETREAT TO MY FUCKING WORK PLACE BATHROOM TO SOB MY GODDAMN EYES OUT ARE YOU JOSHING ME NONNIE?!?

I—

words I don’t even have them because damn. So instead I can tell you how I immediately read this ask and got up and flew to the bathroom and my coworker was like “Hey you good?” And I had to hide the tears real slick like so she wouldn’t know about my secret life on the internet and also so that she wouldn’t know that I’m literally on the verge of bawling because you were this nice to me.

Please I love you so fucking much! I am SO happy we’re friends I’m happy to have a friend like you and just BDKDBDB. Yeah boo. Also I promised memes so here’s so dumb funny ones I found the other day that legit had me wheezing ok BYE

#STOP WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?!?#also I’m crying because you said Kiri content and I only have one fic with him #and Katsu is in it because I couldn’t write them separate from each other apparently bahahha #nonnie hall of fame #marquie answers #ok. ow to leave this bathroom and pretend like nothing happened #bahahahh #Nonnie

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willowbird · 3 years ago

Note

For the prompt thing: Andrew/Neil, trope: sickness/injury, location: violently orange yacht. Have fun! Thanks =)

Ooh definitely!

Since no AU was specified I made it kinda intentionally ambiguous.

Also, so you know, I 100% sat down to write this as a cutesy seasick/comfort w/teasing sorta fic. Then, idk, i got a lil bloodthirsty. Just a little bit, though.

Warning for mentions of blood.

---

"Are you really going to hide down here for the whole time?" Kevin's voice was both tired and annoyed, and just for that Andrew didn't even bother to acknowledge his presence, let alone his words.

Instead, he pointedly turned the page in his book as if there was no one about to bother him at all. They had been out on the water for a whole six hours. Andrew had watched the shoreline get smaller and smaller as they pulled away and when it was just a fine sketch of a line along the horizon he'd gone investigating. Which was how he'd found this hidden little nook in the storage hull or whatever the big room of supplies was in the belly of the boat.

The monstrosity was technically a yacht. Which, by definition, is a pleasure liner - a boat intended for entertainment. This "yacht" was big enough to not only carry but fully house and supply a contingent of college athletes. It was suspiciously fortified and had enough supplies stockpiled away that Andrew was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been kidnapped because it seemed just a little bit excessive for a "weekend away".

Personally, he didn't think his problems were going to go away or even be at all eased by an attempted escape via ugly boat. But he wasn't the only one with those problems. He wasn't the only one hurting. And after almost a year... well, he would grudgingly tag along, but he didn't have to participate.

The damn thing was also the most grotesque shade of claw-your-eyes-out dayglow orange that Andrew had ever seen. Which honestly was one of the reasons he'd already gone inside, as of by hiding in the deepest, darkest corner of the vessel he'd save himself a migraine.

"And Andrew? The Lady Fox has luxury suites for each of us. You can't even hide in your room? You choose to come... here?" Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Kevin give his choice of hideaways a disparaging look.

Without taking his eyes from the page, Andrew lifted one hand and offered Kevin his one-fingered opinion.

The next thing he heard was Kevin's annoyed scoff, followed by his retreating footsteps. Satisfied, Andrew snuggled down a little bit deeper into the conveniently-placed hammock he'd found already strung up when he initially explored the place. The book he was reading had a bit of a slow start, but at least three of the side-characters were interesting enough to carry him through until the plot picked up.

Except, he only got two more pages along when he heard a sudden and quite ominous thump that was accompanied by a muffled groan. The book in his hand was instantly replaced with one of the knives he kept tucked in the armbands he was never without. Some people might call Andrew paranoid for bringing weapons onto a boat where he was surrounded only by close friends and family, with a literal ocean between them and harm. Those people would probably be dead right now, gutted in their sleep by a murderous stowaway. Or maybe that thump was one of his family, being murdered by the murderous stowaway.

Maybe it was Kevin.

That thought put a spike of fear in his heart, but right in its wake came a surge of deep rage.

No. He would not allow it. He had already lost... Enough had happened. He refused to let Kevin be hurt as well.

Andrew got out of the hammock as soundlessly and gracefully as possible, searching the shadows of the only half-lit cavernous space as he inched toward the source of the sound. He kept the blade poised to attack with one hand and pulled out his cell phone with the other. Two thumb-swipes later the had the flashlight enabled.

It wasn't Kevin. Nope. Definitely not Kevin.

Not-Kevin was crumpled in a heap in front of a stack of supply crates that it looked like he'd rolled off of, thus causing the thump Andrew had heard. The groan of pain, however, was clearly not from the fall. Or, well, not just from the fall.

"Who are you?" Andrew demanded, shining the light right on the person's face. They looked like a guy, probably. Short-ish hair and made up of more angles than curves - though it was really hard to tell more than that because the blood-soaked clothes were a little bit distracting.

The injured man(?) on the floor let out a choked, broken sound that Andrew belatedly realized was a laugh. It was so rasped and mangled, he'd almost thought the stowaway was about to launch into their death-throes. Judging by the bloodstains and way the person shook and swayed precariously while trying to push up to their hands and knees, that actually might not have been that far off a guess.

Then the stowaway, the person, the man, said, "Nothing."

Andrew froze. "What did you say?"

"You asked who I was," the man said, and Andrew was sure it was a man now. Moreover, the rough edges around his voice may have been tight with pain and possibly disuse, but even without Andrew's near-perfect memory he would have knows the sharp slashes of that voice anywhere.

The man looked up and in the white glow of Andrew's phone light there was no mistaking how immeasurably blue his eyes were. Like the sky painted from an artist's favorite memory. Like the hint of eternity in a crystal sphere.

Neil smiled. His face was dotted with dried blood and marked with new scars, but the expression still somehow turned the whole world on its head to make it a softer, warmer, safer place.

Andrew wasn't sure what hit the ground first, his phone, his knife, or his knees as he skidded to the floor beside Neil, reaching for him. "Neil... Neil. Fuck. The blood. It's yours? FUCK!" He was babbling, but his own voice was distant to his ears as he touched Neil for the first time in almost a year, as he gathered him close and searched for the source of all that blood.

Shaky hands reached for him and Andrew didn't even think about batting them away. He leaned into their touch even as he turned his face toward the stairs and raised his voice to a shout: "KEVIN! AARON! SOMEONE! NOW!"

"H-hey now, Andrew. Andrew, shh, it's okay. I'm okay, it's okay. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to be away this long."

"Shut up with your fucking 'sorry's Neil, I don't want your fucking 'sorry' - I want you here and alive and not dying in my goddamn arms I am NOT doing this with you, do you hear me junkie?"

Andrew felt like his entire system was in overdrive, his mind moving too fast and his nerve ending firing off in matching cylinders. They looked for Neil for months. And when they finally got a breakthrough via that fucking miserable twat Jean Moreau, it was only to find out that Neil was likely dead.

Those hands cupped his face, and even though they trembled against his cheeks he still touched Andrew like he was holding something incredibly precious. Something that needed care and protection lest it drop or be crushed.

"I promise, Drew. I did not drag myself halfway back around the world just to die in your arms."

"Do not even attempt to give me that, Neil. That is exactly the kind of dramatic shit you would do."

"Nah," Neil protested with a rough laugh. "Definitely more Aaron's thing. He's such a petty bitch."

"Fuck you," Andrew spat out, but a bubble of what might have bene a laugh caught in his chest. There were running footsteps coming their way, thundering down the steps and into the room.

"Andrew?! Andrew what-- oh my God. Oh my God. AARON GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" Kevin was still shouting as he came to land beside the two of them, and Andrew almost pulled another knife and stabbed him in the fucking eye as he reached for Neil.

In fact, he didn't even realize he had drawn a knife until Kevin jerked back so suddenly he fell on his ass.

"Jesus! Andrew it's just me. He is covered in blood he needs a hospital!"

"It's mostly not mine," Neil chimed in as Andrew struggled to rein in the half-crazed beast that had taken over the arm not holding Neil. The monster inside him was in fits, and its growl was rumbling in Andrew's throat - kept in check only by the slow stroking of Neil's fingers down his jaw.

"Mostly not yours," Kevin echoed, and even through the haze of Andrew's protective rage, he could hear how dumbfounded the other man was.

"Mhm. And I stitched myself up already."

"Stitched yourself up," said Kevin. Then he looked toward the stairs and bellowed: "AARON!"

Neil sighed and the exasperation in that sound was so fucking familiar that it knocked the beast far enough off its temper for Andrew to take control again. He took a slow breath, then another. When Neil looked up at him again, Andrew asked, "Why? How?"

Neil grimaced. The expression must have been painful, Andrew realized as he watched him - because now that he was really looking he could tell that those new scars on his face were less 'scars' and more 'barely healed torture wounds'.

All Neil said was, "It's a long story."

As Aaron finally came half-falling down the steps on wobbly sea-legs, Andrew decided he would leave it be - for now.

The important thing was that Neil was here, Neil was alive, and nothing - fucking nothing - was going to take him away again.

#asks #AFTG prompts #aftg fanfic #aftg ficlet #andreil #reunion fic #mentions of blood #andrew minyard #neil josten #i have no idea what happened dont ask me lol #ask neil - hes the troublemaker #protective andrew minyard #hurt neil josten

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thepancakeboi · 4 years ago

Text

99. “Do it. I dare you.”

I don’t normally make a note on these writing prompt stuff outside of tags but I feel I have to warn that this one does get very dark and angsty, up to including the potential of character death (no one dies though, I promise). Now, on with the show!

“Let’s go,” Joker’s voice rings out, echoing against the walls of the Mementos station.

Mona jumps onto the tracks, transforming into his car form in midair. The rest of the thieves sans Joker starts to get in. Not everyone had been able to come today. Haru had business involving Big Bang Burger that she had to attend to, leaving it down to the nine of us to finish our Mementos requests. She had apologized profusely in the group chat, but the others reassured her that everything was alright.

I go to get in the back of the vehicle but am stopped by a hand grabbing my arm. I give Joker an unamused look as I ask, “What do you want?”

“You know where you sit,” he replies with a cocky grin to match. I sigh in frustration as I get in the front row after Joker. Every single time, he always wants me to sit right next to him. He refuses to take no for an answer on that. No matter how much outward annoyance I show, I secretly am content with this seating arrangement. I’m fairly certain that he is aware of this as well. It’s even more apparent today since, with Noir not here today, Violet ends up deciding to sit with Panther and Queen in the middle row. Joker echoes my thoughts as he remarks, “Hey, look at that. It’s just the two of us. Anything can happen~”

“Joker, if you try anything, you’re going to lose a limb or two.”

“Sounds fun,” he hums, laughing as I sulk and look away from him. I can’t even threaten him without his goddamn danger kink making its existence known.

“God, get a room, you two!” Oracle yells from the back.

Joker laughs even harder at this. “I might do just that.”

“No,” I say, refusing to entertain this idea any further.

“But Akeppi-”

“I said no.”

He looks disheartened for a brief moment before he smirks. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Joker starting to sing, “♪ I want your love, and I want your revenge. You and me could write a bad romance~♪”

I whirl around as I hear Panther join in with, “♪ Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh!♪”

Joker apparently has no intentions of stopping. “♪ I want your love, and all your lover’s revenge. You and me could write a bad romance~♪”

At that point, Oracle decides it’s her turn, “♪ Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh! Caught in a bad romance!♪”

“Would you three shut up already?” I yell, turning so I can glare at all of them at once.

It’s quiet for all of one second before Oracle and Joker both, of course, decide to ignore me like the menaces they are, simultaneously singing, “♪ Ra-ra-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-ma! Gaga, ‘Ooh la-la’! Want your bad romance~♪”

I groan at their antics. It’s the one annoyance that comes from sitting next to Joker. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. The chances of it being the last are minuscule at best.

The banter between the rest of the thieves continues as we continue to drive through Mementos. At some point, Joker took one of his hands off the steering wheel so that he could hold me close. He still has his arm around me when we run right into a Shadow that decides not to immediately disintegrate upon impact.

“Get ready, everyone!” Mona says in car form. “This one wants a fight.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Skull shouts. “We’re gonna kick its ass!”

We quickly exit the vehicle while the Shadow is still stunned from being hit head-on by a cat-turned-vehicle. Almost as soon as Mona transforms back into a cat, the Shadow bursts into a black liquid, revealing itself as a Forneus.

I had been hoping for this fight to be done quickly, but this Shadow is decidedly stubborn. We’ve managed to knock it down a couple of times, but it simply refuses to die. After the third such time, it fires a Mapsiodyne that manages to hit all of us. “Queen!” Fox calls out as she collapses.

No communication is needed. Joker and I pull back to tend to her while the rest keep fighting. I bend down so that I can drag her out of harm’s way. However, I pause, sensing Joker’s eyes on me. Not this again. “Joker,” I start, moving Queen as I speak, “maybe you should be a little more concerned about Queen lying unconscious on the floor rather than staring at my ass.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.”

He quickly summons Sandalphon to revive her. Queen’s eyes flutter open, surprisingly unalarmed that she had been knocked out. It’s such a common occurrence with this group. How they’ve survived for so long, I have no idea. “She’s awake,” I say, turning back to Joker. “We should get back to the fight.”

He nods. “Let’s go-”

“Joker, look out!” Panther calls out just as he is engulfed in a magenta aura.

He tries to move out of the way, but it’s too late. There’s nothing any of us can do without Noir and her Persona’s Amrita Shower. The aura clears. Joker stands there, his eyes closed. “Joker?” Queen asks from behind me, having gotten herself to her feet.

A sinister grin creeps across his face as he opens his eyes, his attention focused on the two of us. His eyes glow with an unnatural purple light as he rushes at us. “It’s not him!” I yell, blocking his dagger with my sword. His grin only widens, a frenzied look in his eyes. “He’s been brainwashed by that damn Shadow!”

“We gotta do something!” Mona calls out from the frontlines, where he’s working with Skull and Fox to keep the Shadow occupied. “He’ll keep attacking us if we do nothing!”

In an instant, I make my decision. “Keep attacking it, all of you. Oracle, make sure they don’t die doing it.”

“It’ll be easy peasy!” Oracle replies from above in Al Azif.

“I’ll keep Joker occupied while you do that until he snaps out of this brainwashing.”

“Got it,” Panther responds, her Persona pelting the Shadow with fiery strikes as Makoto charges forward on Agnes.

With Joker’s next strike, I grab ahold of his wrist, fully intending on pulling him away from the fight. However, I’m distracted by Violet tentatively asking, “Is senpai gonna be okay?”

“Damnit,” I hiss as Joker escapes my grasp, his dagger slicing my wrist. “Quit your worrying. He’ll be fine.”

Ignoring Violet, for the time being, I regain a hold of Joker and manage to get the bloody dagger out of his hand. I drag him away, leaving the others to take care of that pesky Shadow. The moment we’re out of its vision, I turn to Joker, sheathing my sword for now. “Pull yourself together, idiot!” I snap, resisting the urge to slap him across the face. “We’re your friends.”

“Friends?” he asks, the first words he’s said in his current state.

“Yes, friends. You have those, remember?”

“No. You’re my enemy!”

He throws himself at me with little regard to the fact that he’s currently unarmed and I have a sword at my side. I struggle against him, trying not to hurt him. My sword stays sheathed. I can’t bring myself to cause him harm, even when he has me backed against the wall. “Joker, listen to yourself! I know you’re still there. You’re brainwashed. The Phantom Thieves are your friends. Don’t you understand? They’re not the enemy.”

“You’re right...it’s just you.” Nothing could have prepared me for what comes next. In one swift motion, he pulls out his pistol, pointing it at my face. His grin becomes wicked and full of malice as he sees my eyes widen in shock. “How does it feel, traitor? Knowing you’re about to die.”

“You won’t shoot me. You can’t.”

Despite how confident I try to sound, my heart pounds in my chest. Chills run down my spine. It takes a considerable amount of effort to hide any possible sign of trembling. I refuse to show any vulnerability to him. I don’t care that he could kill me. Even brainwashed, there’s no way he’s capable of shooting me. This isn’t him. Joker would never do this...would he? “Are you afraid?” he mocks. “Are you going to beg for me to spare your life?”

I look Joker dead in the eye...and laugh.

I am aware of the situation I am in, that Joker has a gun pointed at my head and could shoot me dead at any moment. At the same time, the irony doesn’t elude me. The tables have turned, and now it’s me on the receiving end of the gun. “Do you really think I would stoop so low? I know you’re brainwashed, but I think you’re bluffing.”

“Someone’s eager to die. What was it you said? ‘Case closed. This is where your justice ends.’ But it’s not my justice ending, detective: it’s yours.”

“Then, by all means, pull the trigger. Do it. I dare you.” When he doesn’t immediately react, I add, “Here. How about I make it easier for you?” With slow, deliberate movements, I remove my mask with one hand and push my bangs aside with the other as I tilt my head forward. He has a clear shot now, the cold metal of the barrel pressed against my forehead. Yes, this is reckless. I know that...but he deserves this chance. An opportunity to enact swift judgment on me for my crimes. I’m not worthy of a quick death like this, even with it mirroring my actions in the interrogation room. It doesn’t matter, though. If this is how it ends, then so be it. I couldn’t ask for a better executioner.

I stand there, eyes closed, waiting for death to take me. But the gunshot never comes. I open my eyes, staring past the pistol to the boy currently holding me at gunpoint. His grin isn’t quite as wide as before. He’s faltering. “What’s the matter, Joker? I didn’t hesitate when the situation was reversed. Go ahead,” I say as I close my eyes once again, my voice slowly rising in volume as I continue to berate him, “put a bullet through my skull. It’s only fair, isn’t it? I’ve murdered countless people. I even tried to kill you twice. I don’t deserve to be alive, so get on with it and fucking shoot me already!”

All I hear is a gasp, the gun clattering against the ground. I look up to see Joker, no longer brainwashed. It’s clear that he’s shaken. His lips are parted as he stares at me in wide-eyed horror. “A-Akeppi?” he hesitantly says, voice trembling. His mask isn’t able to completely hide the tears threatening to spill. He’s trying so desperately to pull himself together, but for once, it’s not working. I’ve never seen him so visibly distressed, and it hurts.

“You were brainwashed.” It’s the only thing I can offer as reassurance that I don’t blame him, that it wasn’t his fault.

“You’re...not hurt, are you?”

Figures, he’d ask that question. As always, he’s more concerned about my own well being than his own. “No, of course not,” I lie, hiding the blood on my wrist.

He isn’t fooled. He sees right through my response, as observant as ever. His touch is gentle as he moves my arm into his line of sight. The corners of his lips twitch when he sees the cut. “You are. I didn’t hurt you anywhere else, did I? Tell me the truth.”

“You didn’t.”

We stand there in silence, neither one of us sure how to proceed. I personally want to ignore it and move on, but I can sense that Joker won’t. His inner guilt is eating at him, I can tell. Meanwhile, something tells me he knows I’m hiding something from him. I just don’t want him to know that I had believed he was capable of killing me, even for a second. It’d be too much for him, I’m sure. Joker’s the one to break the silence. “Akeppi, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I instantly respond.

He shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I could have killed you.”

“You didn’t kill me, tho-”

“But I could have,” he interjects before starting to ramble. “I could have killed you. I had my hand on the trigger, and you were willing to just die. What if I had actually shot you...and you had died? Akeppi, I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I’m still here. You wouldn’t have fired the gun.”

“But what if-”

He abruptly goes silent, likely shocked that I’ve pulled him into my embrace, dropping my mask in the process. “Ren, trust me,” I say in a slow, hushed tone, dropping the codenames for now so I can get through to him. “It’s okay. I’m here for you, and I will continue to love you as much as before. Nothing will change that.”

“Goro...” His voice hitches as he returns the hug, desperately holding onto me as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t. I can hear his ragged breathing as he finally breaks down and cries. Taking cues from what he would do if the situation were reversed, I pull off one of my gauntlets and gently stroke his hair with my ungloved hand. My own tears run down my face, but I refuse to acknowledge them. I have to be strong, for Ren’s sake. He’s always been that way for me, and it’s about time I return the favor.

A few minutes pass before he starts to calm down. As he pulls back to look at me, I move his mask up so I can wipe the remaining tears from his face. “Even crying, you’re still beautiful,” I muse to myself, not meaning to say the words aloud.

“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?” he asks with a little chuckle. “You look like you were crying, too.”

I shake my head, refusing to confirm or deny his statement. His chuckling continues as he replicates my actions, although his hand lingers on my cheek longer than I had. I turn my head as I hear Skull’s voice. They must have brought down the Shadow without us. I reach down, grabbing my mask from behind Joker and putting my glove back on my hand. “We’ll keep this between us, alright?”

“Okay.” He moves his own mask back into its proper position. Even up close, it’s hard to see that he had just finished crying. “Hey, Akeppi?”

“Yes?”

“Can we cuddle when we get back home?”

The request is not exactly unexpected. We both know he loves to cuddle and that it helps improve his mood. He already should know my answer. After all, how could I refuse him after what happened? “Of course. Come on. Let’s meet up with the others.”

Prompt list

#akeppi writes #p5 #persona 5 #goro akechi #akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #phantom thieves #except haru sorry i couldn't give her screentime #akeshu #shuake #writing prompt #this is the darkest writing i've done yet #this has been an idea months in the making #this one HURT to write #it hurt my soul #writing joker so vulnerable hurts #if it isn't clear i am hurt lol

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queen-of-the-avengers · 4 years ago

Text

Worth the Wait

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 2,494

Warnings: smut, begging kink, sexual frustrations, jealously

Summary: You and Bucky like each other but won’t do anything abut it until this night... this very hot and heavy night.

Squares Filled: begging for @mcukinkbingo // taking charge for my second card for @star-spangled-bingo // enemies to lovers for my second card for @avengersbingo // “kiss me” for my second card for @buckybarnesbingo // bite off more than you can chew for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in! This is unbeta’d and any and all mistakes are all on me.

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

The party Tony threw is meant to be a distraction for you. He threw it because, well, it’s Tony and he really loves people telling him how awesome he is. For Natasha, this party means getting drunk and maybe bringing someone home if she gets lucky, and when has she ever not gotten lucky? For Steve, this party is a way for him to get to know other people and recounter what he lost. For Thor, this party is a way for him to show off just how strong he is, and how no one but him can pick up his special hammer (if you could pronounce it, you would). For you, it’s a distraction and nothing else. It’s a lame distraction, but you’re just trying to make it work.

All week you’ve been building up tension in the worst way possible. Physically, you’re fine, it’s emotionally that has you in a wreck. All week, you’ve been trying to ignore the one thought that has been filtering through your mind about a certain Avenger wandering the property.

Bucky fucking Barnes. That man is going to be the death of you.

It’s not what he does to you, it’s what he doesn’t do that ticks you off, and that is revealing his feelings for you. You know they’re there because you overheard him talking with Steve about you. To be fair, you have the exact same feelings and are doing nothing about it, but you know he’s close to his breaking point.

Most people think you and Bucky are enemies because every single conversation you have ends with one of both of you screaming at each other. For no goddamn reason, apparently. It’s just so infuriating when the man you want to the most behaves and acts the way he does without consequence. One man shouldn’t possess the power to look and act the way he does, yet, he’s doing it. Just thinking of his name is sinful enough, so saying it is even worse.

“Where’s Bucky?” Natasha asks you after her third drink of the night.

“Really? You’re asking me? How the hell should I know?”

“You’re the one who can’t stop eye-fucking him. Figured you knew where he might be,” she laughs.

“Yeah, well, I don’t. Why don’t you go hit on that man? He looks as if he doesn’t want to kill himself. Go make him want to,” you say.

“You’re mean,” she sticks her tongue out at you and leaves your side.

She knows you’re only teasing her, but she heads over to him anyway at the thought of bringing him back to her bed. Now that you’re alone, you sit on the barstool and watch the party liven up without you. Tony’s house is normally empty save for the few Avengers walking around, but this time, not an inch of floor isn’t uncovered by someone doing something they love while you’re just sitting at the bar like a fucking loner.

You should be up and mingling. You have nothing to be emotional about. Your life is going exactly the way it’s supposed to, and there isn’t a single thing out of place. So why do you feel like the smallest thing will piss you off? This is a party, and parties are meant to be filled with fun and excitement. However, your eyes just landed on the one guy who makes your blood boil. He’s with Steve right now, and he’s wearing the biggest smile on his face. Why should he smile like that when you’re over here with a scowl? He knows what he’s doing to you, and he has the audacity to act like he’s Mr. Innocent.

Fuck this, You’re going to have fun tonight. Jealousy and pent up frustration fuels your body right now, so you may not have the best intentions with what you’re about to do, but you can’t think of a better way to agitate Bucky even more. You could tell Bucky how you feel and just fuck, but messing with him is so much better. You kind of want to see what he will do when he breaks because you know it’s coming soon.

You down the rest of your drink to give you the courage you need and head over to the duo. Steve is the first to see you, and he tenses just a bit which gets Bucky's attention. The other man turns to face you, and he rolls his eyes lightly.

“No, I won’t dance with you,” Bucky assumes what you might have to say to either of them.

“Good because I didn’t come here to ask you,” you sneer and turn to the blonde man. “Steve, will you dance with me? I absolutely love this song.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?” Bucky says at the same time his best friend does.

“Please? It’s rude to turn a lady down.”

“You’re no lady,” Bucky mutters.

“Sure,” Steve says and you lead him to the dance floor.

“You’re treading into dangerous waters,” the super soldier shakes his head as a particular nasty song comes on.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just want to dance with my friend,” you chuckle and turn so that your back is facing his front.

“Then why haven’t you taken your eyes off him since we left,” he chuckles.

Damn, you’ve been caught. Bucky’s eyes are full of fire, and you can’t help but grin at what might happen when that fire explodes into something uncontainable.

“What, I can’t look at him?” you ask as you move your hips sexily.

“You’re biting off more than you can chew. Bucky is not someone you want to make jealous.”

“I can fight my own battles, thank you very much. Now, let’s just see how jealous he can get.”

At the best part of the song that’s on, you start to slide down Steve’s body so that the back of your head is right next to his dick. You slowly start to stand up, but you keep your lower half bent until your ass presses into his growing cock. You feel bad for using him to get back at his friend, but what’s a girl gotta do?

Something seems to snap inside Bucky’s head because he’s storming over to you and Steve as soon as he sees you dance like that. He doesn’t say a word as he grabs your wrist and yanks you off his best friend. Steve can only shake his head, but he lets you go off with Bucky.

This is it. This is the part where you and Bucky go off to have secret hot sex that will leave you wanting more… or at least, that’s what you want to happen. Or maybe he’s here to cuss you out for corrupting his best friend. Bucky leads you into an empty bedroom on the other side of the goddamn tower, and you grin when he locks the door.

“What’s your problem, Barnes?”

“You! What the fuck was that?”

“I was just dancing with a friend,” you shrug.

“That was not dancing. That was seducing. I know what you’re doing,” he glares and takes a step toward you.

You take one back, and this little game is played until your back is pressed against the bedroom door. His face is so close to yours that you can smell the alcohol on his lips. His pupils are wide with desire, and you know you hold the key to lock his full potential.

“What am I doing? I was just dancing,” you whisper.

“You’re trying to make me jealous,” he accuses.

“As if I’d want that.”

“Your body betrays you. Your cheeks are flushed and your hands clenched from the temptation to grab at me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Kiss me,” you demand, but Bucky is way ahead of you.

He cuts you off before you can finish what you wanted to say. His lips push against yours feverishly, and his hands grab at your waist. You first your fingers into his hair and tug, and that seems to release the beast inside him. He pulls away from you and picks you up only slightly. He tosses you onto the bed only to put all his weight on you so that you can’t escape.

It’s not like you would if you could.

“If you want to act like a slut, then I’ll treat you like one. You want everyone to see you and hear what you have to say. Well, I say let’s give them a show.”

While keeping his weight on your body, he reaches down with his flesh hand and slides it into the front of your shorts. Your panties are already soaking, but that comes to no surprise as the man can make you wet just by a thought. He bypasses your throbbing clit and to your dripping center. He slides in two thick fingers, and you arch your back as much as you can.

“Fuck! Bucky!” you moan his name.

“Let me hear you purr,” he whispers into your ear.

His fingers cause a surge of pleasure to coarse through your veins, and he doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction. He knows exactly what he’s doing, but it’s not like you mind. He shoves his fingers deeper and starts to scissor them to open you up further. He wants to make sure you’re nice and ready for his cock.

With his cold metal hand, he rips your shorts and panties in half but you're not even fazed by it. All you can focus on is his fingers and his hot breath on your neck. The tip of his metal finger grazes your clit, and you jump from the sudden change in temperature. He’s using his greatest loss to his greatest advantage.

Your entire center is hot and throbbing, but his hand is so cold and calculating. He presses your clit with his finger, and you all but jump away from him. He just chuckles and bites your neck to keep you where you are.

“Where do you think you’re going? You’re not leaving here until you come all over my fingers. You want that? Huh? To come and watch me suck off everything you have to give to me? What if I made you suck them? Would that turn you on even more?”

Your response isn’t verbal at all. Instead, you squeeze his fingers tightly as if you don’t ever want him to leave the comfort of you. You tip your head back and let out a guttural moan at the thought of sucking your release off his fingers.

“Yeah, I knew you’d like that. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and come,” he bites your neck once again after he finishes.

You can’t help but do as he says, and your release spills onto him. Some even drip out, but he’s got that covered. He slides down your body and replaces his fingers with his mouth, and you can feel another wave of pleasure surge through your body. He licks up every drop of your release until there is nothing left for you to give him.

“I knew you’d taste delicious,” he chuckles darkly.

He reaches up and shoves his two flesh fingers into your mouth, and you welcome them. Tasting your own orgasm off another man’s body part is something you will never not find sexy. You can only imagine what you’d taste like on his cock. Your eyes are trained on his until you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

“Do you like the taste of yourself?” You nod faintly. “No, use your big girl words. Do you like the taste of yourself?”

“Yes, sir,” you take a risk with the title.

You’re not sure what he likes and what he doesn’t, but judging the way his eyes dilate until his eyes are almost completely black, you know he likes it.

“Do you want me to take care of you? Hmm?”

“Please!” you beg.

You’re loving the way he’s taking charge and taking you the way he wants to. You’ll gladly let him use you however he wants to as long as you get his cock. He smirks and strips off the rest of your clothing before turning on himself.

You drink in his body the more it’s being revealed to you. You can’t believe you’ve been too stubborn to get with him until now. Just think of all the good times you two could have had. But then again. think of the good time you’re having right now.

His cock springs free as soon as it’s released from it’s denim prison, and your mouth physically waters. All you want is to have him rest against your tongue, but he has other plans.

“Get on your stomach. Ass up,” he demands.

Who are you to deny him? You roll over when he gives you the chance, and your ass automatically sticks into the air. His metal hand pushes your head down into the bed, and his flesh hand grips the base of his cock. He runs the tip through your folds twice before sinking himself into your warm center.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel him bare. He can’t have children since he’s been sterilized, so you don’t have to worry about getting pregnant tonight. He pounds into you from behind with the only thing you can hear is his skin slapping against yours. The pressure builds up inside you with every thrust, and you know your second orgasm isn’t that far behind.

His sweaty chest presses against your back, and his hand comes around your front before settling on your bundle of nerves. He presses hard circles onto your clit, and that combining with the pleasure coming from his cock is too overwhelming. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, which gives him the sign you’re close.

“Come, baby girl,” he growls.

You listen, and you release all over him. He shoots his load into you, and you milk him for everything he’s worth. Your body is sweaty, your pussy throbs, and your mind is tired. The build up of frustration is so worth the wait. It wouldn’t have been like this if you hadn’t.

He pulls out of you and watches his come drop down your thighs. He wants to shower with you later, but he needs to catch his breath right now. He falls next to you as you roll onto your back.

“You know I don’t like Steve right? I did that just to get back at you.”

“Get back at me? For what?”

“For not telling me that you have a thing for me. I know you do. I heard you tell Steve.”

“Why didn’t you come to me then?”

“Making you jealous has its payoffs. This was fun,” you laugh.

“Well, from now on, I’m the only one you dance like that for.”

“Deal,” you grin.

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the-odd-job · 4 years ago

Text

Up in Flames chapter 14 - Tear Into You (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Megatron Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5342

Am I beautiful As I tear you to pieces? Am I beautiful? Even at my ugliest, you always say I'm beautiful As you tear me to pieces You are beautiful Even at your ugliest, I always say You're beautiful and sick like me

— In This Moment – Sick Like Me

( Previous )

It turned into a public event, as little of a surprise as that was. They were gladiators. Fighting for show was what they did, even if the glory days of the Pits were long gone, brought down by Megatron himself.

But gone or not, their world was still familiar to most of the Decepticon army. There were many among their ranks that could appreciate a good showdown between skilled fighters—and Sunstreaker quite enjoyed providing shows of that nature. Didn’t he deserve to be the center of attention, both for what he was and what he could do?

And Megatron as his opponent only did him justice. Could he win? Probably not. Megatron had beaten him every time they had ever fought, rightfully proving himself superior no matter the circumstances.

Would he still give it his best go? Pit yeah. Anything less would’ve been nothing but an embarrassment. As much as winning was the goal, so was entertaining, and testing yourself, pushing yourself to your limit in front of so many appreciative optics.

And this side of the war definitely could appreciate real fights like the Autobots never did. The Autobots were more concerned with not going overt with the damage inflicted during sparring, and real fights were supposed to be off the table entirely, as little as Sunstreaker had ever followed that rule.

The Decepticons didn’t have such concerns. They were a violent bunch and seemed to only consider the injuries racked up as inevitable, without seeing any reason to change their actions because someone or other got hurt and required repairs. Part of life, no? Nothing more, nothing less. No reason to make a number out of it. With continued access to Cybertron, they didn't even need to worry about resources—aside from the ever elusive energon—as the Autobots did.

That suited Sunstreaker just fine, as did the fact no one thought twice about him suffering injuries the same as everyone else, despite the fact he was carrying. The only reason anyone spent time having second thoughts before fighting him was his sheer proven prowess. He could scrap most of the mecha on either side of the war. Did you really want to mess with him?

Megatron didn’t need to worry about things like that, though. Sunstreaker could provide him with a good fight, and he would do so, but Megatron’s strength and ability exceeded even his own. Everyone knew that.

Didn’t stop Sunstreaker from immediately agreeing to the suggestion of another no holds barred fight, and that saw them here, in the training room with the majority of the Decepticon army on Earth standing aside, optics sharp on them. Megatron’s sword was extended and Sunstreaker held his own thermal sword, ready to carve his fragging name in the warlord’s armor. As much as they were both weapons just by existing… Well, additional aids were damage multipliers, weren’t they? They evened the odds a little, allowed for greater damage on both sides. That came in quite handy.

Especially now. Megatron was, in frame, more of a weapon than he was. Once upon a time Sunstreaker would have considered them equal as far as their armaments went, but since then, he’d lost his claws, his fangs, his edges—things Megatron still retained because who would dare try to take those from him.

Didn’t matter. Sunstreaker still knew how to hit and how to tear, blunt digits or not, and he damn well knew how to handle a sword. Maybe he was at a disadvantage, maybe he was the underdog—then let it be so. It wouldn’t stop him from giving as good as he got.

“Haven’t we done this enough times already?” Sunstreaker asked as Megatron nodded at him, inviting him to make the first move. He did, rushing the warlord, dodging the blade that moved to intercept him, although he couldn’t break through Megatron’s defense enough to actually land a hit. Neither did he receive a hit either, though, dancing out of the way of Megatron’s attack on light pedes.

“Do you complain?” Megatron asked in return, moving on him, but Sunstreaker moved with him, staying just half a step ahead. Enough to save him until he could try to take an opening.

It didn’t work. Megatron blocked him, and wasn’t it satisfying to feel like his skill was truly matched, like he’d be made to work for every attack he could possibly land.

Sunstreaker’s mouth tugged into a smirk. “No. Why would I ever say no to a chance of slagging you? Fragging well deserve it, at least.”

“Do I now?” the tyrant rumbled in amusement, sending Sunstreaker stumbling back with a strike of his sword, cutting too deep into his plating. Megatron moved to a follow up attack in one fluent motion, but Sunstreaker wasn’t there anymore when it was supposed to reach him, moving out of the way like quicksilver.

“Damn well. Or did you forget everything you’ve done?” Sunstreaker’s sword connected with Megatron’s side, too shallow, a second before he had to dodge again. There was no way it would’ve been that easy, anyway.

He’d be disappointed if it was. Megatron was supposed to be better than that, and he was.

“How large of a scale are we talking about, here?” Megatron humored him. Sunstreaker could surmise what he meant. There was many a mech who would take an issue with the whole war Megatron had thrust Cybertron into—the atrocities he’d committed in the name of his cause. Genocide.

Did Sunstreaker think he deserved an ass kicking for all that? He should have. He had been an Autobot, a faction whose entire purpose was to oppose Megatron and everything he did and wanted to do. It was that insignia that still painted his chest, scratched out now. Why was he ever one of the red faction if he didn’t think Megatron deserved to pay for his supposed crimes?

They knew already.

What, then? Did he think Megatron had been right all along, justified in what he did? All the death he’d caused, the innocent he’d killed? What did he think of that?

“Scale of my goddamn life,” Sunstreaker growled, jumping out of the way of Megatron’s slash that would have beyond hurt had it connected, and taking his chances with an attack of his own. It landed. Muted satisfaction burst in his spark. The sparklet in his chamber vibrated, its excitement joining his own.

This was right. Fighting, testing his mettle, against its sire too, proving to it and to himself once again that Megatron was powerful enough to be considered beyond desirable for the role.

“Hm. And everything else I’ve done?” the tyrant asked from him. Why? Was he genuinely curious?

Or was he testing him? Megatron wanted him to fight. Not just like this—blades clashing against each other before one broke through, sharp cuts from Megatron’s, searing slashes from Sunstreaker's—but in the war. For him. Was this an attempt at gauging his current stance on the whole matter?

“You didn’t do any of that to me,” came Sunstreaker’s answer. He dove past Megatron’s defense again, and this time his sword sank deep into Megatron’s side, as much as the warlord knew how to angle himself to reduce the severity of the damage. Getting out of the way of the retaliation was as important as delivering hurt, but he only managed that with a hair’s breadth away from the harm Megatron wanted to inflict on him.

Good enough, all the same.

“Selfish,” Megatron commented, but it didn’t sound like an accusation as it would’ve been coming from any Autobot. More just an… Observation.

“You know it,” Sunstreaker grinned, unrepentant. As if it wasn’t common knowledge Sunstreaker didn’t really give a crap about anyone but himself. More reasons for the Autobots to dislike him. They put so much weight on altruism, Optimus in particular. Oh, all the talks he had gotten for putting himself first, at the cost of others.

Hadn’t really worked, any of those chastisements. He was yet to see the error of his ways.

“And what of all the good I’ve brought upon your life?” Megatron went on to ask. Sunstreaker frowned a second before he was too slow and received a strike that sliced clean through his armor. He ignored the ache of the cut in favor of dodging to the side, away from Megatron’s follow up attack. But, if he’d hoped to take the chance to deliver an attack of his own, Megatron was quick to squash those dreams.

“What fucking good?” Sunstreaker growled after he’d gathered his bearings and they were back to their scheduled dancing, injuries, wounds on both of them slowly piling up. “You destroyed it.”

“As was necessary. I freed you from the Autobots,” came Megatron’s argument, delivered in time with a feign Sunstreaker didn’t recognize as such, followed by a fast attack that landed and had him reeling and scrambling out of the way for a precious second that ended with a cut on Megatron when the tyrant was a little too slow to turn to face him.

Sunstreaker couldn’t really disagree with Megatron on this one, though. He growled again instead, veering to the side quickly enough to deliver another attack that landed almost as it was intended to before Megatron could force him away.

“Ends justify the means, huh?” Sunstreaker asked after he’d dodged again, diving right back in the next moment to deliver a vicious strike upon the larger mech. “Waltz right in, announce my crimes to the whole damn world, but that’s fine because it would roast me out of the Autobots?” Fragger.

“Do you disagree it was for the best?” Megatron asked from him, then moved far faster than he had any right to. Sunstreaker couldn’t get out of the way quickly enough and Megatron’s blade sank into his armor, leaving yet another gaping tear behind.

But not deep enough to bleed. Yet.

“What does it matter? A little too late to go back, now,” Sunstreaker hissed back. Whatever he thought of it wouldn’t change things anymore. There was no fixing what Megatron had done.

“But not too late to move forward,” the tyrant said—and why the slag did Sunstreaker feel like they were again circling back to the matter of would he or would he not fight? He couldn’t go back to being an Autobot, not after everything… Not that he really wanted to, either.

Did he want to be Neutral, then? Denounce his planet and his species for the sake of being outside the fight, picking no side?

Or would he rather continue fighting?

“You’re not really winning me over,” he growled at Megatron all the same, performing one attack, another… But the third was blocked and countered. Sunstreaker was forced to backpedal fast as he could manage, his engine revving in aggravation.

“You’re as stubborn as they come,” Megatron snarled back at him. Sunstreaker chuckled, twice so when he managed to turn the tables for a moment and jam his sword into a gap in Megatron’s armor.

“You’re only now noticing that?” he purred at the warlord even as he was forced to take a step back again, then another, and another before he could slip to Megatron’s side. But no, even that didn’t work. This time there was blood when Megatron swept his sword into him, deep enough to nick fuel lines. Sunstreaker could feel the wetness running down his internals, but he made damn sure Megatron’s plating melted under his own sword before he dodged out of the way. Wouldn’t do to give Megatron a chance to do something even worse, but there was no fragging way Sunstreaker was going to get the bastard get away with slag, either.

Now all he needed to do was return to the favor for real and have Megatron’s blood drip along his frame as Sunstreaker’s was.

“Hardly. Headstrong—it’s one of your more attractive qualities.”

This time Sunstreaker laughed outright, although he didn’t let it distract him from the fight, weaving his frame out of the way of Megatron’s attacks. The sparkling was pulsing urgently, growing even more excited at the feeling of his amusement.

And it was amusement. Pleasure, too, though no surprise. Maybe there should’ve been some, with the trouble his stubbornness had caused Megatron. Lack of cooperation and whatnot.

But Sunstreaker was a creature of confidence that some said he took to a sick level. True to that form, “Do I even have any unattractive qualities?” Sunstreaker asked.

“I think you answered that question yourself,” Megatron responded, his field flaring with faint mirth of his own. Sunstreaker growled at the suggestion behind the words—that his self-regard went over the top and that wasn’t a positive quality.

Well, frag that. The insecure wastes of space just couldn’t understand the comfort of loving yourself.

Sunstreaker dismissed Megatron’s opinion entirely with, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And nearly got his arm cut off for not reading Megatron’s movement fast enough. That, though, wasn’t enough to distract either of them from their conversation.

“I won’t claim it’s not refreshing, as well,” Megatron conceded in time with Sunstreaker moving in, dodging past the tyrant’s attempted block and– Ah, now there was blood from Megatron too. His blade cut deep and true before Megatron could jerk out of the way. Sunstreaker didn’t let him go so easily, even if he paid for his second attack with a deep groove on his own armor.

But the pain was rewarding. He’d earned it.

And now that they were both bloodied, it felt like the fight was really starting. No Pit fight should be dry; it just wasn’t entertaining without spilled energon tainting the ground. Sunstreaker vowed that Megatron��s blood would pool on the floor before they were done—and acknowledged that his own would likely join it in no small amount. If it didn’t, what were they even doing this for?

So he pressed his attack, no matter how Megatron gave no quarter—no matter how he had to work to evade the injuries that would’ve otherwise piled on him in truly painful amounts. But frag, what else was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to do anything else. All he wanted was to dance on that blade’s edge, feel it every time he was too slow and it scraped along his body.

But also every time Megatron wasn’t fast enough and it was Sunstreaker’s sword that dug into him. Blood, they both wanted that—and they both got it.

“So what you’re really saying–” Sunstreaker continued, bringing his sword to block Megatron’s when it came down at him, and taking just that moment to meet the warlord’s optics. Sunstreaker smirked. “–Is that I have no unattractive qualities.” Even the one Megatron named he only rescinded by calling it refreshing in the next moment.

What surprise was it, though? He was beautiful, physically—but he also embodied so many of the things their city had admired, in his behavior and personality. The Autobots had never appreciated his spirit. He was unyielding, ruthless, comfortable with himself, oft violent, temperamental. He wasn’t a pushover. He knew his worth and demanded others acknowledge it too.

He wasn’t a meek little thing like the Autobots would’ve wanted him to be. He wasn’t humble, he wasn’t good.

He was everything an Autobot shouldn’t be, but everything a Kaonite should be—and could it be that he was what a Decepticon should be, too?

Maybe.

“You love to flatter yourself, don’t you?” Megatron rumbled. Slice, cut. Sunstreaker could feel the pain, relished in it.

Ignored it. Delivered it. Megatron ignored it too, showing no signs of feeling his injuries any more than Sunstreaker was. They both possessed well trained pain tolerances, and when nothing vital had been severed yet… Well, there was no reason to act on the pain they were both feeling, and that was multiplying with every moment, with every time one of them couldn’t block or dodge and paid for it.

Blood was beginning to flow faster, attacks on old wounds cutting deeper than the first pass had. Hurting more, too, as their frames informed them of the mounting damage.

Fragging right. Bring it on, give more, back down none.

Sunstreaker’s fans were running faster as the exertion began to build its effects, excitement and emotion only adding to the mess. He could hear the murmur of the Decepticons watching them, but ignored it with age old professionalism. Distractions weren’t acceptable.

Especially not now, with Megatron as intent on bringing him down as Sunstreaker was on not allowing that.

“Is it flattery if it’s just speaking the truth?” he asked, twisting his frame out of the way and into Megatron, bringing his sword to where it would fragging well hurt. And he was hurt in return, and so it went.

Had he still had his claws, he would’ve used those on the tyrant too. He could picture all the ways he could’ve employed them in tandem with his sword, dig them in preexisting wounds, tear every time he was within reach, accentuate the use of his blade and add to the damage he could deliver.

Because Megatron was definitely putting his claws to use, and every time they scratched into him, Sunstreaker envied him for still having them. They drew more blood from him, tore at his armor, bent it, built atop the wounds already littering him.

More and more blood, but it wasn’t just his. His sword damaged near as many lines on Megatron as what were being cut in his own frame. Pink was dribbling from the seams of their armors, all the way to the floor it began to slick.

Better not lose your footing.

“Do you truly think yourself flawless?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

Megatron growled at him, and it was just insanity when the warlord stepped forward, right where Sunstreaker could drive his blade through his abdomen–

Only to misread Megatron’s intent and have the back of his helm grabbed. “You’re lucky you have your looks. Your attitude would be very tiresome otherwise,” Megatron growled lowly at him. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if anyone else could even hear him—or if anyone else was meant to hear him.

But where Megatron could have caught him tight enough to crush… He didn’t. In fact, Sunstreaker was able to pull himself free and retreat a couple of steps away. “I don’t think you mind my attitude as much as you say you do,” he grinned before he dove right back in. Their swords clashed, then they didn’t, then they cut—more blood joined the mess on the floor, more armor was mutilated. Char from the heat of Sunstreaker’s sword tainted the edges of Megatron’s injuries; the edges of Sunstreaker’s wounds were ragged where Megatron’s had torn deeper into them.

Deep, shallow, it all hurt, all piled on top of each other and itself until important parts were reached after all this time, when even their thick plating wasn’t enough to protect them anymore. The engine in Sunstreaker’s left arm suffered under Megatron’s sword—Sunstreaker switched his sword to his right hand. Megatron’s engine was rattling where Sunstreaker had managed to sink his sword into it. Something in his leg was severed, giving the tyrant a limp.

Yet that wasn’t enough to noticeably slow either of them down—not enough to end their fight so soon.

But it was entering its twilight phase all the same. They could only carry on for so long at the pace they were building injuries on each other. Their ventilations turned more ragged, both from the heat that built in their systems, as well as the damage their vents suffered along with the rest of their frames. The floor was painted in pink; it was harder to not slip on the steps they took, back and forth. Harder yet for Sunstreaker as the one who had to move more, when he couldn’t possibly accept the same amount of damage Megatron could put up with if it meant hurting Sunstreaker worse.

And oh, he was hurting. His injuries throbbed at him in time with the rapid pulse of his spark—his excitement, the sparkling’s excitement, his thrill, the sparkling’s thrill merging together until there was more emotion than Sunstreaker could have ever managed on his own. His frame was on the verge of lagging dangerously, too, as much as he could force it into full cooperation for now.

Megatron was only doing better to an extent, but it was still becoming obvious he was gaining the upper hand, his size and durability simply surpassing Sunstreaker’s—and Sunstreaker couldn’t make up for it by causing more damage than what was being caused on him. Quite the opposite.

Didn’t matter. What mattered was that Megatron had a limp, there was terrible grinding coming from his right arm with every motion he forced it into, and he was bleeding more than just a little. Sunstreaker had done that to him. His armor was split in so many places. He could almost feel Megatron’s injuries as phantom sensations on top of his own.

Never let it be said he had gone down easily. Never let it be said he hadn’t hurt Megatron.

But go down he did. Megatron drove his sword through his abdomen first when Sunstreaker made just one mistake, too slow to get out of the way. Blood gushed forth when energon lines were cut well and proper, but that alone wouldn’t have been enough to down him. No, Sunstreaker merely backed away from his impalement, fast as he could, but before he was free… Megatron yanked his sword sideways.

Sunstreaker gasped when it tore through far too much machinery, his armor barely enough to stop Megatron’s strength before he would have halfway cut him in two.

Even that wasn’t serious enough to bring him down on its own, but it forced him to reorient himself from the damage warnings that, along with the simple pain, clued him in on quite a few parts that stopped working entirely, and others yet that were verging on that point.

He took too long with that, was distracted for too many precious seconds. He jerked away when Megatron kicked at him, but that only put him in the path of the blunt impact of the hilt of Megatron’s sword to his face.

Was he steady on his pedes, he may have been able to overcome even that much.

He wasn’t.

His footing didn’t keep on the blood slicked floor and Sunstreaker came crashing down, landing hard with a grunt as nearly every damn part of his frame complained about the impact. Still, he would have tried to get to his pedes if Megatron hadn’t knelt on his fragging abdomen. Sunstreaker’s vocalizer glitched to static at the agony, thoroughly distracting him from the sword that pressed to his throat.

Decapitation. Not deadly, but more than incapacitating. Sunstreaker’s vents heaved as he tried to push the pain aside enough to focus on his predicament.

His optics eventually found Megatron’s, finding the tyrant staring down at him, his expression unreadable.

Everyone knew he had won, though. Sunstreaker only confirmed that with, “I yield,” spoken loud enough for the observers.

At once the gathered Decepticons broke into cheers and jeers, whooping for the high of a good fight, laughing both for the victory of their leader and for Sunstreaker’s loss. The sparkling shook along with the thrum of the cacophony of noise, dancing to the rapid rotation of Sunstreaker’s spark, asking for more still.

Was nothing enough?

Megatron’s sword disappeared back into his arm and his knee rose from Sunstreaker’s abdomen. Sunstreaker sucked in a sharp ventilation as the damaged parts were again realigned by the lack of pressure. Distracted by it, he jerked when Megatron’s servo came to his chin, taking a hold of it. Sunstreaker met his optics again as the tyrant traced his thumb along his lower lip. “Blood looks good on you,” Megatron commented.

Sunstreaker huffed a laugh. “Ditto.” It was what Megatron deserved, and no doubt the warlord thought the same of him. You know, for his attitude.

But here he was, with Megatron above him, straddling his frame now. Sunstreaker’s optics brightened and Megatron’s optical ridges rose inquisitively in response, right before Sunstreaker forced his aching frame into motion and arched up against the larger frame. Megatron didn’t need any time to understand, his optics coming to glow a little brighter too. His engine rumbled even as Sunstreaker had to fight his ventilations that wanted to again come fast and hard and ragged. Something to do with the pain in his frame, that he dedicated himself to ignoring in favor of locking into a staring contest with the tyrant.

Whose servo slipped between their frames, brushing against his valve cover. “In front of everyone?” Megatron growled at him.

Sunstreaker growled back. “You object?”

“Hardly.” He wasn’t given a chance to retract a damn thing this time. Megatron claws hooked into the seams of his valve panel as they had who knew how many times already, and like who knew how many times before, the cover was torn clean off.

The sting of that was completely eclipsed by everything else his frame was going through. He didn’t give a frag about it, he only cared about the digits that pushed into his valve without the obstruction in the way. It was as slick as the floor, lubricant making the entrance of Megatron’s claws a smooth glide. The headiness of the preceding fight wasn’t lost to either of them, and Sunstreaker’s ventilations were quick to speed up for reasons that had nothing to do with the aches of his frame.

The Decepticons had quickly caught on to the shift, and their cheers had rather changed in nature. Catcalls filled the air as well as dirty encouragements and lewd laughter. Clearly, they weren’t the prudish lot in the slightest.

Sunstreaker didn’t mind being the center of attention in this, either. Fighting, fucking, was there so much difference? Both were raw sports that laid you bare for others to see. Blood, internals—lubricant and transfluid, retracted covers. They weren’t so far removed.

Megatron was all on board with this, by all appearances. His digits thrust in and out until Sunstreaker was well and truly ready—as if he hadn’t been so all the while—only for the tyrant to release his spike and replace his digits with it.

Sunstreaker hiked his hips up for better angle as Megatron pushed into him, despite the pain of his midsection. He wasn’t about to let that stop him, no matter how the way Megatron fetched his spike only to slam back in made his vents hitch and vocalizer produce some more static.

Primus, it hurt. His abdomen loudly told him all about how it hated him right then, even as his valve sang its praises as Megatron set up a pace that was no less punishing than usual, only this time made all the more so by the multitude of injuries they both sported.

Megatron had to feel it too. There was no way he was unaffected by forcing his frame into motion like this, this fast, this violent, right after the bloodshed they’d just inflicted on each other.

But he didn’t let that slow him, and pits, Sunstreaker fragging well didn’t ask him to slow down, to go easy on him just because he was hurting.

No, Sunstreaker arched into him. Sunstreaker wove his arms behind the warlord’s neck and pulled him down as his damage warnings piled in even greater numbers on his HUD. As his frame informed him of how much more it was breaking under Megatron’s administrations, Sunstreaker pressed their lips together, moaning—no fake—when Megatron overtook him, his glossa slipping into his mouth, lips pressing tighter, and his hips pistoning harder, if that was even possible. It was stretch and fullness like always, the abuse of what felt like every last sensor in his valve.

Sunstreaker shuddered from pleasure and agony both until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The sensations melded together until one only added to the other, and he fragging hurt, but he felt spectacular, his valve clenching as his frame was brutally driven towards completion.

He could taste Megatron’s own pain in his field. It was gratification, proof that he had fought well and true, but also, even more proof that Megatron wasn’t weak in any sense of the word. It didn’t matter he was aching, he was still willing and able to take his prize.

Neither of them was weak. The sparkling wouldn’t be weak either, not with creators like them.

And if it was despite that… Well, would they have any need for it? This wasn’t a world for the feeble. He wouldn’t accept that.

But it was unlikely to come to pass. It wasn’t weak in spark, not now, not ever, pushing at him, riding every exhilarating emotion, demanding that he feed it more of it. It was lively, it was gaining more mass with every passing day—it was thriving, healthy. Why would it change that course all of a sudden?

It wouldn’t, he was certain of that as it spun faster in its own rotation in time with the pleasure growing in his frame. He rocked into Megatron’s thrusts no matter the pain, bit down on the tyrant’s lip to another growl from him. A sharp jab of Megatron’s hips had Sunstreaker’s vents seizing when it jarred his injuries.

He wouldn’t have it any other way. His servo grasped the back of Megatron’s helm, locking him in place as the pleasure crested and he groaned against the warlord’s lips. Charge released from his frame and he tensed, further hurting himself, more warnings popping up on his HUD.

Fucking worth it. This was the way to feel, this was the way to live, and he was fragging done having anyone tell him otherwise.

By the continued racket around them, he was no further from his kin here than he had been in Kaon, in the Pits. The noise only increased when Megatron growled his own overload, jerking his hips into Sunstreaker to another pained hiss from him—whooping for their completion, for the sight of charge crackling across both their frames. It was a show from start to finish, all of it.

Never let them forget where Sunstreaker had come from—the very same place as so many of them.

He loosened his hold on Megatron and with another graze of sharp denta across his lips the tyrant pulled away from him until there was enough distance for their gazes to meet, amusement in Megatron’s optics… As well as something else. Sunstreaker couldn’t quite name it. Approval?

Ugh. Frag him and opinions. “Done already?” Sunstreaker growled at him, jabbing his digits into a deep gash on Megatron’s side and relishing in the jerk of the tyrant’s frame. Did that hurt?

Megatron responded by rather meaningfully tracing his damaged midsection, and just the threat of what he could do to injure him further had Sunstreaker snarling some more. “Mercy is so overrated, isn’t it?” the tyrant asked from him in return–

Before driving his claws into the gaping wound of his abdomen, in time with a harsh thrust into his valve. The dual pain on that one area of his frame had Sunstreaker’s helm snapping back against the floor, but he didn’t scream, only ground his denta together and groaned.

“Frag you,” he panted once he could will his optics open again, glaring at the tyrant now sporting an entirely benevolent smile. Megatron drew back… Thrust back in, and his claws remained in his abdomen. It was pain, plain and simple—but also satisfaction, the knowledge of what Megatron was ready and willing to do clouding Sunstreaker’s good sense.

“Backing down already?” Megatron wondered with an innocent tilt of his helm, as if he wasn’t aggravating already severe injuries.

Sunstreaker yanked on Megatron’s wounds a little harder this time, bending his plating until the tyrant was growling a warning at him.

The twin grinned. “Keep fucking dreaming.”

( Next )

#transformers #maccadam #sunstreaker #megatron #megasun #fic #2020 #ashes #up in flames

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 67

WARNING: Profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

“I think you’re reading too much into this.”

They sit in Anil’s home office; away from the distraction of chattering and giggling children and the curious ears and eyes of the team of staff that linger in the halls and busy themselves with numerous daily tasks. Rage and disgust overrule any existing emotion, and Tyler finds himself with a powerful, all consuming need to hunt every last one of Mahjan’s men down himself and then kill them as slowly and painfully as possible. His stomach still churns and bile still burns the back of his throat, and he’s unable to get the images of the previous night’s horror show out of his head; brought back by the confirmation of his worst possible fears. Even though he’d suspected what Mahajan’s men would do to both him and his family, it’s still a difficult pill to swallow, And he’s having a difficult time both controlling his temper and wrapping his head around just how sick and twisted some humans can actually be. That someone would ever harm a little girl and a baby in such fashion. And not just any little girl and baby, but HIS,

“I think I’m reading into it just fine,” he retorts, as he drops into the chair in front of Anil’s desk. Grunting and grimacing as he removes his arm from the sling; brief reprieve from the tight, secure confines.

He frowns at the pins and needles that hamper his hand; attempting to clear them away by repeatedly opening and closing his fist. It’s far more than just a simple separation or even a partially torn ligament or tendon. The overall weakness from his wrist to the tips of his fingers is a near permanent fixture and the pain and discomfort extends far beyond anything he’s ever felt before in that shoulder. And the constant agony he’d been living for years prior to being jumped four nights ago had been bad enough.

“If anything,” he continues “you’re not reading into it enough.”

“Nathan? You think it's Nathan?” There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of Nik’s mouth and an almost amused glitter in her eyes. It doesn’t help with his current mood; adding more fuel to the already raging fire that threatens to consume him.

“You said there was a mole. That there’s someone feeding Mahajan information. That…”

“What I said…” she interjects. “...is that I was worried there was a mile And if the information that came back was what I needed to prove it, I’d let you know.”

“Been over a week. Where is this information?”

“It’s forthcoming.”

“Pretty fucking slowly, don’t you think?”

“These things take time, Tyler. They don’t happen overnight.”

“Seven days,” he points out. “You’ve had seven goddamn days. I’m not asking for a miracle here. Do you have something for me or not? I don’t have time to fuck around.”

That smirk again. Playing on her mouth as she looks him up and down, eyes taking in the bad shoulder and fucked up knee and the multitude of bruises that cover his neck. “Seems like you have a lot of time on your hands right now.”

His jaw clenches. “Where we at, Nik? This isn’t a fucking game. I’ve got a lot on the line here. I have EVERYTHING on the line. So quit screwing around and wasting my time. You have information or not?”

“Nothing concrete. More hearsay than anything.”

“Is there anything you CAN tell me? Because this isn't a joke and I don’t have time to fuck around. Look at me…” he nods down at the arm that he rests across his chest and the brace on his knee. ‘...look what they managed to do to me. You think anyone else stands a chance against them? They fucked me up. And they’ll do worse to anyone else that gets in their way.”

“I can tell you that it’s NOT Nathan.”

“You got proof? That it’s not him?”

“You have proof it is?”

“Why are you so quick to defend him? You haven’t even bothered to listen to the proof I have.”

“What’s in your head is hardly proof, Tyler. What evidence do you have? And I’m talking about solid evidence, not just you trying to fit round pegs into square holes so it fits your agenda.”

“My agenda? I don’t have a fucking agenda. Mahajan’s people know where my family is, and now that I’ve dropped completely off their radar? It isn’t going to take them long to put two and two together. They’ll show up here.”

“So let them. They won’t get far. Not with the amount of firepower we have. Where does Nathan come into this? What does he have to do with any of it? He’s missing. Did you forget that? He’s dropped off the face of the earth. No one’s heard from him.”

“And you don’t find that weird? That he went missing the night everything went to hell? You don’t see anything strange about that? That he vanished into thin air? AFTER things went to shit?”

“You mean after he got the job done for you?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tyler scoffs. “I’m sorry I had a hard time getting shit done while someone was choking me and drugging me and planning on taking me somewhere to torture me and eventually kill me. I am so fucking sorry that all of that got in the way. Why are you so quick to defend this guy?”

“Why are YOU so quick to condemn him?”

“Maybe because the little bastard was supposed to have my back that night. He was supposed to be watching my ass. And look what happened. Look how close someone got to me. Way too goddamn close and now they’re really pissed because their plan didn’t work and they’re going to come for me and they’re going to come for my family. Do you know what was said? What one of the guys told Anil? About Esme and the kids?”

“Tyler...” Nik sighs heavily as she takes a seat behind Anil’s desk. “...those are nothing but empty threats meant to scare you. To get you off your game.”

“Empty threats my ass,” he snarls. “Look at me. Look at what one guy managed to do. You know what they would have done to me; it would have lasted for days, weeks, maybe even months. And now I hear...for sure...what they have planned for my family? You know what they’ll do to my wife? And my girls? Millie is six. Addie’s a baby. And they’re going to do some sick and twisted shit to them. So don’t sit there and try and convince me that the threats are empty when I damn well know they’re not.”

“And you think Nathan is somehow involved because…”

“Did you know he told Anil and his guys that I said to stand down?”

“Did YOU not tell them to...and I quote…’get off my ass’?”

“I told them to stay out of my way. I said that right to Anil. But I said shit to Nathan. Why would I? He means fuck all to me. I’m not telling him to tell Anil and his people shit. But that’s what said; that I said for them to stand down and that he had my back and that’s all I needed. You know me, Nik. You know how I work. How I am. If I’ve got something to say, I say it to someone’s face. I don’t need a messenger.”

“I’ll give you that much,” she concedes. “But maybe it was something you said to Nathan. Or around him. Something he took out context and ran with.”

“Holy fuck…” Tyler gives a dry, incredulous laugh. “...you’re blaming this on me? You’re his fuck up on me? You’re saying I somehow caused that asshole to get a hold of me? You’re putting that on me? You’ve got to be shitting me right now.”

“This is personal to you. VERY personal,” she reasons. “I’m just thinking that maybe it’s so personal that you acted out of character. That you’re not in your right frame of mind and that you could have said something to Nathan that he misunderstood or…”

“I didn’t say shit to Nathan. And you’re right; this is very personal. Which is exactly the reason why I WOULDN’T fuck up. Because of everything I have to lose. I’m not going to screw up when it’s my entire life...my entire world...that could be taken from me. You really think I’m going to fuck when it’s my wife and my kids being threatened? Get your head out of your ass, Nik. Or should I say get your head out of Nathan’s,”

She frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re so quick to defend him. I can’t help but wonder why. Something you’re not telling me? I thought he quit working for you ‘cause he said things were going to shit and and that you were running the operation into the ground. Weird that you’re sticking up someone that said all of that. Unless….” a smirk slowly spreads across his face. “....holy shit...none of that was true, was it? That wasn’t the real reason he quit. You fucked him. Literally.”

“Tyler...I never…”

“You just can’t stop dipping into the company ink, can you. You got a merc kink or something? Me? Him? Gaspar, even? Who knows how many others. We’re good enough to fuck but that’s about it, huh? We can’t give you the fancy shit or all the toys your rich old men friends can give you. You like fucking the hired help.”

“You’re a real class act, you know that? Stay classy, Tyler. Once in the gutter, always in the gutter when it comes to you.”

“That’s rich. Considering you spent how many years trying to ruin my marriage so I’d come running to you? What? I guess I was the only you were willing to permanently slum for.”

“In the end I let Esme have my sloppy seconds, didn’t I?”

He smirks. “Nik, you don’t even come close to being anything like her. You can have all the money, all the class, all the rich, high profile friends and she’s still a hundred times better in every way. And she’s still my wife and that still burns you ass, doesn’t it.”

“That’s how low you’re willing to stoop? That’s how far into the gutter you want to go? You asked me to come here; to help keep an eye on YOUR family. A family you put in this goddamn mess in the first place. Had you not been so selfish seven years ago and kept your dick in your pants…”

“You may be banging Nathan, but he fucked me. Royally. I know it was him. It all adds up whether you want to admit it or not. He just disappears after what happened to me? Vanishes into thin air? If he was dead...if Mahajan had him killed...we’d hear about it. In the same way we’d know if they had him. Do you know where he is? Has your little friend kept in contact with you?”

“Of course not,” she snorts. “I’d never keep that a secret.”

“Naww, you’re just keeping the fact he’s dicking you down a secret. You don’t want people to know you’re banging a low life merc, yeah? Where is he Nik?”

“I have no idea.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you know exactly where he is. And I think you know he fucked up the other night and you’re wanting to keep that quiet. Because you know if I find out it’s true, I will rip his head off and shove it up his ass. I will fucking torture him in ways that will make Mahajan look like a rookie. Where is he?

“How the hell should I know? I’m just as concerned as everyone else. He’s gone; vanished into thin air just like you said. No one has heard from him, no one has seen, no one can get a hold of him, Yaz is having no luck tracing his cell or his SAT. And you know what? You know what you haven’t given me? You haven’t given me one ounce of proof that he’s the mole. So if you’re not going to give me anything…” she pushes her chair away from the desk and stands. ‘“...we’re done here.”

“Sit down,” he firmly orders.

“I’ve got better things to do than fight with someone who is making absolutely zero sense. When you calm down and you get your shit together, come find me.”

“Sit down , Nik.”

“You can’t boss me around, Tyler. Esme may get off on your being like that, but…”

“I said sit down!” he snarls, with enough ferocity in his voice and rage in his eyes that it takes her by surprise and deflates her ego. Lips set in a thin, stern line as she returns to her seat.

“Nathan told Anil and his people to stand down so I’d be vulnerable,” Tyler says. “He knew what was going to happen; he knew Mahajan had sent someone to try and grab me. He’s probably the one who told them where I’d be.”

“It could be anyone who knew you were there.”

“It all adds up,” he insists. “Him taking off after the job was done and then dropping off the grid, him telling Anil that I didn’t need anyone else watching my ass. You don’t think this all comes together and that I haven’t given you the answers you need? You don’t think it’s pretty fucking obvious?”

“The only thing that’s obvious is that your head isn’t on straight. I get it; this is extremely personal and you want someone to blame. You want someone to go after. You’re pissed and you’re hurting and you’re…”

“I am way beyond pissed. I am so far PAST pissed. He told them where I’d be. Told them the weak spots to go after. You can’t tell me that this is all a coincidence.”

“I can, actually.”

He gives a derisive snort and shakes his head. “Wow. Must be some dicking down he’s giving you if you can’t see it. You’ve had one week to come up with something when it comes to this mole bullshit. Yet you have nothing and you still won’t acknowledge what’s right in front of you. All because you’re fucking the guy? Are you kidding me right now?”

“Everything I’VE discovered, does NOT lead to Nathan.”

“So you have found something out. And you weren’t going to tell me because…”

“Because I told you that you’d be the first to know if I had solid proof. I don’t have that yet.”

“You know what, Nik? I don’t have time to wait. My family is in danger. They will take my wife and my kids and they will do fucked up things to them. They will torture them and they’ll make sure I know all about it. I don’t have a single fucking minute to waste. What do you know? Who is it? Who you THINK it is?”

“Tyler, I don’t want to put this on you until I have it. IF I have to. I want clear cut proof before I bring this to you. You have enough going on without adding this to it. You need to get back on your feet; spend time with Esme and the kids. Try and relax.”

“Try and relax?” He laughs. “How am I supposed to do that? How am I supposed to relax with my family when all I can think about is what Mahajan and his people will do to them. My wife, my kids. Especially my girls? How the hell am I supposed to kick back and relax knowing what they’re going to do to my family if they get the chance.”

“You don’t need this on your plate,” Nik insists. “You don’t…”

“How about let me decide what I can and can’t handle. Tell me. Tell me who it is. Because I’ll kill the bastard with my bare hands.”

“Ovi,” she says simply.

Tyler shrugs. “What about him?”

“Ovi,” she firmly repeats. “The mole. It’s Ovi.”

“Bullshit,” he growls.

“All signs point to me. I am so sorry. Tyler. I’m…”

“What signs? What the hell signs could possibly point towards him?”

“He’s been in contact with his father,” she begins. “That’s how this all started.”

“Yeah, Mahajan wanted him to take over the family business. Ovi refused to and the old man couldn’t take no for an answer and he’s been hounding him since and stepped up his game. I already know all of that. It’s why Ovi wanted into the game; he thought it would protect him. And us.”

“I don’t mean what you already know. I mean that he’s been in contact with him since coming to Mumbai.”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. There’s no way. No way in hell. He wants nothing to do with his old man; he’s wanted nothing to with him since he was fifteen and Mahajan let us take him. He doesn’t even want any ties to his old life or even India itself. I had to practically drag him onto the plane to get him here. There’s no way he’s going to go and see his old man.”

“I have the prison logs,” Nik says. “For the past week. Ovi’s signed in over a dozen times since he got here.”

“There is no way, Nik,” Tyler vehemently argues. “There’s no way he’s gone there. He has no reason to go there. I don’t give a fuck what those logs say; he wouldn’t do it. And he definitely isn’t a mole.”

“Tyler, I know what the logs say and they say he’s been there. A couple of hours at a time. And Yaz said he disappears for while after dinner and...”

“He’s been hittin’ the gym. I set up a workout schedule for him. To keep him sharp and to get him stronger and bulkier. He has not been to the prison. And I can’t believe you even think that about him.”

“What I think is that this hits close to home and that the kid means a lot to you. And I get it. I do. The two of you are very close. You’ve been taking care of him for six years now. But…”

“It goes beyond that. It hasn’t been just taking care of him. We’ve given him what he wanted. What he deserved. A family and people who actually gives a shit about him. I love that kid like he’s my own. But I’m not defending him just because of that. I KNOW him. I know what he’s like and how he thinks and how he acts. And I know how much he loves Esme and the kids and he would never do anything to hurt them. Yeah, he does some dumb shit and makes some stupid ass decisions and I could have fucking killed him over wanting to get into the job. But when that kid loves, he loves huge and deep. And he wouldn’t do anything to put Esme and the kids in danger. That’s not him. That’s now who he is.”

“The evidence speaks for itself, Tyler.”

He smirks. “Evidence? You call THAT evidence? That’s way less than what I have on Nathan and you were quick to dismiss me. You have anything to back those logs up? What about videos? Pictures of some kind? Prison has security cameras right? Did you check those?”

“Security cameras in the visitors area, the office, and the hall that connects the two haven’t worked for years.”

“How fucking convenient, huh?”

“It’s a very poor prison,” she attempts to reason. “It's rundown and it’s over crowded and it gets little to no funding from the government.”

“So you have nothing but his name written down in a visitor’s log a few times?”

“More than a dozen times,” she corrects.

“A few, a dozen, I don’t give a shit. That’s all you have on him?”

“I know how upset he got when Anil mentioned killing his father. That he was very emotional and overly defensive.”

“Do you really blame him? Yeah, his dad...his REAL dad…is a first class dick. But that doesn’t mean the kid wants to hear someone come right and talk about killing him. I mean, my old man is a complete prick and there’s many times I’ve wanted to beat the shit out of him myself. But it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be upset if someone else said it.”

Nik says. “Tyler, I know the two of you are close. Way too close to look at this objectively.”

“It’s not Ovi. I know right to my very soul that it’s not him. He would never do something like this to me. And he especially wouldn’t put Esme and the kids in harm’s way. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Which is why I can look at this objectively and you can’t.”

“And you fucking Nathan means you can’t look at him objectively,” Tyler counters. I am telling you, Nik. It is NOT Ovi.”

“And I’M telling you it’s not Nathan.”

“Because you know so much about the guy, yeah? Everything you need to know about him is based on how well he fucks. I’ve raised that kid for almost six full years now and I gave him a family and a decent life and he felt loved for the first time in probably...I don’t know...EVER. He babysits my kids; he kept them safe during the whole Michael McMann bullshit. I trust him with their lives. And I don’t trust many people and you know that.”

“You’re putting too much faith into him. He can’t help how his life was before or who he was born to. And if seven years ago you’d left him like I told you to…”

“We’re done,” Tyler says, wincing as he stands. The pain is especially bad since the rain; the dampness aggravating the arthritis and causing every inch of damage to his body -both new and old- to throb and tighten. “He’s a good kid, Nik. A damn good kid. And it’s not him. He’s the last person who would fuck me over like that.”

“But the logs..”

“Fuck the logs!” he snaps, a hand on the door knob. “Fuck the logs and fuck you for throwing that kid...MY kid...under the bus like this.;”

“I should say the same to you about Nathan,” she shoots back.

“Don’t even compare the two. One of them is a kid that I’ve been raising and loving for six years. The other one just has the dick you’ve been sucking for months.”

“I’ll find proof,” she says, as he throws the door open. “That it’s him. Ovi.”

“Yeah, and I’ll believe it when I see. You find Nathan, Nik. Or I’ll find him myself and the end result won’t be pretty. Because if I find out for sure that it IS him, I will kill him with my bare hands and I’ll throw his body at your feet. Don’t fuck with me, Nik. I find out that you know where he is and that you’ve been protecting him? You’ll regret the day you ever met me.”

****

She wakes to an empty bed; stirred by both Addie’s soft yet persistent whimpering from the nearby cradle and incessant nausea. It’s been on and off all day; smells and tastes she normally enjoys instigating it and the mere sight of food causing the queasiness to settle in and the burn of bile to find the back of her throat.

One hand blindly reaches for that thick, strong body alongside her, eyes snapping open when she finds nothing to cool, empty sheets; barely wrinkled or disturbed. After his meeting with Nik, he’d spent the remainder of the evening doting and loving on the kids; even more affectionate and attentive than usual. It had taken some getting used to on his behalf; growing comfortable with both giving and receiving affection; a lifetime spent with an abusive father that viewed things as even the smallest of hugs or a ruffle of the hair as weak and pathetic. The last time anyone had shown him love and allowed him to give it in return had been his mother; letting him be the sweet and sensitive but often overcompensating for her husband’s neglect and behaviour. Even his ex wife had viewed it as ‘less manly’; a husband that showed emotion or expressed his feelings or showed even the smallest and most innocent form of intimacy. It’s a hard thing to get past; always expected to be the strong, stoic one and often ridicule for showing even the smallest crack or chink in his armour.

It had been a powerful struggle of sorts between them. A husband not used to being tender and patient and affectionate finding himself with a wife that desperately needed -and craved- all three of those things. But he’d come around; each little one brought into the world softening him and breaking down the walls he’d long ago built around his heart. Afraid to love too much; knowing the immense sense of love and grief that comes when you lose someone that had been such an enormous part of your life.

Through one of the bedroom windows she sees him sitting in one of the lounge chairs; hair messy from sleep -or his attempt at it-, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands tightly clasped together. His eyes are downcast; both shoulders tense and his jaw tightly set. Despite the good front he’d put on with the kids following his chat with Nik, she had easily seen through it. Recognizing the way his eyes would darken and his face would harden when the littles weren’t paying attention. And it would quickly pass; all tension and fear and worry fading -yet tears shimmering in his eyes- when he’d hug them as tightly as their bodies would allow. The hurt is deep. All consuming. His already weary and bruised and battered mind plagued by so many worries and fears.

She obliges Addie with a diaper change and then scoops her out of the cradle; loving the warmth that radiates from that little body, the soft smell that clings to her hair and skin and her sleeper, and the she settles her little face in her chest and immediately begins rooting for the breast. Growing angry and agitated when comfort and sustenance isn’t provided right away.

“Okay Little Miss Impatient,” Esme coos, and then drops a kiss on the top of Addie’s head as she pads across the room. “You’re not going to starve. Mommy won’t let that happen, I promise. You just have to learn to wait. You were only fed two hours ago.”

She shoves her feet into a pair of sandals that sit at the end of the door, and then with hand holding Addie tightly to her chest, opens the balcony door with the other.

“What are you doing out there?” she asks, and he doesn’t look up and in her direction until she speaks. “You okay?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to keep you with my tossing and turning. How come you’re awake?”

“Someone decided she needed to eat again. She definitely has your appetite. And I’m nauseous as hell. Why do they call it morning sickness when it lasts all damn day? And what is up with your spawn that they’ve all made so sick? I haven't had one pregnancy where I haven’t felt like I was dying.”

Tyler pulls over one of the extra chairs; setting it beside him and then lightly curling his fingers -instinctively and protectively- around her upper arm and guiding her into the seat. “I’m sorry, babe. I would have taken care of her. I didn’t hear her with the door closed.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to always be the nighttime person. You’re allowed a shift off every now and then,” she teases, then presses a kiss to his scruffy cheek before unfastening the first four buttons on one of his old dress shirts; boasting many holes and frayed cuffs but serving as a decent nursing top. “She’s getting very demanding. A little diva already. And so dramatic. Like her big sister.”

“We knew that was going to happen.” he says, then shrugs out of his hoodie and drapes it over her shoulders. Pulling it around her slender body, effectively covering Addie in an effort to keep her secure and warm despite the cool breeze that the earlier rain showers had brought along with it. “Want me to get you something? Something to eat? A drink?”

“I’m okay. But I do appreciate you always wanting to spoil me.”

“Gotta take care of my girls, yeah? Well two out of three, anyway.” He lays a palm on the side of her head, gently pulling it towards him and then pressing a kiss to her temple; hand dropping to her shoulder.

“You couldn’t sleep?”

He shakes his head.

“Bad dream again?”

“Can’t even get to sleep,” he admits. “Spent two hours just lying there. Thinking about shit.”

“What kind of shit?”

“Shit you don’t need to know about, trust me.”

“But it’s about the dream, right? It’s not that you can’t sleep. You don’t want to. You don’t want to have that dream again.”

“You really DO know me well.”

“I know what your worst fears are. And how your brain likes to exploit them and torture you. This isn’t the first time something’s affected you like this. Probably won’t be the last, unfortunately.”

“It was way worse this time. That shit that went on it. About you. About the kids. Especially about Millie and Addie.” The breath he exhales is tormented and shaky. “I can’t get it out of my head. The shit they would do to the three of you.”

“I know it’s easy for me to say, but try not to think about it. Don’t let it take up space in your head. We’re safe here. With you. Nothing like that’s going to happen. You won’t let it.”

“What if I can’t stop them? What if they come here and there’s nothing I can do? Look how just one of them fucked me up. How the hell would I stop half a dozen? A dozen? More?”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Esme reminds him. “There’s a lot of people here that have your back. And stop doubting yourself. What happened the other night has no bearing on the things you can do. I know what you’re capable of. And even all banged up and bruised, I’d still trust you to protect us over anyone else.”

He shakes his head. “You have way too much faith in me.”

“Faith. Confidence. Trust. I have all those. And they’re always there. Because I know you won’t back down when it comes to protecting us. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do and no limits or boundaries you won’t push. Do you think any of the people here actually care about us? We’re just money to them. A paycheck. We’re way more than that to you.”

“You guys are everything to me. My entire life. My entire world. There’s nothing I won’t do to keep from losing that.”

“I know. When you love, you love huge and deep. And you’re fierce and you’re strong in that love and that’s how I know everything is going to be okay. As long as you’re here. I’m not worried about a goddamn thing. Other than you of course.”

He grins. “I knew that was coming.”

“You need sleep, Tyler. You can’t keep pushing your body’s limits like this. Especially when you’re not healthy. You need sleep and you need to eat better and you need to stop beating yourself up mentally. Because I hate seeing you go through this. I hate not being able to help you.”

“You DO help me,” he assures her. “More than you realize. It’s the only place...you’re the only person...I feel safe with. You’re the only that I can trust. You’re the one constant in my life; I know you’re going to be there even if I’m a fucking mess and I’m falling apart. I just know you’ll be there. That I can count on you and that you won’t think I’m weak or pathetic even if I do feel that way.”

“Baby…” she places a hand on the back of his head, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. “...you’re far from being weak and pathetic. The FARTHEST from it. You’re so strong and you’re brave and you’re resilient and you’ll stop at nothing to keep us safe. What happened that night was just a setback. That could have happened to anyone.”

“I’m not just anyone.”

“You’re not invincible, Tyler. You’re a human being. Let yourself be one. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t screw up. You’re not slowing down and you’re not slipping. These things just happen. And you’re here and that’s all that matters. That you’re okay. Anyone else would have given up. But you don’t know what it is to give up.”

“I couldn’t give up. I didn’t want to leave you. Or the kids. If it was seven years...before you...before US...I probably wouldn’t have fought it. I wouldn’t have given a shit. But all I could think about the other night was you and my kids and how I wasn’t ready to let that all go. I especially wasn’t ready to let US go.”

She gives a teary smile, then kisses his cheek and the corner of his mouth. It takes her breath away. How a man that is so big and so powerful...intimidating even…can be so gentle in both his words and actions. That someone who is capable of inflicting brutal punishment and immense pain, can love so deeply. She doesn’t know what to say in response; if he even wants or expects her to say anything. Instead she leans into him; his arm tightening around her as she rests the side of her head against his chest. And neither of them speak for several long minutes. Enjoying the breeze and listening to the rustle of the trees and the soft, happy noises that Addie makes as she feeds.

“She keeps eating like she is, she’s going to start packing on the weight,” Esme remarks, as she moves the baby to the other breast. “Not that that’s a bad thing. She needs to. She is way too small.”

“You’re just used to them being bigger,” Tyler reasons. “So she’s tiny; nothing wrong with that. You’re tiny. I could pick you up and put you in my pocket and carry you around. Like one of those yappy dogs rich women put in their purses.”

“Excuse you! Did you seriously just compare me to a yappy little dog?”

“Well you ARE very chatty.”

“I’m a social being. I like people. You knew that when we met; you knew I was chatty. And you...Mister Anti Social...put up with it. Not only did you put up with it for five days, you’ve put it with it for almost seven years. You married me. You’ve put five babies in me. Now six! So either you’re a glutton for punishment or you secretly enjoy the way I am.”

“Nothing secret about it. I love everything about you. Even when you’re talking my ear off first thing in the morning and I haven’t had coffee yet.”

“You can be such a grumpy bastard in the morning.” she declares. “But you’re MY grumpy bastard. And I have to confess; sometimes I’m extra chatty just to annoy because your snoring pissed me off so bad during the night.”

“That’s okay. I purposefully annoy you sometimes just because you’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

“Baby, you’re such a sweet talker. And people say romance is dead.”

He grins, then moves his hand up to the side of her head and presses a kiss to her temple.

“And you’ve been very sappy the last couple of days,” she adds. “Not that I’m complaining. You’re just not usually so ‘out there’ with things.”

“The other night scared the shit out of,” he admits. “Made me think about how if I do die, I don’t want you wondering how I really felt about you. About us. I’d rather you know all of that. Just in case.” His eyes are downcast one again; jaw tightly clenched. And he places a palm flat against the bottom of one Addie’s bare feet and then lightly tickles her heel and each toe.

“I already know,” Esme assures him. "I see in your eyes all the time. I hear it in your voice. You say enough without words, believe me. And nothing is going to happen. We’re going to be fine. All this is going to get settled and we’re going to go home and go on with our lives. And I’m going to get fat and gross. Thanks very much for that, by the way.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re pregnant. I mean, you’re beautiful ALL the time. But when you’re having a baby? MY baby? You’re incredible.”

“Goddamn you are so biased.”

Tyler grins. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean it’s less true,”

She smiles, then turns her face into his and presses a kiss to his mouth; long and soft and sweet. Eyes remaining closed when his fingers gently knead the back of her head and his lips find her brow; lingering there for several seconds. It’s pure and so beautiful...so loving...that once against tears fill her eyes. The thought of how she’d close she’d come to never again experiencing these small moments of intimacy just too much to bear.

“What are you doing under there, little peanut?” He peels back the edge of the hoodie and peers underneath. “You tell mommy that’s okay to be tiny as long as you’re healthy. That’s all daddy cares about.”

“Look at the way she looks at you,” Esme says, as Addie immediately stops feeding and flashes a broad smile. “Daddy is definitely your favorite, isn’t he? Not that I blame you, he’s my favorite too. You and your sister are going to have so much power over him. Millie with her blue eyes and you with your big brown ones. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Daddy is sitting right there,” he speaks up. “Daddy can hear you.”

“Even she thinks rainbows shoot out of your ass,” Esme scoffs, then removes Addie from the breast and readjusts her shirt and the hoodie. “Look at her. It’s like she thinks you shit glitter and unicorns.”

“I remember when YOU used to look at me like that.”

“I still do. I still think you’re the sexiest man on the face of the earth. How can I not? Eyes like that and an ass like that? No one comes close to you, honey.”

“And here I was thinking you fell in love with me because of my boyish charm and sparkling personality.”

“Yeah...no...sorry. It was definitely the eyes and the muscles and the ass. And your face didn’t hurt either.”

“Mommy only wants me for my body.” he says to Addie, then takes her from Esme’s arms; a hand on the middle of her back as he settles her against his chest.

“You’re so good with her,” Esme praises, then lays a hand on his stomach and her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad it was you that knocked me up all those years ago, just so you know.”

“Yeah, I’m glad it was me too. Things have turned out pretty good for us.”

“They definitely have. She’s so beautiful. They all are. I certainly picked the perfect baby daddy. I think I’ll keep you for the long haul.”

“Good. ‘Cause I sort of want to stick around for...I don’t know...the next forty, fifty years.” He squeezes her hip as his hand rests upon it, then kisses the tip of her nose. “Thank you. For her. For all of them. For us. I know it hasn’t been easy.”

“No. It hasn’t. But it’s been worth it. Every single second and every single hard and shitty time. It’s been worth it. YOU’VE been worth it.”

“Now you’re going to make ME cry.”

“That’s okay. You’re beautiful when you cry. You’re beautiful all the time. But you’re extra pretty when you cry.”

Tyler frowns. “I’m going to let you have those only because I have my little peanut with me and she doesn’t need to hear the language that’s ready to come out of me.”

She laughs at that, then places a kiss on his shoulder and rubs his stomach. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

“You really want to know?”

Esme nods.

“Nik’s a cunt.”

“Jesus!” Her eyes widen as she looks up at him. “That escalated quickly.”

“Sorry. I know you hate that word. But that’s what she is. I told her about Nathan. About being pretty sure he’s the mole. She said it was all in my head. That I was reading too much into things. That my brain is just fucked and making me think that there’s shit going on.”

Esme snorts. “Nice to see it didn’t take her long to get back on her bullshit. Why do you even involve her in anything? It always ends up like this. Her trying to manipulate you and make you think you’re crazy. She’s never going to change, Tyler. And I regret ever thinking she could.”

“I think she knows more than she’s letting on. I think she might even know where he is. That she’s trying to protect him because she knows I’ll fucking kill him.”

“I knew it. I knew she was fucking him.”

He chuckles. “How’d you know that?”

“Women know these things about other women. She knew I was fucking you. In Dhaka.”

“In all fairness, the entire team knew we were fucking in Dhaka. We were staying in the same room for five days. It probably would have surprised them more if we DIDN’T fuck.”

“She really loves banging the hired help, doesn’t she. She’s got a thing for mercs?”

“Apparently. Her old rich friends can’t get it up so she relies on one of us to get the job done. She basically laughed it all off. Said I was imagining things. That I’m ‘reaching’ because I’m looking for someone to punish.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I thought your argument for Nathan as the mole was pretty sound. It makes sense. You’re not a stupid man, Tyler. Far from it. What’s your gut telling you?”

“That he’s either the mole or he’s playing some part in all of this.”

“Is there any way to prove it? Some way you can find out for sure?”

“Do you have any contacts with the Corps still?”

“Maybe...why?”

“Think you could pull some strings? Dig into his past?”

“I think I could try.”

“Would you? Try? For me? Please?”

She nods.

“Thank you.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “You won’t believe who she does think is the mole.”

“Right about now, it wouldn’t be a surprise if she said it was me.”

“I honestly would have lost my shit if she even suggested it. Ovi. She thinks it’s Ovi.”

“Ovi?” Esme can’t help but laugh. “Ovi as in OUR Ovi?”

Tyler nods.

“What the hell? Why would she suspect him? Of all goddamn people.”

“She thinks he’s been in contact with his old man.”

“We already know he is. Mahajan’s been trying to get him to take over the family biz. But that doesn’t mean he’s a mole. That’s ridiculous.”

“She says there’s proof he’s been to the prison a dozen or so times.”

“Proof? What kind of proof?”

“Visitor logs, apparently.”

“Anyone can sign someone’s name. It probably happens all the time. Is there actual confirmation of this? Security cameras, witnesses that saw him?”

“I didn’t ask about witnesses. But she said most of the prison doesn’t have working cameras.”

Esme snorts. “How fucking convenient.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“I can’t believe she suspects him. Of all people. Ovi is not a mole. He’s a good kid. Well, young man now. But he’s a good person with a good heart. He’d never do anything like that to me or the kids. Look at what he did for us; during the whole McMann thing. He took our kids...all four...and kept them safe. He wouldn’t do that and then turn around and do something like this. She’s way off bases. You don’t believe her, do you?”

“What? No. I don’t. She doesn’t know him like we do.”

“Because you have that look on your face. The one that says you’re questioning something. Don’t do it, Tyler. Don’t let her in your head. We both know that Ovi wouldn’t do something like this. He loves you. He idolizes you. And he’d never...ever...betray you like that.”

“I wish I could get a hold of him. Talk to him. But I don’t want to draw any attention to him either. It’s better if I just lay low right now. Stay off their radar.”

“Do you want me to call him?” Esme suggests. “Because I don’t mind getting to the bottom of all this and proving Nik wrong. I know you have to fly under the radar, but it doesn’t mean I have to. I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“I think it’s better if we BOTH fly under the radar for now. At least until I’m back about eighty percent. Just in case.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly agrees, then shrugs out of the hoodie and drapes it over Addie. “But I don’t mind stirring the shit pot.”

Tyler grins. “Oh I know you don’t.”

“Like, fuck her for throwing him under the bus. Ovi would never do something like this. We’re his family. We’re his parents. He’s always said that. That we didn’t make him, but we’re still his mom and dad. He loves you way too much to ever hurt you. You know that, right?”

He nods.

“Don’t let her in, Tyler. She’s done it too many times before. Don’t let it happen. Okay?”

He nods and manages a small smile. “Okay.”

“Now come to bed.” she encourages as she stands. “It’s really late and I hate sleeping alone.”

“I can’t sleep. I just can’t.”

“At least close your eyes and try and rest. Even just a little? Please?” She pushes her hair off his forehead. “You can’t go on like this. Not sleeping. Your body will give up on you eventually. We need you better and back on your feet. And that won’t happen if you don’t get some rest.”

“I don’t want to close my eyes,” he admits. “ As soon as I close them, all I can see is the shit from that dream. What those fucking asshole do to you and Addie and Millie.”

“Okay...no...stop…” She stands behind his thighs and takes his face in her hands. “...stop that, Tyler. Stop torturing yourself like this. Because I’m right here and your baby girl is in your arms and Millie is asleep and safe in her room. Don’t do this yourself. Please don’t.”

“I’ll try.”

“Come to bed,” Esme insists, and pecks the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll be in a little while. “I’ll…”

“I said come...to...bed…” she speaks in between kisses to his lips, then captures the bottom one between her teeth. “...now.”

“Oh…” he grins. “...you mean come to bed in THAT way.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she confirms, then takes Addie from him. “I’m going to put her in the nursery and then I’m going to wait for you. I’ll give you ten minutes. You’re not inside by then, I’m staring without you.”

“I might want to see THAT.”

“I’ll indulge you if you don’t keep me waiting,” she promises, then disappears inside.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #extraction 2020 #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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antihero-writings · 4 years ago

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His Butler, and the Problem with Magic (Ch2)

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji x Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets Crossover

Fic Synopsis: Life at Hogwarts isn’t all bad…usually. But when Valentine’s Day rolls around, and Lockhart throws an extravagant ball, the number of couples at school the next day skyrockets, and Sebastian finds himself a new object of devotion…Can Ciel save his butler from the spell on his own?

Character Focus: Ciel (Edward Midford, Grell, Lizzie, Snape)

Notes: I bet you all thought I forgot about this fic didnt you? SIKE! I forget nothing.

(By the way, I'll definitely repost chapter 1 of this as well, in case you guys forgot about it XD)

I was informed that Valentines day with this coming Sunday and I couldn't believe it. I had been wanting to work on multiple valentines fics and I thought I had weeks left to write them XD So in light of that, I knew I had been slowly chipping away at a chapter 2 of this over time, so I decided to check it out and see how much work I had to do to make it postable in time for valentines day. To my surprise, the chapter was pretty much ready to go! So at long last, here it is!!

I really hope you enjoy it!! If you do, I implore you to consider commenting and/or reblogging!! I assure you its much much more likely this fic will get a chapter 3 if I know that people are interested in reading more <3

@elegantkittycat Tagging you in case you’re still interested in reading more!!

Chapter 2:

Ciel jerked his hand away as the cauldron sizzled, muttering curses under his breath—(the normal kind, not the magic kind). Usually Sebastian managed their clandestine dealings and he didn’t have to worry about burning his fingers off.

His conversation with Tom Riddle had left him with a list of ingredients, and a method of combining them into a potion that would allegedly cure Sebastian and others of this ailment.

He was fully aware trusting strange voices in diaries wasn’t the best decision he could make on the career path of life, but considering he had found no other options, and a whole lot of annoyance, he didn’t have much to lose. Besides, Sebastian was a demon, so even if it was supposed to make your eyes pop out or something, he’d probably be okay.

Ciel looked down the instructions and grimaced, reaching over for the next ingredient, trying not to look directly at it.

Despite the potions classroom being the main place to get potions, and potion making materials, he was not in the potions classroom. This late in the evening, Snape probably would have killed him. He was in a room on the seventh floor which Sebastian had found last May. It seemed to hold within it whatever the person walking by it required.

He dropped the last ingredient in, raised his wand, muttered a very complicated spell and sighed.

The only thing left to do was wait. It had to brew for twenty-four hours, which meant it wouldn’t be ready until six o’clock the next evening. Twenty-four hours was too much time with a love infested school to deal with.

Ciel packed up his stuff and headed out into the hall—making sure to check for Filch first. He was almost back to his common room when—

“CIEL PHANTOMHIVE!”

He nearly tripped and toppled to the ground taking all his supplies and homework with him.

As he righted himself, he jerked his head up to observe the source of the disturbance: a tall, blonde boy, a few years older than Ciel, sporting his Gryffindor robes as if he was the reincarnation of Godric goddamn Gryffindor himself.

Ciel had the displeasure of knowing this boy.

“Edward?!” he growled, recovering his dignity and dusting himself off. “Are you trying to kill me?!”

“That depends,” he said in a low murmur that seemed to hide waves of anger.

He marched up to his future-brother-in-law, stopped far too close, and stared into Ciel’s eyes like he could bore into his brain with his gaze.

“What. Did you do. To my sister?”

“What did I— ?” Ciel blinked, rivalling anger disappearing in the face of concern. “What?”

Edward was the son of the proud, and not to mention handy-with-swords Marquess Midford, and all this noble, virtue-loving, God-fearing, paladin energy was often channeled into being protective of his younger sister Lizzie…who also happened to be Ciel’s fiancé.

“Lizzie. What did you do to her?!”

“Yes, I’m familiar with to whom you’re referring!” He pushed him back, “What’s wrong with her?!”

It was Edward’s turn to blink. “You don’t know?”

“You may or may not have noticed I am otherwise occupied! I’ve been running around trying to save my butler from this hell, thank you very much!”

“Oh,” his eyes flickered.

Ciel looked up at him, then blinked. “You think I caused this?!”

“Well you don’t exactly foster an atmosphere of peace and calm, now do you?”

“I’d thank you to have more confidence in me in the future! For your information, Undertaker caused this!”

“Undertaker?! Oh that slimy bloke hasn’t seen the last of me!” He turned, putting his fist into his palm, beginning to march out of the room.

Ciel lazily grabbed the sleeve of his robe, pulling him back. “Hunting him down isn’t going to get you any answers—and will likely make you more frustrated. Believe me, I’ve already tried. Now, if you’d be so kind, I’d like to know what’s wrong with my fiancé.”

Edward rubbed the back of his head. “Well…”

“Tell me, Edward.” It was Ciel’s turn to stare him down. Apparently it was effective, because Edward couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I went to go say hi, and I found her sitting in the common room, staring out the window. She barely took any notice of me. And when she did she started spitting prattling nonsense about this man she met,” he said the last words like men were the most revolting things in the planet. “Naturally I assumed this was a newfound appreciation for you, or she simply was admiring Lockhart like she usually does.”—Ciel made a face at this—“But apparently…not.”

Ciel blanched. He was about to speak, but Edward continued:

“When I learned it wasn’t you, I told her to have some decency, but it was as if she couldn’t even hear me!” His air of forced calm broke. “Apparently she’s madly in love with some—some—some idiot!”

“She’s… what?” The words were soft.

“I said—”

“I heard what you said!” He grabbed his robes.

Some third years walked by at that exact moment and stared at them. Ciel released him, and he and Edward paused and waved awkwardly. After they passed, Ciel continued in a shout-whisper.

“How the hell did this happen?! I specifically made sure she stayed away from the punch at that party!”

“The punch? What punch?”

“The punch Undertaker spiked!”

“Undertaker spiked—?! Oh…Maybe she drank some when you weren’t looking? You can’t have been keeping her under constant surveillance, can you?”

“I was watching her very closely, she couldn’t have!” He said, realizing his usually-more-than-adept butler was quite possibly compromised at the time. “When did these symptoms start? The morning after Valentines Day?”

“Um,” Edward put a hand to his chin, thinking, “I…I’m not sure.”

“Oh you’re just useless aren’t you?”

“More useful than you! If you knew it was spiked at the party, why didn’t you tell everyone?! Or try to stop him?!”

“It seemed like a harmless prank!”

“What are we up to?” Snape’s greasy form appeared, cutting the scene.

“Nothing, Professor Snape,” Edward said quickly. “We were just—”

“I wasn’t talking to you.” He folded his arms and stared down his hooked nose at Ciel. “Your detention is to take place tomorrow evening at six o’clock. Meet me in my office. Try not to earn yourself another one before then.”

“Yes, Sir.” Ciel said softly.

Snape’s black robes swished passed them.

“So Lizzie—? Wait, did he just say six o’clock?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Damn it!” Ciel groaned, leaning against the bannister.

“What’s wrong?”

He waved him off. “It’s none of your concern.”

Edward folded his arms and glared at him.

“I’m working on a potion to try to neutralize this whole…love mess.”

“I’d say that’s very much of my concern! You have the antidote?!”

“I said I’m working on it. It’ll be ready at six o’clock tomorrow evening—six o’clockexactly.”

“I guess you’ll have to get it after you get back.” Edward shrugged.

“It’s a very delicate potion I have to—Ugh Nevermind.”

After a pause Edward asked, “…And you’re sure this antidote will work?”

“I’m not sure of much of anything. The only thing I am sure about is if the potion doesn’t kill me, if I’m late to his detention, Snape just might.”

*****

As Ciel sat down to breakfast he made the silent resolve to quickly finish the potion at six o’clock, then speed to the dungeon as fast as possible, taking the bottle with him to his detention, and hurry to Sebastian right afterwards. Snape wouldn’t be happy, but, despite what he said to Edward earlier, the worst he’d do was give him another detention, or take a large sum of house points. And he wasn’t so strict he’d make students empty their pockets, so he shouldn’t notice while he sat sitting for a few hours cleaning viper guts off potion bottles. There was no telling what this potion would do if he left it for however long detention was, so it took priority. And even if his detention went into the night, that would be the perfect time to test it—the demon wouldn’t be asleep anyways.

Ciel was currently trying to make his seat in the great hall a little corner of peace and calm, and block out the chaos in the rest of the hall, setting down his knife properly, trying to ignore the food flying across the hall, when—

“Oh, Brat~!”

Ciel sighed resignedly as his least favorite redhead came swinging into his vision.

“What are you doing back here so soon?” Ciel grumbled, holding his scowling face in one hand, sticking his fork aimlessly into his eggs with the other.

“And when I came all this way to see you, too?!” He turned up his nose in disgust. “I couldn’t possibly get my beauty sleep after I saw my Sebas-chan in such dire straits.” He pulled a scroll out of his jacket pocket, “So I was up all night thinking of ways to get him back to his sexy self!” He unrolled its impressive length, the end landing in Ciel’s eggs.

Ciel couldn’t help but skim through some his ideas, if nothing else for a good laugh.

They ranged from the more simple and reasonable Find the spell, and make a counter curse, and Bash his head in, to the not-so-reasonable Maybe true loves kiss will work~?

“What’s this?” Ciel squinted at a particular line. “‘Put that brat he calls “master” in mortal danger’?”

It was starred and underlined several times.

“Oh you noticed that one did you?” He said in fake innocence. “That’s one of my personal favorites!”

Ciel’s eyes lidded.

“And how exactly would putting me in mortal danger solve the problem of my butler being in love with you?”

“For some reason—can’t see why—Sebas-chan is very attached to you—”

“Sure, it has nothing to do with the contract we made.”

“Yes, yes.” He waved him off. “Well he’s very against you being in any sort of danger. See the idea,”—He put a nail on the table— “is that if we put you in mortal danger his primal demonic—”—he said the word in a way Ciel was not fond of—“inclinations will override the spell and snap him out of it.”

Ciel blinked, staring down at the line of text.

The worst thing was…that actually made some smidgen of sense. You know, in a sadistic kind of way.

“And how would you propose we do that? You know, without actually killing me?”

“Oh all part of the fun. I have a number of ideas as to how we could push you riiight up to the edge! It’ll be delightfully diabolical. Of course, if it doeskill you, well…” he turned away and muttered, “All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“Not that that doesn’t sound fun…” Ciel stood, pushing the list away. “I’ve found my own way of breaking the spell thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Grell blinked, intrigued. “Have you now?”

“Not that its any of your business, yes.” He brushed himself off, gathering his stuff, “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own business to attend to.”

“Well when that fails don’t hesitate to come crawling back to your favorite reaper Grellypoo ~!” He rolled up the scroll.

“You’re not even my fifth favorite reaper!” He threw over his shoulder.

“But at least I’m on the list!”

*****

Due to the fact that little real learning was happening on either side—unless you count learning too much about various students and teacher’s romantic habits—they had decided to cancel classes for the time being. This gave the teachers more time to devote to finding the cure as well.

Ciel decided to take this time to ascertain the validity of Edward’s statement the night previous and visit Lizzie.

She was a Gryffindor like her brother. Visiting the Gryffindor common room wouldn’t be first, or even last, in a list of things he wanted to do…but he’d half to bear it.

As he walked up the stairs he bumped into someone. At first they apologized and continued walking but soon the other person called back:

“Hey, I ran into yesterday didn’t I?”

Ciel turned to see none other than Harry Potter.

“Yes?”

“Did you happen to see a diary? Like when you were helping me pick up my stuff?”

“The great Harry Potter keeps a diary?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not my diary. Just a diary.”

“A diary that just so happened to find its way into your bag?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Sorry to say, I haven’t seen it.”

“Hmm…Alright. Thanks anyways.” He waved as he continued down the stairs.

As another Gryffindor left, he slipped into the common room.

Lizzie was sitting in a chair against the window, just like Edward said she would be. She rested her hand on her chin, her elbow on the table, and watched the rain fall.

“Lizzie!” he ran up to her.

“Oh…Ciel…it’s you,” she said in a dreamy, nonplussed tone.

“Yes it’s me. What happened? Have you completely lost your senses?!”

“No I’d say my senses are in tact thank you. And I’d thank you not to ask a lady such an impolite question.”

“Sorry but…what happened? Why are you—?”

“I don’t know. I just, of a sudden, found him to very attractive one morning, and I’m having trouble thinking of much else.”

“Who?” He sat in the chair across from her.

“That’s not really of your concern, is it?”

“It is when I’m your fiancé!” He said a little too loudly, making Gryffindors turn towards him.

“Mm…” She muttered like it wasn’t an issue.

“Lizzie, I tried to make sure you didn’t drink that punch at the party! How did this happen?!”

“Party?” She paused, and for a moment he wasn’t sure she was even going to continue the conversation. “…Oh I don’t know. I seem to faintly recall the most beautiful man I’d ever met saying I simply must try it.”

His eyes widened. “Someone gave it to you directly?! Who?! Why?!”

“I’ve already tried that, I don’t think you’ll get much luck. She won’t tell me either.” Edward arrived at his side, then leaned over and whispered, “I think she knows we’ll come after him.”

“I was going to opt for slow psychological torture,” he muttered back, “but I’d like to hear more about your method.”

Edward tried to suppress a smile.

“And you really love this man?” Ciel asked Lizzie.

“Oh, with all my heart!” She seemed to gain a rush of energy.

He sighed, realizing more questions would be futile, and getting up.

“Alright well…” He ran his hand gently over Lizzie’s fingers. “I-I’ll see you soon.”

“You’ll give me the potion as soon as you can, right?” Edward demanded.

“I’m going to use Sebastian as a test subject, but, if it works, then this will be my next stop.”

“The password is ‘chocolate frog.’ Feel free to wake me up. I can’t stand another minute knowing Lizzie is in love with some-some lunatic!”

“We’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”

*****

Ciel carefully held the porcupine quills, and gingko leaves over the cauldron, dripping them in one at a time, stirring counterclockwise with his other hand, glancing continually back to the instructions.

Finishing off the potion was proving no easier than making the rest of it, but at last, it gave a final sigh, and turned a foggy white.

Ciel gave his own sigh of relief, before using tongs to dip and fill the bottle beside him, making sure to clean off the sides of it—(it was a good thing he used a towel to do so, because the stray drops burned through the fabric).

He held up the bottle, staring at the potion. At long last. Finally, after three days of slow torture, he’d finally be rid of this curse, and the world could return to its normal state—demon butlers included.

He slipped one into his robe pocket and the moment he stepped out of the room, he sped off towards Snape’s dungeon for his detention without a moment to clean up the rest.

He hadn’t intended to burst through the door, but he found himself doing that a lot over these past few days.

Snape’s black eyes narrowed upon his panting form as if he were a worm to bottle. Then they flicked to the clock.

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry, Professor, I—”

Snape held up a hand to stop him. “The last three days have been longer than the past few months, and am not interested in feeble excuses, Mr. Phantomhive.” He glided around his desk, but instead of setting him up at a desk, he marched past him, swung open, and exited the classroom.

Ciel paused a moment, leaning over to the side, watching him exit, a quizzical look on his face, before deciding he wanted him to follow him.

“Where are we going, Professor?” He asked as he caught up—(not altogether happy that he’d have to do more walking after the run he just made).

“Your detention is to take place in the Forbidden Forest tonight.”

Ciel’s eyes widened.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Is our dear Mister Phantomhive afraid of the dark?”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m just a little surprised, that’s all…due to it being forbidden and all.”

Snape smirked. “Most of the time, yes. But on some extra special detentions we may take students inside.”

He was right: The Forbidden Forest wasn’t exactly a common detention spot, though it wasn’t unheard of either. What was more surprising was that Snape taking him there. Usually Snape’s detentions consisted of pickling rat brains, or cleaning octopi suckers off desks. Not that he’d been to very many of his detentions—he’d always been pretty good at potions. It was this godforsaken spell that had reduced him to a less-than-model student.

“Professor, may I ask what exactly will we be doing?” He asked as they traversed the grounds, the trees growing ever closer.

“You will be coming with me to gather a rare flower that lives in these woods.”

Ciel gave a curt nod. It was a moment or two before he asked, “May I ask what it’s for?”

“I am a potions master, Mister Phantomhive. I encourage you to use your brain.”

“I understand that. But what potion is it for, Sir?”

“I am attempting to remedy the spell that has plagued the school.”

Ciel fell silent at that, resisting the urge to tell him he already had the solution in his pocket.

They arrived at the edge of the forest, the trees reaching towards them with gnarled claws, the darkness like curtains for a stage set.

“Lumos.” Snape spoke, and Ciel drew his wand and did the same as they ventured into the shadows.

The trees seemed to taunt them, to whisper about them, to dare them to come any closer, any phantom sound at home here.

After more than a few minutes walk in silence—quite possibly half an hour—Snape stopped and spoke: “They should be around here, nor should they be difficult to spot. Look for a glowing blue flower.”

Ciel made a move to venture off in search of them, but Snape grabbed his arm, warning:

“Don’t wander off where you can’t see me.”

Ciel nodded before venturing into the trees, scanning the ground for anything glowing, or blue, continually glancing back to make sure he could still make out the figure of his teacher.

It wasn’t long before he saw something glowing, and ran up to it. …It turned out just to be a mushroom.

As he sighed disappointedly, and stood back up, he saw two beady eyes staring at him from the darkness.

His heart began to pound as he stared, unsure if he should back up, stand his ground, play dead, or attack, the ghost of a certain name forming on his tongue.

He never had to fear beady eyes, bandits, or bullets with Sebastian around. This was the first time he felt real fear in a long while.

A black spectral horse reared out of the bushes, its eyes aglow with more than just a reflection of the dark.

It stepped towards him in slow, calculated hoofbeats, flaring its nostrils a little too frequently for his liking.

He’d read about these before.

He continued backing up, as the thestral didn’t seem like it planned on stopping its pursuit anytime soon.

“Mister Phantomhive,”—Snape’s voice was low, warning—“I am aware you likely don’t see anything but—”

“I can see it.” He continued his reverse walk.

Snape gave him a short glance like he had a newfound respect for him.

These creatures only appeared to people who had seen death, and he was sure the look in his parents’ eyes that night sufficed. But they didn’t commonly act like this.

Snape lifted his wand, casting a nonverbal spell, and the thestral fell to the ground with a bloodcurdling whinny too much like a scream, ropes binding its legs.

Ciel let out a relieved exhale as Snape joined him.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine…Thestrals…they aren’t commonly…aggressive, are they?”

“No.” Snape muttered softly, gazing for a moment at the now-helpless creature, then turned sharply to Ciel, pointing his wand at him. “Empty your pockets.”

Ciel jerked his head to the professor, saying a little too loudly, “What?!”

The thestral fought against the binds, and Ciel took a step back.

“I said, ‘empty your pockets.’”

“Why?!”

Snape flicked his wand, and his pockets’ contents excavated themselves of their own volition.

Snape grabbed the potion from the air, and let the rest of spare quills and things fall helplessly to the forest floor. He held it up and stared at it, observing the contents, his emotion as imperceptible as always. Then he lifted the cork, sniffing it. His eyes widened and he jerked to look at Ciel, his eyes almost more terrifying than those of the thestral, and definitely not holding a look his eyes had ever contained for him before.

“Where did you get this?” He whispered.

“Excuse me?”

He lifted the potion up, and violently smashed it on the ground, the contents breaking out with a puff of smoke, spilling helplessly onto the forest floor.

“NO!”

Snape grabbed his arm as Ciel made to reach for it, as if to save the unsalvageable.

“I said—” he grabbed both his arms, forcing him to look at him. “Where. Did you get that?”

“Sir…. I don’t understand…”

Snape’s face was far too close to him for comfort.

“Listen to me and listen to me very carefully. That potion is more than dangerous—it’s banned in every major country. It’s not something I could easily mistake. If you were to use it, you wouldn’t just die an excruciating death, it would rot you from the inside, and leave you open to the possession of any vile spirit in the vicinity. A fourteen-year-old boy such as yourself shouldn’t be carrying it around in his pocket,” he spat. “And I’d like to think that you didn’t know what it was when you gained possession of it. Now.” His grip tightened on one of his arms, his nails digging in, as he put his wand to his throat with the other enunciating each word, “WHERE. DID. YOU. GET. IT?!”

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starker-stories · 5 years ago

Text

An Accord (WIS), Chapter 11

This fic is on a ‘whenever my goddamn muse decides to show up’ update schedule. Every Friday would be nice, muse. But the nice thing is that I have only one more chapter to write, because the last chapter is done. Yes, I know that's a stupid way to write a story. And doing the chapters out of order always messes me up in the end. *sigh*

Oh looky! I made a moodboard!

Tumblr Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13 AO3 Chapter Links: ch1, ch2, ch3, ch4, ch5, ch6, ch7, ch8, ch9, ch10, ch11, ch12, ch13

Tags: Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Polyamory, Cheating, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Domestic Nightmare Tony Stark, Reconciliation, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, WinterIronSpider, Happy Ending, Clothed Sex, Domesticity, Peter Parker is legal age in the state of New York, College Student Peter Parker, Takes place about 2 years after Civil War. Closeted Character

Summary: “Joy, Beautiful. That’s something you give both of us. Neither of us ever had a lot of that in our lives before you. Heart,” Tony said, drawing a Valentine’s heart over Peter’s. “I know I can’t live without this one. Don’t think Bucky wants to live without it either.” ——————————————————————————————

Chapter 10: Han and Leia and Chewie

Bucky had already left for the day. He finished his debriefs a few days ago, but Fury was using him to weapons train the new recruits. He was also using him to root out any last bits of HYDRA lurking around SHIELD or elsewhere.

“Baby, c’mere,” Tony said smiling lazily shortly after FRIDAY woke them at eight.

“You’re going to make me miss my ten o’clock class again,” Peter said, putting up only a half-hearted protest as he came out of the bathroom, naked, drying himself off from his shower.

“It’s inorganic chemistry and lab. You can do both of those here with your text and the space I set up for you. I’ll promise to let you out of this bed in time to make your one o’clock differential equations.”

Peter laughed and climbed into bed. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Yeah, but at least I’m good at it.” Tony pulled Peter close and kissed him. “This right here,” he said, tangling his fingers through the boy’s damp, springy curls. “A big part of why you got your name, Beautiful. You look like a renaissance painting. Better,” he said, reaching down and cupping Peter’s cock and balls. “They always gave their men small cocks. Not enough for a horny Catholic boy to jerk off to after confession.”

Peter snorted. “You’re Catholic?”

“Was. I guess technically I still am, since you have to write the Vatican and be taken off the rolls. I should do that.”

“Oh no you don’t. I have all sorts of naughty priest/altar boy fantasies to play out.”

“You’re Catholic?” Tony said in disbelief. “Parker’s a pretty WASP name.”

“So’s Stark. But Fitzpatrick isn’t. That was my mom’s name.”

“Well, if the Vatican ever changes…”

Peter laughed.

“We can get married in the Church,” Tony said, grinning.

“Did you just propose to me?”

“Nope. Just speculating. We’re not even out yet, but you did turn eighteen.”

“I’d been thinking about how to do that, but…” Peter sighed. “Things got more complicated.”

“Yeah.”

“I kinda…” Peter hesitated.

“Me too.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say! You always do that!” Peter swatted Tony’s arm.

“You were going to say that you kinda love Bucky more than you thought you did.”

“Dammit Tony!” Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes.” He paused, realizing what Tony said. “You do too?”

Tony nodded. “Is that okay?”

“I was worried about you. You’re very possessive, you know,” Peter teased.

“News to me.” Tony smiled. “I just feel possessive about two of you now. But, while I love Pretty a whole lot more than I ever thought I would… you’re still it for me, Peter.”

Peter leaned up and gave Tony a kiss. “Same. But he’s more than just ‘a bit on the side’.”

“Entirely. Human language is imprecise enough as it is, it never had to deal with stuff like this before. Pair-bonding came along before language did. More efficient for perpetuating the species through child rearing.”

“I am not having kids, Tony. By any means.”

“Fuck no.”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh thank god. I thought that some day you’d be all like ‘I’m a famous billionaire my name must go on’.”

“I’ll be dead, why would I give a fuck about my name after I’m dead?”

“That’s either massively egotistical or massively not. I can’t figure out which.”

“It’s solipsistic. The world exists as what we experience. What we don’t, doesn’t exist.”

“So no kids. Thank god. But… while I love you so very different from Bucky… us coming out as a couple, that cuts him out.”

“It isn’t what we’ve got here,” Tony agreed. It was his turn to kiss Peter. He took a little longer at it than the kid did. He couldn’t help it. Kissing was another of his fetishes.

“Do you mind waiting?”

Tony shrugged. “You were the one in a hurry.”

“I still am,” Peter said.

“How about ‘it happens when it happens’?”

“And how it happens,” Peter added.

“Meaning?” Tony asked.

“If we get caught as being more than a couple, we don’t deny it.”

“That’s a big step.”

Peter shrugged. “When have you cared what the world thinks?”

Tony chuckled. “Other than legally, I don’t. But I’m not the only one who’s gonna take heat.”

“Table the discussion for now?”

“The three of us can pick away at it. But yeah, it’s gonna take more than just the two of us calling whatever reporter we want and telling them.”

“But you’re really okay?” Peter asked quietly.

“That’s my question,” Tony said and put a kiss on the tip of Peter’s nose. “Me and him… it’s not me and you. But it’s more ‘me and him’ than I thought it would be.”

“You have history with him.”

Tony watched Peter’s face closely. “I have history with you. Longer if you count the time that would’ve got me thrown in jail.”

Peter laughed. “I do count the time that would’ve got you thrown in jail. I saw you looking at my ass entirely inappropriately.”

“Not my fault. You have a fine ass.”

“I had a fifteen year old ass.”

“Fifteen with the body of a much older young man thanks to the spider.”

“’S okay. I forgive you. Means I don’t have to feel guilty about seeing a picture of you stepping out of the suit looking all suave in a tux being the cause of my middle school sexual awakening.”

“I did NOT need to know that,” Tony said laughing. He turned serious again and ran his fingertip along Peter’s arm. “The history thing, that bother you?

Peter thought about it and sighed. “Not the history thing,” he said, biting his lip. “The adult thing. You’re both… and I’m not. I’m scared you’re gonna get tired of dealing with a teenager and want, y’know, a man instead.”

“There’s only one problem with that.”

Peter hummed in question.

“I happen to be entirely, madly, hopelessly in love with a teenager,” Tony said with a kiss.

“And you love Bucky more than you thought you would.” He paused. “He’s in love with you, I don’t care that he said he’s not sure. He is.”

“Yeah, I know. He knows. He told me.”

“Oh.” Peter’s voice was small.

“He also told me that he’s in love with you.”

“I doubt that.”

“You shouldn’t. You give him something he never had, baby.”

Peter’s hummed question sounded doubtful.

“Joy, Beautiful. That’s something you give both of us. Neither of us ever had a lot of that in our lives before you. Heart,” Tony said, drawing a Valentine’s heart over Peter’s. “I know I can’t live without this one. Don’t think Bucky wants to live without it either.”

“I love you,” Peter said.

“I know,” Tony answered, in a certain familiar way.

“Oh fuck you, Han.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of fucking you, Leia,” Tony said, rolling on top of Peter.

Peter grinned. “That makes us Han and Leia and Chewie. Because of the hair.”

Tony let out a high-pitched giggle. Peter took advantage and rolled him over, straddling his thighs. “Princesses get to be on top.” He slid forward to where their cocks were together. Still soft, he took both in his hand and started stroking them.

“Fuck, Pete,” Tony breathed out, his eyes fixed on Peter’s hand and their cocks together. It was a sight that always got to him.

Peter worked his hand up their shafts. Until they were both hard and one hand had to become two. Tony sucked in a sharp breath and his cock leaked enough precome that, mixed with his own, Peter was able to slick his hand to make the glide easier. He shifted his position to bring the heads on a level with each other so he could palm over both at the same time.

“All right, magic lube boy,” Peter said, teasing. He held out his hand, cupped upward. And Tony… like magic, damn him… found the lube under the pillow. “How do I not sleep on that?”

Tony chuckled. “Because you can’t sleep more than six inches away from the arc.” He squeezed a large dollop of lube onto Peter’s upturned palm.

“You have your fetishes,” Peter said, sliding his slick hand over both of them, but mostly over Tony. “I have mine.”

“You wouldn’t love us if we weren’t cyborgs…” Tony broke off his teasing with a sharp breath sucked between his teeth as Peter’s hand smoothed directly over the head of his cock.

Peter stopped touching himself and concentrated on slicking Tony up. He raised on his thighs and crept forward until he wasn’t sitting on Tony’s thighs but holding himself above the man’s cock. He reached behind, his hand circling Tony’s shaft and tried to settle straight down onto him but the angle wasn’t right. They hadn’t done it often with Peter on top, and when they had, Tony was sitting up, helping him.

“Lean forward, baby,” Tony suggested.

He couldn’t see how that would help, but Peter let go of Tony’s cock and started to fall forward. Instead of ending up on top of Tony, the man’s hands stopped his fall, reaching up to spread, palms wide, over Peter’s chest. It was harder to reach back, but when Peter slid down, it was perfect and Tony started to slip easily inside of him.

Peter slowly started to sit more upright, taking more of Tony’s cock into him. Tony moved his hands lower, caressing Peter’s sides firmly, letting him guide himself into position. He settled his hands low on Peter’s narrow waist, just above the boy’s hips, his thumbs slotting into the deep V lines. He didn’t rise up to thrust nor pull Peter down with his hands. He let Peter control everything this time.

“That’s it, Beautiful,” Tony said as Peter started to rise and fall rhythmically, his thighs tensing and relaxing, tight cords underneath smooth skin. Peter was achingly beautiful. His body had been transformed by the spider bite. The muscles, the strength… that was all spider. The flawless pale skin, the grace with which he moved, the way he moaned and his breath caught and then he’d cry out… that was all Peter.

As was the confident, yet experimental, way Peter sought to make himself feel good. Peter’s hands grabbed Tony’s forearms, using them to balance, to push against, sliding down them to find the best angle as he rolled his hips, grinning when, in search of his own pleasure, he’d accidentally made Tony gasp instead. Clenching tightly, rising and then falling with another tight roll of his hips, his eyes were twinkling when Tony’s opened to meet his.

Tony’s revenge was simple. He stopped holding Peter’s waist, leaving the boy to find his own balance, which, frustratingly he did. But when he next rolled forward, Tony’s hands returned to Peter’s chest. He rarely had such an opportunity to appreciate that finely sculpted part of Peter’s body. He ran his palms over the kid’s pecs and his fingers found Peter’s nipples. He started gently rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Peter whimpered. The gentle fondling became pinches and pulls, and Peter’s whimpers were broken and caught on rapidly panting breaths.

He knew what that did to the boy. Peter’s cock was jumping and the rise and fall on Tony’s stuttered. He was trying to plead with Tony but the words wouldn’t come out as anything but gasped letters. Finally, Tony found his hands swatted away with strong pushes to each of his arms. Peter glared at him and Tony wore a smug grin.

“Something wrong, Beautiful?” he teased.

“Yes, you bastard! You are not gonna make me come by playing with my poor abused nipples again!”

Tony chuckled. “You are the only one I’ve ever seen do that. Those cute little things are directly wired to your cock, baby. How can I resist?”

Peter rocked forward with a slow grind of his hips. Tightening around Tony’s cock, he dragged his body up, milking the man. He loosened and fell back down, until he was flat against Tony’s pelvis. With Tony buried all the way inside of him, Peter reached behind and cupped the man’s balls, gently rolling them, giving them a light little squeeze, running a single fingertip, pressing firmly, beneath them. Tony groaned and his eyes closed and his hips rose, trying to push himself deeper into Peter.

“Baby, how can I resist?” Peter said, with a smug grin when he stopped and Tony met his eyes.

Peter leaned forward, holding himself at just the right angle. When he began his rise and fall on Tony’s cock, he rode in short, shallow strokes, having found the perfect position and depth to give himself pleasure.

Tony watched in amazement as Peter earned his nickname. His curly hair was a sweat-damp springy mess, falling forward, clinging to his forehead. His body glistened in the morning light coming through the huge windows of their bedroom. The kid’s muscles… so fucking strong, no strain or falter no matter the fact that they’d been working at his ride. Gracefully, he rolled his body, thighs to shoulders, the shudder arching his back in a belly dancer’s writhe as he gasped.

And Peter’s face… Tony couldn’t concentrate at all on how the kid was making his cock feel, because the kid’s face… dear lord, Tony was lost. Peter’s eyes were closed, the lids smooth and pale, lashes long and, when he’d hit his movements just right, they fluttered like butterfly wings. The pink flush on his cheeks was dark and shining with sweat. The heat of it ran all the way down his neck. But it was his mouth that caught and held Tony’s eye. Slack and parted, his white teeth a line beneath them, his lips were licked and bitten, puffy and glistening from his tongue darting across their swell.

Tony moaned just from looking at his Beautiful. His. Shared, but that didn’t seem to matter because he loved who Peter was shared with. The idea of having his perfect boy beloved, not just by him but by Bucky as well, almost made it better. Knowing that there was another person who would be as stunned by this sight. His reaction to the thought surprised him. He was always so possessive of Peter. But as he watched the boy shudder through another wave of pleasure and his moan become a cry of Tony’s name, he realized he was still just as possessive as ever. Only he possessed two treasures, one Beautiful and one Pretty. They both were his.

“Oh fuck, Peter,” Tony moaned and put his hands on the boy’s hips. Not controlling his rise and fall, just holding, just feeling the heat of Peter’s skin on his fingers. “Baby… oh fuck yes. Go on, Beautiful. Touch that gorgeous, cock of yours. I wanna see your hand on it. You’re so hard. Your cock’s dripping on me. Make yourself come, baby. I wanna see you. I want you all over me. God Peter, you are a sight.”

Peter whimpered as Tony spoke. The man’s voice was husky and low, crooning out words of praise. Peter’s hand wrapped around his cock and he rocked his hips into the circle of it. His ride faltered a moment as he hunted for a new movement that would mix both actions into one irresistible spike of pleasure. His gasp strained with his held breath, body tight with the rise of it, held still at the height of his stroke for what seemed like forever, but was only a moment, before it broke and he fell. “Oh… fuck! Oh… oh… Tony!” He screamed as he came over Tony. Almost immediately he fell on top of the man, shuddering and quaking. Peter slid his arms along Tony’s sides, under his arms, his hands clutching upwards over Tony’s shoulders. This time not a cry, but an almost frightened whisper, “Tony.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Peter, solid, comforting. His cock was still hard as Peter slid off of him to be high enough up his body to bury his face in the crook of his neck. Flat palmed, Tony soothed down Peter’s back. “I have you, Pete. Always have you. Right here, Beautiful. Not ever letting go.” He kissed the side of Peter’s head and he clung almost as tightly to the boy as Peter clung to him, although his strength wasn’t a match. His shoulders would be bruised with little circles from Peter’s fingertips, longer lines from his fingers. He never minded the marks. Tony liked seeing the signs of Peter’s need on his body. His power, but restrained, even as far gone as the boy had been, he still pulled it back.

“Baby, you’re my forever,” he whispered into Peter’s ear. Tony’s fingers carded softly through Peter’s wet and tangled curls. “My forever, Peter.”

“Oh, I love you, Tony,” Peter said, his lips moving over the man’s neck as his body finally began to still. His hand gentled over where the bruises he left would rise on Tony’s shoulder. He was always so frightened of them, afraid that one day he’d hold on too tightly and hurt Tony. But he never did. He didn’t understand how that worked or why. But he never hurt him.

Peter slid up just a little bit more and kissed behind Tony’s ear. He whispered it again. “Baby, I love you.”

Tony’s breath caught. Such a beautiful, fragile, gentle thing in his arms. How could he love him? But Peter found something inside of him that was worth loving. There was still something there.

He rolled them to their sides, messy between them. Tony’s cock softened, forgotten. He reached down, pulling them both up off the mattress for a moment, until he grasped the bedcover and pulled it up over Peter’s cooling body. Laying back down on the bed, his lips found Peter’s. Softly, tenderly, they kissed over and over. Tony sucked that beautiful red, swollen, bitten bottom lip into his mouth and gently sucked on it, licking across it, teasing it’s sensitivity until Peter sighed into his kiss.

At eleven fifteen they were awakened by FRIDAY’s announcement that if Peter wanted to make his one pm differential equations class, he needed to get up and get ready.

Peter smiled and gave Tony a light kiss. “You wake up too or you’re gonna fuck your sleeping up.”

Tony sighed, knowing that Peter was right, even though all he wanted to do was pull that duvet over himself and sleep. “Go get your shower.” He sat up, knowing if he stayed laying down, all his good intentions to wake up would be lost.

“I swear, if I come home and find you asleep…”

Tony laughed. “Nope. Not doing that ever again. You threatened me with ice water before you left and you fucking did it, you menace.” He watched as Peter crawled across his crazy huge bed, which he knew was a crazy huge bed and that’s why he liked it. “Keep wiggling that ass at me and I won’t let you up until time for your three o’clock physics class.”

Peter looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue at Tony, then pushed off with his arms, jumping up and flipping in mid-air until he landed on his feet between the bed and the bathroom. “I cannot miss that class,” he said, heading for the shower.

“Yeah, I know. You better make up that ninety-three on your last test with your final. Do you know how embarrassing it would be for me to have a boyfriend who didn’t hit the mark in physics?”

“Shut the fuck up, Tony,” Peter said as FRIDAY turned on the water and he got under it. “You make me want to flunk and then tell my professor that you gave me all the wrong information and the only reason you got your PhD in physics was because you blew your advisor.”

“I did, but my dissertation acceptance had nothing to do with that. Though maybe fucking the dean might’ve helped,” Tony said, flushing the toilet after signaling FRIDAY to not adjust the water temperature for the pressure drop.

Peter’s yelp was extremely satisfying.

#starker #WinterIronSpider #IronSpider #WIS An Accord #Von writes stuff #Von's Moodboards

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damienthepious · 5 years ago

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hey, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday Crew. we’re finally back on real, actual Second Citadel content, huh? But. here’s the thing. not even that can put me off my bullshit. How do y’all feel about a chapter two?

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 2)

[Ch 1] [ao3] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [Ch 14] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: The monster should be on the mend. There are, however, one or two complications.

Chapter Notes: This chapter deals with a lot of medical talk, there's some mention of blood and more specific descriptions of injury, and description of something close to surgery. There is also some talk in this that hints at some mild suicidal ideation, so if you’re sensitive to that tread with caution. Also if anyone with any knowledge of actual real life medical stuff reads this i am desperately sorry, i know virtually nothing. Forgive me for my nonsense.

It’s difficult to really stabilize the monster. And of course it is- Rilla is essentially paddling with her hands over here, she’s reduced to guesswork (she hates guesswork) and trial and error (which is slightly less irritating, but it’s certainly too goddamn risky when it comes to trying to save a life) and his body is already so strange that it’s hard to figure out what’s actually damage and what’s just inherent to him.

One of his four (four) wrists is broken, but she notices that late because his wrists turn so strangely in the first place (there must be a purpose to that; maybe he’s partially arboreal? That sort of range of motion would be useful for- no, focus, focus, Rilla-) and she doesn’t catch the jagged slackness of one among the four until he winces through trying to move it during one of his rare moments of consciousness.

That, too, is hit and miss, how aware he is at any given moment. It’s difficult to find a sedative that works- she doesn’t know much about lizard sedation, let alone pseudo-lizard-snake-bug-dragon (potentially ashdragon, specifically) sedation, and he wakes at unexpected moments. Unexpected, and he is often still near-delirious when he rouses, still snapping ineffectually with his eyes rolling in instinctive panic and/or pain. Very, very occasionally he comes around to lucid, or close to lucid, and then he always fixes her with that frightened, suspicious violet gaze.

She tries to use those opportunities when they arise. If he can answer questions about his pain, she can at least get a better idea of what still needs mending. Or- she would get a better idea, if the stubborn ass would answer any of her questions without complaining or deflecting or, yet again, complaining.

“Your attention is both unwanted and unneeded, little human, and the very instant that I- ha,” he bursts into a whine, his throat whirring sharply as he pants, lifting a clawed hand to press weakly at his midsection.

“That one still hurts, then?”

“All of it h-hurts, you idiot.”

“But the pain there is sharper? More acute?”

He hisses, then snaps his teeth ineffectually in her direction. “I- I will not be patronized,” he says in a snarl, and Rilla rolls her eyes and gently finishes re-wrapping his wrist.

“Okay, okay,” she agrees gently. “Now, don’t move that any more than you have to, understood?”

Terrible patient. Just- abysmally bad.

Though, oddly, he hasn’t made any move to actually hurt her.

She had been expecting things to get fairly bad on that front, if she’s being honest. Right at the start, when he was barely, barely conscious, like absolutely tongue-lolling out of it, she obviously wasn’t worried about attack beyond just accidentally catching herself on his limp claws.

But even as he comes more aware, even as he complains bitterly and tries, with unpredictable frequency and an utter lack of success or self-preservation, to slip from his bed and towards either the door or the window, he hasn’t tried to hurt her. He hasn’t tried to bite, though he snaps his teeth at her pretty much every time he’s awake. He hasn’t tried to claw her, though he pushes her hands away with a scowl when he’s lucid enough to do so.

It’s just odd, honestly. Not that she’s complaining. She’d rather not have to don falconer’s gloves just to redress his broken wrist or to check his pulse.

“I do not need to be mmf-”

He cuts off as she presses the cup against his mouth, burying her smile in a stubborn frown.

“You can barely lift your arms, let alone a glass. Drink. I don’t care if you’re embarrassed, you need to hydrate. Losing blood is no joke.”

“And certainly you care about my hydration,” he says with a sneer, his teeth clinking against the clay. “You expect me to believe-”

“I expect you to believe that I’ve barely gotten any sleep in the last two days trying to keep you from dying, and I believe that you’re going to drink from this damned cup right now, yeah, actually.” She blows her frown out like a candle and smiles bright and dangerous instead. “Drink. Now. And shut up.”

He sneers, but she presses the cup against his mouth again and his tongue flicks out and he blinks, and she sees the moment the big stubborn idiot realizes how thirsty he is, and then with very, very bad grace he lets her tip the cup until he can take a few long, slow swallows, his entire frame sagging in relief. He sighs when the cup is drained, and she can tell that he’s drained, too. More tired than she expects, at this point, but honestly it’s hard to tell with a monster. He’s half-dozing again before she’s lowered the cup.

He doesn’t tell her that he’s cold. That one is infuriating, actually. Might have something to do with the excessive fatigue, which she has to fold into her theories and speculations. She should have guessed, too, from the way he always unconsciously seems to lean into her touch. He gets furious when he notices himself doing so, and she’d been distracted from the actual possible causes of that by the way his snout wrinkles when he’s embarrassed. It’s- almost cute, in a weird sort of way.

Or it would be, if his frill didn’t try to flare when he’s embarrassed, too. It’s still torn, and it’s a very difficult part of the lizard to bandage, so every time he moves it without meaning to (partially conscious motion, or at least partially conscious control- he can move it at will, she thinks, but it also moves reactively, maybe in a similar way to blinking when startled), he exacerbates the edges of the tears, delays the progress of his recovery at least in that one small way for that much longer.

The cold, though: she notes his subconscious leaning towards her own skin, at first thinks that’s just some natural, biological response, and of course she’s warmer than him and she assumes that warmth would be soothing for a lizard-type creature. She notes the way he tenses when the sheets of the cot are pulled away from him for the purpose of checking his injuries and redressing, and she assumes mostly that it’s just more of the embarrassment that he seems so prone to, more than anything. She puts the pieces together when he sighs in a rather dramatically satisfied way as she’s pulling the sheets back over him, though, and she blinks down as he eyes her suspiciously.

“Wait- hang on. Have you been cold this whole time?”

He frowns, ducking his head and burying his chin in the thin cloth. “Does it matter?”

Her mouth hangs open, too shocked by the stupidity of the question to even answer for a long moment. A really, really long moment, actually. She stands up, and she leaves the room before the words find her again, because obviously, obviously-

She comes back with an armful of covers and quilts and he eyes her in alarm as she clomps back to the bedside and dumps the entire pile onto the cot, onto his legs, where her point will be made without the added gentle weight potentially pressing on his injuries.

“There,” she says, frowning. “Saints, I could have warmed you up ages ago if you only told me, you idiot.” She reaches into the pile and starts rearranging, layering the covers over him with systematic attention, the softer sheets lower and closer to him, the warmer heat-trapping layers on top.

“You- little doctor do you really believe this necessary?”

“If you’re cold it could be exacerbating your lethargy, which could interfere with your recovery,” she says with sharp look. “Or, for all I know, it could be masking other symptoms. Next time, if something hurts or if there’s a way I can make you more comfortable, tell me.”

She pokes him in the tip of his snout lightly to emphasize her words, and he snarls automatically though his expression is more sheer surprise than anything, and he looks like he’s already settling into the heat, drifting sleepily down.

“I- I-”

“Don’t get embarrassed, don’t get all haughty, just ask. That’s what I’m here for. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“Could have fooled me,” he mutters, and she flicks him in the snout again. He- laughs, then, a breathy and stunned sort of nose, before he lifts a clumsy hand to rub the offended point. “You are absurd,” he says, and he sounds a little impressed.

“And you,” she says smugly, “aren’t cold anymore.”

Eventually, after every injury she’s certain of is at least somewhat accounted for, wrapped, disinfected, dealt with, she starts to feel like it’s just a game of waiting for his body to start to fix itself-

But days later, he doesn’t seem to be improving. Even when he comes out of the sedation, his fatigue and his pain are still severe, and it almost seems like he’s more confused than before just after waking. His breathing continues to grow more shallow, more labored, and his arms have taken to wracking spasms. It was just rare, at first, but the frequency is increasing. Muscle spasms, difficulty breathing, lethargy and confusion-

Most troubling: his scales are developing patches of sickly purplish red. Subtle, at first, and difficult to notice among the rest of his dark green and black mottling, but once she notices the first one slowly discoloring his upper left pectoral, she notices the rest fairly soon.

Symptoms suggest a likely cause of infection. Possibly septicemia. Potentially lethal, when he should, by rights, be on the mend.

Complication regarding that potential diagnosis: Rilla has already started the monster on antibiotics specifically to combat a burgeoning infection in one of the scrapes on his arm, one that was pretty wretched before she got her hands on it. So, if any of his other injuries managed to get infected before she had the chance to clean and wrap them, her treatments should already be mitigating it. This, however, is progressing instead of healing.

Which means that Rilla must have missed something.

Obviously that prospect is infuriating, but Rilla’s not going to deny facts just because they’re inconvenient. Somewhere, somehow, she made a mistake. She’ll have to fix that mistake if she’s going to make any of this better.

She is systematic. She redresses his wounds, carefully noting the progression of his recovery with each (to a one: slow), looking for evidence of discoloration, of odd smells or discharge, looking for anything at all more amiss than just the injuries themselves, anything that might prove to be the cause of the lizard’s lack of progress.

(He hasn’t given up. She knows that, at least. Knows that isn’t a possible cause. For all his complaints and sarcastic pleas for her to just end his humiliation, he is struggling towards life with a fervor, she can see it. There’s something in his eyes- some fire, maybe, and Rilla knows that he hasn’t given up. He hasn’t- and she won’t either.)

One of the injuries on his midsection, a sloppy claw wound or possibly a bite from a strange angle, catches her attention. His progress is slow all around, but this one- it almost looks worse that it did when she dressed it. The edges haven’t even begun to knit back together, and it hasn’t quite stopped bleeding in a slow, sullen sort of way.

While he’s out cold, she examines the area more closely, pressing incredibly careful fingers around the wound, taking samples of the blood to compare to others she’s taken in the last few days, trying to decide if she can actually distinguish necrotic scales from just damaged ones with her current base of knowledge, but when she’s probing with her fingers she feels-

Something. She doesn’t want to press any harder than it takes just to feel the shape, but there is definitely something very wrong in this particular injury. Something hard, and out of place. A piece of broken rib, maybe? No- no she doesn’t think it’s that. Maybe something more malicious- her brain leaps to arrowhead but it’s not that kind of wound, of course. Speculation is rarely helpful, though, and she knows that if she wants this injury (and hopefully the rest) to actually begin to improve, she’s going to have to-

Well. It’s essentially going to be surgery.

The next time he wakes, he’s even weaker. She can tell by the way the nictitating membranes stay flipped over his eyes defensively, fogging his bright violet back to a soft, concerning lavender. By the way the hand he lifts to bat at her misses her wrist entirely. By the way he doesn’t even manage to pretend not to lean his cheek into her palm when she cups his face to make him look at her.

“Wh… human, what are you…”

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened to you,” she says, voice firm but gentle, and after a moment he tenses. “I’m not going to ask, don’t worry, but I do need to ask-”

“Not going to- to tell you anything-”

“Is there any chance that whatever attacked you could have left something behind in one of your wounds? The tip of a claw, or a tooth, or horn? Anything like that?”

His brow furrows, and he finally seems to focus on her fully, his foggy eyes flicking between her own. “It… it is possible, human, why-”

“Is there any chance that there might be a poison or toxin involved as well?”

The membranes slide away from his eyes, finally, and he stares at her with narrowed violet diamonds as he pulls his face away from her hand. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that is possible.” He inhales deeply, and the breath shakes out of him. “This protracted weakness. You believe-”

“It appears that there’s some foreign object stuck in one of your wounds, and you’re showing signs of infection or something worse,” she says, matter-of-fact. “I suspect it’s the cause of why you’ve been improving so slowly, and why it’s seemed like you’re about to start a backslide.”

“A foreign… object,” he repeats in a hiss. “Excellent. My injuries were… obviously not extensive enough already.”

“The point is,” Rilla says, sighing, “that I think you’re going to continue to deteriorate, unless the object is removed.”

He stares at her, blinks slowly, then raises one ridged eyebrow.

“Then it seems… your path is clear, does it not?” He pauses. “Unless, perhaps, this is precisely the excuse you were searching for, to allow the monster to die with as little effort-”

“Don’t be an ass,” she says, quiet but sharp. “I’ve been treating you, and that started when you were barely alive, let alone conscious. Obviously I didn’t ask permission for any of that. I couldn’t. But this- this is gonna be surgery. I’ll have to sedate you, and anything like that- there’s always a risk of something going wrong. And it- it’s different, now. You’re awake. You know what’s going on. You know that I’m not trying to hurt you.”

He scoffs, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I can ask, this time. If I don’t try to remove it, you’ll probably get worse, but there’s also a chance that trying to remove it could… could go wrong. So,” she straightens her spine, curls her lip into a wry half-smile, and meets the monster’s eye. “Do you want me to try? If you decide not to, I can- I can try more aggressive pharmaceutical methods, but to be entirely honest I’m not optimistic that there’s anything I can change on that front that will make a difference, and-”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

Rilla blinks, watching the suspicious twisting of his face. “What do you mean?”

“Asking, human, what are you asking for? Why pretend as if you care about the input of a monster?”

“Be… because I do?”

He scoffs again. “Ridiculous. Don’t be absurd, if you think you can manipulate me into-”

“Hey, hey-” she reaches out, her fingers just barely, barely brushing the scales of his shoulder and startling him into a wordless hiss. “Don’t work yourself up. You’re already exhausted, you don’t want to make yourself even more tired.”

“I am tired, human, of you pretending as if-”

“I have a name, you know.”

He flinches, lips pressing together as he glares at her sulkily. “I do not care. And I do not care what you do with me, either. I will likely die either way, so I may as well leave it in the hands of the universe, even if the universe is acting through such absurd means.”

Rilla frowns, her heart pulling a little. “I’m not going to let you die. Not if I can do anything about it. Please, just- tell me what you want me to do.”

He clenches his jaw tight, still frowning and not quite looking at her. “I told you. Do as you like.”

“No. No, that's not how this is going to work.” She frowns, brow furrowing stubbornly, and she meets his sharp eyes until he quails, glancing away. “What do you want?”

He swallows, ducks his head, and she can see the turning of the gears in his head for a long moment.

“I… I would rather die quick than slow, little human. If you believe there is some poison in me, and the attempt to remove it may destroy me, I would rather be destroyed in the attempt than in some painful, protracted helplessness.” He pauses, then aims his sharp, tired eyes up at her again. “There. You have your answer. Act as you will.”

“Okay,” Rilla says, and then she sighs. “Okay. That- honestly I’m glad you feel that way. And- and it’ll be better if we do this sooner rather than later. I’ll have to prepare a little bit, but- is that okay?”

“I would rather not waste time putting it off, yes,” he agrees in a drawl, looking away again.

“I’ve-” Rilla pauses. “I’ve been meaning to ask. It- I’ve been feeling pretty damn rude, actually, just- what’s your name?”

He blinks, eyes wide with something like panic. “What?”

“Your name. I’m not just going to call you monster if there’s something else I should be calling you. And-”

And this might be the last chance she has, to ask. If things go wrong.

She can see the moment he realizes her thoughts, the morbidity of them, and something like resignation slips into his expression. Not exactly the desired effect. She wishes he didn’t seem so agreeable to the concept of dying, but-

“Fine. Fine, if you care so very much. I am Lord Arum, he who rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. If you must call me anything, you may call me that.”

“Lord, huh?”

“Indeed,” he hisses, narrowing his eyes.

“Seems pretty formal, considering.”

“Indeed,” he repeats, more snarl in his tone, and she laughs.

“Okay, okay, formal, then. You may call me Amaryllis of Exile, oh Lord of the Swamp. Pleasure to formally meet you.”

His frown deepens. “Pleasure,” he hisses under his breath with a scoff. “Now. May we get this done? If you are so very concerned with my well-being as you claim, certainly you should not delay.”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh, and then she stands. “Yeah, I know. If you’re ready, I can put you under.”

“As ready as I expect I will be,” he mutters as he watches her cross the room to fetch the sedative.

It’s a little unsettling, actually, how close he watches her as she draws the proper dose into the syringe, as she returns to the side of his cot.

“Okay,” she says, quiet with his eyes on her. “Ready, Arum?”

He scowls at his name in her voice, at the distinct lack of his title, maybe. He still nods, though, after a moment. “Do as you will, human.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Rilla says, and he closes his eyes even before she injects him with the sedative. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

“As if I have a choice,” Arum says, and he must have already been only hanging on to the waking world with the tips of his claws, because he barely makes it through the sentence before his head slumps to the side, his breaths evening out.

Rilla takes a deep breath, stares down at the monster in her care, and then she turns to prepare what she’ll need to get this job done.

Rilla is so utterly focused on the monster beneath her hands that she does not register the noise in her front room. She hears it: the familiar creak of her door, the noises of footsteps approaching, but her eyes are fixed on the injury that is her current dilemma, fixed on the instrument she is using so very, very delicately to try to pull what her revised estimate assumes must be a broken piece of talon from between this monster’s ribs.

She does not register the noise. She doesn’t even register the much closer noises, the familiar voice, until there is a light knocking at the door to her exam room.

Even then she barely understands, through the buzz of her exhausted focus. She’s so close, she can feel the edges of the curved piece of sharpness that’s pierced him, and if she can only get the angle of her tool just right, if she can only get a little bit of grip, she’ll be able to pull it out. This is the source of the infection; Rilla is sure of that. Poisoned talons or envenomed fang, a tip left behind, bleeding more and more tired pain through his body. If she can just get it out, her other treatments will finally have the chance to make an impact, will finally be afforded the foothold they need to really help him.

The knock comes again, and Rilla mutters something wordless under her breath and she absolutely can’t pull her eyes away. She almost has it. Almost. The blood is making everything slippery but she can see a darker shade among it too and she needs to get this out of him, she just needs to, and she’s almost there-

The door opens. It was not locked.

“Rilla, my heart, you failed to answer and I-”

Rilla feels a very distant twinge of worry, but she’s still so damned close and she can swear she feels her tool catch a grip, just barely. She can’t afford to lose her focus, not now-

“A monster.” Damien’s voice is… utterly devoid of inflection. “Rilla- my Amaryllis- remove yourself from that creature and I shall resolve the situation in an instant-”

“’n the middle of something, Damien,” she mutters, and there is sweat on her forehead and she can’t pull her eyes away, not for him and not for anything. “Outta my exam room now.”

“That is a monster,” Damien repeats, and now there is a tone in his words. Dark, terrified, furious. With her? She can’t tell. Doesn’t really care at the moment, if she’s being honest. “Move away from it and I shall slay it for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Rilla growls, and her hair must have come loose from her braid because wisps are falling in front of her face and she really, really doesn’t have time for this right now. The tool in her hand catches against an edge, pulls, and she feels the curve of the foreign object between Arum's ribs move, just slightly. “Almost- almost got it, c’mon c’mon c’mon-”

“Rilla before it wakes, before it sets upon you-”

“Don’t be stupid,” she manages. “Knocked him out for this. Obviously. Otherwise the pain’d be- too much. He’s not gonna wake up. Probably not for hours. Shut up and let me focus.”

“Rilla that is a monster-”

“Damien,” Rilla snaps, sharp and harsh and unquestionable, and when her eyes finally jerk towards him Damien’s spine stiffens, his eyes going wide. “I heard you the first time. You think I don’t know this is a monster?” She scoffs, and her throat hurts with the effort of not absolutely screaming at him. “What I am doing, Damien, right at this moment, is incredibly delicate. You are going to leave this room- no, don’t you dare interrupt me, I am talking right now. You are going to leave this room and wait outside. When I am done, and not a moment sooner, I am going to come and join you, and then we are going to have a conversation about him. About this.”

“Rilla-”

“I said that all as nicely as I am physically able, right now. If you make me repeat myself, Damien, I’m not going to get any nicer. Get out. Now.”

He opens his mouth, but she turns away, refocusing back on the task at hand. The task literally, literally in her hands right now. Her grip on the talon is miraculously maintained. Somehow it hasn’t slipped away entirely, or slipped deeper. She delicately, delicately starts to maneuver the object, and if she angles it just right she should be able to slip it right out without scraping the business end of the thing against anything else inside him- without doing any further damage. Removal of something like this is dangerous and delicate and-

And Rilla barely hears it, when the door clicks shut behind Damien again.

She almost has it. Almost.

She twists her wrist. She bites her lip hard enough that it might bleed. She holds her breath and twists and pulls so, so gently-

The small black curve of a broken talon (or, possibly, fang) slips out from between his ribs with not an ounce of fanfare. It barely looks big enough to worry if stuck in the sole of a decent boot. It doesn’t even have the courtesy to dramatically drip black poison. But-

It’s the source of so much of Arum’s pain, and now Rilla has pulled it from him.

Now she can really, really start to help him.

… if she can convince Damien not to kill him, first.

[->]

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #amaryllis of exile #lord arum #sir damien #>:3c #WE ALL BE LOVE LIZARDS <3<3 #MY HEART IS FULL OF LOVE DANGIT #scattered on my shore

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roxyspearing · 6 years ago

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The truth amongst the lies - Chapter 3

It's been a while coming, but here's part 3 of my new series. Now we've taken a trip down memory lane, what's in store for our reader now?

Word count: 872

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, mention of Michael! Dean, a few people not to be trusted...

Warnings: mild bad language, threat to reader, is she or isn't she mystery...

Catch up here!

CHAPTER 3 - OUT OF THE FRYING PAN...

Jesus Christ not again. You couldn't believe you were running out of a bar because of a guy, the same goddamn guy, for the second time in as many months. Through tears, you stumbled past the small group of people outside, barely sparing a ‘sorry' to a petite brunette you nearly knocked over with your bag as you dived into a waiting cab.

“The Red Rose motel please?” As soon as you're moving, you reach into your bag, looking for something to wipe your face with, when your hand brushes against a box. “Shit.” You'd almost forgotten the whole reason you'd walked into that particular bar in the first place. You'd been praying this was just another flu bug, like the one that had swept through your office just after you'd gotten back from That trip, but then you'd found the box of tampons in the cabinet while looking for some medicine yesterday morning. The unopened box of tampons. A little bit of mental maths and one panic attack later and somehow you'd dragged yourself out of your apartment, gotten on your flight to Kansas, spent the entire day's worth of meetings you'd flown out for looking like a damn zombie, before getting back to your motel room and before you knew it had fallen asleep for fourteen straight hours. Today had gone slightly better, if only by you actually opening your mouth and talking, before you'd broken up for an hour to get lunch. Rushing to the nearest store, you'd picked up what you'd needed, and rather than wait looked for the first place that was open so you could use their facilities. And then of course you'd bumped into the cause of all these problems.

“That'll be $13.48 then love.” The voice of the cab driver pulls you out of your reminiscing, and you look up to see the front of your motel. Digging out twenty bucks, you tell him to keep the change, before heading towards your room. There's no way you can go back to work, so you call the client up, making up a story of some epic food poisoning, and apologise for the inconvenience. Hanging up, you grab the offending box. Reading over the instructions, you shuffle towards the bathroom, dragging your feet like you're headed to your own execution. Once the deed is done, you head back out, flicking on the T.V. to try and stop yourself thinking about the little stick in the other room. Settling on an episode of Dr Sexy, you let yourself be distracted by the tacky soap opera, all so you don't have to go find out the answer just yet. As it comes to an end, you stay where you are, looking up local food places on your phone and ordering takeout. You've just stood up after the third episode, knowing you can't put this off anymore, when you're saved by the bell. Or the knock at the door rather. God bless delivery drivers.

“Hi...” You trail off, vaguely remembering the woman stood in front of you.

“Hi. Y/N, right?” She asks, polite smile on her face.

“Um. Yeah. Can I help you?”

“You knocked into me outside a bar earlier and your purse fell out of your bag. I couldn't get to your cab in time but I heard you tell the driver where to go. Sorry if this is a bit creepy stalkerish.”

"That's OK.” You laugh, but it's hollow sounding. “Only problem is, that's not my purse.”

“Sure it is. Look, here’s your driver's license.”

“No. This is my driver's license.” You say, showing the woman your purse that you'd grabbed before answering the door. “I don't know what's going on here, but I'm going to have to ask you- ahhh!” A scream tears out of your throat as this random woman pushes you in the chest, sending you flying across the room.

“Oh Y/N. Why did you have to make this so difficult?” You don't know where to look, as a man and another woman enter your room, shutting the door behind them. “Clear the place out. Leave no trace of her. Now, my little precious, are we going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?” With a gasp, you watch in horror as the woman talking smiles at you, her mouth filling with razor sharp teeth you've only ever seen in movies.

“Who the hell are you?!” You yell.

“What, actually. We're vampires precious. Just with a whole load of extra juice, courtesy of someone you know. Michael? Or was it Dean he told you? Of course, he looks a bit different now.” She smirks, only to duck as you throw a lamp at her. “Hmmm. Hard way it is. Much more fun.” Scrambling up, you run for the bathroom, only to be grabbed by your hair and thrown back into the wall.

“Please. Please, I don't know who you think I am, please don't hurt me, please-"

With a bang, the door comes crashing open. All four of you turn to look, and your eyes widen as you recognise the tall haired man in front, closely followed by the green eyed man that has been haunting you all these months...

Forevers and evers:

@like-a-bag-of-potatoes @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @jayankles @grace-for-sale @atc74 @mrsbatesmotel53 @gryffindorofcabin21 @dolphinpink310 @goldenolaf25 @kdfrqqg @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fictionalabyss @heyitscam99 @just-another-busy-fangirl @amanda-teaches @tn-grayson @girl-next-door-writes @feelmyroarrrr @blacktithe7 @masksandtruths @maui137 @holyfuckloueh @tina8009 @polina-93 @emoryhemsworth @whimsicalrobots @x-waywardaf-x @be-amaziing @horsegirly99 @bitterstar88 @hunterswearingplaid @deangirl7695 @thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @randomparanoid @flamencodiva

The Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @cuffski @ruprecht0420 @kathaswings @deanscarlett @hobby27 @deanssweetheart23 @yourvoiceislikearose @wingedcatninja @pisces-cutie @mogaruke @lastactiontricia

Series tag:

@arses21434 @irishgirl1613 @cs-please

#the truth amongst the lies #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester series #michael!dean #dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #roxy writes fanfiction #roxy writes supernatural #new writing

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queenlegacyproductions · 6 years ago

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Royally Bitter Tension

Summary: Riley Carter is back again in the Mixed Match Challenge to defend her crown as the first and reigning Mixed Mixed Challenge Champion. Unfortunately for The Goddess Queen, her partner Kevin Owens is currently out of action due to a severe knee injury caused by Bobby Lashley, one of her opponents in the first round, Country Dominance with Mickie James. In order for Riley to compete and defend her title as the Mixed Match Challenge Champion, she would have to team up with The Bruiserweight, Pete Dunne to do so. However, it’s a lot harder than it sounds. And it gets even harder when Riley tells him off one too many times about his bad attitude. Is the tension between The Raw Women’s Champion and The United Kingdom Champion really animosity?

‘I’m gonna kill both Bobby and that little mothball of his when I get my hands on them.’ Riley thought as she fiercely marched to the office of the acting general manager Baron Corbin with the fury only a Goddess Queen is capable of having after watching what had happened just a few minutes ago.

Bobby had attacked Kevin viciously after he beat him. But that’s not even the tip of the iceberg that sunk this whole Titanic into the sea of Bullshit. It was the news of Kevin cannot compete in The Mixed Match Challenge due to not one knee injury but two knee injuries.

Yeah, The Raw Women’s Champion is not a happy camper.

Riley finally makes it to Baron’s office when she walks in without knocking, seeing Baron texting.

“Corbin!” Riley yelled at him as she walks into his office. “You want to explain to me what the hell that was out there?!”

Baron rolls his eyes at the irate strawberry red headed woman that now stood in front of him. “Explain what, Riley?”

Riley sputtered in disbelief at his question. “Really? Did you not watch the show? The show that you’re running until Kurt comes back? And you’re helping the show run lot more smoothly than Kurt.” Riley guffaws sarcastically at the last statement. “Jesus christ.”

“I would watch what you say next, Riley.” Baron threatened her. “I don’t think Stephan-.”

“Corbin, stop. Stephanie doesn’t scare me. I scare her, okay? Pretty sure she wouldn’t want to confront me after the shit I put her through.” Riley laughed. “Besides, she’ll tell you that I’m not the one to try because I can be a pain in someone’s ass, especially ones of authority figures.” Riley warns him. This quiets the once-was lone wolf. “Now, be a good boy and tell me what do you plan on doing about lashley and that little moth of his?”

“Well, I’ll tell he can do.” An annoying voice said behind Baron. Riley rolled her eyes in annoyance as Lio Rush appeared behind Corbin with Bobby and Mickie behind him.

“What my man, the acting general manager of Raw can do is have my man, my man who looks like money and smells like money, the man that came back to dominate, my man Bobby Lashley and his Mixed Match Challenge partner Mickie James proceed in the tournament since you, Ms. Carter, do not have a tag team partner.”

“So you want me to forfeit?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, you must be out of your damn mind if you think i’m gonna forfeit to those two losers behind you, ya little-.”

“Riley, stop it.” Baron cuts her off. “Lio does have a point. You don’t have a partner for the challenge. But i’m not gonna have you forfeit.” He said quickly before she could protest. “Instead, i’m gonna tell you who your partner will be for the Mixed Match Challenge.”

“Who?” Riley asked before there was a knock at the door. Baron smirks at her.

“I think it’s best if I showed you.” He tells her before he tells whoever’s at the door that it’s open. The door opens up to reveal Pete Dunne, Tyler Bate, and Trent Seven. Riley quirks up an eyebrow in confusion.

“British Strong Style?” She asked.

“One member of the British Strong Style will be your partner for the Mixed Match Challenge since the NXT UK division will be apart of the Raw brand. And since Tyler and Trent are currently busy with the tag team tournament that’s taking place tomorrow, that leaves Pete to be your partner.” Baron explained. Lio laughs at the news.

“Really? You’re gonna have Pete team with Riley?” Lio laughs. “You sure you don’t want to forfeit?” Before Riley could respond to the Man of The Hour, a voice beats her to it.

“That’s a good question, Rush.” Pete spoke as he stood beside Riley, title over his shoulder. “You sure you guys don’t want to forfeit before we break your fingers?” The question made Riley snicker.

“I think you should be careful, Bobby. This one likes to bite.” She playfully warns him with a giggle. Bobby steps closer to Riley threateningly but Pete steps in front of her. The two men stare each other before Bobby and Co. walk away. Riley and the boys leave as well. As the fellas start to walk away from her, she speaks up to Pete.

“Hey, Pete.” She says as she grabs his arm. He turns around, annoyed at the contact. Riley quickly releases her grip on his arm, suddenly intimidated. “I just wanted to say thank you for standing up for me in there. I appreciate it.” Pete then turns to face her head on.

“I wasn’t standing up for you. I didn’t want them getting any ideas that they should take me lightly. I was making a statement, not watching your back.” Pete said with a harsh edge to his words. The gaze he held on her made her nervous which she hated thus pissing her off.

“Hey, no need to get snippy, Sourpuss.” She snapped at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re gonna be teammates which means we have to get along. And in order for this ship to sail in Shit’s Creek properly, I’mma need for you to check yo attitude before ya board because it ain’t allowed on Captain Carter’s Ship Of No Bullshit. Okay, Sweetiekins?” She asked him before she twists her face in a snarl. She didn’t wait for him to answer as she turns around and walks away from him, hips swaying fiercely as she heads over to her locker room. Pete’s upper lip turns up into a similar snarl as he watches her walk away from him as Tyler and Trent laugh at him.

“That’s like the first time I ever have heard absolute silence from you in a confrontation.” Tyler says as he laughs harder with Trent.

“Shut up.” Pete mutters lowly in his deep voice and walks away from his best friends who were still laughing like hyenas.

The next day, Pete arrives at the arena. Since Riley told him off, The two members of Mustache Mountain had noticed that Pete hasn’t been the same since then. The man was more non-approachable than ever before. He’d grunt a response for every question thrown at him more so than usual. The 5’5” Goddess Queen had rubbed The Bruiserweight the wrong way. Pete had walked into his locker room, shut and locked the door as he shed his street clothes and snapback to get ready for the mixed tag match. His mind then goes back to Riley.

‘Just who the hell she thinks she is? She thinks she can talk to me in any kind of way?’ He thought as he walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower. He growled as he remembers the confrontation between him and his tag team partner.

‘Fucking woman with her big mouth, her attitude. But she is cute.’ Pete smirks at he remembers her shape. ‘Her lips, her tits, her hips, her ass, her thighs. Everything about her is so plump. I just wanna bite all of it. Just eat her up. Maybe she’d be less attitudinal when I’m head first between them thighs.’ Pete chuckles at the thoughts of her as his early Thanksgiving meal as he strips out the rest of his clothing and gets in the shower. Meanwhile, Riley was in her locker room, changing into her costume ring gear that was inspired by DC Character Zatanna Zatara. As she grabs her top hat, there was a knock on her door.

“It’s open!” She yelled out as she dusts off her hat. She turns around to see Tyler and Trent walk in. “Oh, hey fellas.” She walks over to Tyler to hug him before she goes to hug Trent. “Where’s Pete?” She asked.

Tyler sighs before he answers. “Pete’s here but he’s a little more bitter than usual. I think he really didn’t like being told off like that.” Riley rolls her eyes at the news.

“Well, he better start liking it. I heard of his bad attitude before. I’m not dealing with his attitude nor am I babysitting his goddamn ego. It’s hard enough work to properly stroke and maintain my own damn ego.” This gets a chuckle from another voice. The trio turns towards the door to see Pete standing at the door with a smirk.

“I’m pretty sure that’s true, Carter.” He said as he steps into the room. He stops right in front of her.“But you are aware of pride coming before the fall, aren’t ya sweetheart?” he asked, his tone getting lowly in a threatening yet teasing tone in his voice. He smirks as he notices her shiver at the question but just as quick she shivered, her brown eyes lit up with fury.

“Oh, I know, Petey. That’s why I’m the Raw Women’s Champion and I won it in the first tournament that Raw had when it was first vacated. Until some people who lost in the first-ever United Kingdom Championship Tournament to his best friend in the finals.” Riley gives him a sickly sweet smile as she speaks her words of venom at the current United Kingdom Champion. Pete squares up his shoulder as his upper lip turns up, that signature snarl of his making its presence be known. Despite that feeling of intimidation coming to rear its ugly head back in her mind, she pushes it down as she smirks at the now fuming Bruiserweight. She tilts her head to the side in a feint innocent motion.

“Aww, what’s the matter, sourpuss?” Riley says the mocking nickname like Daffy Duck this time. “Don’t like me taking the piss out of ya? It gets under your skin, doesn’t it? You want to hit me, do ya?” She asked, taunting him. Pete steps closer to her, their faces now just at least than an inch away from each other. They hold that position for a few moments before a stagehand knocks on the door. Pete ends up growling at the poor soul before he stomps out of the room to head for gorilla. Trent and Tyler looks to Riley with deep concern. Riley playfully rolls her eyes at the two men’s faces.

“If things go right, Petey will be so mad at me to the point that he takes it out on little Bob.” Riley smirks at the two brits before she grabs her title and walks over to gorilla. She wraps her title around her waist before she hears the first few notes of Six Shooter by Coyote Kisses rattles the arena to its core at the crowd’s reaction. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkFZn4oPMqE

“And here comes the first ever Mixed Challenge Champion. The Raw Women’s Champion. The Goddess Queen, Riley Carter.” Michael said at the commentary.

“Riley, the champ, here to defend her crown here tonight…” Renee said as Pete’s theme song plays as Riley waits on the stage for him, smirking at Country Dominance. “....but she has new backup in the form of The United Kingdom Champion.”

“That’s right, Renee. It’s not Kevin Owens, her original partner since Kevin suffered severe injuries in both knees at the hands of one Bobby Lashley who Pete will face tonight on Mixed Match Challenge.” Vic said as Pete did his usual bit with his fists to his chin with the title between his teeth as Riley takes off her hat, giving the crowd a bow before she puts it back on.

“The two teams facing off against each other tonight are Country Dominance, the team of Mickie James and Bobby Lashley and The new team of Pete Dunne and Riley Carter who calls themselves The Bruiser Legacy.” Michael speaks as Riley sits on the ring ropes as Pete poses again in the ring right beside her. They both looked at each other with a smirk as Pete helped her inside the ring, glancing at her ass as she steps inside.

Riley and Pete managed to take control of the match since Peter bend, yanked, snapped, stomped, and even bit Bobby’s fingers in the very beginning of the match. However, Lio had distracted him which allowed Bobby to take control for the rest of the match but Riley turns the tides when she tagged herself in much to Pete’s displeasure. At some point in the match, she manages to tag Pete back in who takes the reins smoothly from where Riley left off, gaining some much needed momentum. Pete was setting up for the bitter end when Lio got on the apron to distract the ref. As Lio was distracting the ref, Riley quickly dispatches of Mickie at ringside as she slides in the ring. Riley then picks up Bobby and sets him up and hits her version of the GTS which causes Bobby to pop up to his feet which allows Pete to hit the Bitter End for the victory for The Bruiser Legacy. While Riley goes to raise Pete’s hand in victory, he snaps away from her.

“What the hell was that, Carter?!” He yelled at her. Riley rolls her eyes at him.

“A victory, Petey. You know winning?” she sarcastically replied.

“I meant that GTS, Carter. I didn’t need that! I had him-”

“-Almost beat us! Yeah, I noticed that. That’s why i got involved. After all, I was just making a statement.” Riley snapped at him using his words. “And my statement is that in this partnership, I am the one wearing the pants, okay? After all, they’re too big for a little boy like you.” Riley walked away from him again, leaving him in the ring as she goes back to her locker room which thankfully was empty.

About an hour later, Riley arrives at the hotel that everyone was staying and checks in at the front desk before going to her hotel room which was the penthouse suite.

‘Nice…’ Riley thought as she walks to the elevator. ‘Spacious place and a big comfy bed. Yes.’ She waits for the elevator and gets on when it arrives. Right before it closes again, a hand gets in between the door which makes the elevator to open again and reveal the last face Riley wanted to see right now. At least, that’s what she wanted to believe.

“Couldn’t wait for the next elevator, Dunne?” Riley asked him dryly. This gets a smirk out of him.

“No. Not really.” He responded as he boards the elevator. “Besides, i believe this is the perfect place to do this.” Riley’s face turns to one of confusion as he stops the elevator.

“Do wha-?” Before she could ask the question, she squeals as Pete manages to back her up against the wall of the elevator with one hand around her jaw.

“To do this.” He taunted her as he makes her look at him, that same look that had intimidated her in the past. Pete chuckles at her frightened reaction.

“Oh. Is someone scared now if what I gonna do to you, Queenie?” Pete taunted her, pleased with her reaction. However, Riley’s eyes hardened with defiance but Pete continues.

“No, you’re not scared.” He leans closer to her. “You’re turned on.” Riley’s eyes widened at the statement.

“What?” She asked breathlessly as Pete moves his hand from her jaw to her neck. He tightens his grip a little which makes the strawberry redheaded women’s champion whimper much to his amusement.

“You heard me, Queenie.” Pete said as he presses his hard body against her plump body, making her breath quicken. “You’re turned on. You’re turned for me, aren’t ya?” He chuckles again well he doesn’t get a response from her. “I bet you’re so fucking wet for me, my little luv.”

Riley’s fiery attitude makes its appearance for the first time in the encounter. “Probably not since you’re not anything spec-.” She gasps out suddenly cutting off her sentence due to Pete’s knee rubbing against her pussy through her panties.

“There you go again, trying to give Daddy lip.” Riley whines and bit her lip as Pete simultaneously squeezes her neck and presses his knee harder against her pussy. “I know you want this, Riley. And I’m willing to give it to you.” Pete takes hold of her jaw again this time gently to have her look at him. “But only if you’re willing to be a good little girl and listen to Daddy.” He could see the conflict in her eyes. “It wouldn’t be weakness if you do give in, Darlin’. In fact, you’d be showing strength by letting me take the reins and you know why?”

“No..”

“Because that shows me that you trust me with your pleasure, luv.” Pete runs his thumb across her bottom lip. “And that’s all I want, baby. All I want is to please you. That’s why I was so upset earlier. I wanted to beat Bobby on my own to impress you. To prove that I can be there for you. For anything, my darlin’ goddess.” Riley sighs at the news, now feeling like an asshole. She goes to apologize but Pete stops her with a soft kiss on her lips. She whimpers into the kiss and she runs her fingers through his hair as she pulls him closer. They pull away once their lungs began to burn due to lack of oxygen.

“It’s alright, luv. I’m not mad anymore. Not after I figured you out. But you still..” He pauses to kiss her lips again. “..Haven’t.” Kiss on her jawline. “Answered.” Kiss on her neck. “Daddy.” Kiss behind her ear before he sucks on her earlobe.

“Yes. Yes, Daddy. Please, Daddy.” She begged him, clawing at his shoulders.

“Mmm, good girl.” Pete restarts the elevator as it takes them to the penthouse suite in the hotel. Pete picks her legs around his waist as he kisses her lips again. He takes her off the wall of the elevator and carries her to the bedroom to place her on the bed. Pete moves his kisses down to her neck and collarbone as he undos the buttons on her shirt. Riley moans loudly as Pete bites her neck when he gets her shirt. This makes him laugh, his voice becoming deeper with lust as he admires the red lace bra that currently housed her huge breasts. He runs his hands gently over them, making the redhead moan and squirm under his touch.

“Red looks really good on you. Makes your skin glow.” Riley whimpered when he cups them, squeezing them. “But then again, knowing you, you could make anything look good.” He leans down to suck her nipples through her bra.

“Pete…” Riley whines as he gives both nipples a pinch before he sits back up. She shrieks as he rips the bra from her, her breasts bouncing at his roughness. “Peter!”

“I would apologize for that but it wouldn’t be sincere.” He laughs before he kissed her lips which were frowning since he just ruined her favorite bra. “It’s ok, luv. I’ll buy you more.” He continues to kiss down her body to her skirt. “Especially since that’s gonna be my new habit of mine.” He smirks at her shy reaction. “Does Queenie like that idea?” he smiles.

Riley nods her head, returning his smile. “Yes, I do.” She moans as Pete bites her hips by the waistline of her skirt. “Hey, what am I? A piece of candy?” She asked him as he pulls off her skirt.

“Well, you do look like caramel candy.” Pete complimented her as he kisses up her legs to her inner thighs. “A wet caramel candy at that.”

Riley throws her head back as Pete licks a strip from her opening to her clit. “Ah, fuck!” She screamed as her back arched up in pleasure when Pete sucks on her clit.

Pete growled as she bucked her hips in his face. “That’s it, luv. Ride my fucking face. Feed me that sweetness.” He smacked her ass which made her wetter and pant faster. “Fuck, you’re fucking dripping everywhere, Darlin’.” Pete then licks his fingers and puts them in her pussy. “And it’s fucking tight, too.”

Riley moans wantonly as Pete fingers her pussy faster, making her legs shake as she suddenly cums hard on his fingers. “Oh, shit Daddy! Daddy!”

“Yes, good girl! Good girl.” Pete said as he slows his pace down to clean up her juices. “Fuck, you taste so good.” he mutters as he takes off his jacket and shirt before he kisses up her body, climbing on top of her as he does. Riley runs her hands up Pete’s chest and shoulders before he takes them in his, intertwining their fingers as he pins them to the bed.

“There will be another time for you to survey the goods but right now, I just want you.” Pete said, kissing her again before he slips inside her. Riley gasps as Pete stretches her out. Pete smirks at her face. Her eyes were half-lidded and she was panting heavily.

“Daddy, move. Please, please fuck me. Fuck me hard. I want it. I want it rough.” She begged him as she wraps her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his lower back. Pete growled as he pulls out her pussy before he thrusted hard back inside, making her squeal with his rough pace. “Oh, fuck yes Daddy! Yes!”

Pete growls as he moved her legs from around his waist to his shoulders without once losing his pace. “Fuck, luv. You’re squeezing m’ cock so good. Shit! You like it? You like it when I fuck you like this? Huh? When daddy fucks you like a little slut?”

Riley giggles, loving his dirty talk. “You mean your little slut, Daddy?” She asked him which makes him smirk.

“That’s right, my beautiful slut.” he said as he puts one of his hands around her neck, squeezing it and groaning as her pussy squeezes him tighter as he does. “Bloody hell, Riley! You’re squeezing me tighter. You wanna cum for me?” Riley nods her head but it was enough to please Pete. Instead, he smacks her ass and squeezes her neck tighter. “Answer me, Queenie.”

“Y-Yes! Yes, Daddy. I wanna cum! Please let me cum!” Riley whimpered. Pete lets go of her neck and leans closer to her face.

“Look at me as you cum for me. Right now. Cum for me. Right. Now!” He commanded. Riley screamed, fighting the urge to close her eyes as she reaches her peak, drenching his dick and the bed sheets with her juices. Her intense orgasm was enough to trigger Pete’s as he fills her pussy with load after load of his seed. He kissed her as they both come down from their prospective highs. The silence was broke by Riley who speaks in a sleepy tone.

“I love you, Sourpuss.” Pete smiles at her before he kisses her again, rolling off of her.

“I love you too, Queenie.” He responds as he spoons her from behind.

“I guess we’re together then?” She playfully asks as she looks at him with a smirk.

“Looks like we’re gonna round two because apparently I didn’t hit that pussy right for you to still be awake.” She shrieks before she giggles as Pete snatches her up on top of him.

@gold--gucciempress @tacoshu @evilangel84 @nerdlife0612 @melinated-moon-goddess @wwevampireamongkpop @littledeadrottinghood @superrezzy00 @caramara3 @ladytea19 @pikapuff316 @bucky-bliss @scuzmunkie

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theabominableblogger · 6 years ago

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My Reaction to “Gotham” S5E2

In Which Harvey Continues to be the Best Goddamn Thing in This Show

I was a lucky son of a duck and managed to get this reaction while the episode was airing live on FOX last night. For episodes 3-12, I will be waiting for Hulu to receive them because of an upcoming spring semester at college. So for episodes 3-12, I will be in the dark until Friday or Saturday (so no spoilers from y’all).

Also, on TV, there are so many GOD. DAMN. COMMERCIALS.

AN: I managed to record my reactions to this episode and hopefully I can transcribe what I said into this post.

*Recaps shows the chopper* OK, so who freakin’ shot down the chopper?

Oh, Tabitha...

*We see a whole bunch of injuries on Will’s back* What the...

“They call themselves the Soothsayers.” The Sooth- what?

“They’re digging some sort of tunnel.” *gasps and reels back* It’s Jeremiah! ‘Cause he has a tunnel! Oh my God!

What’s the tunnel for?

OK, never mind then, I don’t think Jeremiah’s in charge of the Soothsayers

“The second you [Jim] step outside that door, someone’s gonna take a shot at you, and if it’s not you that’s getting hit, it’s the schmoe standing next to you.” *laughs*

*Jim hangs up on the radio* Who’s on the other end?

“Four shells each. Half a mag each.” Wow.

“Will says the Soothsayers are here, which means we have to pass through Sirens territory.” Ooh.

“She’s [Barbara] gonna be thrilled to see you [Jim] after what happened with Tabitha.” Ooooff...

Wait, so is the Dark Zone like around Gotham? At the docks or...

What?

So this is Robinson Park, OK... so this is where Ivy is.

Oh, these sets look nice. Getting some serious Arkham Knight flashbacks.

Swore I just saw someone move in the background...

*Bruce catches a guy trying to sneak up on him* Yeah.

“They came for help too!” What district are they from? Why are they British?

*jams along with opening theme*

*silently headbangs to heavy metal cover of "Ring of Fire” by Social Distortion playing in Barbara’s club*

*Everyone stops dancing when Jim arrives* Oooohhhh... ooohh hoo hoo hoooo...

“It’s a police matter.” “You know, they should really write that on your tombstone.” *laughs*

“Drive right into this nightmare you’ve created.” Actually it’s Jeremiah... kay...

“HAVE AT HIM! RIP HIM TO SHREDS!” Ooof.

*Panning shot of an absolute dark Gotham* Oh my God.

*laughs* There’s just this one random burst fire hydrant!

So is this whole episode gonna be them [Jim and Harvey] fighting their way out of the Dark Zone?

*jaw drops when someone shoots an arrow at Harvey*

“It’s a freaking arrow, Jim! IT’S A FREAKING ARROW!” *scoffs in shock*

Whooooo I remember her [the Day of the Dead lady] from the trailers!

Yeah, that’s the same... freaking tunnel

“The smoke... you [Gabriel] should take it.” No.

“It’ll give you energy-” Oh my God, is that Viper? Is that Viper from S1?

“-see the future.” What?

Or does Jeremiah shanghai this whole tunnel later this season?

“Once this tunnel is complete, we will have exclusive access to the mainlands.” Oh my God, they are going to the mainland!

God, that guy [Sykes] just spit everywhere!

Sykes? Isn’t that the bad guy from Oliver and Company?

“In Penguin’s grace, we will remain.” Ohh, that’s a good line.

“What are the cattle prods for?” “Fun.” *scoffs in hilarity*

“If he [Sykes] moves, kill him.” Oh ho! Jim’s not messin’ around!

Yeah, that’s that same tunnel that Jeremiah [and Ecco] are in in some of those pictures.

AN: Take a shot every time I mention the damn tunnel.

So is Gabriel Will’s older brother?

“Why would anyone be a cop in a world like this?” “Well, the Halloween shop was all out of gas masks so it was either this or Sexy Nurse.” *reels back in chair from laughter*

“Let take ‘im, boys.” CHEESE IT, BOYS!

*Sykes and his men try to take the kids* Oh no.

*Jim comes to the rescue* Yay.

*One of the car tires get shot* Ooohhh...

*Commercials start* OK... OK... so... what?

Wait, so is Jeremiah gonna leave for the mainland? Like “Syke, I’m gonna get out of here!”

Noo... because his mission is Bruce so I don’t think he even wants to leave Gotham. It’s the whole “I don’t wanna kill you! What would I do without you?” mantra going on.

Whaaaaaatt...

What is she [Ivy] wearing?

“You have to believe me.” “Forgive me if I find it hard to do so.” COLD.

“It wasn’t me. It was the park.” *in unison with Bruce* The park?

“The plants are my protection.” ...OK.

“Maybe we can help each other.” Bruce...

TELL HER IT’S SELINA!

“There’s a seed. It’s growing under the oaks. It’s said to have magical qualities. When digested, it goes to the damaged tissue and bone.” A seed?

Wwwhhhhaaaattt?

Ed? Hello? How are you? Where are you? Are you in the library again? Why are sleeping with your glasses on?

What is going on?

That [library] looks like Oswald’s old house [the van Dahl mansion]

Oh my God, are we gonna see Ed peeing?

EEUUGGHHH we don’t need to be seeing this...

Oh my God, there’s someone in the frickin’ [bathtub]...

“There’s nothing there.” *laughs*

Waaaaiit... what’s going on?

[Ed] You’re gonna attack him [the Street Demon] with a toilet plunger! *cackles*

“Did I uh...” *chuckles*

“We’re gonna have to do all this again? Guess so...” *scoffs*

What is that place?

“It’s not safe out there.” No dip, Jim.

“Maybe there’s still good people left in Gotham.” Mmmmmm....

Yeah, you’re [Jim and Harvey] gonna leave three kids there [in the lobby]. All alone. In a strange building. Great.

Harvey, you’re a blessing.

Yeah, you’re gonna leave the three kids there. Right. Great idea. Great idea.

These sets are fabulous.

“Hello?” Blaaggghh! Jump scare!

“GCPD.” Take a shot!

Was that a crow [in the background]?

There’s just a bunch of random folded clothes everywhere.

*Harvey finds the dinner table full of body parts* Oh my God...

Are those teeth?

*Harvey finds a plate of bloody fingers* :0

Oh my God, freaking- they’re freaking cannibals?!?

*gasps when Mother attacks Harvey*

*has to leap out of seat to cool off when commercials start*

Oh wow, I love Sweeney Todd.

*ends up coughing up a lung*

So far, again, this feels like a foundational episode. It’s just like “OK, we gotta work on this, we gotta make sure this is safe,” and yeah.

I wonder if the Jaime Murray character is gonna show up at the end of the episode or something.

AN: You may think that... but no.

I also wanna know what kind of crack these writers were on for this final season. Tze Chun had the good shit; I dunno about the others.

*gasps in disgust when Ed hits the Street Demon in the mouth with a wrench.”

“[Ed] You wanted to know where the Street Demons base was.” Why?

“Aaand you wanted to make sure the boss would be there.” Why?

“OK, how did I [Ed] seem? Was I... confident? Flamboyant? Charisma for days?” *giggles*

“Or was I conserved, kinda repressed, a little nerdy?” *laughs*

Soo... did Hugo combine the two personalities? ‘Cause the pushing up the glasses is a new thing.

*gasps when Ivy kills the men who were holding her.”

“[Bruce] You are so utterly naive.” Oh my God.

“[Selina] She is paralyzed and has lost the will to live.” “Good.” What?!?

“That bitch destroyed the last of the Lazarus Water.” ExCUSe me?!?

“Let her suffer.” Noooo...

You can tell that Peyton List [Ivy] is just wearing a whole bunch of face powder on.

“I am feeding the earth these wretched creatures. It consumes them.” She has lost her freakin’ mind.

*Ivy starts caressing Bruce’s neck* Do not prick his neck.

“Those men you killed were right. You are a witch. A murderous, callous witch.” WHOOOOOOO- oh my God...

Hoo!

“What’s your name?” “I- I can’t remember.” What?

“She found me?” “Who?” “The ghost!” The ghost?

“She makes me call her.. Mother.” *reels back and puts hands in the air* It is Mother and Orphan!

Wait, is that the kid?

*The kid stays behind* It is the kid! That’s Orphan!

Oh my God...

“The lights will make you dizzy. And then you’ll go to sleep.” Oh this is cool..

“Jim, I don’t feel so good.” Wow, I love Infinity War.

Actually no, I hated it. I was sick the first time I saw it.

*gasps when Mother sneaks up behind Jim*

They really do need to put a flashing lights warning on this.

*gasps when Mother fights off Jim and Harvey*

*Harvey tries to leave* There’s an open window! You broke a window! Go through the window!

*looking through the Gotham tag on Tumblr during commercials* Wow, someone wrote some fanfiction quick.

Oh wow, I love Ghost Adventures!

*gasps when Ed and the Street Demon find the Street Demon leader wiped out.”

[Penguin Was HERE] Really?!?

*imitates the guitar riff going off*

*Ivy leads Bruce to the seed* Oh my gosh, that’s so pretty

*Ivy gives Bruce the seed* I ain’t eatin’ that...

“One thing’s for certain... the seed will alter her [Selina] forever.” Great.

“Some say, the darker angels of our mind-” Great.

Also, yay for natural lighting finally in this show. I love it when they use natural lighting in the show. It looks so nice.

“What’s the matter, Bruce? Don’t know if you can trust me?” I don’t trust you.

“I don’t.” “Good. then you’re finally becoming a man.” Ivy, you’re like his age. shut up.

*Ivy sits in one of the low sitting trees* OK, so if the tree branches just grab her and just sink down into the ground, this will be the greatest thing.

“Detective Gordon, your hand’s bleeding.” Uhhh...

*Sykes and his men arrive* Oh my God... monster truck!

“Wait just a minute! Please...” Whoaaa... who are you?

I don’t know who that is. She [the Day of the Dead looking lady] looks cool though.

*commercials start* Who is this? Who are you?

Five bucks: Barbara comes in and saves the day even though she still hates Jim. She hates everybody. She comes in like “I’m just here for the kids, not you.”

Oh noo...

“Did you [Bruce] find the witch?” “It was Ivy.” Great! Alfred’s like “Oh bloody brilliant!”

“What choice do I have?” Bruuuce...

“I want to help Selina as much as you do but Ivy’s a maniacal, cold-hearted killer.” You met her like twice, Alfred!

But true, she is.

“So if Ivy wants to kill me, she can have at it.” Oh my God...

Who wrote this episode? I’m gonna have words.

*Bruce gives Selina the seed* Yeah, you’re gonna shove that down your throat. Great.

Is she gonna chew it?

*Selina starts chewing the seed like a gummie vitamin* OK then...

It’s the Spiderman bite except in fruit form.

*freezes when Selina starts seizing*

“God, what have I [Bruce] done?” *extremely sad face*

“I’ll tell you what! I’ll [Sykes] take his head! And you can have the rest of him!” *scoffs in shock*

*gasps when Jim shoots the Day of the Dead lady*

Is that a monster truck?!?

My sister: Is that a tank?!?

That’s a monster truck!

*both immediately at loss of words when Barbara hops down*

Wow, I love Hot Wheels!

*jaw drops when Jim uses his last bullet to kill Sykes and defend Barbara*

Wow... that just... came out of nowhere!

“Wow. Wasted your last bullet for me. Must be love.” No it is not. Barbara, how dare you say that?

*Barbara tells Jim she wants to kill Penguin.” Great. Great plan.

Wait, you’re gonna invite Barbara to the Green Zone? Yeah, great plan, Jim. Great plan!

*Jim and Co. arrive at the Green Zone* Whoa!

He [Lucius] looks fab!

Wait a minute, is this [the Green Zone] that apartment complex that got blown up in the trailer?!? Are you freaking kidding me?

They’re gonna freaking blow this place up later in the season. God dang it. Who did it and why? Who does it and why?

We stan one future police commissioner.

“See you around, killer. We have some unfinished business, you and I.” Nooo you don’t. Cool off!

Oh crap, is she [Selina] gonna be gone in the morning?!?

Oh my God, Bruce hasn’t slept in like 48 hours?!? Great.

*gasps* She’s [Selina] not there! Did she go out the window?

Did she pull a “Dark Knight Rises” and back flip out the window?

“Bruce...” Oh no.

She [Selina] looks like Michelle Pfeiffer.

“[Selina] How do you feel?” “Different.” Why are her eyes closed? Open yo eyes!

“I’m better. Even better than before in fact.” Mmmmm no!

*Bruce hugs Selina* Yay hug! We like hugs! We like some hugs! Yay!

Oh my God, she’s gonna go on a murdering spree and kill some people, isn’t she?

*Selina’s eyes* WHAAATT the frick?!? Wha-

WhaAAAAttt?!?

*gasps when Ecco pops up in the promo for next episode*

*ejects out of chair to cool off*

AN: Ecco, your man better treat you right or I’m gonna fight him AND the writers.

We’re getting WhaAAAtt??? WHaaaAAT??

Oh my God...

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