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mahiiimahiiii · 9 months ago

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A/n: Hi folks! This is from my late night writing folder- I wanted an excuse to write nobility durgetash. May I present:

Our Lady Of Debauchery...(and other things)

(Durgetash)| DUrge x Lord Enver Gortash | named durge

Our music choice:

+*+

Tyrants palace, known to the locals as a den of debauchery was filled. Carriages of all colors and sizes flocked to the grand staircase, each holding its precious cargo- nobles.

The tyrants right hand wasn't used to this.

Wynne, child of bhaal sat on a dressing room chair attended too excitable human staff attempting to style her recently washed and un-pressed hair.

As a drow, her hair had two settings- unruly and wildly beautiful curls, or silky and pin straight hair (often times recently pressed with a steel comb). She held back tears as they continued to pull her hair into an updo, lining it with pins and sweeping her bangs into waves. She looked like the ads of women she so envied as a child, whatever that was to a drow. They set curls next to her eyes spinning her around to apply makeup... It would've been simpler to using a transforming scroll at this point

Her study as she liked to call it was colored a deep green, the walls embelised with a golden flower pattern, and dark wood paneling. Instead of a bed it held a shelved nook coated in lavender sheets and pillows. A hearth and a lavish blue rug lay to the other side of the bed with a dark wood desk with matching chair, a large plus armchair sat next to the hearth and sat at her vanity, decorated with bottles of cremes and combs.

The girls whispered about the guests, a young elven magistrate with long silver hair was found out to be a bachelor, he gave lord gortash a run for his money. Orin would be making appearance was well as another famous lord from across ferun, sent an invite for the temptations he would bring. She only had one plan and one target, the next in lead for the flaming fist. The dread fours mole has been chosen, a lord named Ravenguard.

This would be the first step in their plan, it should and it must go well.

The dress fit over her shoulders and was pulled down, corset pulled taught by two other women. This was abnormal, she felt uncomfortable in all the layers. .

She had forgone the heels deciding that a nice pair of embroidered flats should suffice.

She must admit this dress was lovely, and she would be it's first tester. The sage green complemented her soft brown skin and silky silver hair, pink florals decorated the base and hems, a delicate embroidery.

Gortash had chosen this dress for her, as often the lording would prefer for the future lady gortash to be at least fashionably adept.

She would just prefer to wear a button down and loose slacks

She sighed clipping in her singular pearl earring, a heavy teardrop shape, another gift from her lover. She made the final adjustments, dusting rouge onto her nose and oiled charcoal onto her lids, her eyes darkened by the deep colors. The assassin sighed with contempt taking a final look in the mirror. She looked decent enough to perhaps pass as a noble.

Wynne cleaned her hands off, the trail of the dress lagging behind. "Is master gortash ready? Our appearance is within ten to twenty minutes."

"He's been ready ma'am, waiting for you in the parlor for a bit now"

She chuffed, lifting up the train of her gown greatly disturbed by the lack of movement. How she hated this, Enver Gortash will never hear the end of this. He was no lord to her, simply an officer of the law seeking out the greater ideal of grand design, something she sought out for purpose. It was lucky- when she suggested to her long time lover about it. It was even luckier when the szarr family had allowed her to use the Library without incident. Or it could be the blessings her father continually blessed her with as the more successful child.

And now, one little dance, one small appearance, one night of suffering- and then it will be back to pants.

"Enver? Darling? Are you ready?"

She called out.

A confirming hum sounded from down the hall, his eyes lit up when he saw her. their warm and rich depths drinking her in . His hair was slicked back, this was not a good look for him.

"You look gorgeous! My beautiful huntress..." He cupped her chin kissing the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. "You look delicious...ugh, what a shame we have an event to attend." His eyes glittered.

"I hate this." She frowned "I hate your hair that way. I hate heels, I hate dresses, I hate people, I want to go lay under my blanket and have a large glass of wine and dwarf meat pies."

"Come now, don't be a downer. Does your blade not hunger for a cull? You'll be getting a sweet bloody treat later on- I'll let you keep the flesh."

She paused, thoughtful. "I do like flesh....."

"That's the spirit darling. Come now, we should be announced soon." He shook out his hair, no longer slicked back but slightly long and unruly. She liked it that way- as wild as his dark eyes.

From the parlor the manor house changed, dark flooring to beautiful creme tile, matching creme walls and chestnut panneling. Gold, and blue accents and paintings of nymphs and sleepy goats lined the walls.

One portrait was new, a woman with brown skin, deep burgundy eyes with a sad expression, her lips held a solum pout. Her hair was silvery blue, almost ethereal- she wore a simple blue dress and held items of selune.

"My heart- is that portrait new?" she admired the details as they passed. They walked arm in arm one of his hand petting her hand attached.

"It is indeed" he rumbled "I asked for your likeness- is it to your expectations?"

"Do I always look that sad then." She tilted her head, attempting to force a smile. Her lips found it hard to mold around.

He shrugged "I suppose, perhaps that's what the artist saw in your face. Asked them to use the portrait you gave me."

"ha! My father's portrait of me hm? I do look sad in that photo, mainly because I was hungry ."

"Perhaps we shall take more photos. Maybe we will capture your beautiful smile-" he plants a gentle kiss on her lips, his stubble gently scratching against her smooth skin.

They exhaled, contented, and anticipated the rush of noise following their announcement

"Enver, I am never doing this again. "

"I don't expect you too my darling"

The doors opened up and their names were announced

*Lady Wynne, paladin of selune and Lord Gortash of Wyrmere*

She shifted, uncomfortable at the attention. "I would much rather a discreet entrance but if this is the... Tradition. I shall do it."

She waved to the eyes and turned her way a cheesed smile plastered on her face.

"Think of it as any other scenario where I ask you to blend, remember you can be out of the dress after the first dance. Then our goal is to take out the target." He hummed, one hand on her waist. "Now because we are hosting this gala we must sit at the head of the table.

"Ugh just say I'm sick for that- Ill with the plague or some shit."

"Of course my darling." He helped her down the grand staircase, wary of her footing in the dress. She managed to look like she was floating down the stairs, she had an impression to make, this was her first noble circle appearance after all

The hall was loud, filled with a symphony voices each as distinct as a snowflake. Temples and churches sent their representatives, a contented looking, tall teifling escorted you to your seats. Her smile bright and her hands warm. Karlach her name was. One of Gortash's best.

Karlach was it? Beautiful creature she was. Would be a joy to see her innards.

Unfortunately within the realms of polite company such actions or thoughts are shamed.

Wynne smiled and introduced herself to the swarming hive of chatter, hands shook, flesh on flesh. Her ears rang with sound much louder than before: string instruments.

A dance had begun a good sign to keep her eyes peeled. A slight ping from her earring sent her catching Envers eye, he nodded toward the floor, before stopped by a shorter man dressed in a brilliant green frock.

They shook hands and fondly discussed things like old friends. The tyrant waved her over a tired "hold-it-together" smile on his face.

"Here's the lady of the hour!" He hummed taking her hand "lady Wynne, this is ... Lord? Astarion"

"Please - it's just Astarion, Astarion Anuncinn. At you and the lord's service." He paused "I am.. unfamiliar with the custom of meeting drow - is there a specific greeting?"

Her ears wiggled in odd excitement, "while I find it imensly charmed that you would ask, a handshake is fine. Our culture is no different than the norm."

The magistrate paused for a second, his eyes were gentle and thoughtful. "I'm sorry I hadn't meant to offend you" curls framed his face, silvery like spider silk, or a fine Iron. His milky white face bloomed with a faint pink in his cheeks, beautiful streaks of watercolor. How he'd make a pretty corpse.

"I can assure you none was taken. Now, astarion was it? What do you do for work?"

She hadn't expected to become this social. Hadn't expected someone charming such as the magistrate. His voice sung of an un-quenchable desire for something. Knowledge? Hunger? Power? Men and their secrets.

"hm? Me?" His hand was gloved "my lady, we have been hardly introduced- and you're already prying! How naughty." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles delicately. "Charmed. would you like to go somewhere quiet to discuss then?"

"Oh no!" She hummed "I'd like to leave period."

He raised his brow, something sparkling in his eye. "why does a sweet treat like you want to leave? I'm sure you'd be the belle of the ball"

"That's the point- I do not like the attention." His hand covered hers in a comforting way, his hands were cool, a low thrumming pulse emminating from them, though not sure from whom it was.

He hummed slowly, almost quizzical. His long lashes lowered and looking through them, "then why are you here."

She had never expected a question so personal. "I suppose.. it is my duty ultimately, as is every noble. Though I do not consider myself amongst their *ilk*"

He adjusted his ruffle collar "neither do I, I appear for my father often. He's less inclined to show up to parties like this." He paused for a moment "would you like to dance? Or perhaps we can find another quiet area to experience each other's company... Completely."

She hummed rocking back on her heels. "I am unsure how these parties work. Would you be willing to teach me?"

His smile was wide, cupids lip pulled taught and ready to fire. "I would quite like too."

*Don't get too carried away love. Remember to have a job to do*

He held out his hand, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. Wynne gingerly set her hand in his.

A string quartet played a slow and alluring rhythm as he spun her about. Careful and mindful of her feet- soft padded heels clicking against the floor

Perhaps this was the last time in her life she would have fun. Perhaps she should savor it.

Who knew.

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og-danny-dorito · 2 years ago

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[ DANNY'S TUTORIALS: BOTTLECAP PIN ]

Hi there!! I'm gonna teach you how to make a bottlecap pin since I've gotten a lot of questions about where I got mine from baby punks and others who just find them cool! I've found that a lot of people buy their pins online from companies that overprice and over-process their designs, and often times steal them from smaller businesses. Punk has been gentrified over the years, so this tutorial acts as a way to reconnect to the roots of DIY fashion made by people with limited resources and time. This is a great way to show your interests, pride in your community, and pretty much anything else you want even if you don't have a penchant for traditional art. Don't worry about it looking good, just try to have fun! At the end of the day, the shittier the job, the more punk it is.

[ Step Count : 6 ]

Here's what you're gonna need! (optional materials have a star next to them instead of a regular point):

-> hot glue gun (in replacement of pliers)

-> safety pin

-> bottlecap (unbent, preferably a twist off)

-> can tab

✮ pencil/pen

✮ sandpaper

✮ paint & paintbrush/posca pens

✮ regular Elmer's glue

STEP 1:

Gather your all of your materials and place them on your workspace. I'm going to paint mine, so I got the sandpaper, paintbrush, and paints as extra materials.

STEP 2:

If you're not going to paint yours, go ahead and skip to step 3. Otherwise, get your sandpaper and your bottlecap, then sand down the surface (A). Paint your base, draw a design with the pencil/pen, and fill it in with your paints/posca pens (B)! After I'm done painting I'll usually seal it in regular Elmer's glue to make sure it doesn't get messed up anytime soon (C). I chose a little green skull since the person I'm gifting this too likes and spooky stuff and green is their favorite color :]

[ Also sorry for the change of scenery, I had to finish at the library cause I was studying. Visiting, donating, and helping your local library is Punk As Fuck. ]

STEP 3:

What you're going to do now is set your bottlecap aside, and take out your can tab. I have joint problems and I can't use pliers, so I bend it over the edge of a table by holding it half over the edge and pushing down to bend the metal. But try not to bend it too much so your safety pin stays in place!

STEP 4:

Okay, here comes the tricky part. Like I said, I have joint issues, so I can't use pliers because they hurt my hands. Instead I'm going to set aside my now bent can tab and bring back my bottle cap, then flip it over. Place 2 hefty drops of hot glue on the bottom and top of the pin, then get your safety pin and open it so you can place it on the back horizontally.

STEP 5:

Now, place your bent can tab on the back of the pin and over the open safety pin, pressing it into the hot glue drops and letting it dry for a little bit (A). If you like, you can also put two more drops of hot glue on the tops of the bent can tab for extra security (B). I also put some hot glue in the middle of the tab's opening for extra security on the safety pin. Please pardon the absolute dogshit photo quality it wasn't cooperating for some reason LMAO

STEP 6 [FINAL]:

Wait for it to dry, then you're all done!! Your very own bottlecap pin. You can attach this to bags, jackets, shirts, pants, and pretty much any material that a safety pin can glide through.

Here's the finished product, as presented by my friend D at the library (everybody say thank you D for modeling)!!

[ -> Next (coming soon:]) ]

#punk #diy punk #bottle cap pin #diy tutorial #punk rock #bottlecap #bottle caps #punk tutorial #diy #diy jewelry #diy accessories #danny's tutorials

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narcissisticmf · 3 years ago

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bedroom antics | dean winchester x fem!reader

description: when first moving into the bunker, dean shows y/n his room and things get frisky.

trigger warnings: sexual content, oral sex, slight dom!reader, foul language, seductive behavior, cheeky dean, etc. please do not proceed in reading if you are under the age of 18.

word count: 2.2k

Rubbing your eyes with your fingertips, you released a subtle groan as your laptop was propped open to a few local current event articles that were a nexus of paranormal energy. You slowly pulled your hands away from your eyes and felt your vision blur for a moment before clearing when you blinked a few times.

Sam sat across from you as he was flipped through an old book of Greek lore. His chapped lips pressed together as he skimmed the pages with his light colored eyes.

"Y/N/N?" Dean's voice echoed throughout the bunker's library as he appeared at the doorway with a wide smile on his face.

"Yeah?" You turned to look at him, peeling your gaze from the computer. Sam looked at his brother with a cocked brow.

"You said I could show you my room later, which was earlier.. which makes later now, so do you want to come see?" Dean's smile grew wider as you chuckled lightly, bringing your lips into a smile. Sam scoffed with a smirk upon his face.

"Alright, eager beaver," You giggled under your breath and pushed yourself out of your chair and closed your laptop. "I could use a break anyway," You smiled and walked towards Dean as he smiled widely.

Walking down the hall with Dean, you hadn't realized how large the Men of Letters bunker was. The halls were filled with twists and turns with doors here and there at every corner. You had to make a mental map of the place for yourself due to your fear of getting lost.

Dean turned one more corner as you followed him, standing before his bedroom door. You smiled softly as he opened it and gestured for you to enter first.

"Eh? Isn't it nice?" Dean wiggled his brows as you walked in with an impressed smile.

"Yeah, I love the set up," You smiled and watched as he walked around you to take a seat against the edge of his bed. You took note of the pictures on his desk and wall. You grinned at the photos he had of you, his mother and Sam.

"It's memory foam, sweetheart," Dean grinned in reference to the mattress against his bed, covered by duvets and sheets. You turned to look at him with your arms crossed over your chest. "It remembers me," He smiled cheekily and leaned back against it.

"Oh yeah?" You cocked a brow, "Well let's see if it remembers this." You slowly let your hands rest at your sides and walked towards him as he looked up at you with pursed lips and widening eyes. You smiled and straddled his waist and you pressed your hands to his chest, pushing him back against the bed.

He released a nervous laugh as you gripped his wrists, pinning them at his sides as you dipped your head down to kiss his lips warmly. Your glossy lips collided with his effortlessly while both of you fluttered your eyes closed to take in the wondrous moment. You felt his chest rise and fall at a rapid pace, making you take note to his nervousness.

Your hips bucked against his as you deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth. The two of you battled for dominance for a while before you pulled back and cupped his face, releasing his wrists from your hold.

"Yeah.. I think it'll remember that," Dean released a shaky breath as he smiled up to you. You giggled and slowly peeled off of him, watching as he leaned up having his elbows keep him elevated.

Slowly, you walked towards the bedroom door and latched it shut. You flicked the lock and walked back towards Dean, his eyes followed your every move. You stood before him, your knees pressed against his as he swallowed thickly up to you. You noticed the bulge in his jeans, between his legs grow.

"I love the effect I have on you," You smiled with pride and gently let your fingers trace over his right thigh.

Dean swallowed and nodded, "Me too."

"Will you let me play with you?" You blinked innocently as a smirk arose upon your face gently pushing Dean back against the bed. He parted his lips and watched as you climbed atop him, having your legs straddle around his waist.

His hands gently gripped your thighs, giving them a subtle squeeze. You smiled and leaned down to kiss him hungrily. Your wet lips glided amongs his with ease and fluidity. Slowly, you took your hands and gripped his wrists, pinning them to the sides of his head.

"God, sweetheart.." Dean mumbled when you pulled your lips back, smiling down at him. You gnawed on the inside of your bottom lip as you swiftly bucked your hips against his. He leaned his head back and groaned softly, clenching his teeth in hopes that it would muffle the sinful noises. His length grew harder against you by the minute.

You enjoyed seeing him unravel and submit to your actions. Your eyes glistened with pride as you continued moving your hips. Subconsciously, your grip amongst his wrists softened as you felt your arousal form between your folds. You released a shaky breath and continued your motions.

"Getting worked up, huh, sweetheart?" Dean smirked and pulled his wrists away from your hands, flipping the two of you over so that he'd be on top of you this time. Your neck was against the pillows as you took in a sharp breath at the sudden movement. "Being a tease gets you nowhere," He whispered gravely and softly traced the exposed skin against your arm.

"It got me here," You countered and gripped his chin, pulling his head down to collide your lips together warmly. His lips were sweet, as though he applied chapstick to them prior to showing you his bedroom. You draped your arms around his shoulders and slid your tongue into his mouth. You released a soft whine when his glided against the tip of yourself.

"Dean.." You whimpered against his lips.

"What?" He pulled back and cupped your face with one hand, using the pad of his thumb to graze over your bottom lip.

"I need you," You released in a soft whisper.

"I bet you do, sweetheart," He smirked, making your face flush with heat.

You giggled nervously as he began to remove his jeans and flannel. He kicked off his boots and unbuckled his belt, tossing every article of clothing he wore to the ground of his room. You smiled when you noticed his length had hardened, a tint of red shaded over it. You looked up to meet his eyes as he smirked at you.

He sat back on his knees and let his hands run up and down your legs, feeling the rough material of your jeans. Dean stopped when he reached the button of them and looked at you with questioning eyes.

"Go ahead," You smiled and arched your back to get more comfortable as he grinned and undid them, peeling them off your legs swiftly. He tossed them back over his shoulder and leaned up to reach for the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms as he pulled it off over your head, also throwing that onto the ground of the growing pile.

You released an pathetic whine when he slowly pulled your undergarments off, beginning with your underwear. You smiled when he tossed them to the ground and leaned up to remove the bra you had on. You leaned up off the pillows so that he could do so more easily. Once you were both completely undraped, you smiled and cupped his face. The stubble along his jaw and cheeks felt oddly comfortable against your hands and fingers.

You pressed your lips against his with hunger as the two of you laid down, heat built between the two of you quickly. You raised your thigh to wrap around his waist as his hand gripped it, giving it a firm squeeze. You leaned your head back, parting from his lips and released soft moans breathlessly. He let his kiss trail down to your jawline and neck, getting lost in the sweet and savory taste of your skin.

"Dean.." You stuttered out, "Do you have anything in here?" You gently ran your fingers through his hair as he pulled his head up to look down at you.

He nodded with a grin and reached over to his bedside table, rummaging through the first door to grab the box of condoms. He pulled out out and used his teeth to tear the plastic off. You watched him intently and he pulled out the rubber, effortlessly sliding it onto his painfully hardened length.

"Wanna taste you first," Dean mumbled and kissed you passionately as you fluttered your eyes closed, cupping his face. You sucked in a breath when he pulled back and let his wet lips travel down your neck, to the center of your breasts. You whined when he stopped to let his tongue toy with your hard nipples. You gently spread your legs and let your hands entangle in the bed sheets, tugging at them softly.

You arched your back as he ran his lips down your stomach, kissing around your navel and moving to your hips. You reached down to run your fingers through his short hair, attempting to hold that the moans of pleasure. He hummed contently and rested against his stomach between your legs.

The stubble against his cheeks grazed against your inner thighs, making you whimper softly, curling your toes in response.

"I know, sweetheart.." Dean cooed, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His breath fanned against your folds, which were slick with your arousal. It didn't take long for him to attach his lips to them, flicking his tongue up and down. You clenched your teeth and released a muffled moan, feeling your entire body coat with goosebumps. Dean moaned against your center, the flavors danced against his mouth.

He squeezed your thighs and pulled his head back, using his tongue to trace the letter of his first name against your folds.

"Oh God.." You breathed out shakily and leaned your head up to see Dean already staring at you with his piercing evergreen eyes. You rested your head back and whined pathetically, needing to feel him within you more than anything.

"Dean, I can't wait any longer," You huffed through a string of moans that escaped your lips.

"Always so impatient," Dean tsked and slowly pulled himself up to hover over you. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and brushed your nose against his when he slowly took the tip of his length and grazed it against your folds.

"Mm.. Dean," You moaned through your shaky breaths and suck your lips against his broad shoulder to muffle more moans that would soon escape. He slipped himself through your center and felt your teeth bite down against his skin to muffle your moans of pleasure.

"God, sweetheart," Dean grunted and slowly bucked his hips into you. You pulled your head back and moaned softly, trying to remain as quiet as possible. His forehead pressed against yours as he moved his length against your walls.

"It feels amazing," You whimpered and gripped his biceps, leaning up to press your lips against his.

"You always feel so good, sweetheart," Dean grunted and moved deeper inside you, the tip of his length protruded against your lower stomach. You whined louder than you hoped which caused Dean to press his lips to yours, as a way to silence you.

There was something so intimate and exhilarating about needing to be silent due to Sam potentially hearing. The flavor of yourself lingered against his lips as he kissed you roughly. You felt his length graze against your most sensitive spot, causing an overwhelming sensation to bubble within your stomach.

"Dean.. oh God," You released in a moan, "Right there. I won't last much longer."

"Me either, sweetheart," He grunted and continued bucking his hips into yours, causing your stomach to unravel. You arched your back and squeezeed your eyes shut as you whispered his name over and over again.

Your orgasm unraveled from your stomach to your center, making you curl your toes and squeeze your eyes shut. Soon after, Dean spilled his release into the condom, groaning as he buried his face into your neck. You attempted to catch up with your breath as you hugged him around his shoulders.

He grinned tiredly and pulled out of you slowly, removing the filled condom and tossing it into his trash can. You smiled up at him and pulled him down, snaking your arms around his torso.

You peppered kisses all over his neck and chest, feeling such an immense amount of warmth within your stomach. He smiled and laid beside you with his arms wrapped around your body.

Dean sighed happily and kissed your forehead, "I love having my own room."

a/n: am i the only one who thinks dean would be a total dork in the bedroom? i feel like sex with him would be really fun and also really hot. just me?? yeah? okay. ANYWAY!! i hope you guys liked this smutty piece of shit, you dirty dirty cuties. thank you for reading and for always being so supportive of my work! love you all very much. — angelina.

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thesmokingguns · 2 years ago

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Peach and the Prarie dress

Minors DNI 18+

WARNING: ⚠️ CNC sex, breast play, blood, breeding kink, rough sex, choking, blindfolding, humiliation, and age gap

Nikki was looking everywhere for Peach. She had vanished from the dining room table this morning in a mess of theatrics. The pout on her face, the stomp of her bare feet, the tears that had slipped out as she rushed away from him. He should have gone for her sooner but he was frustrated that she couldn’t understand he needed to be alone to finish the book.

As much as he loved having Peach around she wasn’t the best about giving him space. The way she would lay her head on his lap looking up at him with those sultry eyes. Nikki couldn’t resist her and she knew her pull over him.

But now that he put his foot down and his sweet Peach had vanished Nikki was feeling guilty about using the two letter word on her.

Peach had heard No too much in her life and Nikki didn’t want her to have to hear it anymore. Did this lead to her being a spoiled brat prone to embarrassing temper tantrums? Yes. Did this make Nikki’s doctors put him on high blood pressure medicine? Yes. Was it worth it? He was still deciding that but he was pretty sure it was a yes.

She had vanished from the house and as Nikki grew increasingly worried about finding a note where she ran away he headed outside, his notebook and pen in his hand as he looked across the vast landscape for any sight of his Peach blossom.

Sure enough a bare foot kicked out from behind a tree. He sighed in relief that she hadn’t high tailed it out of Wyoming, something she had never done but as her brattiness increased Nikki worried so would her ability to try to kill him from stress.

He edged closer, trying to stay quiet as he watched his girl. She was in what he referred to as her Little House dresses, serving him Laura Ingalls couture with her floral dresses. A reference that she scowled at him for and called him Humbert for saying something like that.

Nikki could start fights but Peach was a master at finishing them.

She was laying on her stomach, her dress unlaced in the front to allow the soft breeze to give her a bit of relief, the layers of floral calico pulled up high so her legs swung freely. One hand holding up her chin, the other holding a book from their local library where Nikki had teasingly got her a card with just a peach on it.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she had no idea that he was there and the idea of surprising her suddenly turned Nikki on.

He was licking his lips, setting down his notebook and pen as he tried to figure out his plan of attack. She looked so peaceful and he didn’t want to hurt her but Peach had blushingly admited to having a slight CNC kink that he could fulfill for her now.

Maybe it was Peach’s turn to have a heart attack for once.

She screamed as she was pinned down on her blanket, the book on her hand crushing and a page ripping out as her dress was thrown over her head distorting her vision.

Peach tried to push herself up but the person was pressing against her as she clawed at the grass screaming for Nikki.

He court smell her fear and the fact she was calling his name out made Nikki more excited. He pressed his cock inside of her as Peach distorted for a second before freezing, the scream was dead in her throat and tears flowed freely now as her fear filled her.

Nikki felt the way she went limp, the horror overtaking her and pressed against her again, his cock in her slickness as he pressed against her.

“That’s my good girl.” he purred, “Not fighting me and just letting me take you on our front lawn.” Peach could hear the words but was in such a fright that she couldn’t quite recognize who it was from.

Her mind was thinking of Nikki in the house, Nikki in his chair writing and how he’d come for her after.

The man was fucking her rithlessly, holding her arms on her back as he fucked her so hard her thighs hurt from his thrusts, not caring that he was going so deep that her cervix ached and she already knew that he had torn her from not prepping her.

Peach also had a moment of horror as she thought of her birth control on the counter that she usually took with breakfast, left there because she had thrown a tantrum and stormed out of the house.

The idea of this man coming inside her made her start to fight back, wiggling and getting a hand free. She was going to pull her hand down when she saw a hand come down, covered in tattoos and she blinked, wondering if she was imagining this or if it really was Nikki fucking her.

“I like when you think you’re strong enough to fight.” The voice was familiar and peach let the relief wash over her as she realized this was Nikki fucking her, seeming to finally take action for her fantasy she had shared with him.

“Please, stop, you’re hurting me.” She tried to wiggle, hearing Nikki smirk, the wet sound of her body now making him sure she knew it was him.

“Not a chance. I’m not stopping until I cum in this pretty little pussy. And don’t think I don’t know you missed your birth control pill this morning. You want to play roulette, you can scoop out my cum with your fingers after.” Peach wished Nikki degrading her and talking dirty to her didn't turn her on so much but that was enough for her.

Nikki pushing apart her ass cheeks, pulling the skin taunt as he fucked her and made her body ache in new ways made her feel vulnerable. Still unable to see and not having control over her pleasure was driving her crazy.

A hand slipped from holding her down moving to her neck and lifting her off the ground. Nikki’s hand was too tight against her throat and she gagged at the inability to breathe, reaching to pull his fingers off but Nikki gave her another squeeze letting her know she wasn’t in control.

His hand slid from where she had expected it to you with her asshole to pull her breasts fee from the tip of the dress, fingers pinching so hard she yelped in pain as he twisted and pulled at her tender breasts, fingers sliding from around her neck so tightly and using his hand to slap at her breasts as Peach cried in pain.

She was sore and used and so close to cuming.

Nikki could tell she was enjoying it, could feel the slather of her juices on his cock, the way her sore nipples were tight and taut begging him for more. Even the small push back peach was doing.

“I’m going to fill that sweet pussy, Peach.” He warned, not carving if he came first. He knew the feeling of his cum filling her, the splurts of hot cum as his cock twitched inside her would drive her over the edge.

Sure enough as he emptied himself inside of her she was squeezing around him, crying out his name as she shook and shivered before Nikki let her fall forward.

Peach was laying on her belly, Nikki’s cum mixed with hers and a pink stream of blood rolling down her sweaty thighs. He wiped his cock on her, getting up as he heard the soft sobs Peach was making, her face still covered by the dress.

Turning, Nikki left her alone, rushing to the house for plan B and to set a bath for his girl. He had wanted to give her the full experience big he hoped that he hadn’t gone to hard.

Taglist: @ayablackwood @rocknrollsoul76 @greeneyezblackheart @lady-jane3 @rocketgrrrl27 @slutforstradlin @theoutsiders25 @fispapercrafter @bbyamberx @brezeblog @samanthasgone @aggressive-slytherin @clover270 @grayxiu @another-obsessed-with-duff @badfvith @bia003 @queenbae18 @axl-roses-rose @d-ahliaa@beebemarie @guns-n-roses-gal @themoonbelongstome @pinksweetgirl18 @cemmia @bieberhoodforever

#peach and nikki #nikki sixx fic #nikki six fanfic #nikki sixx smut #Nikki and peach

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wkemeup · 4 years ago

Text

Sunrise (7)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.8k warnings: ✨kissin✨ 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“I can't believe this happened,” Natasha groaned, sinking further into her couch cushions as if it could swallow her whole. She held a bottle of cheap vodka in her right hand, her left digging through a bag of sour cream and onion chips. Her red hair was untamed for the first time since you’d known her with strands sticking out at the sides and pieces falling out of her braid. She took another swig from the bottle.

“Maybe it’s not that bad?” you offered, though the slight alteration of your pitch gave way to your doubt.

Natasha had been hired through her new security firm to work the art rooms at MOMA. You’d walked her through the hiring process and sat through hours' worth of practice interviews and resume building and anxiously bouncing your knee as you both huddled around the library computer and waited for the email to come through confirming her hire.

She’d worked so hard for this job. She’d held it for almost six months without incident.

Nat deadpanned as she wiped the excess droplet of vodka from her lips with the wrist of her sweatshirt. “I tackled a civilian, Y/n.”

“You said he was acting suspicious! Isn’t that enough of a defense?” you tried, betrayed again by your tone. You winced.

“He was staring at me with those beady little eyes of his,” Nat grumbled, shoving a few more chips in her mouth, continuing before she had a chance to swallow. “He kept looking over his shoulder toward me like he was checking the surveillance of the exhibit, like he might be staging a robbery in his head or coming up with methods to blow it all to shit.”

She huffed the hair from her eyes, only for it to fall down exactly back into place at the center of her forehead. “Turns out the only plotting he was doing was to get my phone number. Didn’t know that, of course, until I’d had him pinned to the ground and his hands behind his back.”

You sighed. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for veterans like Natasha to struggle in maintaining steady employment. Adjusting to civilian life never came easy. It was why so many soldiers chose to reenlist again and again. Even after years of PTSD and the fractured relationships their distance left behind, they boarded that plane. You’d witnessed it firsthand.

“They fired me,” Nat admitted, sinking further into the couch.

She was one at the VA the others feared. With her strong features and deep voice, intimidating glare and the aura of a woman twice her size, no one took to her be anything but the stone-cold persona she amplified. You were one of the few she let her guard down around long enough to see the fragile, loving person underneath.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” you told her. You reached for her hand, squeezing it in your own.

She shrugged. “It’s fine. Move on to the next one, right?”

You nodded. Keep moving forward. It was the most she could do.

“But enough about me,” she huffed, rolling her eyes. “What’s going on with you and the broody amputee?”

“Nat!” You swatted her hard on the arm.

She was unbothered, shoving another handful of chips into her mouth. “Don’t pretend like it's not completely obvious how much the two of you are into each other. Every time I look up to take a sip of coffee at book club, one of you is making heart eyes at the other. Spill.”

You didn’t know where to begin. It felt like you’d known Bucky your whole life. But you started with the moment Sam introduced you at the VA. You told her about the moments at the library and how eagerly he read through every book you placed in his hand. You told her about the coffee trips to Luciana’s and the extra time he spent helping you set up for book club and cleaning up when it ended. You told her about the walks in the park and surprise visits at the library.

There were a few moments you left out, like Bucky’s panic attack on the crowded streets and the flashback episode the fireworks created, but you told her about the good parts. The holding hands. The comfort you felt when he walked into the room. The kiss you’d shared just a few hours earlier.

“Shit, we’re talking about James Barnes, right?” Natasha laughed as you told her he’d been the one to press forward to kiss you first. “Sam used to talk about him all the time before he started showing his face around the VA. I’d gotten the impression that he was barely keeping it together after what happened over there, like he was a ghost or something. Sounds like he’s got some game back though.”

You nodded, a laugh on your lips though it felt a little drained. You thought of the picture on Sam’s desk and the vibrance in Bucky’s smile with his arms thrown over the shoulders of his closest friends. You thought of the version of the man Natasha described, the same one Sam referenced in the library the day before when he thanked you for helping Bucky find himself again.

Curiosity crept it. It was more than that, though. You wanted to understand how a man so full of life and charm and energy could be wiped clean so quickly. You wanted to know, not for your own selfish indulgences, but so you could better understand the man you were falling for. A man who lost himself for so long and was only now starting to pick up the pieces again.

“Do you know what happened to him?” you asked, a bitter taste of shame lingering in your mouth.

“I don’t.” Natasha shook her head and you sighed, nodding. You resigned to let the inquiry go entirely – it wasn’t something you’d ever ask Bucky about directly, but then Natasha cleared her throat. “I do know he came home with a Bronze Star, though. Sam said he won't even look at it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A what?”

“A Bronze Star. It’s awarded for exceptional bravery in combat,” Natasha explained. “My guess is it’s got something to do with how he lost his arm.”

You suspected as much. He carried himself with such distain, as if he couldn’t stand the body he was in. You’d felt the sharp cringe in his back whenever your hand drew too close to his left side, how he’d often stare at you in disbelief whenever you so willingly reached out to touch him. He’d never once removed his jacket in front of you and sometimes you wondered if he made careful avoidance of the mirrors in his own home, too.

***

The first time you saw Bucky again, you’d kissed him on the sidewalk. Rushed up to him as you skipped steps descending outside the doors of the Brooklyn Library, hands pressed firmly to the sides of his face, and just... kissed him.

It startled him at first, enough for his arm to hold out at his side, frozen, for just a second too long before it settled on your spine. Your fingers gently traced along the stubble on his cheeks, smiling bright against his lips, and he’d kissed you back as tourists and locals filtered through the busy walkway as if they were little more than a blur around you.

It became routine, it seemed, for Bucky to be waiting at the steps of the library for you. He didn’t shy away when you raced towards him, didn’t flinch when you reached for his hand, didn’t hold his breath so tight he could hardly focus.

Instead, he was full of laughter. He made jokes that would put Sam’s cheesy one-liners to shame. He walked with you on empty residential side streets even when his anxiety had started to ease only so could take his time with you, dragging his feet along the pavement to stay by your side as long as possible. It was what he told you, anyway, and your heart just about leapt from your chest.

You began to see glimpses of the man in the framed picture upon Sam’s desk. Outgoing. Flirtatious. Charming.

Sam noticed the difference almost instantly. The way his eyes flickered over to the two of you, narrowed upon the absence of space between you both as you leaned against Bucky on the couch, books nestled in your hands. Sam had been standing in the doorway to book club, peering in through the window, when you noticed him staring. His smile grew wide upon his face, a very unsubtle and enthusiastic thumbs-up followed, and you waved him off before Bucky noticed he was there.

No one in book club asked questions when after another meeting, you’d taken to resting your head on Bucky’s lap as you read, his own book settling on your shoulder. Tony peered over the top of his binding a few times with a curious stare the time Bucky had finished his book early and spend the remainder of the time reading yours over your shoulder, his finger drawing patterns on the top of your thigh, a kiss pressed to your shoulder here and there. Natasha smirked from her seat on the floor.

It happened so quickly, how easily you’d fallen for him.

Always in the smallest moments, in the sweetness of his smile, in the way he glanced over at you every so often as if he were checking to make sure you were still there. He opened up pieces of himself to you, set them gently into your hands and waited to see whether you’d keep them safe or throw them to the fire. It was agonizing for him – the vulnerability of trust – but you’d hoped that by protecting the pieces he showed you, he’d feel safe enough to give you more. You wanted it all. You wanted all of him.

Sam insisted he’d never seen Bucky smile as much as he has been since he met you, including in the time before the war. It surprised you at first, until you remembered the photo on Sam’s desk. It was the same smile Bucky flashed you just moments before when he swiped a bite from your donut while you were talking to Tony. Teasing. Lighthearted. The weight of mere feathers on his back.

“Y/n? You alright?”

Bucky’s voice drew your attention away from the tourists wandering around the park, taking photographs of the ducks at the edge of the pond and the old oak trees with leaves of fallen red and orange at their roots, the open branches giving way to a view of the Manhattan skyline.

You blinked a few times, turning to Bucky as he sat on your left, his brows furrowed in concern. You must have been quiet for too long, which was unusual for you, so you pushed out a smile for him, a slight squeeze in his hand.

“Just thinking,” you told him.

“What about?”

You pulled his hand into your lap, tracing over the lines in his palm absentmindedly. A distant pulse of his heartbeat could be felt in the tips of his fingers.

“You.”

He smiled at that, the corners of his mouth curving high up into his cheeks. A twinge of pink rested on the tips of his ears. He chuckled in an effort to hide his nervousness, though it lingered into his voice. “Me? I’m sitting right here.”

“What? I can’t think about you?” you teased, bringing his hand up to your lips as you pressed a kiss to his knuckles. He watched you with the kind of awe that left him speechless for a moment. It was your favorite look on him; how his lips parted ever so slightly, the blue of his eyes shading into something softer, the muscles in his face slacking.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess that’s okay.”

“Good,” you smirked, setting in against his side. You rested your head on his shoulder, playing with his hand in your lap as you watched two little boys chasing the ducks around the pond, flapping their arms and trying to encourage the ducks to fly.

You’d been sitting on the old, wooden bench under the tallest oak tree for nearly two hours when you glanced up to find a series of dark clouds rolling in and obstructing the cast of red and oranges filtering along the horizon. They hung heavy and ominous as a shadow lingered over the park.

“Hey Bucky?” you started, sitting up straight as you gestured to the clouds. He had a sort of sleepy look in his eyes like he could have been content to sit there with you all night long. “We should probably get out of here before—”

You felt the first raindrop on your cheek. Wiping it away, you looked up into the sky just in time as sheets of rain poured out from the clouds. You gasped, grabbing a firm hold of Bucky’s hand and yanking him up to his feet.

“Come on!” you yelled over the rush of rain as it slammed onto the cobblestones in the park and shook the trees. Bursting into laughter, you threw the hood of your jacket up over your head in a half-ditched effort to stay dry. Bucky’s hand secure in your own, you took off running, only for his laughter to follow you as he chased you down the streets.

Rain drenched into your hair and ran in droplets down your spine, clothes soaked through to the bone by the time you realized where you were running. Luciana’s was just around the corner, calling to you like trumpets at the golden gates. Hot chocolate nestled between your palms, the warm hum of the radiator, nibbling on leftover pastries from the day. Truly, Heaven.

By the time you reached Luciana’s, you’d nearly slammed into the door trying to get inside. The canopy was incredibly small, no bigger than space for a single person, but you reached out and gripped Bucky by the lapel of his jacket and tugged him beside you to pull him from the rain. You could feel the heat of his breath through his labored pants, the small puffs of warm air pressing out into the cold, and you laughed nervously at how close you were standing.

“Her daughter has a dance recital tonight,” Bucky read from the sign posted on the inside of the door. “It’s closed.”

Sure enough, as you looked inside, the lights were out, chairs flipped upside down and resting on the tops of the tables. Rain poured against the windows, the mist of it still catching your spine and you pressed up closer to Bucky, nearly against his chest. You tried to control how fast your heart was beating, but you were almost certain he could feel it.

“Okay, let me think,” you said, more so to yourself, as you looked out into the streets. They were empty, save for a few cars going about ten under the speed limit and a few teenagers sprinting by in backpacks and school uniforms. Your apartment wasn’t too far from here...

“Follow me!” you shouted over the rainfall, grabbing a hold of his hand.

***

Bucky didn’t have much time to ask questions, because your hand was in his again and suddenly you were dragging him back out into the streets. You took him down the block, through a few back streets, and along a series of brownstones with fallen leaves littering the streets and the high arch of tree branches shading the sidewalk in small relief from the rain.

You skipped up a few stairs, shouldering open the door and pushed Bucky inside. He waiting in the small doorway as you dug through your bag for a pair of keys, wiping a line of rain from your forehead. You exhaled in relief as the door unlatched and you reached for Bucky’s hand again, guiding him inside.

One floor up and the first door on the left, you stepped inside of your apartment and quickly began rushing around to rid yourself of your jacket and the soaking wet shoes on your feet. Bucky stood planted on the doormat, the door closing slowly behind him.

Rain tapped against the outside windows, a dark cloud of grey hanging in the sky and casting a shadow into your living room. A single lamp illuminated the space in a soft yellow tone, touching over dozens of blankets hanging over the couch and bundled up in a basket on the floor, books piled high on the coffee table, newspapers with highlighter marks folded neatly on the kitchen table, and a few cardigans draped over the chairs.

“Can I make you coffee? Tea?” you asked from the kitchen as you wrung out your hair in the sink, shaking off the excess droplets from your hands. Bucky glanced down at the floor, realizing he was carrying water through the hardwoods in your apartment. He winced, quickly making his way back to the doormat.

“I’m alright, thanks,” he said, keeping himself as small as he could on the mat.

“Take your shoes off,” you instructed, pointing to the series of boots lined up by the door. “I’ll go find you some dry clothes.”

With that, you disappeared into your bedroom.

Bucky stepped out of his shoes, wandering further inside. He’d been too out of it the last time he was inside your apartment, too unfocused with one foot across the ocean to really look around.

He found himself drawn to the hallway leading up to your bedroom, with pictures hanging along the wall in old, wooden frames. Some from what looked to be your childhood, with softer features upon your face and dressed in overalls and bright pink sneakers. Then, a few from high school with your arms hung around the shoulders of your friends, mid-laugh. But there was one in particular that caught his attention.

At the very end of the line, hung a photograph of you standing in front of a couple who looked to be your parents. You seemed to be a few years younger, judging by the cut of your hair and the softness in your features. On your left was a man dressed in an air force uniform, hands clasped behind his back. You were standing on an airbase, smiling, but your eyes were red, reflective. Like you’d been saying goodbye and were desperately pretending otherwise.

“This was all I could find,” you said, emerging back from the bedroom with t-shirt and sweatpants in hand. They were too large for you, men’s sizes, and Bucky felt his heart clench as he saw the faded air force logo on top corner of the shirt. He wondered if it belonged to the man in the photo.

“Thank you,” he nodded as you placed them on the counter.

You were wringing out your hair with a towel when he realized you’d changed, too. The dampness on your skin clung to the fresh cotton of your t-shirt, pulling it tight against your chest. He exhaled a tense breath.

"God, look at you,” you laughed, a hand reaching up to touch the tips of his hair as they dripped excess water down onto his shoulders. You pushed it to rest behind his ear, brushing the lingering rain from his cheeks. “It’s unfair, you know?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, confused. “What is?”

“That you look this handsome soaking wet.”

His instinct was to laugh, but the way you were looking at him made his breaths a little shallow, his stomach twisting into knots. You weren’t teasing as you said it, no lingering joke in its wake. He swallowed.

“I... uh... what? No.” He tried to brush it off, but your hands had slid along his waist behind the hem of his jacket and it stopped him dead in his tracks.

He held his breath as you flattened your palms against his stomach, running your fingers over what once had been hardened muscle before he let himself fall into darkness that took over his life for months. Now, his body favored something softer. You didn’t seem to mind though as you bit down on the fullest part of your lip, hands sliding around to his spine.

“Let me take this off? Please?” you asked, voice low, with the kind of inflections laced within your tone that made Bucky shift uncomfortably in his stance. Your hands slipped up along his chest, lingering by his shoulders and you gripped onto the lapel. It was soaking wet.

“You must be freezing,” you tried again, a little lighter this time, offering him a sweet smile. You must have noticed his apprehension because you softened a bit, letting your hands rest against his cheeks as you drew his attention to you. “It’s alright, Bucky. It’s just me.”

He searched your eyes as you gazed up at him and though he tried, he found no reason to turn you away. His heart was pounding in his chest, his right hand shaking a bit, but then, you leaned forward and captured his lips against your own, and suddenly, he was at ease again.

You kissed him and his right hand found its way to rest against your lower back, pressed flat against your spine; it clenched into the fabric, seeking more, and his fingertips brushed over a sliver of bare skin. He felt your hands slid down along his neck, to his collar, until they slipped under the fabric of his jacket against, resting on his shoulders. You were waiting for his permission.

Then, as you pulled away from his lips for only a second, he nodded. Your lips returned to his almost instantly, and he wondered if maybe you were trying to distract him, or help to ease him as the fabric draped down off his shoulders. His heart was thunderous in his chest, louder than the press of rainfall against the windows outside, but there was a sense of calm in it, a nervousness certainly, but a comfort, too.

He felt the weight of the jacket lift from his shoulders as you set it to hang over the chair. He felt instantly lighter, like you’d removed an anvil from his back, and he suspected it had less to do with the rain-soaked fabric than he cared to admit. He kept his eyes closed as your hands roamed along his shoulders, focusing on the feel of your lips as they traveled from the corner of his mouth along his jaw line.

“Bucky?” you called so sweetly it nearly made his knees buckle.

“Mmm?” He felt a little dizzy, high on the touch of your lips to his skin.

He heard the soft ruffle of fabric as you grabbed the clean clothes you brought for him on the counter. Then, your hand slipped into his and he let his eyes flutter open. You were watching him with more affection than he was prepared for. His heart lurched forward, aching to jump right into your arms.

“Come this way.”

He nodded, trailing behind you as you led him into your bedroom. The lighting was dim, barely casting in a soft orange glow from the lamp at your bedside. The clouds were still dark and heavy as they hung outside the windows, the rain obstructing the view of the brownstones across the street.

“Here,” you set the clothes on the bed. “Get changed alright? I don’t want you catching a cold.”

You smiled for him and his heart just about burst. Then, you disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Bucky stepped forward, running his hand over the Air Force logo in the top corner of the t-shirt. He picked up the shirt, and held it against his nose. It smelled like you, like maybe you’d been wearing it for years now, but there was a name written in sharpie on the inside tag. It was barely legible, but it didn’t look like your own. He tried not to think about who gave you this shirt and who wore it before him, and he quickly removed the damp one soaked to his skin in favor of the one you’d given him.

He changed his pants, too, and a wash of relief came over his body as the chill faded from his skin. The clothes were warm, soft, and he raked his fingers through his hair, thankful it had dried enough to stop from dripping down onto the fabric.

“Hey,” you called, emerging from the bathroom. Your eyes paused on him for a moment, taking him in with the fresh clothes on and something unrecognizable flashed over your features – something that resembled sadness. You shook it off quickly, pushing out a smile as you walked toward him. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to your hairline as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Thank you.”

You leaned up to kiss him again and he swore everything around him came to a sudden stop. You tugged him down onto the bed, sliding in behind him as you threw the covers over you. Bucky kept his back pressed to the mattress as you climbed over his waist, settling with just enough of your weight compressing against him that he found a relief in it.

His right hand slipped along your waist line, sliding flat over bare skin, warm to the touch. You smiled against his lips and he found himself laughing as you peppered kisses along his cheekbones, his nose, his hairline, down along his jaw, and then finally – back to his lips again.

So lost in you, in the moment, he felt his left hand slid along the underside of your shirt, fabric brushing over the top of his hand as he touched over your ribs and inching closer to your chest. He stifled a moan as he cupped at your breast, swiping his thumb along the pebbled nipple. It wasn’t until he felt an echo of a muscle spasm at his left shoulder that he realized he wasn’t feeling anything at all.

His eyes snapped open and he found his right hand at the base of your spine, your shirt untouched. Reluctantly he glanced down at his left side; the open sleeve of the t-shirt leaving no pretenses in its wake. He was empty there. A piece of him missing. He tried to swallow back the frustrated groan before it passed through his lips, but you heard it. You felt it, too.

“Bucky?” you questioned, concern littering your eyes as you pulled away. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, of course not,” he replied quickly, brushing his hand along the side of your face until it drew a smile back to your lips. The way you were watching him, like maybe he could entrust you with the darkest parts of himself, if only for glimpse, and it pushed him to say more. “I just... I hate that I can’t hold you the way I want. There’s more that I would—” He groaned, head sinking back into the pillows. “I’m not used to... I don’t— I don’t know how to with only one... um...I haven’t— Not since before—”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, his ears flushing red. You seemed to understand what he was saying as you nodded ever so slightly; the fact that he’d barely learned how to manage his life again with only one arm – everything from washing his hair to getting dressed in the morning, to chopping vegetables and reading a book. He hadn’t even attempted to consider what it was like to be with a woman like this; to want to hold her and please her and touch as much of her as he could. It never crossed his mind before you.

“I’m in no rush,” you said simply, like maybe you were implying you’d wait around long enough for him to figure it out. Or maybe, you’d be willing to help him learn again. You leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “It’s late. You’ll stay tonight, won’t you? I don’t want you out in that storm.”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little dizzy as he stared up at you. Backlit from the soft glow of the lamp illuminating around you like a halo, Bucky would have said yes to just about anything you could have asked of him. Relief pressed over your features and you sank down onto the bed beside him, curling up against his right side.

Your arm draped across his waist as his circled around your shoulders, fingertips drawing patterns along your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Then, you reached over him to turn off the lamp and a comfortable darkness blanketed the room, the only break from the silence the gentle tap of the rain against the windowpane.

For the first night in months, he welcomed the kind embrace of a dreamless sleep.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you

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crimsonophelia · 4 years ago

Note

I came across this blog by pure chance and to say I’m in love with your work would be a COMPLETE understatement <3 If you don’t mind, could I request an imagine involving Diluc and a femme maid reader? The reader has feelings for Diluc, but knowing the consequences of what would happen if she were to even try anything with him, she instead devotes all of her love and care into her work—cooking him extra hearty breakfasts, staying up late well into the night to welcome Diluc home after his duties as the Darknight Hero and to help patch up any wounds he might have acquired, etcetera—entirely unaware of Diluc subconsciously picking up her signs and slowly growing fond of her for it.

It all comes to light when the reader makes a passing comment about being excited to take care of Diluc’s children someday. (“Well, who wouldn’t be excited to take care of their own children?” “...My own children? I was talking about your children, Master Diluc.”) And Diluc promptly ends up struck with the realization that he can see no one else take care of him and his future family better than the reader herself (as his wife, perhaps? 😉)

I apologize if my request was a little specific, feel free to absolutely take any creative liberty with it—just the honor of you writing it would be MORE than enough. Thank you, and I hope you have a truly wonderful day! <3

featuring: diluc x fem!reader

warnings: none

published: april 23 2021

form: imagine

a/n: anon you’re so nice i’m gonna cry TTTT but really, you flatter me, and i also love this request. diluc deserves soft domesticity. i hope you like it, my dear! <3

mondstadt around windblume festival was always quite busy. the knights were busy setting up the decorations around the favonius headquarters, and all the local businesses were preparing for extra-heavy business during the season.

dawn winery was no exception. the ragnvindr family, led by young master diluc, made lucrative incomes during this time of the year, what with all the young lovers courting one another left and right, feeding the city’s wine, restaurant, and flower businesses. the winery also leveraged its monopoly on mondstadt’s most diverse selection of wines and spirits, and hosted numerous winery and vineyard tours throughout the course of the windblume festival.

needless to say, the staff and owners of the dawn winery were not short of chores and tasks that needed to be completed in order to prepare for incoming business. you were certainly no exception, as a maid of the winery, and by extension, the ragnvindr estate.

you were tasked with decorating the interior of the winery with various floral arrangements of what they liked to call “windblumes”, but in reality were just a number of other flowers that vaguely fit the description. the rest of the maids were outdoors, preparing the vineyard for the wine tours and marking which barrels of wine would be made available to visitors on the wine tours.

though you were rather abashed, you hoped that this would be an opportunity to find some time to be alone with master diluc. you would never openly admit to yourself your painful longing you felt for the master of the estate, the beautiful man with the flaming hair. regardless, it was unbecoming of a maid to think such things about her employer. having a roof over your head and a stable income was already more than you could ever ask for.

but you couldn’t help but to feel a certain way whenever the young man occupied the same room as you, his presence so large yet so humble, always conscious of those around him. ever since he was a boy, when you had first met him, he had nothing to offer but kindness.

it was years of him returning to the estate in the ungodly hours of the night, covered in cuts and bruises, in which you patched him up, never asking more than “where does it hurt the most”, during which you fell for him as fast as his bandages turned as bloody red as his silken hair.

it was years of you two sneaking glances at eachother, summers in which you and the maids were out under the sun, counting the season’s harvests, where you would catch diluc’s eyes roaming you and only. and when you met his gaze, he would turn away, bashful as a naughty child, and cheeks dusting a rosy pink, almost as dark as the grapes he so loved to walk amongst.

leaving your memories and returning to your duties, you continued to string up the lanyards of cecilias and lilies across the darkwood of the winery foyer. the flora was indeed, quite pretty, although their lightness did clash a little with the dark and brooding mahogany bookshelves you were pinning them onto. reaching up to try and place some cecilias onto the top shelf, you realized that your fingers could only reach a few inches short of the top. dammit. you would have to go fetch the stepladder from the storage closet.

as you were about to turn around, you noticed an arm from your peripheral vision reach up and place the flower up onto the upoer shelf with ease.

“good afternoon, [y/n]. these decorations look lovely. good work.” flashing you his uncharacteristically warm, familiar grin that he seemed to save only for you, diluc finished stringing up the rest of the lanyard across the parts of the bookshelf he know you would be too short to reach.

“good day, master diluc. you flatter me.” you turned away, ashamed at your own girlish excitement. “i hope your work is going well?” the formalities exchanged between you and diluc had become almost like a secret language, one always being able to effectively distinguish the other’s true feelings, beneath the saccharine emptiness of upper-class etiquette. yet this time you hoped he wouldn’t be able to read the fluttering of your heart through your words.

“hm. quite well, indeed.” the man stepped back from where you were working, and looked at the room, as if assessing every nook and cranny with his usual, critical glare. he wasn’t wearing his usual leather suit and fur jacket. today, the young master donned a sharp, three-piece suit, always neat and pressed. perhaps he was ready to go into the city to take care of winery business.

he looked around the foyer, squinting as if looking for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“is something the matter, master diluc?” you questioned. did you place the flowers asymmetrically? or perhaps there was too much space between the shelves and the potted cecilias.

“[y/n], do you ever feel like the winery is too empty?”

confused, you shook your head. perhaps now wasnt the time to bring up the emptiness left behind after master ragnvindr, senior, passed away. you always felt for diluc, and master kaeya as well, after their shining light of a father left the world. diluc had never been the same since then—you had caught him looking through childhood photos in the estate library when he thought nobody else was present.

“well”, you started, choosing your words carefully, “when the time comes for master diluc to have a family of his own, the estate might feel a little livelier then. and i would be very excited to nanny the future generation of ragnvindrs as well, if you’ll excuse my preposterousness.”

the man blinked, as if trying to make sense of what you just said. “nanny? dont you mean-“

oh. diluc sensed that he might have made a mistake. but yet, it made such perfect sense. in what universe could he accept [y/n] not being the mother of his children, the pillar keeping both himself and this entire estate afloat? certainly not this one.

the realization dawned upon him, as well as the regrets from years of inaction in his past. he wasn’t about to let someone else slip through his fingers. not again.

“say, [y/n], my dear. how do you feel about going into the city with me tonight? i have some business i need to run and i’d be much obliged if you accompanied me.”

a/n: aaaaah im pretty happy with how this turned out, and i hope you like it too! i wasnt able to go with your prompt word for word, which i hope is okay. the whole time i was literally imagining scenes from downton abbey lolol

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #diluc imagines #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc headcanons #diluc ragnvindr #diluc fluff #genshin impact diluc #genshin impact writing

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fandomsnfluff · 3 years ago

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Hellooooo ! Can I request scenario 7 with sentence starter 7,4,2 ? (Umm if i can’t ask for more than one prompt , you can choose the one you want ) with obey me annnnnd whooooo ? Hint: 🖤💚. SATTAAAAAN OFCCCCC , as the lee please ! Thankkkk youuuu !

hey hey!! you can absolutely request some lee satan, so i decided to combine the prompts since they fit really well together!! also i love this bc i love lee satan and i want to try writing it HAHAHA UWUWU

tickle prompts/scenarios

scenarios 7: random tickle attack

sentence starters 2: “What happens if I really tickle you?” 4: “You asked for a massage...I’m massaging you.” 7: “What’s happening? Why are you laughing?”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

It had been an extremely long day for Satan.

He had woken up at the break of dawn to go and volunteer at a local cat cafe, and he had been there to take care of the cats and prepare them for prospective adopters who had had their eyes on the kittens for quite some time. After the three hour “shift,” he popped by Hell’s Kitchen to grab a quick sandwich before heading to a four-hour shift at the local library. After heading home and grabbing some dinner, he headed down to Majolish to pick up an early birthday gift for Lucifer (he would never admit that was what he was doing, but you knew nonetheless, since his birthday was coming up).

He had returned home exhausted, and practically fell on top of you when he entered his room and noticed that you were curled up on his bed reading a book. You could tell he was happy that you were waiting for him, even if his face didn’t betray his feelings. You offered to help him get into the shower, but he shook his head, and he grabbed at his shoulder, his face screwing up in pain.

“Would you like a massage?” you offered gently. You were aware that he must have had a really rough day since he had run from place to place that day with barely a single break; his muscles were bound to be screaming for some kind of release.

He sniffed, sitting in front of you and leaning his back against your chest; you took that as a yes. Smiling softly, you began to dig into the rather tight muscles of his shoulders; he let out a slight sigh of content and leaned into your touch.

However, the already tense muscles of his back seemed to tighten even more when you ran your fingers along the spot underneath his shoulder blades. You smirked, getting the sense of what was wrong, and you playfully pressed into the spot again, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your touch. Satan’s breath had hitched in his throat, and you watched his head twist at the awkward sensation. You did it again, and this time the blonde burst into hushed giggles that he quickly tried to cover up. The answer as to what was going on became crystal-clear in that moment.

“What’s happening? Why are you laughing?” you asked, trying to keep the laughter out of your voice. You knew you didn’t have to ask to get the idea of what was going on, but you decided to tease him nonetheless.

“N-nothing.” The response sounded like it was being hissed through gritted teeth. You knew that tone of voice all too well; Satan was absolutely hiding something, or trying to seem unaffected by your playful touches.

You didn’t reply to him; you knew he was absolutely bullshitting you. Instead of verbally replying, your response came in the form of the physical; as you returned to work out those knots that had built up around the sides of his back, you decided to give his ribs a very brief, playful tickle before returning to your work.

The response was a squeak and a violent flinch that nearly dislodged your hands from his body. Satan huffed at you, attempting to cover up the embarrassing high-pitched noise that just left his mouth, and he leaned forward slightly to try and get away from you.

“Where are you going?” you asked him, reaching out to try and grab him again. “You asked for a massage...I’m massaging you.”

“Not...that kind of massage,” Satan hissed back at you, recoiling from the grabby hands that reached out for him again.

“You didn’t specify what kind of massage you wanted, anyway,” you teased. “So I just massaged you.”

“That was barely a massage! You kept...tickling me.”

The way that Satan hesitated during that last sentence confirmed your exact suspicion. You wasted no time as you pounced on him, bowling him over onto the mattress. You two wrestled for a few more moments until you managed to pin him down on his back, and he desperately tried to squirm away from you.

“MC!” Satan gasped. “You better not--”

“What happens if I really tickle you?” you mused aloud, interrupting him. A hiss came from the demon that you still had pinned, and you smirked.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” Oh, you certainly dared. Even if the crafty blonde put a curse on you after this, it would still be worth it to see his reaction. But you shrugged, deciding that it would probably be funnier to get him out of nowhere.

“Okay, maybe I won’t,” you declared, sitting up to let him free. Satan glared at you for a few more moments before turning so his back was to you again. You continued to massage his shoulders, and while you did so, you moved, little by little, so you were close enough to get a grip around his shoulders when you began your attack. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice your minuscule movements. When you were finally in the ideal position, you reached forward and pulled him towards you slowly, and he let out a slight purr at your touch. When he had nestled into you, you reached forward and began to tickle him under his arms.

“MC...? What are you-- BAHAHA WAHAHAIT!” You blinked, trying not to chuckle at how absolutely adorable the sound of his sudden laughter was. You had never seen Satan burst out laughing like that, but you weren’t determined to let him go just yet. He leaned forward with a squeal, trying to evade your touch, but you pulled him back so he was lying beside you on his back, laughing with his whole chest as you began to attack his sides.

He had no time to protest as you moved to attack his legs, and the moment your fingers brushed up along the underside of his bare knee, all hell broke loose. He let out a scream unlike any other sound you’ve ever heard from him, and he began to kick, squirming and rolling over to latch onto your clothes as he squealed in laughter like he was begging for his life.

“WAHAHAHAHAIT NAHAHAT THEHEHERE!!!” he cried, and he genuinely sounded like he was sobbing. You couldn’t help but laugh along with him as you exploited and tortured what looked to be a hyper ticklish spot on his body. He let out another alarmed shriek as you playfully tickled the bottoms of his feet, but it was quickly covered up by more shrieky cackles when you returned to torturing his knees.

As soon as you noticed how red his face had become and how much he was sweating, you decided to give him a bit of a break, but you didn’t want to tease him too much. However, you couldn’t hide your giggles at the sounds of him panting.

“You are too cute!” you declared. “Seriously, I’ve never met even a human with as sensitive knees as yours. That’s incredible!”

“Shut up!” Satan hissed.

“But it’s cute!” you insisted, which earned you a glare.

“If you so much as dare to tell my brothers about this, I’ll put a curse on you,” he warned. “A curse that makes you feel ticklish for an indefinite amount of time.”

You didn’t respond to his threat straight out, but you did feel a shiver run down your spine at the prospect of your nerve endings’ sensitivity being heightened even more so than they already were. Instead of letting your alarm show, you leaned down to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “It’ll be our little secret.”

#obey me #obey me fanfic #anime tickling #ask #my posts

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darkisrising · 3 years ago

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Bobadinluke, 37?

Ooooooooooh, Anon. Dear, sweet sweet Anon. You have NO idea how overboard I went on this, lolol. Thank you for the prompt, I hope when you read this next 4k+ words you won't regret it too much. Disclaimer: All I know about prison I learned by watching Oz back in the day. Full whump in this one, and threats of sexual assault though none actually occur. Some character death, some mentions of transactional sex... lottttttta cursing. Yeah, just, if you decide to read this one please proceed with caution. 37. meeting in prison au, BobaDinLuke

“First thing you do when you get to prison,” Anakin Skywalker whispered into his son’s ear as he held him so tightly Luke couldn’t draw in a deep enough breath, though maybe that was just the panic setting in. “You find the leader of the Sith in there and tell him Darth Vader said to take care of you. He goes by Maul. He’ll keep you safe.”

In answer, Luke hissed “Fuck you, you fucking bastard” and sincerely meant every word of it. When the guards pulled them apart to lead Luke away—the irons around his ankles clattering ominously—it was a relief. For a father that had thrown him and his sister by the wayside as they were growing up, leaving them to be raised by distant and dubiously-related relations, he sure had decided to make himself suspiciously present in the courtroom ever since he’d framed his only son for murder.

“Don’t be proud, Luke,” Anakin called out, his voice cutting through the courtroom’s chatter. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Luke’s tempted to throw another “fuck you” over his shoulder but then he caught sight of Leia, clutching her tiny lump of a newborn son in her lap. Her eyes were as close to crying as he’d ever seen his sister get and that’s when it all came crashing down on him. That this moment, which some stupid, fragile part of him had thought would never really come to pass, had happened. He’d held on to hope that someone—some jurist— would listen to all the damning witness testimonies and look at all the gruesome crime scene photos and then look at Luke—pacifist, Prius-driving, yoga teacher Luke—and think “No, it couldn’t possibly have been him.” He had a rescue dog, for fuck’s sake. He’d gotten Artoo from the no-kill shelter that he volunteered at between shifts at the local food pantry.

How the fuck could they ever believe him guilty of murder?

But Anakin Skywalker, leader of the Sith crime syndicate—second only to the so-called Emperor whose identity was a mystery to all but his most trusted underling—was good at what he did. If he wanted to kill a district attorney, he killed a district attorney. If he wanted to pin it on his son to keep his own ass out of prison, then that’s what he did. And then if he showed up every single goddamn day to Luke’s trial, sitting there just behind his son so that no one could help but notice the resemblance between the two of them—couldn’t help but speculate at how close they must be for his father to be taking such a personal interest in his son’s trial—until a person decided that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the rotten, mafia-laden tree?

Well, then; he did that, too.

Guilty on all counts. Seven life sentences to be served consecutively. One hundred and five years without the possibility of parole, and Luke knows as soon as the van pulls up to the prison gates and he’s shuffled out along with all his fellow offenders deemed too dangerous to society for anything but the most maximum of maximum security prisons, that he is going to die here.

As it turns out he doesn’t have to go looking for the Sith. Word of his arrival has preceded him and he turns from placing the blanket and pillow he’s been assigned onto the bunk he’s been assigned to see he’s been followed.

“Hey, you Vader’s kid?”

There are two men lingering by his cell’s opening and Luke doesn’t need to ask who they are to know what they are. They have that same glint in their eyes, rabid fanaticism and zero fucks to give, that mark all the Sith that Luke has had the displeasure of knowing in his life.

“No,” Luke says as mildly as he can manage before turning his back on them to pluck at his blanket under the guise of making his bed. His hands are shaking, his anger at his father is like runoff from a melting mountain snow, and he takes deep, careful breaths to try to staunch the torrent. He’d kill for a yoga mat and a dim room right about now, but he doubts that’s in the cards for him anytime soon.

“Aren’t you Skywalker?”

“I am,” Luke allows. “But I’m afraid my father’s name is Anakin. Not Vader.”

“Oh, come on,” one says, standing close enough that Luke can smell that his clothes are fresh from the dryer. It’s an industrial smell and utterly impersonal. “We both know who Anakin Skywalker really is. Maul wants to see you.”

“I’m afraid Maul is just going to have to be disappointed, then, because I don’t want to see him.”

“I think you’re going to want to,” the other one says, flanking Luke’s other side and he’s suddenly very aware of how small this cell is, especially with three bodies in it. “Pretty blond kid like you? Lots of ways you can end up hurt, you know what I’m saying? You’re going to need someone to protect you while you’re here.”

“I can protect myself.”

They only laugh, like they both know things that he doesn’t, but they don’t press the matter any further. Luke finds out the next day they were right to laugh. Maybe Luke had taken enough martial arts classes as a kid—from a sensei teaching out of a strip mall that was so wizened and stooped that he wasn't much taller than the children he instructed— to think he knows something about something. As he lays on the floor of the prison’s basketball court with the taste of his own blood leaking through his clenched teeth, a bribed guard smirking near the closed door as six men pummel him with fists and feet, Luke quickly learns how little he knows about anything. When one stomps on his wrist Luke doesn’t even scream, the pain is so white hot he can only cling to consciousness for one bright, all-encompassing moment before everything fades to black. The last words he hears before he’s gone are “Tell Darth Vader that the Tuskens send their regards,” and then: nothingness.

When he wakes up in the medical ward there is a cast on his arm and a man staring down at him. He's wearing the khaki pants and button up shirt of a prisoner. Tattoos spill across his face, down his neck, and continue again along his exposed forearms and for a moment Luke wonders if he’s the only one that can see this fearsome creature of a man for all that the nurses and guards and other prisoners are ignoring him.

“Still think you don’t need my protection, young Skywalker?”

Maul. It has to be.

Luke has to clear his throat before it’s any use to him but eventually he’s able to get out “Dunno why I’d need it. ‘M doing great.”

Maul grins and a mouthful of sharp teeth glint in the stale, fluorescent light. “Yeah? Well let’s see how long that lasts. Your daddy says I’m not supposed to raise a finger to help you until you pledge loyalty to the Sith.”

Luke’s heart kicks over as a chill spreads across his skin. So that’s what all of this has been about. For years his father had tried to get Luke to join him, to serve the Emperor just as he did, and now—what?—Anakin thought he could force Luke’s hand? That he could manipulate him into a situation where he’d have no choice but to swear his allegiance to the darkness Luke has tried so hard to exorcise from his life?

“That’s never going to happen,” Luke says and Maul only pats Luke’s ankle, a parody of comfort.

“Oh, it will, young Skywalker. The only question is how much pain are you willing to bear before you do? There are a lot of men in here that hate your father. I’m sure one of them will convince you that you need our protection.”

Maul isn’t wrong. In his first month in prison Luke becomes intimately aware of the intricacies of his cell block’s various factions and all the ways that Darth Vader has, one way or another, fucked over each and every one of them. He learns it in the cafeteria, where he’s jumped in line to get his food, and in the gym, where he’s pinned down by steel between the weight racks, and in the library, where he’s caught somewhere between the dictionary and the encyclopedias. He almost learns it in the showers when the leader of the Hutts has him dragged to his knees but that was blessedly interrupted by a CO actually doing his job for once.

Jabba watches him go, thick tongue licking across even thicker lips, and Luke knows his time is running out. He’s going to need to find a protector and quick.

***

The one respite he's found in this hellish existence are to be found at night. His cellmate, an old man with a white beard that everyone else calls “Crazy Old Ben,” is a lifer who is less interested in Luke’s body and more concerned with his soul. Together they meditate, sitting on the cold concrete floor and tuning their breaths until Luke can pretend not to hear the sounds of quiet violence and even quieter pleasure in the almost-dark prison.

Old Ben takes Luke under his wing until the day Luke comes back from a shower to find no trace of Ben save for the ratty old bathrobe he always wears. It’s crumpled into a heap on the otherwise pristine cell floor, like he had been in it and then, suddenly, was gone.

When the blaring sirens and red flashing lights and screaming of the guards call for a lockdown, Luke knows, he knows, he knows whose body has been discovered. And when, from across the hall through bars of his own, Maul catches his eye and smirks, Luke knows who ordered the hit on the only friend Luke had found in this God forsaken place.

***

Somehow the warden talks Luke into leading a yoga class for his fellow inmates. It's bullshit, of course; no one ever shows up. But it is nice to have space enough to move the way he wants to without risking someone stepping on his throat while he's down in Shavasana or taking his downward facing dog as an invitation for something he’s not interested in offering.

One day he’s startled to find a man he's never noticed before waiting for his arrival. He’s flanked by two that Luke has had plenty of run-ins with already to know they run with the Mando gang and Luke balks when he catches sight of Vizsla but for once there’s no smirking taunts to be had from him. He stares sightlessly ahead, chin raised, as if at attention and that more than anything makes Luke look back at the unknown man again.

He’s handsome: with sad, dark eyes and a scruffy appearance that somewhat distracts from the fact that his prison uniform is wrapped tight around a body that’s been whittled lean with muscles. He has a smattering of scars, remnants of violence that cut across his arms and hands, and if he’s there to beat Luke up he certainly doesn’t act like it when he extends his hand politely.

"I'm Din," he says in a careful, unassuming voice and Luke warily takes his hand, giving his name in return. “I understand you’re running a yoga class here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke says, glancing at Vizsla again and wetting his lips. “But, um, if you need the room it’s yours. No one ever shows and so I can clear out—”

“I’m here to take the class.”

“Oh,” Luke says, mouth running before his mind has caught up but what else if new? “Oh, well, that’s great. Let me get you set up with a mat. Are your, your—” he casts about for the right words. “—friends? Going to be joining us?”

Vizsla snorts. “Hell no, Skywalker. We’re just here to make sure nothing happens to the Manda’lor.”

It takes everything in Luke to simply nod and turn to the pile of mats to find one that isn't reeking of sweat and mold from being shoved into storage dirty. To not gawk at the doe-eyed man who even Luke, who prides himself on knowing nothing about his father's world, knows rules over all the Mandalorians, both inside and outside the prison. The one man that not even Anakin Skywalker will fuck with.

"I have a son," Din explains with a shrug when the class is over and Luke has been rendered suitably impressed with the fluid grace with which the fearsome Mandalorian gang leader had moved through every pose, his body made for movement and honed by battle. "The people that are watching him for me say there's this lady on YouTube that teaches kids yoga that he’s gotten really into. I just thought if I tried it it could almost be like we were, well," he shrugs again like whatever he's about to say is too unbearably personal and despite himself Luke finds it utterly charming.

Luke smiles, asking "How old is he?"

"Five."

"Well, if he’s anything like his dad then he must be a natural at yoga, too."

Din's lips quirk in a smile and something complicated in Luke’s belly curls at the sight. Or maybe it's not so complicated, Luke considers as he watched the Mand’alor leave with his guards. Luke can recognize a burgeoning crush when he feels it. He floats through his shift in the kitchen, contentedly lost in his memory of the other man, until he's brought back to reality when he takes a punch to the side of his head.

"Watch what you're doing, Skywalker. Hate for you to get hurt when you've got your head in the clouds, " the inmate supervisor calls out and Luke can only nod as he ignores the pain from his jostled skull and gets back to work.

Luke keeps his crush to himself, and would avoid Din completely if not for the fact that folks are remarkably less inclined to punch him in the face whenever he’s in the Manda’lor’s company and so he tries to be as close to him as often as he can. It’s strategic, Luke tells himself, as he asks Din if he has any pictures of his son and coos over a kid with giant eyes who is triumphantly holding up two bright pink Easter eggs. The more Din likes him, the better his chances when he finally works up the courage to officially ask for his protection. He knows he doesn’t have much to offer in return, but by now Luke knows the transactional nature of prison. His body is a hot commodity and he’s perfectly willing to give Din exclusive use of his ass and mouth if it keeps him alive.

He ignores the thrill of excitement that the thought of sex with Din inevitably brings.

So Luke flirts, flickering little touches here and leaning in closer there, hoping that eventually things will progress naturally. They don’t, but that’s okay because Luke is nothing if not persistent. He has full faith in his ability to work the cute twink angle. Lord knows he did it enough when he was on the outside and had far less to lose.

And it works. Sort of. Din doesn’t seem to notice that Luke drifts along in his orbit after morning yoga classes, sometimes well into the evening and as close to lights out as he dares. The reason why he doesn’t make a move on Luke becomes painfully, achingly, mortifyingly clear the morning Luke enters the meeting-come-yoga room to find Din in a passionate kiss with someone Luke’s never seen before.

He should have known something was different when there had been no Mandalorians posted by the door but this. This. This is. It’s—

The man whose mouth Din is trying to crawl into is built like a shit brick house, all thick muscles and big dick energy as he holds Din by the jaw and their teeth clack so hard that Luke can feel the echo in his own mouth. When he tears away to fix Luke with a stare, he can see that this man’s been so scuffed by life that even his scars have scars and when he speaks it is with a deep, gravel voice that shivers across Luke’s skin.

“You must be Luke,” he says, as if he hadn’t just been caught making out in a dark room. Like Luke can’t see his raging hard-on through his prison-issued pants.

With a calming breath Luke grasps desperately for his most enlightened and peaceful tone as he replies. “I am. Will you be joining us for class, Mister….”

“Fett. Boba Fett. And no fucking way. I’m just here to stand in the corner and enjoy the view.” He smirks at Din who answers with a smile that’s absolutely smitten and Luke can feel his heart jump into his throat before plummeting into his stomach.

“Of course. Make yourself comfortable.”

When the class is over Luke lingers in the room, taking his sweet time rolling up the mats. As he follows Boba out, Din turns to look back at Luke with a confused expression. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, no, you go on ahead. I’ve got things to do.” Din’s eyebrow raises and Luke can concede that maybe his voice was a little high, a little pinched, but Din doesn’t press the issue. He only shrugs and tells Luke “Well, you know where to find me” before he’s out into the hall.

Luke doesn’t need to go in search of information on Boba Fett. It’s drifting through the filtered prison air wherever he goes. His re-incarceration is all anyone can talk about, starting from his offense—knocked over a grocery store and killed the clerk, if you can believe that stupid shit—and wild guesses as to why he would have gotten caught doing something so petty when he’d finally been paroled—probably just missed his husband, you know how stupid those two are for each other.

“Guess you got tossed to the curb, huh, Skywalker?” Jabba says when they are working the food service line and Luke is very carefully keeping his eyes from looking at where Din is sitting, trying to eat between laughs as Boba crowds so close he’s practically in the Manda’lor’s lap. “Tough break. You know the offer still stands if you want a new cock to suck.”

Telling the Hutt what exactly he can do with his cock and precisely how his mother might like it might give him a surge of soaring adrenaline for the moment but he quickly sees the error of his ways when it’s time to clean up and he’s shoved into the industrial freezer next to all the rows of Hoth Farms Vegetables.

By the time he’s found he’s pretty much stopped shivering which doesn’t seem like a good sign. The doctors in the medical ward seem to agree, at least as far as Luke can tell by all their scrambling activity when he’s wheeled in, barely clinging to consciousness.

***

“That was remarkably stupid,” a melodious voice says a week later.

Luke has been able to cling to lucidity well enough that he’s been sent back to gen pop, for all that he keeps to his bunk and can’t seem to stay awake for longer than a few hours. Shockingly no one has been by to harass him in his weakened state but his luck has finally run out. There is a mountain of a man leaning in his cell’s doorway, and Luke can’t even find the energy to be nervous by the way Boba Fett’s dark eyes are narrowly assessing him.

“I excel at stupid.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that from what I’ve been hearing about you. Son to one of the scariest sons of bitches around and yet you refuse to join up with your old man’s gang. Instead you prefer to get the shit kicked out of you like you're just another prison bitch.”

“Yep, that’s me alright,” Luke says with false cheer as he struggles to sit up.

“Word also has it that you’ve been following my husband around like a bitch in heat.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Listen, Fett—”

“Now I don’t begrudge you a little schoolboy crush. Din is a hot piece of ass. And I haven’t exactly been around so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt here that you didn’t know that he was otherwise engaged.”

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

“Okay. Good. That’s that.” Fett nods at him, but he doesn’t move from where he stands, still watching Luke. Still taking his measure.

“Does, uh,” Luke’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, a nervous gesture that Fett’s eyes watch sharp as knives. “Does Din know that I—” and he can’t bring himself to say anything more about it.

Fett snorts a laugh. “Din is clueless about just about everything but fighting and fucking. He doesn’t even know whose kid you are. I’d be very surprised to hear he was able to figure out for himself that you’re in love with him.”

“Ah. Okay, well that’s,” Luke stops when the ache in his chest tightens so abruptly he can hardly breathe. Still, he forces out a bleak: “That’s good.”

“It is. Take care of yourself, Skywalker.”

***

There seems little point in fighting against the inevitable after that. If his father thought prison was going to break him, then he’d thought right. He takes a month of beatings without so much as lifting a finger to protect himself. His face is in a perpetual state of bruises but he hardly notices for all that it feels like he’s floating, like he’s becoming one with some great higher power and one day he might just fade away entirely.

Fett is usually there in the periphery—watching, always watching—and Din’s eyebrows furrow every morning when he catches sight of some new mark, some swollen finger, some hastily bandaged scape.

“What’s going on?” he asks and it seems like Fett was right, Din really is that unobservant if he doesn’t see how often Luke is made to bear marks in answer for the sins of his father.

Luke plants a sunny smile on his aching face while Fett watches them from the corner of the room, arms crossed and face twisted in a scowl. “Not much. Same old same old. Shall we begin with our Ohms?”

***

He’s spitting blood down the drain after another ambush that leaves him splayed on the slippery communal shower floor when Fett finally confronts him.

“What the fuck are you playing at? You’re a dead man walking, Skywalker. Quit being stupid and go to Maul. Get his protection.”

“Never,” Luke grinds out with more vehemence than he’s felt in a long time. “I’ll never join the Sith.”

“Why not?”

“Like you care,” he says, reaching for a washcloth to finish the shower that had been unavoidably interrupted. Fett gets to it first and he holds it aloft and out of Luke’s reach unless he wants to strain his ribs that have seen better days.

“You got some kind of Daddy issues or something? That why you won’t become a Sith?”

“Hey, fuck you, Fett,” Luke says and he waits for Fett’s first punch but it never comes.

“Come here,” he says instead, his head tilting curiously. Luke doesn’t move and Fett rolls his eyes. “Come here, don’t look at me like I’m about to eat you.”

A washcloth wielded by a surprisingly gentle hand dabs at Luke’s face. He holds perfectly still under the ministrations while Boba leans in closer. “You’ve got gett'se, that’s for sure.”

“Like I know what that means.” Luke’s tone is bratty and rather than take offense, Fett smiles.

“Gett'se. Guts. Courage. Going to need to learn Mando’a if you’re going to be joining me and Din for the foreseeable future.”

“What?” Luke asks, eyes wide, and Fett doesn’t answer. Not in words.

The distance between them disappears as Fett presses his plush lips to Luke’s bleeding ones. He’s careful, so careful in his kiss and it shatters something vital in Luke. Tears are burning his eyes, biting at his nose, by the time Fett pulls away. “You’re breaking Din’s heart, the way you’ve been carrying on, cyar'ika. And that’s been breaking mine. So why don’t you do us all a favor and come be ours for a little while. If you hate it, we can set you up with someone else, but I have the feeling you’re going to like it just fine. What do you say?”

Luke can’t speak through the tightness of his throat, through the spilling of his tears of relief, and when Fett kisses him again, and again, and again, each time it’s like he’s someone worth caring about. Someone that matters.

Fett—Boba—turns on the shower and leads him under the spray, washing his hair and his skin. “Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” Luke asks quietly and Boba laughs.

“Sure. Soon as you can lift your arms higher than your shoulders you're free to do anything you want to my body. Until then let me wash your fucking hair, alright? Gotta make you pretty for Din, yeah?"

He rests his forehead against the immense, solid expanse of Boba’s wet chest and for the first time in a long time he feels safe enough to close his eyes somewhere that isn’t his locked cell.

When the guards— who had fucked off to wherever the hell they’d been bribed to go while Luke took maybe his last beating ever—finally show up and yell at them to break it up, Luke isn’t even mad about it because Boba is tossing him a towel and telling him to hurry up and dry off. Din is waiting for them.

#darkisrising fic #bobadinluke #tumblr prompt #ask game #ask box

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fanartfunart · 3 years ago

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Fly Away

Episode 4: Bibliotech

Ao3 - First - 2 - 3

(F��line Sombre & Paon Lilas designs)

Summery: An AU where Adrien never went to in-person school, not getting the cat miraculous, and found the peacock miraculous. -Adrien sets out to find the Grimoire, and Alya volunteers her investigative skills, interviewing her classmates. Until a librarian gets akumatized and traps them all in a maze of books.

(tw for sickness. very vauge. Much like canon)

Alya hummed along to her CD of Nino’s music, ignoring the sounds of siblingly chaos outside her room. Her phone buzzed and she looked down at the text.

Double A: “Hi, you’re the local superhero expert, right?”

She chuckled at Adrien’s question and texted back, “The one and only! Why? Whatcha wondering about?”

“I’m looking for a specific book, actually? An older one about superheros, with lots of different kinds. Seen it anywhere?”

She tilted her head “Just the one you said Chloé took from your dad’s???”

Adrien spent a long time typing only for his reply to read “Oh. Of course, thank you.”

Alya frowned and called him. Adrien picked up with a delay, piano music playing in the background. His voice was hushed “Hi, uh, why are you calling me?”

“What’s going on? Did you not know what kind of book Chloé, or I guess your dad, had?”

“Oh...oh um. No, no I did. Of course I knew what kind of book it was, that’s why I was asking about it. Because it’s lost and I wanted to find it, for my dad,” Adrien chuckled awkwardly.

“Why are you whispering? Are you at a concert?”

“Oh... no I’m supposed to be practicing piano right now...”

“Oh so you’re playing a recording? Huh. Smart.” Alya got up and grabbed her shoes. “Want me to ask around for your book then? It’s kinda my thing. Plus, Chloé never let me get close enough to look at it.”

“You’d do that?” Adrien whispered softly.

“Yeah boy! Don’t worry about it. If Chloé lost it during or before the Collector situation then it’s probably not too far from the school’s social circle.”

“Wow great! Oh whoops- I gotta get back to my practice, Natalie’s coming- so uh... goodbye!”

Alya chuckled “Bye Adrien.” They hung up and Alya got ready for her interrogations.

The majority of the students Alya could easily get a hold of knew nothing about where it went. So her only leads were Chloé and Sabrina. They had the same story: Marinette and Lila were the last two people they saw besides each other when the book disappeared.

She met with Lila at the library, Marinette scheduled to meet her not too long after.

Lila was looking at the mystery section when Alya waved her over. "Thank you for meeting with me."

She nodded with a smile, putting down her murder mystery novel, "Of course, what did you need?"

Alya got out her notepad, pen at the ready. "Are you aware that the book Chloé brought to class is missing?"

"It is? Oh no, I didn't. Are you looking for it for her?"

"Not exactly," Alya scribbled down a note. "For its original owner, not Chloé. But! Do you mind describing where you saw it last?"

Lila hummed and shook her head, "I'm sorry, I just remember Chloé showing it to me before she fell and ran off. I thought she had it. Sabrina seemed to really want to leave though."

"I already got Sabrina and Chloé's statements… Marinette was with you, right?"

"Oh! Yes, she was. If you want I can talk to her for you?"

"That's okay," Alya said, "I've already arranged for her to give me her story next. I'm just covering my bases."

Lila hummed and nodded, "If you don't mind my curiosity, who's the original owner?"

"Oh, the Aggrestes," Alya said, "Adrien asked me to help."

Lila raised a brow, "Adrien? He's the one whose face is plastered practically all across Paris, yes?"

Alya chuckled and nodded, "Yeah, I guess he's a little famous. He's pretty cool. He almost was gonna be in our class, actually. He would've transferred in just before you," she shrugged, "Guess his dad changed his mind."

Lila tapped her fingers across the mystery novel's cover and smiled, "Well, I don't have much else for you. Hope you find it for him. It seemed like a special book." Lila stood up, and they waved goodbye.

Adrien quietly walked up to the librarian. He smiled, “Hi.”

The librarian looked up with a barely suppressed annoyance, “Hello. How can I help you?”

"I was looking for books related to superheroes?"

He sighed, "Right there. Very popular lately." He pointed lazily and returned his gaze to his computer.

“Oh, thank you!” Adrien followed his direction towards a section that seemed to be dedicated to Féline Sombre and Ladybug. Decorated with red and black spots and green cat paw paper crafts. It was small, secluded. Creating a comfortable nook.

"Come on out, Duusu," Adrien whispered. The kwami zipped out and fluffed his feathers, tilting his head. "Any books you recognize?" Duusu hummed and flitted between the shelves of books. Adrien skimmed through the titles. (How did people get the rights to publish fiction works about the heroes? …Do Ladybug and Féline Sombre get royalties?) He tilted his head at a title "A History of Heroics: the Lesser Known Origins of Paris’s Superheroes"

Duusu came back and hovered in front of him, "Nope, nothing.”

Adrien huffed a sigh, "Well this is the last library nearby I can think of. It's got to be in somebody's private collection then, Duusu."

Duusu's head drooped, overcome with a quiet sadness. He glanced up, seeing something behind Adrien. He gasped and hid. Adrien spun on his heel. Natalie stood there, hands behind her back.

"You abandoned your piano practice and missed a photoshoot," she said, "I'm glad you're…" she looked around at the shelves, raising a brow, "taking initiative... in your learning, but you can't just abandon your responsibilities."

He nodded, hanging his head. "I- you're right, sorry..."

She glanced down at him and sighed. Her tone softened, "Go finish up and check out your books, we will wait for you outside in the car."

He looked back up with a smile, "Oh, thanks, I'll uh-" He glanced down at the book he was caught holding. Apparently he was into history today... "I'll go check this out…"

Lila waited at the doorway, much to the annoyance of the terse librarian. She ignored him.

Marinette stumbled through the doors, carrying a box of pastries. Clearly buttering up Alya to make her believe whatever lie she came up with. Lila rolled her eyes at such amateur tactics.

She sashayed towards Marinette, "Hi Marinette, how are you today?"

"Lila! Good, good, how are you?" She smiled brightly and opened the box of macaroons, "Want some? I mentioned I was visiting a friend and we had some leftovers, so my dad kinda pushed them on me."

"No, thank you. I'm just fine. But Alya was asking about that book you borrowed from Chloé. ...I'd be careful if I were you, I wouldn't want it all pinned on you. Who knows what Chloé's reaction would be."

Marinette tilted her head “She was? Why should I-”

”Well you had it last... But I know, you're so sweet, you could never steal, could you?" she smiled, grin sharp and fox-like. "Although… you’ve had ample time to return it... actually, I just remembered something... I should go tell Alya-"

"Wha- no no, I didn't steal it! It's fine, I can explain everything to Alya!" Marinette waved her hands frantically.

"Hm. You still have it right?"

"Er… No...I uh, returned it.... To the… library."

"Well should be easy to find again then," She waved a hand to the library's bookshelves, "I'd love to see it again. I'll make sure Chloé never hears who had it, if you give it to me."

"What? Why do you want it?"

"I want to return it to its original owner, that's all," she said, pressing a hand gingerly against her chest, "and do you really trust Alya to be quiet about it? She's all about truth and justice..."

Marinette frowned, folding her arms, "Alya’s more trustworthy than you, that's for sure… Whatever plan you have, I'm not going to be part of it."

The librarian abandoned his post, frowning, "Excuse me, what's going on here?"

Lila gave a pitifully sad look to the librarian, "She stole a book from one of my friends and won't return it! She loved that book and-"

Marinette sputtered. "What, I didn't steal-" The librarian raised a hand to stop them both.

"You'd make a very good actor. But, you're a tad over dramatic, young lady. I overheard your conversation. Your earlier tone clearly indicated elements of blackmail."

"Wh- well...well," Lila looked around, at a loss for how to lie her way out of this. Her hands balled into fists, "Well, you're just a dumb book scanner. You don't know what you're talking about," she said, "Stay out of it!"

He balked and his expression hardened, "Out."

She gasped, "What? This is a public library-"

"Yet, this dumb book scanner is telling you to get. Out. You blackmailed another patron and then tried to lie to me," he pointed to the doors, pen in hand. "So, I'd rather not repeat myself a third time."

Lila stomped out. Adrien tilted his head as he walked towards the counter, seeing Marinette watching the sceene. “Marinette?” She turned to look at him, raising a brow.

“Wha- Adrien? What are you doing here?”

A purple butterfly landed on the librarian's pen.

"Bibliotech, I am Hawkmoth. One too many people have dismissed and belittled you. I can give you the power to make sure everyone listens to you. You'll be the smartest person in the room at all times. In return, all I ask is for Ladybug, Féline Sombre, and Paon Lilas' Miraculous."

The librarian narrowed his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and grinned, "They'll all regret underestimating me." His glasses were now a glowing visor, his pen had seemed to have morphed into a staff. He twirled the staff in a motion that made a red “P” in the air.

“Marinette!” Adrien pointed, and ran towards her. Marinette turned and gasped as the window crashed as the pen-staff was thrown towards Lila’s receding figure. Lila disappeared as the pen touched her. Bibliotech summoned the staff back to himself, a meter on the pen filling slightly. He turned towards Marinette and Adrien.

"You seem like smart kids," he said, which didn't sound especially good to be in this context, "I hope you're ready for the test. Unfortunately, I don't have a number 2 pencil for you to borrow!"

He twirled his staff-pen and was about to hit Marinette with it, but Adrien shoved her to the floor. He stared at her for a moment. “You okay?”

She nodded and scrambled up. “Run!” She directed, pointing somewhere for Adrien to go while she ran into another opposite direction.

Adrien took the opportunity to dive behind the library counter. “Duusu, spread my feathers!”

"Akuma! Evacuate the Library!" Marinette yelled. She glanced down each row of books for a hiding spot to transform.... Come on, why does every row of books have at least one person in it?!

Alya stood up as Marinette ran toward her, "Marinette?! Akuma? Where!?" She started getting out her phone.

"Do not go toward the angry supervillain, please!" Marinette exclaimed, pushing Alya in the opposite direction.

Paon Lilas crashed into a bookshelf nearby, chuckling awkwardly. “Hi girls. Don’t mind me.” He stood back up, wobbily, as Bibliotech and a pair of people with a red “F” on their chests walked forward, expressions frighteningly vacant.

“You deserve a bad grade for your attitude!” Bibliotech called.

“My attitude? Who are you, my father?” Paon Lilas snarked back, running back towards him.

“No, I’m Bibliotech,” he said, matter of factually. He side stepped Paon Lilas’s attack and the minions grabbed the superhero.

He hummed, "I don't want to make it easy for you," Bibliotech drew the shorthand for “revise” and tapped a book shelf. The shelves bended and twisted into a maze-like structure. Blocking off Marinette and Alya together, and Paon Lilas with the villains.

"Nonono nooo," Marinette cried.

"If you can escape this I'll let you pass automatically!" Bibliotech's voice echoed. "Trust me, you'll need to pass this test."

"Ugh, we're not gonna be able to see the fight from here…" Alya turned towards Marinette, "Come on, we gotta stick together if we wanna get out of here. Two minds are better than one, girl. I'm sure the superheroes will have it handled in no time!"

Marinette sighed. "Let's just hope they can find their way through this…"

Féline Sombre called Ladybug again, and huffed as it continued to not go through. She really hoped she hadn't been caught by Bibliotech. They landed outside the library and looked around. It was eerily quiet. She cautiously walked in.

"Hello Féline Sombre. I'll give you one chance to do this easily." Bibliotech sat on the top of one of the book shelves, legs crossed, "Hand me that ring, please."

"I appreciate the please, not so much the everything else," Féline Sombre said, and extended her staff to knock him down towards her.

He blocked it with his own staff, and dropped to the ground, twirling it. "I hope you're ready to pay your late fees then."

Féline Sombre narrowly avoided being tapped with his staff and giggled nervously. "Do cats get late fee exemptions?"

"No," he said bluntly, twirling his staff and using the back half of it to throw her off balance. They grabbed onto their staff and extended it, twirling on the bar and leaping down to kick him back.

She tumbled and turned around, only for the man to have disappeared. They sighed, “Ladybug better get here fast.”

Paon Lilas threw off the other mindless drone and kicked the bookshelf. He stumbled backwards, barely avoiding the avalanche of books, vision blooming with spots. The akuma’s minions didn’t move after he was out of their grip. “Wow, is that what a failing grade does to you? He made them real dunces.... Oo, Dunce caps. That’s what I’m calling them now.”

He frowned at the rows of books and braced a hand against the wall to keep his balance. Someone nearby was very frustrated. He turned to follow it. It was probably Bibliotech.

Marinette anxiously tried to find somewhere to lose Alya. She took unexpected turns and ran ahead, but no. Alya just turned right with her, despite the fact that she was also recording everything.

"It seems Bibliotech basically gave the building a revision, like a teacher might to a student's essay." Alya narrated, "He's also making this maze really hard… Marinette no, we went that way before!"

Marinette groaned in exasperation, "Shouldn't we… split up to cover more ground?"

"I'd suggest against it," A calm, overly gentle, masculine voice said, "Besides, I’m here to help now."

Marinette froze. Please no, please no not him. Couldn’t Féline Sombre have come to save them before him? She turned around and frowned at Paon Lilas. He smiled (annoyingly) at her.

"How did you find us?" Marinette cried, throwing up her hands.

"I followed the feelings of frustration,” he said with an awkward laugh. “Anyway, we should get you out of here-”

“You’re not going to help Ladybug and Féline Sombre with Bibliotech?” Marinette said, folding her arms.

He shrugged, “Can’t be much help if I can’t find any of them, can I?” he offered a hand, "Paon Lilas, if you haven't heard of me yet."

"Alya, creator of the Ladyblog. I’ve definitely heard of you," Alya accepted the hand and instead of shaking it, he leaned down to kiss her hand. Marinette pointedly did not give him her hand or a name.

"So, you mentioned you followed our feelings- Can you tell who the emotions are connected to?" Alya aimed her phone camera at Paon Lilas, obviously preparing to interview him. Paon Lilas waved for them to follow him and started walking. Alya followed.

"Er, stronger emotions are easier to find, and akuma victims are usually really really strong�� So, I can make a good guess? Uh... a few people are… loud? Emotionally. Right now, though." He seemed to wince, minutely. It was covered with a smile. He shrugged, "It's making it a little hard to isolate Bibliotech."

Marinette frowned and turned down a random turn the rest of the group had walked past. Paon Lilas turned around, "Mar- er, Miss, where are you going?"

Marinette groaned in frustration and smiled sharply at him, "Sorry, got excited."

He giggled, a strange (condescending?? No… fond?!?) smile on his lips. "I noticed. Do you need me to hold your hand? ...To keep you from running down every turn out of excitement?"

"Nope! Nope. I'm good." She stuffed her hands in her pockets and glared forward. Alya mercifully was too distracted by Paon Lilas to comment.

Féline Sombre ran past, then skidded to a halt and returned to the group. “Birdy! Seen Ladybug?”

“Nope, no Buggaboo yet. Nice of you to join us though, Kitten.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at the nickname. Buggaboo? Really?

Féline Sombre frowned, “Okay.... We need a way to work through this maze to get to the Akuma and make sure Ladybug can find us...”

"We could help!” Alya said, “Marinette and I could make a book trail.”

“If you do that, I could probably more easily use my powers to track down Bibliotech’s emotions.”

"What?" Marinette squeaked, "Surely they can do that themselves. How about we… find a good place to hide while they do that!?"

Paon Lilas frowned and glanced at the group. He gently pulled Marinette off to the side.

"You're nervous and frustrated... Do you really want to stay here? Wait until Ladybug captures the akuma?"

Marinette glanced around. Easy out. She nodded. "Sure, you go ahead and I'll stay right here!"

"I could give you a sentimonster to protect you, and your friend Alya, if she wants to stay too. Then Féline and I can just go find Bibliotech."

"Oh you uh, you don't need to do that. I'm fine staying here alone!"

"I want to," he smiled, "I want to help. Trust me."

Marinette frowned and nodded, "Fine…"

He fumbled forward without warning, eyes widening. He quickly straightened himself out and took a deep breath. He smiled again, like the moment never happened. He plucked a feather from his fan and imbued it with power, blowing it towards Marinette in away absurdly close to blowing a kiss. The feather fluttered into Marinette's purse and the twin masks of light appeared on their faces.

"If you need anything just tell me," he said, "I can hear it, no matter how far." He winked and the light faded.

A fluffy, black and white dog with a pink floral pattern on its forehead and paws, sat next to Marinette.

Paon Lilas turned towards Alya and Féline Sombre. "Marinette's staying here with senti-pup. Alya, what do you want to do?"

"I'm going with you, I wanna record this!"

Féline humed, "Okay but you need to keep out of the way… I still have no idea what the Akuma is in so-"

"The pen" Paon Lilas said, “The akuma’s in the pen.”

Marinette blinked, “How did you know that?”

He chuckled awkwardly, “I- er, call it intuition.”

“Huh. Great. Cool, go save the day!” Marinette pushed Paon Lilas away, as senti dog barked at the rest of them, herding them like a sheepdog.

With the group finally gone, she ran down the corner a little farther and sighed as Tiki zipped out.

"I love Alya but seriously, I could've been helping Féline Sombre already."

Tiki giggled, "What are we doing with your new buddy?"

"Oh. Right. Uh…" She took off her purse so it wouldn't disappear in her transformation. "There, let's go. Tiki! Spots on!"

She picked up her purse and made a hush motion to the dog, who wagged its tail.

They followed Paon Lilas's lead Alya trailing behind putting down books to keep them on track. The strongest emotions led them into what must be the center of the library maze. Surrounded by Dunce Caps.

Ladybug ran in behind them, Marinette's Sentidog at her heels.

"Ladybug?" Paon Lilas frowned at her, "Why do you have Marinette's purse?"

"She, uh, gave it to me, I led her out of the building and she didn't want your amok to go to waste."

He sighed, "So brave," under his breath. He shook his head. “Let's get this over with...”

Ladybug caught his arm before he could jump into fray. "We've gotta be smart about this, this whole thing is a test, right?"

He glared at her hand on his arm and pulled away. "Fine, what is your plan, M’lady?"

She huffed and then glanced at Sentidog and Alya’s phone. "Okay, Alya, I need your phone for a second. Mind pulling up a recording?"

Alya nodded and handed her the phone. Ladybug handed it to Sentidog who bounded off, as the audio began playing. The Dunce Caps turned and followed the noise, leaving the entry unprotected.

The group walked up to it. Paon Lilas tried the door and frowned. "Locked."

"It's a puzzle," Féline Sombre said, pointing to the books above the doorway. She extended her staff to allow her to reach, and began rearranging the books.

"They're all classics, but," they clicked them into place, "They were out of order.”

The door opened. Paon Lilas raised a brow, "How… do you know the library’s organization system?"

Féline Sombre looked confused, "You don't?"

The group walked in, and Sentidog returned, no longer holding the phone, clearly having dropped it somewhere. (Alya meanwhile got out her tablet to record instead.)

Bibliotech sat on a floating platform of books. “Took you less time than I thought it would... Are you cheating?” He shook his head, “Doesn’t matter, once I deal with you, I won’t have anything else in my way.”

Bibliotech flourished his pen in an P motion and moved to tap Ladybug with it. Paon Lilas jumped in front of her, taking the hit. He disappeared. The staff returned to Bibliotech’s hands.

Ladybug gasped. "Why did he do that? Ugh! Stupid bird- Lucky Charm!" A box fell into her hands.

Bibliotech focused on Ladybug. She used her yoyo as a shield on each hit, searching for how to use the cardboard box.

Féline Sombre extended her staff to meet Bibliotech, landing a solid kick. Bibliotech wrote another Revise note and created another platform for him to jump onto, away from Féline. The red meter went down.

"It's an ink pen." Ladybug whispered, "Féline, destroy the platform!"

"No problem, Bug! Cataclysm!" Féline Sombre touched Bibliotech’s platform, and he grabbed their hand. They yelped and stumbled to remain precariously on the platform. Ladybug whistled and Sentidog ran up and grabbed Féline Sombre’s leg. She shifted to a less unsteady part of the platform, trying to shake off Bibliotech’s grasp on her arm. He readied his pen.

"You forgot the lid!" Ladybug said, and threw the cardboard box up. Féline Sombre grabbed it with their free hand, and caught the tip of the pen from Bibliotech’s attack.

Bibliotech tried to pull back, but the Sentidog grabbed Bibliotech's staff, growling. Ladybug tied Bibliotech's arms in her yoyo and sentidog pulled the staff away and raced down the platforms. Féline shifted to keep a hold of Bibliotech.

Ladybug caught the dog as it jumped into her arms, giggling, "Good puppy."

It dropped the pen and she snapped it in half.

The butterfly fluttered out and the book platforms began to crumble. Féline grabbed Bibliotech and extended their staff to catch their fall, sliding down.

Ladybug caught the Akuma and threw the cardboard box in the air. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

Paon Lilas and the rest of the people reappeared. Paon instantly doubled over and coughed. His miraculous beeping.

Féline Sombre ran over to him, "Are you okay?"

He groaned, but nodded anyway. "Fine…Ya know, I was going for knocking the pen off-course but, taking the hit works too, I guess." He stumbled to a wobbling stand. Ladybug walked up to him, the sentidog on her heels. He ran.

"Wait!" Ladybug called. He turned a corner. She tried to follow him, but the aisle of books was empty. He was gone.

A mask of light appeared on her face. “Hey, Marinette. Hope you’re okay. They purified the akuma. I’m uh, pulling the amok, make sure to get your purse back from Ladybug. Sorry-” The mask disappeared, presumably because he had detransformed.

Sentidog was gone when Ladybug returned. She sighed. She was kinda going to miss that dog. Ladybug went to go help the librarian before her transformation dropped.

Adrien barely caught Duusu as the kwami tumbled out of the brooch, exhausted. He pressed himself flat against the bookshelf, taking deep breaths between bouts of coughing. Pulling out the mango chips for the kwami, he groaned and slid to the floor.

He didn't know how long he sat there. Next thing he knew, Marinette was crouched next to him. Her hand on his shoulder, gentle. "Hey, hey, are you okay?"

He looked up, "Uh… No." He glanced back at the ground, his mind going back to his mother. Her illness. Her unsteadiness and coughs. He felt tears well up in his eyes. "I don't think so."

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml ladybug #adrien agreste #peacock!adrien #black cat!sabrina #sabrina raincomprix #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #Peon Lilas AU #lila rossi #fly away fic #fanart's fanfic #fanfic #miraculous swap #the reason I'm writing this so fast is 100% Broadway's fault #sickness tw

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years ago

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Marmien - Let Us Have Tonight

So I accidentally landed in the Marmien tag while procrastinating in work earlier in the week. I got inspired by the idea of how Mark and Damien might officially begin a relationship if Damien were the sibling Mark fell in love with originally.

It… Was supposed to be flirty. But then it went kinda sad. With that in mind, there’s a pretty strong focus on controlling parents so I’ve stuck it under a read-more.

Word Count: 1,694

It had been a wonderful night. Since gaining full ownership of the Manor, Mark had redecorated and brought it up to the full splendour it deserved. It was the location of many parties that would allow optimal chances to brush shoulders with the crème de la crème of the city. But tonight, it was a smaller, more important affair. Mark had invited his three closest friends over for dinner and drinks to celebrate William’s arrival home from an overseas expedition. The staff were given the night off so the four could fully unwind without the worries of anyone eavesdropping. Spirits were high as they swapped stories and snacks. William had been hired for a job that required him being security during a wildlife documentation trip. The meal was accompanied with tales of William’s adventures and mishaps. The conversation was briefly interrupted as the four partook in the chaos of attempting to clean the dishes. Bubbles were blown, Mark’s hair was soaked, but it was good times, something all of them needed.

One the kitchen was (hopefully) to the chef’s standards, they returned to the living room to lounge on the chairs and chat. They shared casual conversation, and all took it in turns to quiz Celine on the course she was taking. Her parents didn’t think it necessary that a woman get a qualification, but she decided otherwise. After all, they didn’t particularly care what she did if she did it herself. But as for her twin brother?

Oh, how Mark’s heart ached when he glanced at Damien. He was the youngest child, but the only son. That meant that he was the prime focus of the parents. He was left to burden the responsibilities of the family legacy, whether he wanted it or not. His life had been plotted for him with no room for discussion on the matter. Mark was sure that they would have encouraged Damien to distance himself from Mark and William because neither men were ‘suitable’ to their impossible standards, only that they had been friends since childhood. Mark was certainly thankful for that. Damien was already a lonely soul. He couldn’t bear to think about how worse it could be. He had already spent most of the evening quiet, unable to share his own tales with how restricted his life was.

It was why he jumped the gun and asked Damien to stay on when the others were getting ready to leave. Why force him back into his cage so soon? Maybe that was why Celine agreed, throwing her brother a sympathetic look, and suggested that she too would avoid going home so Damien wouldn’t face potential punishment. Damien was grateful for the support, giving a weak chuckle when William patted his friend on the shoulder and reminded him of the soldier’s promise to ‘pummel the daylights out of your old man’ if anything did happen.

When the door closed, Mark fetched Damien a glass of water. Alcohol would not help matters right now and he knew it. He didn’t want to bring the mood down any more, not when his heart was begging to do something.

A badly kept secret in the group was this: Mark had been in love with Damien for years. Not only that, it was reciprocated.

When they were teenagers, Mark’s parents - well-known patrons of the arts with generations of money running through their veins - had hosted a party to celebrate the success of an operatic production that had been on that day. It was a rare time Damien had returned home while in university. With Celine sick at home and William in the army barracks, the pair stole away from the stuffy public spaces and hid in the library. Talk gradually shifted from the opera they had watched, to the idea of what love was and what importance it played in their families, to how they themselves viewed romance in their lives, to Mark admitting he thought Damien to be quite beautiful and that it might be the first time he’s fallen in love, to Damien quietly confessing he wants to be with Mark. Their first kiss hidden amongst the books was soft and tentative. Murmurs of love were shared with breathy whispers, but neither could do more about it beyond sharing kisses and compliments and promises to be true no matter what. Damien was caught under his parents’ thumb. If they chased this relationship further, he would have been forbidden to return to university out of the state, transferred to the local university they wanted him to attend… And would have forbidden him to see Mark again. Instead, they agreed to stay on ‘not yet’. No matter how impatient Mark was, he’d wait. No other person made him feel ‘complete’ as Damien did.

(Oh, his parents had tried to encourage him to date Celine, but he refused. Sure, she was beautiful, but waiting for Damien was one promise he would keep)

Yet as the years went by, something always happened to result in Damien asking Mark to delay his advances no matter how he wanted the opposite. Every single time, the reason would lead to Damien’s suffocating parents being the root of the problem. At least now Mark, Celine and William were old enough to work together to try and give Damien a little more independence. Even now, Celine was willing to put her neck on the line so Damien could have some time alone with Mark with William as her accomplice. Which brings us back to the present. The pair sat in silence on the couch, Damien sipping the water as he was lost in thought. Mark barely needed to tilt his head to know that Damien was weighed down by the stories Celine and William had shared throughout the evening.

“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re incredible.” Mark’s attempt to break the silence hit the nail on the head.

“Of course you would say that,” sighed Damien, not objecting when Mark draped an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close. “You’d say that no matter what.”

“I say it because it’s true. You’re such a clever, charming, intelligent, handsome young man. I’d listen to you talk all night if you’d let me.” There was another sigh, but Mark lightly squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, no, don’t start that. I mean it. You’re so well-read, you always have something insightful to say about everything. You’ve been able to give me tips during my rehearsals for a play you’d never heard of, for pity’s sake. Those good days are coming. We’re all older and wiser, while your parents are old-fashioned farts.” Damien snorted, but he reluctantly moved back so he could look Mark in the eye. There was a smile Mark loved to see, but it was tinged with sadness.

“You always manage to face everything head-on like a wall you can easily climb. I’ve always liked that about you.”

“I’m sitting on that wall ready to pull you up whenever you want. Just say the word.”

“You know I can’t.” The conversation was spiralling back to one they’ve had several times over the years - whether or not now was the ‘right’ time to do anything with their feelings. “My parents won’t approve -”

“Your parents haven’t approved of me from the day I went into the acting profession. They haven’t scared me away, I won’t let them.”

“But -” Damien’s counter vanished into nothing as Mark cupped Damien’s chin with his hand.

“Do my advances make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

Mark leaned in.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“So then why not be selfish, my love, just for tonight?”

They were close, so painfully close that all Mark needed to do was push forward a fraction more. But he couldn’t. He had sworn to himself that this relationship was on Damien’s terms. If Damien moved away, he would respect that. He always did.

In that moment, Mark was sure that all his senses were amplified. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest. Damien was wearing the cologne Mark gifted him for his birthday and it made him feel giddy and light-headed. He let himself be mesmerised by Damien’s beautiful eyes.

He felt an arm snake around his neck. All he could taste was Damien on his lips.

Mark’s eyes fluttered closed as Damien indulged in selfishness and pressed against him. The kiss was quick to deepen as both men let the feelings they had bottled up spill out. Mark’s hands moved fast, wrapping around Damien’s waist and encouraging him to climb onto his lap. Damien broke the kiss to catch his breath.

“I love you. God, I - I need this. I need this so badly…” He trailed off with another kiss.

“Then stay. We can say you fell asleep on the couch and I hadn’t the heart to wake you. We can have tonight and then act like this never happened.” Mark was almost pleading. He would do anything if it meant he could have this moment.

“No… Fuck my parents. I love you and I’ve hidden that for too long. I don’t care what they think.” Damien’s stubbornness, at last, had kicked in; and both men knew it wasn’t the alcohol talking. Mark laughed and brushed a hand through Damien’s hair.

“I love you. And you know, I don’t think either the world nor history won’t care about us. Did you know they think a lot of the great historical figures in Ancient Greece were in same-sex relationships? If the world finds out, they’ll do whatever they can to pin us as close friends. I know I’ve read articles showing how wilfully oblivious the press can be if the couple travel in similar social circles” Tomorrow, Damien might decide to not be as open and bold about their relationship, but Mark would gleefully encourage it tonight as his hand pressed against the back of Damien’s head so they could kiss again.

Words weren’t needed now. They had each other. Without the world watching them, they could finally keep their promise from years ago as they broke apart and embraced.

For now, at least, they had tonight.

#marmien #mayor damien #actor mark #(to people who contribute to the marmien tag - you're all wonderful and fantastic)#(I humbly offer a little contribution to your efforts... Maybe I can try and write that flirty Actor another time :D )#controlling parents cw #(is there a correct term for this btw?)#(oh and also it's before Damien ever becomes mayor; so they're all in their early twenties)

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iamvegorott · 3 years ago

Text

Veggie Ink Month Day 10: Books

Content Warning: Gaslighting, mild verbal/physical abuse aka; Cobra’s a piece of shit

JJ stood at the reference desk, writing into her personal planner about future meetings and events for the library. They’ve been trying to establish a ‘Hero Day’ where some local Heros would spend some time with the children and talk about their favorite books. The thought of Guns Blazing agreeing to the event made JJ’s chest warm up.

“JJ! My love!” That voice made JJ go stiff, pencil snapping in hand.

“Yes?” JJ projected his voice through his library doll, a little tiger named Lupin. He refused to turn his body and actually look at the one who called his name, the one that he was ‘dating’, an arrangement he never agreed to.

“I’ve made you something!” Cobra grabbed JJ’s hand and started walking away with him, JJ just managing to grab Lupin as they went. “Check it out!” Cobra gestured broadly towards his creation.

“I-” JJ’s jaw dropped, face flushing with rage. Cobra had taken a large number of books off of their shelves and used them to make...a chair

“Speechless right? The best throne for the king of the library.” Cobra puffed out his chest

“What did you do!?” Google shouted when he and Bing came in, seeing the supposed ‘throne’.

“I made a gift for JJ, obviously.” Cobra scoffed.

“You made a mess, is what you made.” Bing groaned, switching the bag of supplies he and Google had brought to his other hand. “Do you know how long it’s going to take to put-”

“Don’t ruin the moment!” Cobra snapped at Bing. Bing quickly grabbed Google’s arm when he moved to defend him, shaking his head. “So...what do you think, JJ?” Cobra’s tone dropped and he smiled.

“I’m...I’m trying to figure why…” JJ struggled to find words.

“Because I love-”

“Why you would think this was a good idea?” JJ walked over to the book, not seeing the smile on Cobra’s face turn into a scowl. “You have the covers of paperback tucked into themselves, it’s going to leave a crease even if we can flatten them out.”

“Are you really being this unappreciative of what I’ve done?” Cobra slowly walked over so he was standing behind JJ. “I made something for you and you can only find fault with it?”

“I didn’t ask for you to turn my books into a prop.” JJ hated how most of the books were paperbacks, seeing the way the pages bunched up under the weight of the others.

“Maybe if I had gotten you one of these stupid dolls.” Cobra snatched Lupin out of JJ’s hands. “You’d be more thankful!”

“No!” JJ slapped a hand over his mouth when Cobra tore the head off of the stuffed tiger, cutting off JJ’s voice.

“It’s just books! It’s just a doll! I was trying to be nice!” Cobra threw the two pieces of Lupin down. “Why can’t you just say thank you for once!? Why do you always have to make me out to be the bad guy!?” JJ went down to his knees and, with shaking hands, picked up Lupin, trying to press his head back to his body. “Forget the fucking doll!” Cobra grabbed JJ’s arm and yanked him back up to his feet. “I’m trying my best and you’re making me feel like I’m nothing!”

“Let go of him!” Google shouted and Cobra let out a shout of pain, staring at the pair of scissors sticking out of his arm.

“You fuck!” Cobra released JJ and tore the scissors out of him, throwing them back at Google. Google easily dodge them, leaving Cobra stunned long enough for Google to rush him and tackle him away from JJ.

“JJ!” Bing rushed over to JJ, who had gone straight back down to his knees with Lupin. “Are you hurt?” JJ didn’t respond. “We have to get you out of here.” Bing looked up and watched Google and Cobra fight for a second; Google threw a punch and Cobra caught it but Google acted quickly and used his other hand to hold Cobra’s arm and pull him down into Google’s raised knee.

“What’s going on?” Wilford, dressed in his Guns Blazing attire, came in. “I was on patrol and-is Google fighting Cobra?”

“Take care of JJ, please!” Bing scrambled up to his feet, looking over and seeing Cobra pinning Google against a wall. “We can handle the hot-head.”

“But he’s a Hero, you two-” Wilford stopped when Bing took off, slamming his shoulder into Cobra and sending him down to the ground with a punch to the face. “Well, okay.” Wilford looked down and felt his heart drop at the sight of JJ, trying his best to hold back tears and put Lupin back together. “JJ?” Wilford crouched down. “Are you hurt?” JJ didn’t even look up at him. “I’m going to pick you up, okay? I’m getting us out of here.” Wilford saw just the slightest nod from JJ, letting him know he was listening and okay with what Wilford said. “I got you.” Wilford slowly scooped up JJ, making sure he still had Lupin before carrying him out of the library, hiding JJ’s sight from the fight behind him, hoping he was too out of it to hear the curses and insults Google and Bing were screaming at Cobra while Cobra threw his own back.

Wilford walked to the middle of the library’s yard, sitting JJ down on the grass and sitting with him. There was a moment of silence between the two, only JJ’s sniffs breaking it. Wilford suddenly perked up and reached into a pocket, pulling out a little bottle of super glue.

“Here, it should hold up a little better till we can get some string.” Wilford dripped the glue on the inside stuffing of Lupin, taking care to not get it on the stuffed tiger’s felt. Wilford had his hand on top of JJ’s as he guide the head of Lupin to his body, keeping them together as it dried.

“B-Blaze.” JJ’s voice cracked out from the doll, sounding strained and forced.

“I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. And we’ll clean up the library together.” Wilford gave JJ a large smile. JJ finally looked at Wilford, staring into his eyes and a blush brushed his cheeks pink. JJ leaned in, pressing his lips to Wilford’s. “JJ-I-” Wilford saw JJ’s face and could practically feel his heartbeat. Wilford caved into his own wants and dove into another kiss, hand going to JJ’s flushed cheek to pull him closer into the kiss.

“Guns Blazing!? What’s happening!?” Their kiss was interrupted by the crowd of reporters arriving at the scene, camera up and recording them. “Are you unaware of the relationship between JJ and Cobra? Is there trouble in paradise? Is-”

“Get the fuck out!” The rampage of questions stopped at Bing’s scream and the library doors opening by Cobra flying through them.

“Cobra! Cobra!” The reporters all took off for the newest action.

“Let’s go. Cobra won’t do anything in front of cameras.” Wilford helped JJ up and the two took off, knowing that their current lives were going to change a lot when the dust settled.

#veggie ink month #veggie ink month 2021 #dapperstache #superhero!au #drawing a book throne was hard 😂#also #fuck derek #we also had to get some angst back in this month

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stiles-halee · 4 years ago

Text

Kinkmas Day 4: Dirty Talk

Derek had always been sort of quiet. Everyone knew that. Sure, he made the occasional snarky comment or frustrated huff of annoyance, but apart from that, the man was of few words.

Well, most of the time.

Stiles had tried to get Derek to talk many ways. He'd bring up books, coffee shops, pack business, sports, hell, even the weather, but the man either blatantly ignored Stiles, or only made a blunt comment. Usually to ask why Stiles was talking to him.

Even so, Stiles was determined to get Derek to crack. He tried different approaches of course. Playful banter, heartfelt conversations (big bust by the way), and even texting, which caused more issues than it should have. Derek didn't even know what emojis were for Christ sake.

Things had sort of been calm in Beacon Hills for a while, and it was Christmas break, Stiles' junior year in college. He got a job in the local library and still played video games with Scott, but most of the time he had nothing to do and was bored. That's how he made it his personal mission to make Derek talk.

It had started out "Mission Make Derek Hale His Friend," which then transitioned into "Mission Make Derek Hale Friendly," and then fizzled out to "Mission Make Derek Hale speak."

Stiles realized that he probably wasn't Derek's first choice of friend, or even someone to talk to, but Stiles had tried to use that to his advantage. Maybe if he annoyed Derek enough, he would crack, even if it was opening his mouth to just go on a rant about how annoying and loud and obnoxious Stiles was. It would still be progress. So that was the path Stiles was on now, annoy Derek enough to where he somehow cracked.

Of course, annoying Derek to the point of speaking also had several sub-categories. Continuous rambling, continuous questions, etc. Maybe he could poke fun at Derek a bit, make a joke about protein powder or something. It couldn't be that hard to get under the guy's skin.

Of course, he had been on this mission for a while, but he just knew, hoping out of his jeep and staring up at the loft, today was going to be the day. He and Derek were going to get close.

Shutting the Jeep door, Stiles jogged up to the loft, blowing clouds as he breathed. It was just about a week until Christmas and Stiles had made it his goal during finals to get Derek to crack by the end of the year. Sure it wasn't what he was supposed to be focused on finals week, but it gave him something to look forward to. It was a short goal, really, and on his way up, he considered rescheduling his end date.

Shaking his head, he raised his hand to knock of the loft door, but then put his hand down with a smirk. Today was about annoying Derek, which meant no knocking.

"What the hell are you doing?" Derek growled out, opening the door. This was going to be easier than Stiles thought.

"Damn, those wolfy senses really are something aren't they? And here I thought I was quiet." Apparently no knocking was needed, Derek knew Stiles was there.

Derek glared and Stiles pushed his way inside, he wasn't one on invitations. And again, the whole annoy Derek thing.

"How are you, on this lovely evening, Mr. Hale?" Stiles looked around the loft, hands on his hips, but got no response. He spun around, eyebrows raised, but Derek only glared back, arms crossed. He at least had shut the loft door, rightfully anticipating a stay.

"What, not speaking to me today?" Stiles pouted, taking a step closer and pretending to be offended, though he knew this was how it went.

"Well that's okay, I can do enough talking for the both of us." Stiles cocked his head, smiling.

Derek huffed and rolled his eyes, taking a step towards Stiles to get to the couch. "Trust me, I know."

"What, you going to find a way to shut me up?" Stiles sort of froze once he said it. He hadn't meant for it to come out the way it did, but it wasn't like he could take it back.

Derek also paused, looking at Stiles, closer than Stiles had expected. He hadn't made it to the couch, after all.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Derek asked, voice low and calm.

"Uh- well- I was just, well, you know, I-"

Derek raised a brow, crossing those stupid buff arms again.

"Doesn't look like you are going to." Stiles matched Derek, crossing his arm and sticking his nose up in the air. It was a stupid reply.

"Going to?" Derek asked, turning his head slightly.

"Shut me up." Stiles said, as though it was obvious.

"Oh, I could shut you up." Derek's lips twitched and Stiles wasn't sure whether he should be terrified or turned on. He was a little bit of both and he hoped Derek couldn't smell it.

"Should I be afraid?" Stiles asked.

"Guess that depends." Derek seemed closer, though Stiles hadn't noticed him move at all.

"On what?" Stiles asked.

"Are you going to keep talking?" Derek asked.

"Is it going to piss you off?" Stiles asked.

"Definitely."

"Then probably." Stiles nodded, placing his hands on his hips.

"Do you make it your personal mission to make me angry?" Derek asked, face going stern.

"Actually, that's kind of a funny story, see, because-"

Stiles was shoved against the wall, back pressed against it. He held his breath is surprise, blinking in shock. Derek's face was only a few inches from his. Maybe this was a terrible idea, he should probably get a new hobby.

Derek leaned in closer.

He should definitely get a new hobby.

"Okay, woah, hold on there buddy. Look, no reason to maim and kill here, I have so much longer to live. Okay so yeah, maybe I was trying to piss you off, but it's only because I was-"

Derek slid a hand up under Stiles' t-shirt, pushing it up slightly and exposing the skin. Derek's hand was incredibly warm and firm, and Stiles tried not to lean into it.

He held his breath once more and just stared with his doe eyes back at Derek. That was totally, 100% not what he expected. Like ever.

"So I was right." Derek cocked his head to the side.

"Right?" Stiles asked, voice quiet and completely thrown off by the hand pressing against his side.

"That I knew how to shut you up." Derek smirked smugly. Jerk.

"Oh yeah?" Stiles asked, voice wavering. "Well, I bet I know how to get you to talk." Another stupid reply

"Oh really?" Derek asked, looking down at Stiles' lips only briefly. So fast, Stiles wasn't sure that he didn't imagine it.

Stiles licked his lips. He should stop here. To be honest, this is the most Derek had spoken in the entire month of December. Not to mention the fact that Derek was in the perfect position to kill Stiles, right hand on his stomach and left next to his head, knee in between Stiles' legs, keeping him pinned. He had no way out.

But Stiles was Stiles, and Stiles didn't give up.

"Yeah." Stiles nodded quickly.

"Does it still involve you shutting up?" Derek asked. Stiles looked to the side, considering.

"Well I guess it kind of depends."

"On what?" Derek asked. He was closer. He had to be. Stiles could smell him for Christ sake. All the musky goodness that was Derek Hale.

"On what you do next." Stiles swallowed nervously, but Derek only smirked. It was the most teeth the man had ever shown, apart from when he was ripping someone's throat out.

Derek kept eye contact as he trailed his hand down towards Stiles' belt, undoing it slowly.

"Well, I guess I wasn't entirely telling the truth," Derek began, unbuttoning Stiles' pants and dragging the zipper down slowly. "Because though I do know how to shut you up, I want to hear you."

He snaked a hand into Stiles' pants, cupping his half hard member. Stiles sighed, closing his eyes only for a moment. Derek hadn't even gotten past Stiles underwear and yet he was ready to melt.

"Wha-what does that mean?" Stiles asked. That's what he knew how to do best in stressful situations, talk.

"I want to hear you, Stiles. Want to hear you moan, hear you beg, hear you cry out my name." Derek purred, trailing the fingers that were once by his head down his neck, leaving goosebumps. Stiles wanted those fingers to be Derek's lips. Wanted to feel the burn of his stubble.

"I want to hear you moan around me, want to see you spread out on the bed, begging for my cock." Derek cooed, tracing Stiles' jawline, as he continued to palm at the younger man.

"Oh my God." Stiles breathed out, pressing his hips forward, wanting more contact from the man.

"Is that what you want Stiles?" Derek asked, cupping Stiles' neck.

Stiles nodded frantically, so hard he could barely stand it.

"Tell me what you want, Stiles." Derek demanded.

"You, I want you, please God."

Derek hummed, slipping his hand into Stiles' boxers. Stiles let out a filthy moan, Derek's hands felt perfect around his dick, huge, warm, and calloused, like they were meant to be there.

"How about you start on your hands and knees, hm?" Derek suggested, removing his hand. Stiles frowned at the loss of contact, but quickly dropped down to the hard floor. Jesus, he had never wanted a man's cock in his mouth so bad before this moment.

"Pretty boy," Derek smirked down, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. He placed a hand on the back of Stiles' head, but just let it rest there, never pushing. Stiles' shaky hand wrapped around Derek's jeans, pulling them down to his thighs and revealing his fat cock.

"Oh my God." Stiles whispered. The man was huge and didn't wear underwear, something Stiles never knew could turn him on so much.

Wasting no more time, he licked a strip up Derek's cock, making the man hiss. Stiles looked up at him and felt encouraged, soon taking Derek into his mouth. He worked his jaw, bobbing up and down, mixing up the speed.

He pulled back for a breath, spitting on Derek's cock, making the man chuckle.

"Like a fucking pornstar. You like that, don't you? You like sucking my cock?"

Stiles nodded, breathing heavily. He went back in, wanting to swallow Derek whole, but he couldn't quite get there. Derek was huge, certainly the largest he had ever put in his mouth. Even with practically no gag reflex, Stiles was sure he wouldn't be able to touch his nose to Derek's naval by the end of tonight. That would take practice, which he was hoping to get plenty of.

Stiles sucked on Derek's tip, making the man groan and grip onto Stiles hair, pulling it, but never pushing him down.

"God, fucking perfect. Look at your lips around my cock, beautiful. You want that cock inside you?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded frantically, pulling off slowly.

"Come on." Derek helped pull him up, stiff from the position, and dragged him upstairs quickly to the bedroom.

Stiles had never actually seen Derek's bedroom, it was sort of plain, dark grey walls and black furniture, as well as a black bed. Something that did peak Stiles interest was the giant metal x across from Derek's bed.

Was that some sort of BDSM sex thing?

Stiles opened up his mouth to ask, but Derek cut him off, grabbing his hand and practically throwing him on the bed. Instantly, Derek was on top of him, looming.

He took a single claw and raked it down Stiles' shirt, cutting it open. He ripped the pieces off of Stiles' body and followed the claw with his tongue, making Stiles squirm.

"You want me to make you feel good?" Derek asked, looking up at Stiles, who frantically shook his head yes. He had never been so hard in his life, it was painful, pressing up against his boxers.

Derek licked Stiles' nipple, making him jump. That had never happened before.

Derek smirked again, sucking it into his mouth and making Stiles let out an absolutely filthy moan.

"Sensitive, aren't we?" Derek rolled the pink bud in between his fingers, making Stiles hiss. Jesus, that felt good.

"Before we really begin, I do have some rules, Stiles." The man leaned down to suck Stiles' other nipple into his mouth, Stiles' hips bucking in response, trying to get some friction.

"If you want to stop, just say so. But if you don't want to stop, I want to hear that to. Want to hear how good you feel, what you want." Derek nosed up to Stiles neck, sucking on a patch of skin there.

"I want you to come around my cock, you okay with that?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded again and Derek pulled back, ceasing all contact.

"I mean, yes, yes I do." Stiles corrected himself.

"Do what?" Derek quirked a brow.

Stiles swallowed. "I want to come with your cock inside of me."

"Good boy." Derek smiled, leaning back down and pulling Stiles' pants off. He yanked his own off quickly as he began licking his way down to Stiles' cock.

Without warning, he sucked it into his mouth, making Stiles cry out. The man had the lips and tongue of an angel, holy fuck. Somehow it was like he knew all of Stiles' sweet spots, knew everything he loved.

He continued suckling, pushing Stiles' right knee back. He placed a finger on Stiles' lips, who quickly sucked them into his mouth, fully coating them.

Once wet, Derek traced his finger around Stiles' hole while he simultaneously sucked him off, sending shivers down his spine.

"You going to be a good boy?" Derek asked.

"Yes, yes, I promise."

Derek hummed around Stiles' cock, almost making Stiles cum. Quickly, Derek pulled off, pushing his face lower towards Stiles hole. He licked a strip there, getting it more wet and making Stiles claw at Derek's back.

"Oh my God, Derek." Stiles moaned. Derek hummed again in approval. This was when Derek liked to hear Stiles talk. And this was when Derek liked to talk. Who would have thought.

It was Stiles' turn to grab at Derek's hair, pulling at it and moaning every chance he could breathe.

Derek snaked a finger into his hole, pressing gently, but Stiles embraced the burn. It felt so good already, he just wanted Derek's cock.

"Derek." Stiles mewled, grabbing at his hair.

"What do you want?" Derek asked. Stiles had heard this question many times coming from Derek's lips, but never like this. Never would he have expected this.

"Want you inside me, please."

Derek nodded, seeming pleased, and slipped in another finger.

"One more finger baby." He rubbed circles on Stiles' hips, soothing him.

Stiles tried to be patient, but he was so fucking hard and wanted Derek so bad.

"Please, please, Derek, need you." Stiles mustered up. Upon his request, Derek slid in another finger, this one more dry, but Stiles welcomed it.

"Yes, yes." Stiles chanted.

Derek chuckled above him, placing a quick peck on his jawline. "Told you I would make you beg."

Once Stiles was adequately stretched out, Derek pulled out his fingers and lined up his cock. Stiles looked down, almost coming at the site of Derek's fat cock at the edge of his hole.

"Jesus fuckin-" Stiles began as Derek pushed in his cock slowly. It was certainly bigger than Derek's three fingers but it felt so good.

"How do you feel?" Derek asked, pausing once he was bottomed out.

"Good. Full." Stiles couldn't muster up actual sentences at this point.

"You like my fat cock inside of your tight little hole?" Derek asked, grabbing Stiles hips and slowly rocking.

"Yes, yes, yes, oh my God, Derek." Stiles cried out as Derek pulled all the way out and slammed back in, quickening the pace.

"You like that, huh? Like your Alpha's fat cock?" Derek breathed out, absolutely pounding into him. Precum leaked out of Stiles' dick as he threw his head back. Derek nailed his prostate and Stiles grabbed Derek's hair, pulling it hard. With his other hand, he went to grab his own cock, but Derek grabbed his hand, placing it above his head.

"Ah, ah ah, Stiles. You promised to cum around my cock like a good boy, remember? I'm going to get you to cum untouched."

Stiles cried out Derek's name again. He felt like was going to fucking explode.

"Please, please, Derek-"

"Look at you, fucking perfect." Derek swiped his thumb against Stiles' swollen lip and he instantly sucked it in without a second thought.

"Fucking perfect." Derek repeated, returning both hands to Stiles' hips as he absolutely pounded the shit out of him.

Stiles' orgasm kept building and he felt like he was going to pass out. He grabbed at Derek, trying to yank him close, and the man obliged, leaning down and littering kisses on his neck, leaving bruises.

"Derek, I'm going to cum." Stiles moaned.

"You going to cum for me, going to cum for your Alpha?"

Stiles swallowed, raking his fingernails down Derek's back until he was sure the man had to be bleeding. Derek sent one final pounding thrust to Stiles' prostate and that was all it took.

"Oh my God, Derek-" Stiles threw his head back as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, streams of white cum flying up onto his own chest. Derek pulled out, busting his load onto Stiles' chest, mixing their spunk, but Stiles didn't even notice, as black spots clouded his vision. His body shook as Derek cupped his cheek.

"Still with me?" He asked, looking smug as Stiles' vision returned.

"Holy fucking. . . " Stiles trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. He still felt like he was going to pass out again. He looked down at their cum on his chest and his cock twitched again. Stiles let out a groan, still breathing hard. Best sex of his life.

Derek looked absolutely frazzled, hair a mess, thanks to Stiles, and eyes half lidded in pleasure. He too was panting pretty heavily and his body gleamed with a very thin layer of sweat.

"I told you I would make you feel good."

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847538/chapters/68179390

#Sterek #sterekkinkmas #sterekkinkmas2020 #teen wolf #teenwolf #sterek fic #ao3 #ao3fic #Stiles #stiles stilinski #Stiles/Derek #stiles x derek #Derek #derek hale #kinkmas

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notnctu · 4 years ago

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nct by the hour❀

▸ in which each member represents an hour of your extremely long day. its a similar concept to all the different people you encounter on a daily basis. read in chronological order!

▸[a/n] it’s author doie❀! inspired by @okmica‘s nct as types of boys ; im sorry u got notified twice bc i accidentally posted my draft lolol,, but anyways ur post absolutely butters my toast hehe idk what i wrote honestly lol

RENJUN ▸ 4:02 a.m

your own personal alarm clock, light pats on your shoulder and tiny whispers, stumbles in the dark, takes off his warm hoodie to slip onto you, leaves your door open, places a granola bar for you on the kitchen counter, the first smile of your day

HENDERY▸ 5:06 a.m

a burst of energy ride to work, brings you freshly squeezed orange juice, plays upbeat music, is overly excited to start the day, points out the sunrise, takes the scenic route bc it makes you happy

KUN ▸ 6:03 a.m

the calm and collected shift lead, greets you with good morning without a fail, goes over the work breakdown with enthusiasm, notices you did something different with your hair, says you’re his best employee

XIAOJUN ▸ 7:09 a.m

a quiet company during work prep, silently takes care of the coffee machinery, counts the money so you don’t have to, soft chuckles when arranging the display pastries, tired gazes, mutual hatred for morning shifts

JOHNNY ▸ 8:00 a.m

the very attractive regular who always gets black coffee, remembers your name, engages in small talk, touches finger tips when you give him his drink, tips $10 every time, wishes you a good day

YANGYANG ▸ 9:10 a.m

always takes up the corner of the shop, scatters his textbooks on two tables, gets awfully shy when you offer him a pastry, pushes his glasses up every three seconds, orders hot chocolate, talks to you when there are no customers in line

TAEIL ▸ 10:13 a.m

asks you for recommendations, holds up the line, compliments the pins on your apron, goes by the alias ‘moon’, is a rewards member, quirky conversations about the weather, hopes to see you tomorrow

JISUNG ▸ 11:01 a.m

the new trainee that nods to everything you teach him, fumbles with the espresso machine, doesn’t talk much, pouts whenever he messes up, thinks you’re the best at explanations, gets nervous when you don’t have the same shifts, admires you deeply

MARK ▸ 12:15 p.m

your break buddy who works next door, smells like pizza dough, shares his slice with you, always thankful that you bring him a drink, funny stories about customers, heavy sighs when break is over, never wants to leave you

CHENLE ▸ 1:00 p.m

the cheerful employee who takes your spot at the end of your shift, screams your name out of pure joy of seeing you, begs you not to go, dramatic wails of disappointment, excitedly waves goodbye over the cash register

YUTA ▸ 2:05 p.m

works at your local grocery store, helps you get something from the top shelf, throws in a bag of free candy bc he likes you, asks about how you are, gives you store discount, always acknowledges that you smell like coffee, carries your groceries to your car

JUNGWOO ▸ 3:20 p.m

the spunky waiter at your favorite restaurant, always puts your order in before you arrive, beaming smiles the moment you walk through the door, hugs you quickly, thinks you look cute today, ushers you out urgently with a small pat on your head

JAEMIN ▸ 4:03 p.m

cuddles you while you two nap, runs his fingers through your hair gently, forehead kisses, rubs circles on your shoulder, makes sure you fall asleep first, draws you into his side, forgets to set an alarm

WINWIN ▸ 5:30 p.m

misses you during lecture, rolls his eyes when he hands you his notes, grumbles about you owing him snacks, sarcastic jokes about you oversleeping, important due dates, walks you to your next class, attentively listens to your troubles

HAECHAN ▸ 6:12 p.m

takes you out to new restaurants for dinner, orders way too much, gossips about your mutuals, feeds you small spoonful bites, remembers your favorite kinds of foods, jokes playfully about how you have poor taste buds, covers the bill and doesn’t let you pay him back

JENO ▸ 7:07 p.m

the cute club leader who makes announcements, makes an effort to introduce himself personally, firm handshakes, notices you from across the room, very surface level conversations, notable eye smile that makes him even cuter, wants to get to know you better

DOYOUNG ▸ 8:03 p.m

your study buddy who hasn’t left the library since the morning, offers his jacket so you don’t get cold, proudly shows you his full set of completed flashcards, ruffles your hair whenever you rest against the table, clearly claims that he adores you, silently loves your company

JAEHYUN ▸ 9:06 p.m

the familiar handsome stranger who always meets you in the elevator, presses all the floors to spend more time with you, flashes his dimples in hopes to charm you, awkwardly sparks up a conversation, politely asks if you’d want to hang out sometime

TEN ▸ 10:00 p.m

steals you away from your studies to get ice cream, doesn’t hesitate to order your favorite flavor for you, tries to bite from your cone, always tells you to get plenty of rest, playful giggles when he teases you about your love life, wishes you had more time for him

LUCAS ▸ 11:02 p.m

the party animal who never fails to invite you over, respects your decision to not drink tonight, still comically asks you to dance with him, hypes up your awful moves, thinks you’re the most fun to be around, can be himself with you

TAEYONG ▸ 12:00 a.m

the open arms you love coming home to, readily available to hear about your entire day, gets the water started for you, droopy eyes and long yawns, tucks you into bed, holds you until you fall asleep, softly closes your door on his way out, the last smile of your day

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years ago

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dirtbags // 1: Charlotte

Summary: Motley Crue High School AU with The Pack (Lola, Charlotte, Peach, & Eileen); Winter, 1984. Charlotte’s halfway through her Junior year of High School when Lola arrives in town, and becomes a part of Charlotte’s life almost by accident.

Tommy seems to fall for any girl he hasn’t grown up with, Nikki and Charlotte are in agreement that their friendship becoming public knowledge would be social suicide for them both, Vince is a tool, and Eileen is still mad at him for what happened over Summer.

A/N: 8829 words. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @misscharlottelee this has literally been in the works for what’s felt like a year, but i decided that i can’t keep putting it off forever, so here. part 1. i think im going to try and put these out weekly?? maybe sooner?? but i adore you and i of course absolutely adore @josaphinebaker so i’m glad to finally let you all enjoy the long-awaited, multi-part HS AU (me, not posting writing for months: AND WHAT’S THIS? THE HS AU WITH A STEEL CHAIR --) ft. a softer world quotes

who said life can’t be an adventure? because whoever said that is probably the villain.

There’s a place for everything, and everything has it’s place. That’s they way the world works, at least, that’s the motto the rest of the cheerleading team seems to adhere to almost religiously. Charlotte, who’s been on the team for almost a full year and a half, since the start of her Sophmore year, can’t see the world so black and white. It’s not that she signed up to be a Cheerleader to fulfil some bitchy, blonde stereotype, it’s more that she had free time to fill and thought it would be fun. It took her a few months to find her footing once she’d been offered a place on the team, and was quickly thrust into her school’s the social spotlight, but she managed in the end, and had been managing ever since, mostly.

“Charlie, you’re so lucky,” Tommy, her cousin, lamented to her, driving her home after cheer practice, and marching band, had finished for the day. He was still in his uniform, as was Charlotte, and she gave him a sidelong glance, picking at the nail polish on her thumb. She doesn’t even give him an answer; ever since she’d joined the team, he had felt the need to wax poetic about the other cheerleaders and their uniforms. It’s so familiar that she doesn’t even need to prompt him into mooning over seeing Pamela in the cafeteria that day.

“She’s never going to date you if you don’t talk to her,” Charlotte’s smile is sly as her gaze slides back to the road, and the sun drifting towards the horizon.

“If Pam ever found out I’d looked at her, she’d probably just spit on me, call me pathetic or some shit,” Tommy’s eyeroll is implied by the flatness of his tone, but Charlotte can’t help but laugh.

“Oh Tommy, everyone looks at Pam,” she reminds him, and Tommy lets out an annoyed whine.

“I know,” he groans, clearly not cheered by that fact, feeling ever the more hopeless, and they fall into silence. Charlotte reaches down beside her seat and lifts a lever, pushing the seat back so she could comfortably rest her feet on his dashboard.

“Did you hear someone finally bought the MacCready burger joint? Dad was talking about it yesterday,” Tommy says mildly, making a left-hand turn onto their street. Charlotte raises her eyebrows, intrigued, but doesn’t speak. Tommy knows her well enough to take her silence as an invitation to go on, “Mrs Mac is going into hospice care and apparently some guy bought it and moved into town.”

“Oh shit, poor Mrs Mac,” Charlotte muses, and crosses her ankles on the dash, “hopefully their food is edible now.”

“Their burgers were great!” Tommy protested loudly.

“Their burgers were trash, Tommy! You’re just a rat -!”

“I’m not a rat!” He argues back, pulling into the gas station around the corner from their house. Tommy pulls up beside one of the pumps, and Charlotte gets out to browse the various snacks on offer inside the service station.

“Afternoon, Mick,” Charlotte calls out to the gas station attendant, the guy who’s been working here since he was fourteen, who’s currently got an electrical apprenticeship every other day. Charlotte realizes she might know too much about him considering he barely communicates in grunts most of the time. It’s not that he can’t speak, it’s just that he has a well documented dislike of her over exuberant cousin.

As expected, Mick doesn’t look up from his copy of Rolling Stone behind the counter, but makes a noise of acknowledgement.

Before Tommy has finished filling the tank, an unfamiliar figure enters the gas station, breezing past Charlotte and snatching up a packet of pork rinds, moving to the drinks fridge and taking a can of lemonade. The person is a young woman, though Charlotte doesn’t get a good look at her face; she’s got silky, black hair down to the small of her back, beneath a backwards baseball cap, and she’s the most notable of her clothes are her scuffed, black boots, and her oversized, black denim jacket littered with patches and pins.

When she puts her items on the counter in front of Mick, she pauses, frowning at the display, and Tommy enters the shop with an oblivious smile, asking if Charlotte had decided on anything.

“Can I help you?” Mick asks flatly, and the girl holds up a single finger, the universal signal for wait, and Mick huffs, but remains quiet. The girl adds a packet of gum to her haul, and leans her elbows on the counter.

“And a pack of Marlboros.”

Mick scowls.

“How old are you?”

“Are you being paid enough to care?” She responds, voice a low, challenging alto, and after a moment of deliberation, Mick actually shrugs, and turns to the cigarette display, picking out a pack for her as she pulled a few bills from her back pocket. After everything’s paid for, and the various food and drink had been stashed in the numerous pockets of her jacket, the girl is quick to open the cigarettes.

“They’re for my dad,” she explains, taking one out and putting it between her lips, grinning, “mostly.”

She passes a bewildered Tommy and Charlotte on the way out, giving them a flat look over, eyebrow raising minutely at the sight of Charlotte’s cheerleading uniform, but she’s quickly out the door. Tommy, flabbergasted at her display of confidence, marches straight up to counter and leans on it like he’d seen the woman do.

“A pack of -”

“Fuck off,” Mick tells him, before Tommy even finishes his sentence. Charlotte snorts a laugh, approaching the counter with a bottle of diet coke.

“Fifteen bucks on pump three,” Tommy sighs, pulling out his wallet, “and Charlie’s drink.”

“Do you know her, Mick?” Charlotte asks, still smiling, mind playing over the interaction.

“Do I look like I know her?” Mick grumbles, counting the handful of quarters Tommy had passed him with a ten dollar bill. Tommy, however, has never in his life taken Mick’s constant foul mood to heart, even when he probably should.

“He loves me, secretly, I know he does,” Tommy grinned when they were back in the car, heading to Charlotte’s house to drop her off, “we’ve known each other for five years, we’ll be friends any day now.”

“Tommy, he’s three days away from just decking you when you go to pay.”

“Which is a step up from when you said he’d throw me in front of traffic,” Tommy, ever the optimistic dumbass, chooses to look on the bright side. Tommy wears his affection on his sleeve, and seems to find himself trying to befriend anyone who would sooner fight him, if his hero-worship of local punk Nikki Sixx is anything to go by. It’s with a painful clarity that Charlotte realizes if he ever meets the girl from the gas station, he’s going to fall in love with her almost immediately.

Which makes Charlotte’s accidental and secret friendship with Nikki Sixx awkward.

“Oh Miss Lee,” Nikki whistles at her the following morning, wearing a grin that’s all teeth, “you know just what a guy likes to see on a Thursday morning.” He’s leering at her, leaning on the mesh of the fence, fingers hooked into the metal as he presses himself against it, his gaze trained on the pleat of her cheer uniform split upon her thigh over her tights.

“Every time you speak, I consider vehicular homicide,” Charlotte tells him with a sigh, straightening out her skirt, already resigned to the fact the rest of her free period was about to be co-opted.

“Then I’m glad you can’t drive,” Nikki’s still grinning, throwing his bag over the fence, into the garden Charlotte had thought was peaceful enough to study in.

“It’s the only thing keeping you alive,” she says, plastering a fake, sweet smile on her face, closing her biology textbook as Nikki vaults the fence a few feet away from her. She pulls her jacket a little tighter around herself, in an attempt to ward off the slight chill of the end of semester air.

Never in Charlotte’s life would she have intentionally tried to befriend Nikki Sixx. How was she supposed to know that two of her free periods coincided with when he liked to show up to school? And that the secluded garden area out behind the library where she liked to study in said free periods was the easiest place to sneak in?

She’s threatened to turn him in more times than he can remember, and he spits back that she should just find a new place to study, but she keeps showing up, and she never turns him in, and by now most of Nikki’s flirting is harmless.

They were both very much of the opinion that having a public friendship would be bad for the both of them; Nikki’s got more than a reputation of his own, both because his name technically isn’t Nikki, but he fights anyone who calls him Frank, and because he’s kind of a slut. Also there’s still an unconfirmed rumour about him being expelled from his first high school back in Seattle, since he’d joined their school a semester in Freshman year. Everyone’s too afraid to ask. Charlotte knows the cheerleaders aren’t above making hell for one of their own if they were caught fraternizing with someone like him.

That being said, Nikki had made it very clear that he’d rather saw off his arm than admit that they were even acquaintances, scoffing about how he’d lose any and all street cred he’d ever had if his friends found out he was hanging around Miss Everyone’s Best Friend Charlotte Lee. At the time, she’d taken offence to his tone, but she quickly came to learn that that’s just how Nikki is sometimes.

He offers her a cigarette from the pack in his pocket like he always does, sitting opposite her on the picnic bench instead of going to class, his bag still on the grass where he’d thrown it. Like always, Charlotte turns it down, but it does remind her-

“Saw a girl yesterday at Mick’s gas station that reminded me of you,” Charlotte flips to the back page of her notebook, which was already littered with little drawings, and starts scribbling idly.

“She hot?”

“I guess?” Charlotte says after a moment of consideration, “didn’t get to see her long enough to really be able to tell.” Nikki hums thoughtfully, and Charlotte, without looking up, “she asked Mick for cigarettes and he was like ‘how old are you?’ and she was like ‘are you being paid enough to care?’“

Nikki takes a long draft from his own cigarette, and kindly turns to the side to blow smoke into the wind, instead of directly into Charlotte’s face, as he used to do, or like he does when he’s annoyed.

“Mick would have mad respect for a move like that,” Nikki snorts, and when Charlotte looks up from her notebook, she sees him looking off into the distance, giving a genuine smile at the mental image. Maybe this is why she puts up with him, these rare genuine moments. He raises the cigarette to his lips again, and looks back at her, eyebrows raised, as if prompting her to go on. Charlotte looks back at her notebook.

“It inspired Tommy to try and buy smokes too, but Mick shut him down fast; I swear, if we show up when he’s clocking off, he’s going to K.O Tommy the first chance he gets.”

“Which is a step up from when you said he’d throw him in front of traffic,” Nikki notes, and Charlotte pauses, frowning. She hadn’t realised her hyperbolic threats on Mick’s behalf were a standard unit of measurement for how much he did or didn’t like her cousin. They were bullshit! Why did anyone take them seriously? Charlotte’s often astounded at her own credibility, and how much people tend to take her at her word without question.

“What’s she look like?” Nikki asks, flicking his ash into the grass, bringing Charlotte out of her thoughts.

“Who?”

“The girl from the gas station.”

“Oh,” Charlotte pauses, thinking, finally settling on, “she was wearing heaps of dark shit, had black hair, maybe that’s why I thought of you. I don’t know who she is though, didn’t recognize her from anywhere.” She adds, and Nikki hums thoughtfully, nodding. With his free hand, he snatches her pen out of her grip, despite her yelp of protest, and begins doodling pentagrams on the back cover of her notebook.

“You free tomorrow night?”

“I’d rather die than date you.”

“Charlie, you’re not my type -”

“Nikki, your type is tits and a heartbeat.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d fuck you, but I’d rather be castrated than date you,” Nikki responds flatly, and Charlotte quickly shuts up, scowling, “but my band has a gig at a place that doesn’t card, so if you and that overgrown Labrador you call a cousin can sneak away from mommy and daddy for the night, you’re more than welcome to come party with the big kids.” He smirked, flicking Charlotte’s pen back at her. Charlotte’s annoyance has simmered down at his offer, considering his words.

“Nikki Sixx inviting me to see his band,” she mused, sly smile curling at the corners of her lips, mischief glinting in her eyes, “you like me, don’t you? You like Miss Everyone’s Best Friend. Soon I’m going to be your best friend too!” At least she was self aware enough about her people-pleasing tendencies to poke fun at his scorn.

“I like that you’re cousin’s obsessed with me, so bring him too,” Nikki’s quick to correct, but his heart’s not fully in it, if the smile he’s failing to repress is anything to go by, “I’m just in it for the ego trip, sweetheart.”

Charlotte gags at the pet name; the bell rings.

“She smells like an ash tray,” is the first thing Charlotte hears when she sits herself with the rest of the cheer squad at lunch, and she’s terrified for a moment that Heather, the Vice Captain of the squad, is talking about her. Discretely, Charlotte sniffs at her hair, worried that the perfume she’d spritzed to hide any of Nikki’s lingering smoke had worn off quickly. Heather’s not even looking at her, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to the other gathered girls.

“Heather, half the people at this school smell like smoke,” Eileen cuts in as the voice of reason, taking a dainty bite of her food to punctuate her point. Heather’s expression sours.

“Yeah, but she’s pretty, why would she smoke?”

“Heather, you smoke,” Eileen rolls her eyes, and Heather sits back, crossing her arms, long, dainty fingers resting on her perfectly tanned and toned biceps.

“Yeah, but at least I have the decency not to smell like the bottom of an ashtray,” Heather raises an eyebrow, as if offering some form of challenge, and Charlotte watches Eileen bite back on a scathing retort, simply offering a withering smile, and continuing on with her lunch, “anyway,” Heather rolls her eyes, and starts up a new conversation with the girls on her other side, who were hanging onto her every word like it was gospel.

It’s quite possible that the tensions between Heather and Eileen may never actually die down, Charlotte considers, fiddling with the plastic-wrapped straw of her juice box. The thing is that Heather had only scored the position of Vice Captain of the cheerleading squad after Eileen, practically a shoe-in after two years on the squad and a pretty impressive acrobatic repertoire, publicly turned down the offer, quit, and joined the swim team the very next day, refusing to give a reason for any of her actions. A vicious joke circled the school about Heather being sloppy seconds, and despite Eileen never actually contributing to the joke in any way, or even acknowledging it, part of Heather still obviously resented her. The fact that Eileen still chose to sit with the cheerleaders despite not being one anymore, might also play into that, like she’s rubbing it in Heather’s face, even though she never would intend to do that.

Charlotte’s known Eileen for what feels like forever, since Summer camp in Grade School, living close enough to maintain a friendship, but not close enough that they were in the same district for Grade or Middle School. Both academically and socially minded young women, they’d found themselves in a number of clubs in those years that brought them face to face at meet or competitions, and thankfully, their local high school drew from a wider range of districts, finally bringing them together as allies, rather than competitors.

“Who were they talking about?” Charlotte asks quietly, stabbing her straw into her juice box, trying to keep their conversation discrete.

“A girl transferred into our grade -”

“On a Thursday?” Charlotte scoffs a little, “with three weeks left to go before Winter break?” And Eileen makes a noise in the back of her throat, an I know, it’s weird, right? Without saying any actual words.

“Something Fields; we just had French with her,” Eileen nods to where Heather’s now happily chattering with the other cheerleaders, earlier disagreement seemingly forgotten.

“Something?” Charlotte asked wryly, and Eileen gave her an amused look.

“Madame Laurent’s accent would butcher the name Sally, I’m surprised I managed to understand Fields,” and okay, she has a point, Madame Laurent’s French accent was half the reason any of the students studied the language, if only to understand her, because her English, while technically good, was sometimes incomprehensible.

“The girl didn’t correct her?”

“Nah, just kept quiet, embarrassed, I think,” Eileen mused, and Charlotte hummed thoughtfully, “though she did sit herself right next to Heather; bold move, I’ll applaud her for that.”

“Bet Heather didn’t like that,” Charlotte snickered quietly, and Eileen’s smile stretched into a full grin.

“She straight up moved the moment the girl put her bag down.”

“The poor girl,” Charlotte shook her head with a sigh, before clarifying, “not Heather, obviously.” Eileen snorted a laugh.

“What’s the new girl like?” Charlotte finds herself asking, intrigued.

“Quiet,” is Eileen’s immediate answer, “couldn’t get a good read on her, but she knows a decent amount of French.” But she deliberates for a moment, “looks kind of mean.” And for the barest moment, Charlotte frowns, mind flashing to the girl she’d seen at the gas station yesterday... it couldn’t be.

“Black hair?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I saw a girl at the gas station yesterday, black hair, kind of mean looking, Mick didn’t know her,” that was the big tip; Mick seemed to know all the gas station regulars, so she must be new. Eileen catalogued this information in her mind, but had no comment on it beyond a shrug, before reminding Charlotte that they had debate after school, and asking if Tommy would be sticking around to give her a lift home.

“He will be, he’s got practice until four too,” Charlotte said with a half smile, “and yes, he can give you a lift home too... Will Peach be needing one too?” She asked, referring to Eileen’s younger sister, but Eileen shook her head.

“She’s staying back until five every day this week to finish her science fair project, mom’s happy to pick her up - something about magnets this year - but I don’t want to wait around.”

“Wait, how long until the science fair?” Last year, Eileen, Charlotte, Tommy, and Vince Neil, who they’d still considered something of a friend at the time, had all come to support Peach in both her first year of high school, and her first science fair. Peach had come third, with a rather impressive display about which various household liquids killed plants fastest, and all three had cheered when she’d been given her ribbon, and Tommy and Vince spent the entire ride in the back of Peach and Eileen’s mom’s station wagon ranting about how she should have won, and scheming about how to best put a dead houseplant in their science teacher’s bed, like some low budget, home depot Scarface. Tommy may have become their friends via his place as a constant fixture in Charlotte’s life, and Vince simply because he had grown up as something of her neighbour and Tommy’s close friend, but their loyalty was absolute. Well, almost absolute. Vince was noticeably absent from their current roster of friends however, the then-four of them how vowed to make it a habit, and they could all tell Peach had been touched by the gesture, and Eileen, Charlotte, and Tommy were, at the very least, going to uphold that promise. A small smile plays on Eileen’s face.

“Next Tuesday, she’s so excited.”

if you put your mind to it, you can do anything. but you won’t.

So according to Eileen, Vince Neil is throwing a party on Saturday, and seeing as Charlotte’s parents still think the world of Vince after he’d been so kind of her after everything happened with her ex at the start of the year, she’s allowed to go. They went to middle school together, though he was always a year younger than her, in Tommy’s grade, and their parents were passive-aggressive PTA friends for a few years there, and, as mentioned before, he’d been genuinely sweet when she was at her lowest. Her parents don’t know that a week and a half into Summer break, right after he’d taken her to prom and promised to key her ex’s car if she asked, he started surfing, starting hanging out at the beach with the rest of the pretty, mean jocks spending their Summer in the sun, and had turned into a vain asshole. Or, well, more of a vain asshole than he already was.

Vince’s family was well off, and his parties were legendary, which is what made her parents agreeing to let her go so strange.

What they didn’t, and would never agree to, was letting her go to Nikki’s gig, so she didn’t even bother to ask. Instead, she asked to spend the weekend with Tommy and Athena. Her mother calls to confirm that that would be okay, Charlotte packs a duffle bag with outfits for the weekend, and her mother reminds her to take care of herself at the party the following night, kissing her on both cheeks when Tommy turns up in his beat up Vista Cruiser.

“Why are you hanging out with us tonight?” Tommy asks, frowning, still in the clothes he’d worn to school. Charlotte’s grip tightens on her duffle bag.

“Because we’re going out tonight.”

Immediately, Tommy’s posture straightens, and his expression lights up; he was delightfully easy to excite. Suddenly he was brimming with questions as he drove, fighting to keep his eyes on the road, and Charlotte let herself relax a little, glad to see he was onboard.

“Nikki Sixx’s band -”

“- is playing tonight!” Tommy finishes her sentence, his voice breaking on the last word out of excitement, though Charlotte kindly doesn’t comment, and it doesn’t stop Tommy’s eyes from sparkling, “he wrote it in sharpie in pretty much every bathroom in the school; you want to go?” Yeah, that sounds about par for the course for Nikki Sixx’s brand of advertising.

“You’re half in love with the guy,” Charlotte ignored Tommy’s spluttered protests, “so I wanna see what the hype is about,” she lied easily. She wasn’t a fan of lying to Tommy, he deserved better than that, but he also might crash if he knows that Nikki had personally invited them.

Tommy begs his mom to let them go, promising to be safe and be back by midnight, and the moment Charlotte vouches for him, his mother’s concern melts into agreement, and Athena complains that she’s never allowed to go anywhere. Tommy sticks his tongue out at her, and she kicks him in the shins, scowling, until Charlotte asks her to help her get ready, and Athena brightens considerably.

“Charlie you look like a badass!” Tommy delights when he steps out of the bathroom, hair all teased up, eyeliner expertly applied his waterline, wearing an outrageous outfit. He was going to fit in easily.

“Holy shit, dude, so do you -”

“Tommy! That’s my shirt!” Athena accused, storming over to him, trying to pull the tight, black tank top with the hot pink diamante lightning bolt off of him, despite his jacket over it, while he tried to slap her away.

“It looks better on me!” Tommy snapped, escaping her grasp and trying to hide in the bathroom.

“Dude, she’s thirteen, give her the shirt back, you can borrow one of mine,” Charlotte sighed, standing back from it all.

“Never!”

His mother called out if everything’s okay, and while Athena yelled that Tommy was stealing from her, Charlotte called back that she’d take care of it.

“Charlie, please,” Athena sulked, leaning against the closed bathroom door, while Tommy told his sister to piss off. Charlotte sighed, before giving the young girl an evaluative look.

“Would you let him wear it for five bucks?”

Athena squinted at her, seriously considering the offer; if Tommy had made it, there would be no way she would have accepted, but she knew Charlotte was good for it.

“Fine, but if he stretches it, I’m telling mom about his stash of Playboys,” she threatened, to which both Tommy and Charlotte made noises of surprise, Charlotte because she hadn’t known about that, and Tommy because he clearly didn’t think Athena knew about it either.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tommy hisses, wrenching the door open. Athena turns arms crossed, smile smug, and gives him her best try me look. Tommy wrinkles his nose, but stalks into his room, grabbing a five ones from his wallet and giving them to Athena, who Charlotte had never seen so pleased before.

“I hate her,” Tommy seethed, and Charlotte petted his shoulder in solidarity.

“I know,” and then, “aren’t you going to be cold?”

“I’ve got another jacket.”

The pub, Kings’ Hotel, sits on the border between suburbia and the CBD, and Charlotte’s been past it a million times, has spent a considerable amount of time idly staring out the window of MacCready’s Diner across the road, but never actually been inside. Speaking of MacCready’s, there’s a ton of scaffolding around it that Charlotte definitely doesn’t remember, and the sign’s been taken down, so it appears Tommy’s gossip about it being under new management was true.

There’s no bouncer, but high schoolers and music were already spilling from the building by the time Charlotte and Tommy showed up. The music is decent, if a little heavy, but Charlotte knows she could definitely get into it if she wanted to. When she approaches the building, she notices a gaggle of vaguely recognizable people all in a cluster, huddle together while they smoked to keep warm in the cold night air.

“Hi Heather,” Tommy calls out to one, putting on his most winning smile, and when Charlotte gets a proper look, yeah she can see Heather with her hair sprayed up and lipstick shiny, give her cousin a sceptical look. She does, however, notice Charlotte, and her expression shifts to something faux sweet and coy, a show of being amicable to someone obviously associated with a fellow cheerleader, and she gives them both a wave.

“I thought you had a thing for Pam,” Charlotte asks quietly as they push their way into the pub.

“Charlie, I’m into any and every cheerleader I’m not related to, why should I deprive any of the other lovely young ladies by only focusing on one girl?”

“Gross,” was Charlotte’s only comment. Tommy ignored her.

It was kind of overwhelming at first, between the loud music, the crush of people she half-knew, the fact that the bartender didn’t even blink when Tommy ordered a beer, or the fact that Nikki Sixx was on stage in skin tight leather pants, playing bass like it was his God given mission in life.

Her ex and his best friend had also been kind of obsessed with Nikki and his band, and she was coming to understand the hype. Between the swirling lights, the people on the dancefloor, and the heat of the crowd, it was almost hypnotizing to be a part of.

“You should get a drink,” Tommy urges, and Charlotte hesitates. She’s had spiked punch before, half a glass of wine at a family get together when her mom had been tipsy and feeling indulgent, and a couple of sips of beer that her ex had offered her when they’d gone to parties together, but she’d never really...

“I don’t know what to order,” she admits, hesitant, but still raising her voice over the music. Tommy offers her his beer to taste, but Charlotte was already well aware of the fact that beer tasted like piss, and she turns him down. She tries to think back to what people order in TV shows and movies, and tentatively approaches the bar.

“Could I get a jack and coke?” She asks, just thankful that her voice doesn’t shake. The bartender looks her up and down, checking her out without a hint of subtlety, and Charlotte fights the urge to pull her jacket tighter around herself.

“Of course, honey, that’ll be five-fifty,” the bartender smirks, and Charlotte gives an uncertain smile back, thanking him and passing over a ten dollar note. He gives her a five change, along with her drink and a wink. Gross.

“What’d you get?” Tommy asks, when she finds him again, standing against the opposite wall, already halfway through his drink. Charlotte’s holding hers in her fingertips, nervous, taking a sip and scrunching up her whole face at the taste.

“Jack and coke,” she hisses as the alcohol burns. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up at her bold choice, and asks if he can try it. She offers it easily, and he too makes a face as he drinks, but pretends like it’s great.

They see more people they recognize, people confused but glad to see them out. They’re almost immediately accosted by Keanu, yet another face Charlotte hadn’t been expecting to see, and he wraps them both up in a hug; he’s all dark hair and wide, easy smiles, somehow everyone’s friend in a way that’s so different from how Charlotte seems to be everybody’s friend, but he and Tommy get on like a house on fire. There’s a resilience they both seem to have, and a shared enthusiasm, despite the fact that Keanu was a Senior, a year above Charlotte, and a full two above Tommy, but his good nature seemed to override these boundaries; the moment Tommy mentions he’d been thinking of heading to the dancefloor, Keanu’s more than happy to join him.

Immediately Tommy gulps down the last mouthful and beer and the pair of boys see fit to start cutting shapes on the dance floor with wild abandon, and so Charlotte finds herself at a table at the back of the room with Heather, a few other cheerleaders and their boyfriends, and surprisingly, Vince. He’s in white leather pants, and they look cool as hell, but also it’s Vince, and Charlotte’s fighting back the urge to laugh.

“Charlotte Lee, you’re looking fine tonight,” Vince slide into the space beside her, and Charlotte doesn’t roll her eyes, or make a comment about how he looks like a greasy snowman, no matter how much she wants to.

“Surprised to see you here, Vince, where’s all your popular little surfer pals?” She asks sweetly, and Vince raises his eyebrows at her, a retort on the tip of his tongue.

“I forgot you two knew each other,” Heather says, and she pauses, clearly deliberating, something dangerous in her eyes, “didn’t you used to date?”

“No,” Charlotte blurts quickly, though Vince is just as quick to deny it, “we’re friends- we were friends; not anymore. We went to prom together, yes, but we never dated.” She clarifies quickly, body language all tight and uncomfortable, which manages to go all the way over Vince’s head, and his hand comes to rest on his heart, expression reading betrayal.

“How long have been known each other, Charlie, for you to say we’re not even friends -”

And maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the alcohol, but Charlotte snapped.

“We were friends for years, Vinny, then six months ago you decided to spend all your time with a bunch of tools and bragged about taking me to prom because I was a cheerleader, and also - oh yeah, remember this? - made one of your best friends cry,” Charlotte hissed venomously, shoulders still tense, fingers gripping the edge of the table. Vince scowled.

“Peach wasn’t-” the words spill from him automatically, but there’s a flicker of something that may just be shame in his eyes, so he drops his gaze and starts again; “my friends are not tools -”

“The Vince who was my friend wouldn’t skip school three days a week to get high and fuck on the beach!”

“It sounds like you two have a lot to work out...” Heather seems genuinely surprised, and while she’d been fishing for gossip, this was too much, and she graciously backed out of the conversation, pulling one of her friends over to the bar. Charlotte was suddenly aware of how hot it was in the bar, how sweaty and oppressive it all felt.

“People can fucking change, Charlotte,” Vince scowled.

“You didn’t change for the better, Vince, whatever the opposite of character growth is, it’s what happened to you.” Charlotte spat, and turned on her heel before he can respond. She didn’t want to stand on the side side of the road out the front, so she heads for the door labelled Beer Garden, and steps into the cool night air.

Once outside, she realises how quiet it is, and when she sees Nikki Sixx at one of the tables with a blonde girl giggling in his lap, she comes to the conclusion that the band must be on break. The Beer Garden is mostly populated by smokers, the people around Nikki being the cool, intimidating, stoner punk rockers that she’d figured would be here, but that she can’t bring herself to approach. It’s nice to take a moment to be alone, she finds, breathing in the crisp night air, head feeling clearer for it, looking up at the stars glittering overhead.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Vince is a fucking tool. He’d made Peach cry the week they got back to school, and Charlotte had vowed to never forgive him for it.

After a few minutes, Charlotte takes the time to really look at the people milling around, wondering if she actually recognised anyone. Much to her surprise, in the back corner of the courtyard area, she did.

Side by side, Mick from the gas station, and the mysterious girl who’d bought cigarettes from him, sitting on the edge of a planter full of dead shrubs, both smoking, neither speaking, reading one magazine between the two of them.

Charlotte’s not quite sure who’s more likely to stab her, between Mick and the girl, and Nikki’s band of misfits, but she hedges her bets and heads to the pair at the back.

“Having a good night, Mick?” Charlotte asks tentatively, before giving pause. They’re reading a ratty old copy of Hustler. Mick looks up, and lets go of his side of the magazine, letting the girl take it, to keep flipping idly through.

“The band’s okay,” Mick muses, and seems to realise that his cigarette has gone out when he tries to take a drag on it, and he pulls out a lighter and relights it, “how’s your night been?”

“It’s been alright, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Charlotte gives an awkward laugh, looking to the magazine, which Mick seems to either have forgotten about, or not realise that he’s reading porn in public, but finally the girl looks up.

“Someone cut out all the tits,” she’s got an accent Charlotte hadn’t noticed back at the gas station, and still can’t quite place, but that’s not the part she focuses on.

“What?”

The girl flips the magazine around to show a Farrah Fawcett look-alike posing suggestively, with her entire torso cut from the magazine, just leaving a hole where the cologne ad on the next page can be seen.

“Found it on the side of the road on the way here,” Mick says, like it suffices for an entire explanation. Instead of elaborating, he offers Charlotte a cigarette.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke,” an awkward silence follows, Charlotte with her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jacket, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, while the girl close the magazine with a resounding slap and threw it over her shoulder into the dead shrubs, “I’m Charlotte.” Charlotte offers her hand. The girl looks at it, then to Charlotte’s face.

“From the gas station, the cheerleader” she says, tone unreadable, giving Charlotte a scrutinizing look, like she’s waiting for the blonde to shirk under it’s intensity. Charlotte doesn’t back down, and the girl finally gives her a firm handshake, “Lola.”

Silence followers, chatter filters over from the various other groups, Nikki’s laugh, loud and clear, above the rest. Neither Mick nor Lola makes room for Charlotte, so she sways idly from side to side, people watching the rest of the courtyard.

“Didn’t pick you for this type of scene,” Mick muses finally, crossing his ankles and fixing Charlotte with a strangely neutral expression, cigarette almost burned down to the butt where it’s poised between his lips, “that over-eager cousin of yours, sure, but this doesn’t seem like it’s your style.”

“Oh, Tommy is here,” Charlotte’s quick to clarify, looking around as if he were about to jump out of the bushes and irritate the rarely amicable Mick, “but, I don’t know,” she shrugged like coming out tonight wasn’t her idea, “I’m more than happy to give anything a go at least once; people at my school are kind of weirdly obsessed with the bass player, so I guess I wanted to see what the hype was about.”

Mick finished his cigarette as he considered her words, giving a pensive look to the bass player himself, still surrounded by a gaggle of fans, and eventually stubbed the last of the ash out against the edge of the planter he was sitting on, letting the butt fall, crumpled, to the ground.

“He’s the only one with any ounce of talent,” voice gruff, Mick’s approval comes as a surprise to both Charlotte, who’s eyes go wide at the statement, and Lola, who barks an unexpected laugh, that ends with her choking on the smoke in her lungs. Mick thumps her on the back, and she roughly when her breathing clears, tears watering in her eyes.

“Whoever writes their songs is half decent,” Lola points out, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, after which she dropped her own mostly burnt-out cigarette, crushing it under the heel of her boot. Yes, she has a point, but Charlotte’s curiosity gets the better of her.

“Can I ask...?” At her tentative tone, Lola immediately tenses, growing defensive, “are you Lola Fields?”

“Why?” Lola immediately snaps, and Charlotte raises her hands in surrender. Mick’s arms are crossed, looking with interest between the two girls.

“I think you go to my school,” Charlotte quickly clarifies, but Lola’s scowl deepens, as if wondering how she knew that, “do you take AP French with a tall, ginger girl?”

“I don’t really know who else is in the class,” Lola slowly tells her, but it’s not a no, which is all that matters. Charlotte nods, but doesn’t press the subject, “it’s weird that you know that much about me.” Lola adds.

“It’s barely anything,” Charlotte points out, baffled at the sudden defensiveness.

“You know my last name and that I do AP French,” Lola says, and her gaze shifts from Charlotte to the gaggle of fans surrounding Nikki, as they all started to head inside.

“Well,” Charlotte doesn’t let her resolve falter, smiling, “my name’s Charlotte Lee, and --”

“Oi, Cheerleader, you coming inside? We’ve got another set to go!” Nikki Sixx’s voice rings out through the courtyard area, and Charlotte visibly cringes at the sound of it, turning slowly on her heel, still wincing when she faces him.

And yes, he was talking to her, his hands are still cupped around his mouth like a megaphone, a tunnel showing off his smug and toothy grin. She hadn’t realised he’d even noticed her, but he had, and he needed her to know he had.

“The world doesn’t revolve around you,” she calls back, irritated. Nikki lowers his hands, and even from this distance she can see him raising his eyebrows.

“But you’re here, aren’t you?” He leaves the because I invited to you as an implication only she would hear, knowing she would hear it nonetheless. Charlotte sighs deeply, shoulders sagging with resignation, and Nikki, feeling as though he’d won, turns sharply on his heel and marches inside.

“I hate him,” Charlotte groaned.

“You know him?” Mick seems rather surprised, enough that the emotion could be heard in his voice. Charlotte turns back, not quite sure what to expect when she faced them. Mick is watching Charlotte with actual interest. Lola was watching the spot where Nikki had been, expression carefully blank.

“He’s a pain,” Charlotte says, defeated, and Lola’s gaze flicks to her, expression turning amused, but before she can get a word in -

“There you are!” The door to the now mostly-empty beer garden bursts open, and Tommy makes himself known. He’s left Keanu somewhere inside, apparently, now that he was on the hunt for his cousin. Mick sighs so heavily that it’s all he can do to lean back into the planter, arms crossed over his chest like a vampire, as if the very sight of the kid exhausts him. From this position, the packet of cigarettes in his pocket is exposed, and Lola steals one.

“I’ll owe you,” is all she says, as Tommy approaches, in less of a beeline, and more of an unsteady wave, more than a little tipsy. Christ, his mom is gonna kill them both.

“I was looking everywhere for you,” his wide eyes betrayed his concern, despite his current state, but his concern turns to joy, upon seeing her company, “hi, Mick!” Mick does not answer, laying with his eyes closed, in the shrubs.

“He’s dead,” Lola supplies without missing a beat, pulling out her lighter and lighting the stolen cigarette, and Tommy’s expression falls.

“We should help him -”

“I can help him, don’t worry,” Lola assures, with faux seriousness, before her tone shifts to something light, easily distracting the tipsy boy, “you were in the gas station the other day with this one, weren’t you?” She gestures with her lighter towards Charlotte; Tommy looks to his cousin before looking to Lola.

“I- yeah, oh, shit, you’re- hi,” suddenly flustered as he finally remembered where he knew her from, he offers his hand, “Tommy.”

“Lola,” there’s a new edge to her smile, sparkling in her eyes as she taking in Tommy and his whole look, which has something strangely protective flare up in Charlotte’s chest. But then Lola catches the slight frown on Charlotte’s face, and it’s like she knows exactly what she’s thinking, because she lets go of Tommy’s hand and her expression betrays on the faintest hint of amusement.

“Lola,” Tommy nods very seriously, as if committing the name to his memory in his current state was quite the task, but he persisted nonetheless. After a moment, however, he seemed to remember his original mission, “Vince thought you’d headed home -”

“Fuck Vince,” Charlotte spits automatically, venomously, a knee-jerk response, and Tommy’s stunned into silence.

“Do you want to go home?” Tommy’s far too earnest and concerned for his current state, and Charlotte feels momentarily guilty for her outburst, hanging her head and letting herself breathe for a moment.

“No, the music’s good, we just got into a fight -”

“You guys used to actually be good friends,” Tommy hesitates, confused, and Charlotte gives him a rueful smile when she looks back at him.

“Then he decided that being nice to the people who have been friends with him for years was lame.”

“He’s nice to me,” Tommy says, sounding a little put out, and Charlotte shrugged, crossing her arms.

“And he’s still nice to me, doesn’t mean he’s not a tool; I’m a cheerleader, and you’re a guy, of course he’s still going to be nice to us.”

Tommy still doesn’t get it, but Charlotte decides to head back into the pub with him, throwing over her shoulder that it was nice to meet Lola. She could almost swear she heard a muttered ‘fuckin’ teenagers’ from Mick, all of nineteen years old himself, which just has Charlotte rolling her eyes. Mick taps Lola’s arm when Charlotte glances over her shoulder, while the rest of him still lays flat in the dirt, and Lola passes him the cigarette obligingly, crossing one leg over the other and smirking at him.

it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty. i am gonna drink it through this crazy straw!

“Vince is on the warpath,” Eileen’s always been able to remain composed while unreasonably drunk better than any person Charlotte’s ever known, and the following night, while Vince’s house party rages around them in the living room of his house, is no exception. She won’t say how many vodka sodas she’s had, or who supplied her with the vodka, but the way she was unable to suppress the amused twist of her lips was a dead giveaway that she was a little more than tipsy.

“Oh?” Charlotte’s eyes were roaming from face to face at the party, never sticking to just one, hands clutching a red solo cup full of cheap wine.

“Someone told him the person who keyed his car was here,” Eileen’s close to laughter, and Charlotte’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Does he -”

“No,” Eileen shakes her head, taking another delicate sip of her own drink, “he thinks it’s one of Duff’s friends.” She says, before her eyes going wide, and she slaps her free hand over her mouth - “sorry.” Charlotte, who’s too tipsy to care about the mention of her ex, is more confused than anything else.

“Because of me?” She actually snorts, skeptical, “as if Duff or any of his friends cared about who took me to prom after everything happened, enough to key Vince’s car.” It’s been long enough now that she can laugh at it, and the warped logic of it all, knowing full well that the girl sitting beside her was the real vandal of Vince’s shiny, red car.

“Can you believe Vince asked me to invite Peach? After all that shit he pulled on her after Summer? I almost clocked him in the middle of the carpark!” Eileen’s movements were relaxed and uncomplicated, so unlike her usual demeanour, so easy-going, so honest, sometimes drunk-Eileen’s openness caught Charlotte by surprise, “told him to invite her himself if he wanted her there so bad.”

“I’m in awe of your restraint,” Charlotte mused, leaning into Eileen, letting her eyes fall closed in an attempt to keep the room from spinning in her vision, “he’s such an ass; I’m surprised you’re even here.”

“The nerve on him, acting like he’s too good to be seen with her because he’s got new friends,” Eileen shook her head, wrapping her free arm around Charlotte’s shoulders, securing her, still people watching, “I should have keyed him,” for a moment, she hiccups, and when Charlotte cracks her eye open for a moment to guage her friend’s current state, she sees Eileen glaring into her mostly-empty cup.

“I’m still deciding if I should pee on something he cares about,” Eileen says, tone so serious that Charlotte can’t help but dissolve into giggles.

“What?”

“‘s why I’m here,” Eileen was so earnest in her declaration that Charlotte was a little nervous, if only because drunk-Eileen would absolutely do something as undignified as pee on something of Vince’s in an act of revenge.

“Would you key Duff’s car for me?” Charlotte asked to change the topic, all soft and teasing, and she can hear rare, unrestrained the smile in Eileen’s voice when she assured Charlotte she would in a heartbeat, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

Despite it still being early in the night, Charlotte knew that if she seemed drunk when she got back to Tommy’s house, her Aunt would tell her mom, and that’s the exact opposite of what she needs. Tommy can get legless if he wants, he only has to face the wrath of his weirdly supportive parents; if Charlotte comes home obviously drunk, she won’t be allowed out of the house until college. So she decides to get water.

There’s bodies everywhere, and Charlotte’s struggling to move through them, even with Eileen guiding her to the kitchen.

Charlotte’s been in and around this house so many times, it should be second nature to her; she and Tommy had spent what felt like half their childhoods in this house, within it’s pristine, white walls, and expensive, leather furniture, playing pretend trying to imagine what their future would turn out to be. None of them would have pictured this, of Charlotte, of Charlotte hating Vince and still stumbling, drunk through his house, nor had they seen Vince, playing pretend with popularity, tossing them all aside for a set of conceited fair-weather friends. Tommy’s never been able to predict his own future, too willing to go with the flow to be too certain of anything.

Away from the living room, and the record player, the music is muffled, and the chatter is quieter, as people are here for drinks, or snacks, while most were choosing to dance in the crush in the living room, or making regrettable, teenage decision upstairs.

Eileen tops up her drink with obviously spiked punch. Half vodka and soda, half spiked fruit punch. Gross. Charlotte looks on in disgust as she sips water, and Eileen acts like there’s no difference between taste, but she interrupts her own performance of stoicism when her eyes widen.

“Fields.”

“What?” Charlotte asks, confused as all hell, following Eileen’s gaze to where the kitchen opens up onto the patio, only to see Lola, in a full face of makeup, hair sprayed to high heavens, wearing all sorts of black, ripped, mesh and denim layers, looking like an intimidating cross between glam rock and crust punk. She was straddling someone’s lap, looking at them intently, what looked to be a black, eyeliner pencil in her hand.

“That’s the girl from my French class,” Eileen sounds a little surprised to see her, and Charlotte smiles a little.

“Her name’s Lola -” but her mouth drops open when Lola, in the dim light spilling from the kitchen, leans in and kisses whoever she’s sitting on. After a beat, both Charlotte and Eileen burst in fits of unsubtle laughter, not having anticipated this turn of events. They’re holding each other for support in their drunken amusement, laughing like this is somehow the funniest thing they’ve ever encountered, thankfully aware enough to set aside their cups.

“I- we’re intruding right? This is- we should leave-” they’re not even the only ones in the kitchen when Charlotte says this, gasping for breaths between her laughs, but they seem to be the only ones who have noticed what’s happening, or at least the only ones who halfway care.

Until there comes a shout of ‘yeah, get some, Tommy!’ from the bonfire about thirty yards from the patio, and Charlotte very clearly and distinctly thinks ‘oh no’.

Vince is silhouetted by the fire, bleach blonde hair catching the light, but Charlotte can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shut up, Vince!” Lola’s partner, who is now unmistakably Tommy, calls back, flustered, as Lola hides her grin against his shoulder. Vince and his cronies, none of whom Charlotte knows by name, jeer in response. Then Lola’s leaning back and saying something that Charlotte doesn’t catch, but suddenly Tommy looks inside, his expression turning from flustered and pleased to horrified as his gaze locks with Charlotte’s and they both know that she knows.

Eileen is wheezing with laughter beside her.

Charlotte sees Tommy’s now lipstick-stained mouth mutter ‘shit’. Lola follows his gaze, and waves awkwardly at Charlotte. Charlotte also mutters ‘shit’.

Charlotte tips out her water and gets herself another cup of wine from the back of Vince’s refrigerator. A lot has happened in thirty seconds, she thinks she deserves one more drink for the night.

#mick mars #tommy lee #vince neil #nikki sixx #motley crue #the pack #charlotte & lola #lola&charlotte #the angry lizard writes

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