#always trailing behind always skipped over in favor of him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anakinstwinklebunny · 1 month

Text

JAMES KELLY HEADCANONS 🧰

TW: at some point it contains filthy, crazy sexual content, so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read

James Kelly who met you during his work. At first he gave you few glances here and there but as you started to appear more often something started to stir in his heart

James Kelly who, from that time, always offered you his services and tried to bargain his friends so they would give him you as his new customer;

From the very first moment James saw you in his workplace, something shifted deep within him. It was a sensation that swept through his heart and stomach, enveloping his senses in a way he couldn’t ignore. Every time you visited the mechanical engineering shop, his ears would perk up at the sound of your sweet, melodic voice. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, stealing furtive glances as you nervously tried to explain the issue with your car to his friend and coworker.

As the days passed and your visits became less frequent, a hollow emptiness settled in his heart. The absence of your presence left a noticeable void, making him long for your return. His thoughts were consumed by you, turning over the idea of you being his customer rather than just someone who came in occasionally. So, what's better way to make it happen than to persuade his friends to let him take over your case? “C’mon, please,” he sighed, trailing behind Jackson who headed toward the sink.

“james, I’m working,” Jackson replied, turning on the water to wash his hands, a splash of soapy bubbles momentarily obscuring his skin.

James leaned casually against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture radiating both confidence and a touch of impatience.

“Come on, man,” he said, his tone a mix of desperation. “Just once. I’ll owe you a favor, I swear.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes pleading in a way that made it clear how important this was to him.

Jackson glanced over at him, a hint of skepticism in his expression. “And what’s in it for me if I agree?”

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of James' lips. He was on the brink of winning this argument and he loved it. “You name the price,” he said, his voice steady and assured.

Every time you stopped by the shop, James felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach, as if his entire body were electrified with anticipation. His heart pounded so fiercely against his chest that it seemed to echo in his ears. He didn't understand it. He didn't even know you that much to have some kind of 'crush' on you. But maybe that's the case? Maybe people don't have to know each other so much to be attracted to them. He just wished he'd not mistake himself in thinking about you more as some customer, more as just friend.

Yet it felt like he won a lottery; you were beautiful, seemed so sweet and kind, had a sense of humor.. and the moment you appeared, a wide, genuine smile would spread across his face. He made a concerted effort not to stare too long, but even his best efforts couldn’t entirely tame his wandering gaze.

“Um… hi, is Jackson here?” your sweet voice chimed, cutting through the noise of the shop.

At the sound of your voice, James' heart skipped a beat, just as it did every single time you came around. He looked up from his work, his blue eyes instantly drawn to your figure

“Ah, no, he’s not in today,” he replied, his voice warm and inviting. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh… he was supposed to check my car,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice when you pointed to the black machine behind you

He noticed the subtle disappointment in your voice and gave a small nod, seizing the chance to spend more time with you.

“Well, I’m not doing anything important right now, so I could take a look at it if you don’t mind,” he offered, his tone both casual and eager.

You thought about it for a moment. Jackson's not here, yet he promised to be there, your car in huge need to be checked out, a tall, handsome-looking guy with veiny hands in oil.. “Sure,” you replied, a hint of relief in your voice at his offer. It was important for you. So your car would have a proper care it needs and if someone offers you help and seems genuine about it, why refuse?

He pushed himself up from the hood of the other car he’d been leaning on and looked at you, taking in your slender form once more, your striking (e/c) eyes, and those plump lips that always seemed to captivate him.

“May I get your keys?” he asked, extending his hand in an attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible and forget about the awkward moment

You handed him the keys, and as he took them from your hand, he felt the soft warmth of your skin against his. His gaze followed the gentle graze of your fingers over his palm, which seemed to send a shiver through his body. He swallowed thickly to brush it off. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable and think of him as a perv

“Alright, I’ll take a look at it,” he said, already heading toward your car with a sense of purpose. Over his shoulder, he called out, “And you’re… Y/N, right?” He feigned uncertainty, though he obviously knew your name perfectly well

“Yes, did something happen?” you asked, your curiosity piqued with hint of worry

James inserted the key into the ignition, but he didn’t start the car. Instead, he popped the hood and peered inside at the engine.

“No, no,” he began, his voice thoughtful as he leaned over the opened hood, his tongue briefly touching his lower lip as he considered his words. After a moment, he sighed. “Jackson’s been swamped with clients lately, so he handed off a few to me… and you’re one of them.”

“Oh…” you replied, a bit surprised by the news.

He leaned further into the car, reaching for something under the engine. In this position, he had an unobstructed view of you—one that made his thoughts wander more than he cared to admit. He grasped a specific tool and began working on the engine, trying hard to focus on the task rather than the fact that you were so close.

“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind that it’s me taking care of you,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood. “I mean, not you personally, but… your car.” his tone slightly nervous. Yet to his surprise, you giggled at his awkwardness, the sound bright and uplifting his slightly crashed mood from moments ago

James Kelly who dyed his hair when he found out you like guys with darker hair at the beginning of your relationship (although you were sad that he did it and felt bad for somehow 'pushing' him to this decision)

James Kelly whose evenings often involve hanging out in his garage. It’s where he’s most at home, and he loves having you there with him. You might sit on a stool, sipping coffee while he works, occasionally handing him tools or just enjoying his company as he explains the nuances of car repair in his unique, enthusiastic way.

James Kelly who has a 'mechanic’s touch'. His hands, skilled and gentle from working with delicate engine parts, translate into tender, careful touches when he’s with you

James Kelly who has a soft spot for personal projects, especially ones that involve old, classic cars. He loves restoring vintage vehicles, and he often involves you in these projects;

James' eyes widened in awe as the old car was wheeled into his workshop. It was a vintage marvel, the kind of machine that whispered tales of a bygone era. The worn, weathered metal seemed to glow under the workshop lights, and his fingers twitched with impatience, itching to trace every curve, every detail of the car that had captured his imagination.

“Hell yeah,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. A satisfied grin crept across his face as he took in the car's elegant lines and timeless design. “Look how beautiful this baby is.”

You glanced at the car, a little less impressed. “It’s… okay,” you mumbled, your voice lacking the enthusiasm he clearly felt.

His head whipped around to face you, disbelief etched into his features. For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to comprehend how anyone could see this masterpiece as merely okay. Then, with a snort and a roll of his eyes, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Okay?” he echoed, his tone almost incredulous. “This baby is a classic masterpiece. You’re looking at a piece of history, something built with passion and precision. There’s nothing just okay about it.”

His eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned back to the car, already envisioning the work he would do. To him, this wasn’t just a car—it was a labor of love, a chance to bring a piece of history back to life.

"Jimmy," you sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. "I’m just not as into cars as you are."

He felt himself soften at your touch, almost melting into your embrace. But before he could fully surrender to the warmth of your hug, he let out another amused snort. With a gentle hand, he lifted your chin, tilting your face up toward him so your eyes met.

"You’re hopeless," he teased, his tone light and playful. He leaned down and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your forehead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"At least tell me I’m more beautiful than this car," you quipped, your voice laced with a hint of mock seriousness.

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. His eyes, a deep and vibrant blue, gazed into yours with a warmth that melted your insides. They were filled with soft, gentle affection, a look reserved only for you.

"Oh, doll," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity. "You’re way more beautiful than this car. You’re more beautiful than anything in this world."

You smiled when your lips connected in a soft kiss. Every time he was around you, it felt like fireworks were exploding in your stomach, a rush of excitement that never faded. The sensation of your skin against his, the softness of your form wrapped in his embrace, and the subtle, enchanting scent of your hair—it was all intoxicating. You were his personal addiction, a perfect drug he couldn’t get enough of, and each touch, each kiss only deepening his need for you.

“So…” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, “…what color should we make this car?”

A playful grin spread across your face. “Pink.”

Anakin chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest although something changed in his expression, “Pink? Really? Not red, orange, or yellow, but pink?”

“Why not?” you shot back with a teasing glint in your eyes.

"It's just… wrong on so many levels. Sorry, baby, but this is not a damn Barbie car," he muttered with a shudder, a grimace twisting his features as if the very thought of turning a classic car pink physically pained him.

"But it'd be pretty," you replied with a sweet smile, undeterred.

He stared at you, still processing the idea that you seriously wanted to paint this car pink. His mind struggled to reconcile the vision of a tough, masculine machine with the image of it decked out in pastel colors.

"This car is supposed to be badass," he said, his tone laced with disbelief. "A tough, masculine car. And you just… want to paint it pink?"

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, and then smiled up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "A cute, baby pink shade… with glitter and jewels."

His soul practically left his body as you listed all the things you wanted to do to the car. He couldn’t believe you wanted to turn a classic, vintage masterpiece into something straight out of a fairytale.

“Are you kidding me? This is a vintage car, baby, and you want to make it sparkle like some kind of princess carriage?” he pleaded, his voice heavy with disbelief. He let out a long, weary sigh, already feeling the inevitable pull of giving in to your whims. Was he really going to agree to this just because he was hopelessly in love with you and couldn’t bear to see you anything but happy?

“Oh, please!” you chimed in, your tone sweet and persuasive.

He looked at you, a pout forming on his lips, his heart caught in the tug-of-war between his love for the car and his love for you. The way you didn’t quite grasp his distress—and the way you so innocently asked for a pink car—left him unable to say "no" outright.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.

Your innocent smile only widened, the sparkle in your eyes growing brighter.

He just stood there for a moment, staring at you, trying to find the strength to resist. But finally, he let out a sigh so deep it almost sounded like a defeated groan.

“i am not going to spend hours trying to make this car look decent in freaking pink,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And I swear to god, if you even mention glitter or jewels one more time, I’ll lock you in this workshop and won’t even think about letting you out.”

“Now that’s rude,” you pouted, crossing your arms

James mirrored your stance, crossing his arms over his chest as well, his gaze fixed intently on you. He raised an eyebrow, feigning annoyance, though the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

“Oh, and it’s not rude to demand that I paint this car in the most atrocious color and slap glitter on it?” he shot back, his voice dripping with mock indignation.

“If not this car, then another one? Pretty please?” you countered, your tone softening as you tilted your head and gave him those puppy-dog eyes that always seemed to work like magic.

He let out another sigh, the kind that hinted at resignation, but there was no hiding the fond smile that crept onto his lips. You knew he could never resist when you looked at him like that, with those wide, pleading eyes and that sweet, hopeful tone. It was his kryptonite.

“Which other one then?” he murmured, his voice softening as his resolve melted away completely.

James Kelly who loves to show off his work to you since he feels like you're really proud of him

James Kelly who's your one and only engineering. If anything is broken, you call Anakin. If anything needs repair, you call Anakin. If you have to put new furniture together, you call Anakin

James Kelly whose protective nature extends to ensuring your safety. He would always check your car to make sure it’s in perfect condition;

“jimmy, the last time you checked my car was three days ago. Nothing has happened since that day” you said, watching as he anxiously inspected your car, determined to ensure it was in perfect condition.

He straightened up, his expression serious as he leaned against the car with his arms crossed. His eyes held a flicker of concern, betraying the worry he tried to hide.

“You can never be too sure,” he replied firmly, though it was evident he was slightly exaggerating. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it as he sighed with frustration.

“I just want you to be safe, you know? Let me take care of the car and make sure nothing happens to you,” he muttered, each word underscoring his deep protectiveness.

“You make me think about riding a bike,” you said, rolling your eyes at his overprotectiveness.

“You’d look hot on a bike,” he responded with a wide smirk, his blue eyes locking onto yours with playful admiration.

“Oh, stop. Just—check the car and let’s go,” you said, trying to cut off the conversation.

“Sure, my lady"

James Kelly ho loved to test his motorcycles he fixed;

James had just finished working on the engine of the motorcycle, his hands smeared with grease and oil stains. He wiped them on a dirty cloth, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. There was something about being surrounded by machines that made him feel like a kid again—pure, unbridled joy bubbling up inside him. His eyes traveled to the shiny, black motorcycle, admiring the way the lights danced across the gleaming metal. His body buzzed with excitement at the thought of taking it for a spin.

“Now, it’s for your safety,” he said firmly, as he carefully placed a helmet on your head. “I’m not risking your health nor your life.”

The very idea of something going wrong on the ride—the possibility of an accident—sent a wave of anxiety crashing through him. His stomach tightened, and his heart clenched with worry. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you, not when you meant everything to him. So, even if you were just sitting behind him, he wanted to make sure you were as safe as possible.

He swung his leg over the seat, straddling the motorcycle with practiced ease, and settled in comfortably. With a quick flick of his wrist, he started the engine, the loud, roaring rumble filling the air and sending a powerful vibration through his entire body. “Hop in, pretty girl,” he called out over the noise.

You climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. The moment he felt your body pressed against his back, and your arms encircling him, a sense of contentment washed over him. The warmth of your breath against the back of his neck sent a shiver down his spine. It was one of the best feelings in the world—having you right there with him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you whenever he wanted.

“now hold on tight, doll,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, his voice laced with excitement, as he revved the motorcycle, ready to take off on the open road.

James Kelly who has little rituals that revolve around his work and you. For example, he would always start his day with a quick text to check in on you, and end it with a call to check if youre alright or just to hear your voice

James Kelly who made matching necklaces for both of you

James Kelly who's a big dog person. He'd very often stop by to stroke local dog (if it doesn't have an owner by itself) or gives food if some are wandering around his workplace

James Kelly who used, to your dissatisfaction, shower gel 3 in 1..and even if you've bought him more suitable and better shampoo, he had never used it due to his opinion that 'his shampoo is better and costs less'

James Kelly who had become completely devoted to you, giving all his attention and heart to you. He would do anything to see a smile on your lips and a sparkle in those beautiful eyes of yours. He'd do anything to make you happy, no matter what's the cost. He'd even go against everything and everyone for you if he'd have to

James Kelly who definitely talks you through it

James Kelly who loves to make love to you (obviously) however he, as much as adores sex in bed, he also likes the thrill of making it in the empty workshop..;

"someone could see us" you - tried to - say between moans, your cheeks flushed pink while you held onto James' arms

As often as he does, James ignores your concern, his eyes locked onto yours as he continues to pound into you with no care in the surroundings. "Shh, just let go, sweetheart. No one's around. We're alone out here". he grabs your hips and starts slamming into you harder, the car hood creaking beneath you.

His breath hitches as he feels your nails digging into his skin, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He almost takes as his goal to hit this sweet spot of yours like he always does. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against your neck as he speaks in a rough, desperate voice. "Yeah..just like that baby..gonna mark this car with your little pretty body..and--oh god--" he groaned after feeling your walls clench and hug him so deliciously "when we're done..whenever I'll look at this car I'll just see your pretty face, those beautiful legs all spread out and waiting for me--"

James Kelly who has a habit to just have you in his lap, while your naked, and play with your breasts. Enamoured by your deliciously perfect taste, he can't help but trace the puffy skin to delicately spread his saliva all over your nipple before taking it back again for the hundreds of time to his mouth, as if almost worshipping your flavour

James Kelly who would definitely finger you while watching TV;

"So wet for me, baby" his fingers glide over your folds, spreading your slickness around in slow, teasing strokes. "Do you want me to touch you here?" his voice rumbled against your ear

"mhm--"

His grin widens, and he slowly slides one finger inside you, his touch gentle yet firm. "Just one to start, alright baby?" He begins to slowly move his finger in and out, his thumb circling your nub. "You're so tight...you like that? Just one finger?"

He tuts disapprovingly to your nod, slowing down his touch although his tone turns into chiming-mocking. "Eyes on the screen, love". He punctuates his words with a slow thrust of his finger "Good girl.." he praised after seeing you submit to him and to give you a prize, he sped up his touch once more, adding another finger and curving them inward to hit that spot. His actions elicited more gasps and moans from your mouth

"Shh, baby...quiet now". He adds a third finger, scissoring them inside you as he rubs your clit with his thumb. "Gotta hear the dialogue..." He whispered directly to your ear

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune (sad about her not being her anymore..) @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

422 notes · View notes

rambleonwaywardson · 3 months

Text

Clegan Olympics AU - "Find Your Line"

Chronologically, this part comes before "The Paris Date." Catch up via this Masterpost if you're new here

AU Summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: A deep dive into Gale's past. I totally didn't almost make myself cry writing this nope nope nope. Went from having no idea what I was doing with this installment to having it get away from me a bit.

TW for some mentions of abuse in Gale's past.

---

US Equestrian has launched several initiatives going into the Paris Olympics to increase interest in the sport, especially in younger generations. So when Gale, Benny, and Marge were all selected to the eventing and jumping teams, of course they capitalized on having young, attractive, charismatic riders representing USET. Gale has slowly gotten used to the attention he’s garnered in the horse world, but it came as a shock when he found himself being shoved into major newspaper interviews and morning shows ahead of the Games.

He never really wanted any of that. He didn’t grow up with daydreams of grandeur. Really, he grew up unsure he was ever going to make it anywhere at all. His only daydreams were about finding something better, whatever that may be. He didn’t ask to be thrust into the public eye or fawned over by young fans. He won’t complain too much, because he loves what he does and he's grateful every day for where he’s found himself.

But if you ask him, he’d rather skip the morning interviews in favor of getting an early start at the barn. That’s when he likes it the most, when it’s quiet. No one but the earliest grooms rustling about, checking on the horses and prepping morning feed. Nothing but the birds in the rafters and a breeze coming through the doors, the new morning sun stretching lazily down the aisle way.

The stables in the morning have always been Gale’s safe place. Ever since he was a child, it was his escape. It didn’t matter what happened within the walls of their little Wyoming farmhouse. In the morning, he could slip away into the old barn standing vigil behind their home, and he could hide among the horses, the angels watching over him. He’d talk to them like friends, run his hand down their soft noses and feel their hot breath puffing against his skin.

He took solace in methodically checking each of them over every day. He could breathe in the sweet scent of hay and horse without feeling the need to look over his shoulder. He’d wrap his arms around their necks and bury his face in their manes. Their ears would twitch back and forth, and they’d playfully nuzzle his hands while he spilled all of his secrets and fears. They let him hug them as tight as he needed to, and they happily absorbed every tear, every muffled sob. They were his protectors, and his greatest confidants.

When he was older, the horses granted him access to the wilderness beyond their homestead, sometimes even beyond the extensive reaches of their entire ranch. He’d pack a saddle bag and choose one of them to saddle up, sometimes the moment the sun rose, and he’d spend hours out in the countryside. He would disappear from the rest of his life, letting his horse carry the weight of the tiny, fragile world bearing down on his shoulders. He’d ride until he ran out of places to go, until he couldn’t feel anything but the beautiful universe breathing life back into his tired soul.

Even now, as an international eventer, he has days where the training isn’t speaking to him the same way. Days when he’ll revisit his childhood in the mountains, saddle up one of his horses and take them out on the trails instead of riding in the arena. Days when no one knows where Gale Cleven went, because he expressly does not want to be found. He still has days where he’d like nothing more than to gallop bareback through a field, a cowboy hat shielding his face from the hot sun. Nothing but him and his horse and the Earth beneath their feet, a breath of fresh air that reminds him of why he’s here.

Horses have always been his safety, no matter the discipline or the breed or where on this Earth he lives. The barn has always welcomed him into its arms, sheltering him when there was nowhere else.

But growing up, it always had to start in the morning.

Gale learned that the hard way, as he learned so many things growing up under his father’s heavy hand. He’ll never forget the day his dad stormed into the barn before sunrise, looking for his ‘disobedient son.’ Gale, half asleep, cowered in the corner of one of the stalls, hay stuck in his unruly hair and clinging to his pajamas. The previous evening had been bad, after Dad came home drunk, looking for a fight. The bruises bloomed quickly on Gale’s arms and chest, and he went to the only safe place he knew. He was eight years old.

But his dad found him in that stall, hiding behind his favorite little quarter horse mare, and he dragged Gale out by the neck. Angry at his son for wasting a perfectly good bed, choosing instead to sleep in a barn just to avoid him, he decided the bruises he’d administered eight hours before were no longer enough. “Ungrateful little shit,” he’d snarled as he shoved Gale to the ground. Gale remembers the silent tears on his own face and how they felt sticky as they mixed with the dirt on his cheeks; he’d learned not to cry out loud. He remembers the horses kicking at the walls and shrieking in the night, unable to protect him.

Gale’s father had always been at his most sane around the farm animals, almost a man that his son could look up to. Almost. But that night, not even the barn could keep the little boy safe. He never went out there at night again.

The only thing Gale is grateful to have inherited from his father is a love of horses. Ironically, his dad was the one to plop him in a saddle and teach him how to hold the reins in the first place. He taught him how to take care of these beautiful animals, even if he had no idea how to take care of a son. He taught Gale how to communicate with them, how to appreciate them and respect them. He taught him how to ride, how to rope, how to get back up no matter how many times he fell. They’d work the ranch together, side by side on the good days. Up at dawn and home at dusk, their legs sore by the end of the day from too much time in the saddle, arms tired from fixing fence or roping cattle, faces bronzed from the sun. His dad never even minded when Gale took a horse and disappeared into the wilderness, because “sometimes a man just needs to be alone in the mountains.” That was the language he spoke. The only language he spoke.

Gale’s dad unwittingly gave him his only ticket out, and it was the only thing they ever shared. It was the only time Gale ever felt close to him. Until his mom introduced him to English riding when he was 13 years old, dressage and jumping both. He fell in love with it immediately. Maybe it was the challenge, the beauty, the grace. Maybe he knew his father wouldn’t like it. Maybe he just wanted to be close to his mama.

“Find your line,” she would tell him, almost every time she watched him ride. Choosing the right line for a jump is critical, both in cross country and show jumping. If you come at an obstacle or combination wrong, it can set you up wrong for the next. He was never sure, though, if she was talking about the jumps, or about life.

His dad never supported his interest in dressage. Or eventing. Or English riding in general. He thought it was soft, prissy, feminine. He never seemed to mind Gale’s mom doing it. At least, he never said anything about it. But he said he raised his boy to be tougher than that. He taught him to rope cattle and ride in the mountains of the west, like a man (all things he continued to do until he left for college, mind you). He raised him to take over the ranch, like there was no other reason to bring a son into this world. He taught him how to rough it in the country. Not to prance around a ring in a cushy saddle and show coat with braids in his horse’s mane.

His father was ignorant. Gale knows that, now. But he long ago internalized the anger and the fear. He long ago came to terms with being a disappointment of a son. Too quiet, too shy, too smart, too stubborn. Too skinny, too sensitive, too pretty, too needy. Too much of a mama’s boy. Too little like his dad. Too ungrateful. Too opinionated. Too sassy. Too queer.

His dad always suspected Gale was gay, and he tried to beat that out of him. He tried to beat it all out of him.

Gale did it all, anyways.

The beatings got worse the older he got, the more Gale’s father realized that his son would never be the man he wanted him to be. By the time he was eighteen, there was no use hiding it. His dad asked him over dinner one night, right after he graduated from high school, why he didn’t ask Marge to marry him already. That’s what everyone expected him to do, even though he and Marge had called it off nearly six months before, when Marge realized she wasn’t what Gale wanted. He tried to tell his dad that they were just friends now, but his dad just pushed and pushed and pushed.

“She’s a lovely young lady… a shame to let her go… get your head on straight, boy… why the hell not?”

The rage boiled over. Maybe it was years of trying to keep his head down, trying not to talk back, trying to save himself even though it never even mattered. Or maybe it was because Gale knew he was leaving soon anyways. Might as well get it all out there. Might as well give it one last go. Why the hell not. He slammed his fork down, rattling the whole table. His mama knew what he was gonna say before he even opened his mouth, and she shook her head. He didn’t listen. “Because I don’t like girls!” he yelled. “I’m fuckin’ gay, dad! Okay! I’m gay. I’ve always been gay.”

That night was the only time his dad ever managed to put him in the hospital. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a fractured wrist.

It broke his mama’s heart, but Gale spent the rest of the summer with Marge’s family, his best friend’s family, letting himself heal. And in the fall, the two of them got the hell out of Wyoming, headed for college on the east coast. He never said goodbye to his father.

For the first time, Gale thought he knew what Mama meant when she told him to find his line. He felt free in a way he’d only ever experienced alone in the mountains. Free to find his own path, his own life, his own self. He stumbled here and there, but he found his own stride. He worked his way through school on horse farms, rode for the university eventing team, and caught the attention of some well-known local trainers. With an unbreakable country-boy spirit and the delicate grace and patience of a well-trained dressage rider, he could do just about anything. Take on any horse they threw at him. Find the kindness in even the wildest prospects. He became known for his ability to connect with the horses, and for his natural talent in the saddle. People noticed. Neil Harding noticed, took him in, gave him a chance to thrive for the first time in his life. And Gale made damn sure he gave it his all.

Now here he is, standing in front of his horse’s stall in Paris. He wonders, if his dad were still around, if any part of him would be proud. He wonders if he’d finally understand. Gale thinks not.

“Hey there, baby girl.”

He walks into Whiskey’s stall, and she lifts her head in greeting, dropping grain all over the front of his shirt. Another day, another stain. He laughs and strokes the side of her face as she turns her attention back to her feed bucket. Gale used to get angry at himself for allowing thoughts of his father to intrude on this safe space he’d carved for himself in the world. But he’s older now. He’ll never forgive what his dad did to him; he’ll never forgive him for any of it. Not for a single blow or a single word. But it’s still a part of the story that landed him right here, and he wouldn’t trade this for anything.

Sometimes he still imagines his father’s voice, telling him how to pick a hoof or check for lameness or read a horse by the way they twitch their ears and angle their head. “She’ll tell you everything you need to know, if you know how to listen.”

Sometimes he feels those broad, callused hands guiding his own to feel for swelling or heat in an injured leg. And sometimes he feels those hands grabbing him roughly by the neck or pounding bruises into his ribs. Sometimes he hears that voice telling him what a disappointment he is, growling at him to stop bein’ so stubborn, stop bein’ such a goddamn fag, stop cryin’, stop talkin’, don’t you dare give me that attitude.

Gale smiles wryly at Whiskey as he smooths his hand along her back, listening to the swish of her tail and the sounds of her munching her grain. His perfect, dedicated, sassy young mare, who Harding had given him the chance to train so many years ago. “Such disappointments,” he says sarcastically. There’s a giant Olympic ribbon on the outside of Whiskey’s stall door that says otherwise.

Gale takes his time running his hands along Whiskey’s legs, feeling for anything abnormal. Kenny will do all of this over again when Gale leaves to walk the jump course. But personally ensuring his horse’s well-being is a habit from his childhood that he’ll never let go of.

He steps back, taking everything in. He’s at the Olympics, competing for the United States on a beautiful mare that he trained from the ground up. He’s the new face of the US Equestrian Team, and he’s damn proud of himself. He’s found himself a new family. He’s found himself a better life. Hell, he’s even found himself… John. Whatever John is to him.

He looks at Whiskey, then up at the rafters above. Sunshine is streaming in, and the air smells like hay, just like the little barn he grew up spending his days in. All these years, and tucked away in his horse’s stall is still the greatest sanctuary he’s ever found for himself. He smiles at the same time he feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. For once, instead of his father’s voice, he hears his mama’s: “Find your line, Gale. You can be incredible. You already are.”

–

“You’re incredible!” That’s what Bucky will exclaim when he finds Gale after his ride that afternoon, dragging him into a tight hug. The words will hit like a ton of bricks, and Gale will have to keep himself from crying tears of joy and relief, and also of grief for the little boy he’d been, who overcame so much to get here. Bucky will never know what those words mean to him, unless Gale one day chooses to tell him.

Before that, though, they have a medal to win. Gale is the rising star of US Equestrian, but seeing as he’s only in his twenties, not everyone believes he can do this. Gale Cleven and Hundred Proof are going to prove them wrong.

They’re going to prove his father wrong.

The stands are packed, and a sea of red, white, and blue gets to their feet and cheers as they enter the arena. It’s filled with colorful jumps, all themed after France’s culture and history. A small Eiffel Tower at the side of an oxer here, a vertical made to look like the Arc de Triomphe there, countless jump poles painted in the colors of the French flag. The water jump is meant to look like the Grand Canal, with a miniature of Versailles at one end – somewhat ironic, since the arena is in front of Versailles itself. The jumps are arranged differently today than they were for the team event yesterday. Gale walked the course this morning, and he’s running through it in his head.

“For the United States, Gale Cleven and Hundred Proof.” When the announcer calls their names, Gale canters Whiskey in a small circle in the center of the arena. Time starts… now.

It takes them a moment to find their rhythm, but they manage the first few combinations without a hitch, Gale carefully counting their strides between each. They have a 90 degree turn coming up between one vertical and the water jump. During team finals, the mare didn’t get enough air time and splashed her back hoof into the water, earning them a penalty. Gale guides her through a wider turn today, even if it costs them a few tenths of a second, and he urges her to open up a couple of strides earlier. He feels her reach with everything she has, her hooves digging into the sandy footing before she takes off. She lands easily, just barely on the other side of the water, and they’re clear.

“Don’t turn her too tight. Let her have her head when she asks. Girl’s got scope, she’ll take care of you.” Harding’s words ring in his head. As one of the team USA coaches and the first big name to give Gale a chance, he’s been the greatest key player in getting them here today. He’s carefully guided Gale through the good and the bad, and he knows the habits and capabilities of horse and rider both.

Sure enough, there’s a hairpin turn from one jump to the next, and Gale takes it too tight. He can’t help but wince as Whiskey loses her rhythm just as they’re lining up for the next jump, having to slow down with a single trot step breaking their stride before he picks her back up. He’s worried he’s screwed them over, but Whiskey adjusts her stride length and pulls at the reins, asking for her head. He gives her the space and pushes her on, trusting her to get them through this. She does it, sailing over the vertical without so much as clipping the pole.

Find your line.

A triple combination is all that’s left, and they take it by storm. As they land on the other side, Gale covers his mouth with one hand, overcome with emotion, before raising his fist in the air. He looks at the time on the giant clock over the arena entrance. 81 seconds – three seconds under the optimum time – and no penalties. The roar of the crowd makes him feel like he’s going in slow motion, and he knows they know. He and Whiskey are going home with an individual medal.

You can be incredible. You already are.

–

There’s a pretty new ribbon hanging outside Whiskey’s stall, right next to the first. Nine years old, and she’s already a superstar. All she wants, though, are the treats in Gale’s pocket. He obliges happily.

Alone in the stall save for the horse, Bucky doesn’t bother tamping down the urge to kiss Gale silly. He pulls him close, presses their lips together, and cards his fingers through sweat-drenched hair. Gale makes a huffing noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Bucky can feel him smiling against his lips. The sweetness of it makes Bucky’s heart stutter all funny, makes his whole body go weak with a feeling he increasingly thinks might be akin to love, or something like it. He’s not sure he would know.

It’s kind of funny: sometimes, over time, the words you find yourself using to describe someone pop up like clues in a treasure hunt. You don’t even notice at first, but slowly they come together, pieces of a puzzle, leading you towards one bigger picture – you love this person. You love them more than anything.

When Bucky first met Gale, he thought he was beautiful. Hot. Attractive. Handsome.

And then there was cute, angelic, adorable.

Caring, loving, dedicated, driven, smart, ambitious, strong.

Perfect.

Today, there’s “sweet.”

The more Bucky gets to know Gale, the more he wants to know. He wants to know everything. He wants to breathe Gale in and hold him close and never let go and give him everything he’s ever wanted.

After Bucky’s sister died, he spent years pushing the idea of love away, being too scared to let someone get close to him for fear of feeling pain like that again. Now, though, he feels his resolve breaking bit by bit, cracks forming every time Gale sends a barely-there smile his way, or seeks him out in a crowd, or reaches for his hand. Bucky doesn’t know if he’s ready for it, but the world doesn’t care. The world sent Gale Cleven to him like some sort of divine prophecy telling him “it’s time to let go,” and Bucky thinks maybe, just maybe, he wants to listen. He wants to relearn what it is to love someone. He wants to feel it. He wants it so bad.

But it scares him too much.

So he focuses on the now, brushing the existential crisis aside in favor of what he does know: he has a beautiful man right here in his arms. Everything else can wait. He matches Gale’s smile, their noses bumping as Bucky grips Gale’s waist. “You look so good in these, you know that?”

Gale glances down at himself. He can’t say if his cheeks are warm from the heat or from something else. He removed his coat already, leaving him, once again, in a sweat-soaked white shirt tucked neatly into white riding pants that perfectly outline his legs and ass, a black belt calling attention to his waist. “Do I?”

Bucky nods and rests his forehead against Gale’s as he tugs him even closer, if that’s possible. “So fuckin’ good, Buck.”

Yeah, Gale is definitely blushing now. Point, Bucky.

“You’d look even better without them.”

Gale laughs awkwardly, tiredly, even as he finds his hands wandering up Bucky’s sides, coming to rest on his muscular back. “There’s nothin’ sexy about tryin’ to peel off skin tight riding pants when I’m drenched in sweat.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Trust me, not one you wanna take on.”

“Try me.”

“I smell like shit.”

“I didn’t care before, I don’t care now.”

Gale bites his lip and shakes his head. He feels his general state of awareness fading in and out. One second, he’s all too conscious of the fact that they’re in a fancy-ass Parisian barn swarming with grooms and riders, nothing but a stall and a conveniently placed, very tall horse blocking anyone else’s view. The next, he’s filled with want and longing as Bucky nips playfully at his neck. And yet the next, the high of his Olympic win is giving way to exhaustion, fatigue falling over him in waves, his back aching. There’s a sharp pain every time he breathes too deeply. He feels like he can barely keep his eyes open, and Bucky feels so solid and warm, his strong hands perhaps the only thing keeping Gale on his feet.

When Gale barely reacts to his teasing words, Bucky pulls away to look at him and tilts his head. The newest Olympic silver medalist blinks tiredly and raises an eyebrow in question. Bucky smiles, reaching a hand up to stroke the sweaty hair back away from Gale’s face. Then he puts his hand on the back of Gale’s head once again and urges him to rest against his shoulder. Gale sighs, letting himself relax, and Bucky feels that heart-stuttering, stomach-fluttering, suspiciously love-like feeling again.

Marge told him, the other day, that Gale has never been good at letting others take care of him. Too stubborn and independent for his own good.

And yet here he is, letting his guard down. Letting Bucky take his weight. Letting Bucky take care of him.

“Let’s get back to the village,” Bucky says, and Gale nods against his shoulder.

Back in Gale’s bedroom, Bucky waits for him to shower. Gale had been right: even not sweaty, breeches seemed like a bitch to get off, and Bucky is kind of glad Gale didn’t let him help with that. He neatly folds the discarded riding clothes, even though he’s sure they’re heading straight for one of the laundry facilities in the Village. Then finding himself with nothing to do but idly scroll his phone, he can’t help but glance around the bare-bones room. It’s just like his own, plain and minimal. But he notices a book on Gale’s bedside table, the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from the middle. After a few moments, curiosity wins out and Bucky grabs the book, flipping it open.

Tucked between well-worn pages, he finds an old, faded photograph, the flimsy corners creased with white from a lifetime of being kept close. In the picture, there’s a young boy with shaggy blonde hair and a bright smile. He’s sitting on top of an unimpressed-looking pony, a blue ribbon hooked to the bridle. A beautiful woman stands beside them, her hand reaching up to press against the boy’s back. She’s laughing, her smile a mirror image of the one Bucky has seen on Gale’s face time and again, a mirror image of this little boy’s. Bucky flips over the picture. There’s four words scrawled across the back in loopy, feminine handwriting: “Find your line. -Mama.”

When he hears the shower stop running, he carefully replaces the picture and the book back on the nightstand. Moments later, Gale walks out of the bathroom, completely naked and rubbing a towel over his hair until he looks like a disheveled hedgehog. Bucky could grab him by the waist, make him drop that towel and put his hands on him instead, but he doesn’t. He just watches as Gale, wincing, leans over to grab some sweatpants from the drawers by his bed.

Bucky frowns as Gale pulls the pants up, letting them rest low on his hips in a way that would make Bucky’s mouth go dry if he weren’t concerned about something else. “Your back okay?”

Gale shrugs and goes about combing his fingers through his hair, trying halfheartedly to tame it.

“Buck.”

“Hurts a bit,” Gale mutters. He takes a deep breath in as he sits down on the edge of the bed, biting back a groan. “...More than a bit.”

Bucky’s frown deepens as he studies Gale closely, watching the way the other man scrunches his nose in discomfort and tries to arch his back forward in a noncommittal stretch. “Alright, lay down.”

Gale furrows his brow, starting to shake his head, but Bucky won’t take no for an answer. He turns and motions to the rest of the bed behind them. “You heard me. On your front.”

Skeptically, Gale does as he’s told, settling on his stomach with his cheek pressed against his pillow. He tenses when he feels Bucky straddling him, knees planted firmly on either side of his waist. Then there’s warm, strong hands on his bare skin, still dotted with drops of water, and he lets himself melt into the mattress.

“Bet these beds aren’t so great for back pain, huh?” Bucky asks as he starts carefully pressing his thumbs into the absurdly tight muscles on either side of Gale’s spine.

“Mmm.” That’s all Gale can manage as he bites his lip, trying to keep from flinching when the pressure hurts so bad and yet feels so good at the same time. He moans quietly when Bucky finds that one specific knot in his mid-back, the one that twinges every single time he takes a deep breath and gets worse when he has to do too much jumping for too many days in a row.

Bucky hones in on that spot, trying to work the tension out in the most amazingly unbearable way, making Gale gasp and clench his teeth. “Told you I’d return the favor,” Bucky says.

Gale tries to nod, but he finds he can’t. He doesn’t say anything, just focuses on the way Bucky’s hands work their way up and down his back, somehow finding every troublesome spot – which is everywhere, really. Gale sometimes jokes that his back is practically made of scar tissue after everything it’s been through, and Bucky isn’t sure he’d disagree. He thought he was tight, but he wonders how Gale even functions in this condition, much less rides horses at peak performance nearly every day. Nearly every muscle from his neck to the base of his spine is laced with tension.

“Horses make you tough,” Gale mumbles, like he can read Bucky’s mind. “Don’t usually notice the pain ‘til I’m home.”

Bucky knows a little something about that. He shifts his attention to the inward curve of Gale’s lower back, where the muscles often take the most daily strain. He works his thumbs up and down, in and out, finding nothing but knots that refuse to let go without a good fight. “Have you been this tight all week?”

Gale shrugs but doesn’t say a word. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, so he stops trying. Bucky shakes his head. “Coulda said somethin’.” If he’d known, he would’ve done this sooner. Hell, he would’ve done it every night if that’s what Gale needed.

About a minute later, though, he notices that Gale’s breaths have become deeper and more measured, no longer hitching when Bucky hits a new sore spot. Bucky stops massaging, hoping he’s at least made a dent in the tension that Gale has been carting around, and he presses his hands flat against Gale’s back. He leans forward so he can see the other man’s face, and he finds that his eyes are peacefully closed, his lips parted with one hand curled in a fist under his chin. Blonde hair, a little dark and not quite dry, falls messily over his forehead.

A literal fucking angel. That’s what he’d told Curt after he first met Gale on their flight into Paris, but the description has just taken on new meaning. The pure, unfiltered adoration swelling in Bucky’s chest as he watches Gale drift off will be the death of him.

“Buck?” He says softly. “You still with me?” He reaches a hand up and strokes his still-damp hair.

Gale’s eyes flutter open at the warm cadence of Bucky’s voice. Bucky’s hand stills, but Gale tilts his head up, trying vaguely to press into the touch. Bucky obediently resumes petting his hair.

Satisfied, the corner of Gale’s mouth curves up in a small, unguarded smile, but he hides it against his fist.

He’s an Olympian. He’s an Olympic medalist. A beautiful, wonderful, perfectly lovely guy (who Gale is falling a little in love with) is giving him a massage in his bedroom at the Paris Olympics. If he wasn’t so worn out, he’d tell Bucky to pinch him, sure he has to be dreaming. A tired little laugh bubbles out of him before he lets his eyes close again.

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head in amusement and confusion. “What?”

Gale’s answer doesn’t really clear anything up, but it’s the only thing Bucky can get out of him before he’s sound asleep, that precious smile still teasing at his lips.

“I found my line.”

…

Next part

#i'm normal about them i swear #“I found my line” I'm sobbing #Gale deserves the world #clegan olympics au #clegan #masters of the air #mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #clegan fic #olympics au #tw: abuse

64 notes · View notes

princelylove · 11 months

Note

Hi, accidentally stumble in your blog~ I love yandere jojo contents too so I hope to see your content about it :D

I don't know what to request yet but maybe we can talk about type of yandere. What is your favorite type of yandere? Mine is delusion or simp yandere (what characters in jojo you think they will be in this category btw)

Delusional types are adorable to me. There’s just something so charming about someone who’s so bent on being together that their brain skips the entire courting process and goes right into “We’re dating. No actually we’re married and have been married since forever and even our past lives were married. You belong to me what do you mean I have to stop calling for fifteen days.” I think my favored type is protective, but delusionals are too cute to pass on. As for those I think are delusional or simps, off the top of my head…

I’d also argue that Mista’s the type to simp, he’s pretty sure he’ll die if you carry your own shopping bags, but he doesn’t strike me as delusional. Love’s gotta be real to him, you know? He’s the kind of guy that can take a maybe, hell, even a hard no! He knows how to back off, but he’s just gonna keep watch from over here if that’s cool with you. I mean, come on, what kinda “friend” would he be if he let you open your own doors or pay for your own meal? He’s got a job, it’s totally on him! Don’t even think about trying to step over that puddle yourself, he’s already got you up by your legs to carry you across. He’s pretty strong, isn’t he? Oh, he’d die a happy man if you praised him for something like that. He’s like a dog whose tail just won’t stop wagging. You’re his everything, why wouldn’t he try to do things for you all the time? That isn’t weird, don’t shove him into the same category as creepy guys who never give up! It’s like typical hollywood stuff, you know? Romanticism or whatever!

You know who’s fully delusional, though? I say this with lots of love, but Diego. He just cannot fathom the idea of someone rejecting him, I mean, what’s wrong with him? He’s the prince of the british horseracing world, how DARE you reject him??? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, don’t play hard to get with him of all people! You should be begging for his attention, not the other way around, but here we are. Diego fully believes that you were made for him, you just don’t understand the gravity (I do think I’m funny for this wordplay) of the situation yet. No matter what happens, you’re always going to be his. As long as he’s got it in his head that you’re more of an object than a real person who has thoughts and feelings like he does, he’s not really going to care about your ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Look, pigeons are just meant to be led, and he’s already somewhat fond of you, so just let him have what he wants. I’m firmly of the belief that if you ever flat out rejected him, he’d just think you were unwell and needed him even more. Be good for him, he doesn’t have the time to play this silly little game of cat and mouse with you right now.

Joseph is another “You can’t play hard to get forever!” type to me, honestly. He’s persistent like a bloodhound, and is going to get in the way of whatever lover or relationship you’ve got going on right now no matter what. He called dibs on you, so, it’s totally fair. He’ll show up to your apartment or house and completely ignore his training if it means getting just a glimpse of you. So what if he’s got a ring in his throat, he wants to put a ring on your finger! Joseph goes the extra mile for you- literally. If you were to move out of town, he’d walk all the way to your new place if he had to. Joseph won’t be deterred so easily. You just wanted him to get some exercise, right, babe? That’s so thoughtful of you! It makes his day when you look his way, especially if you actually catch him showing off with his training. If you were to actually talk to him, or god forbid compliment him, he’d be reeling for a week. He trails behind you on your errands, taking notes mentally of where you go and what you get. One day he’ll know it by heart, and then you won’t even have to go on errands anymore! Unless you want to go with him, that is. Then he’s totally down for a little couple’s day out. Joseph will buy you whatever you want as long as he gets his fix in. Let him put his head on your lap and just stare, and he’ll be thrilled. I don’t necessarily believe that Joseph would kidnap you if you broke his fantasy too many times, but you’re definitely going to start losing a lot of personal time. It doesn’t matter how he got into your apartment, he made dinner. Haha, ok, you caught him. He ordered dinner.

I think it’s fairly obvious to say that Yukako is delusional. She has a warped sense of reality. Her crimes really don’t matter to her because she’s making up for it. Look, look, she cooked for you. Stop trying to go for the door or the window. Yukako loves you, so you’re going to be perfect for her, and you’re going to be perfect together. She’s firm about never leaving your side even though she’s already got you all to herself. She sees nothing wrong with skipping dating and going right to locking you up if she thinks you need her for something. You’re failing at that cooking class that school made you take despite your pleas not to? She can do that. You’re awful with directions? She knows every little corner of town. You actually don’t need her and are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? Don’t talk like that. You need her. There’s absolutely no reason to deny her, so let’s do this the cutesy way she wants it.

#yandere jjba #yandere jjba x reader #yandere guido mista #yandere joseph joestar #yandere diego brando #yandere yukako yamagishi #yandere #tw objectification #request granted

93 notes · View notes

nyxronomicon · 2 years

Text

@cherryxblossxms put neighbor!Toji in my brain (with this post specifically) and let's just say he's got squatting rights with the way he's taken over my brain

toji x gn!reader

tw: biting, handjob (reader receiving), no pronouns used/ GN reader, yandere toji, possessive/territorial toji, mentions of reader hearing toji fuck strangers, mentions of reader masturbating

pet names: sweetheart

part ii

As you entered the empty communal laundry room, your mind wandered to the neighbor who was sure to show up any minute.

Toji Fushiguro. You made the mistake of thinking he'd be a good friend to have around. In your defense, it was a reasonable assumption. One of your first days in your new apartment you saw him fixing his own car in the garage. From the way his eyes lingered on you, you could guess it wouldn't take much to convince him to be your personal handyman.

But that was just your first mistake.

Acting on that thought was your second mistake. You should have known early on from the way he loved to corner you whenever he passed by that he would be aggressive. Not that you minded, it was kind of sexy that he was so confident. But confidence like that is a sign of arrogance. Possessiveness.

And you were just neighbors. Friendly acquaintances at best.

It was hard to avoid him. You were constantly running into him in the hallways, doing laundry, working on his car in the parking spot next to yours. You could even hear him through the paper-thin apartment walls sometimes, often fucking some poor soul senseless before you never hear from them again.

"How's it goin' sweetheart?" Your heart skipped a beat as the man who was on your mind found you in the laundry room. Again.

"Toji," you smiled. "I'd like to ask you a favor."

"Oh?" He grinned at you. You finished starting the washer and turned to him, only just now seeing he was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants low on his hips.

"Something weird is going on with my sink..." As he filled the washer with his clothes, your eyes trailed down the muscles of his back to his ass, which was peeking out of the top of his pants.

"Do I look like a plumber to you?" He added his soap and hit the start button on the washer.

"You have the crack for it." You stifled your laughter.

"Hmm," Toji's back was still to you but he turned his head and looked at you through the side of his eye. "So you're looking at my ass?"

Your cheeks immediately ran hot and your smile disappeared, not expecting him to acknowledge that minor fact. "It was right in front of me, what was I supposed to do?" You quickly responded.

"I expect a little more modesty from my love interests." He sauntered towards you.

"Yeah right," You scoffed. "I've seen the type of person you bring home at night." You smirked. "And god knows I've heard them."

"It's better than the dildo keeping you company." He quipped. "Have you named it yet?" He leaned closer to you, caging you against the washer as he whispered into your ear. "How about Toji?"

The thought popped into your head that if you could see that much of his ass, Toji was probably not wearing underwear. The heat of his body was mere inches from yours. You tensed up before pushing him away.

"Fuck off." You shuffled to the door in an attempt to remain composed.

"Do you want me to fix your sink or not?" He was leaning on your washer now, although you didn't dare spare him a glance.

"Put a shirt on first." You left the laundry room with him following closely behind, both of you stopping at the doors right next to each other.

"I'll see you in 10 minutes then." Toji went into his apartment and sighed. He hated that he said shit like that to you, what was that dildo comment, anyway?

He thought you were so adorable, he couldn't get you out of his mind. He always wanted to keep an eye on you. To give himself opportunities to see you. That's why he kept showing up and saying stupid shit because even if you pushed him away in the end at least he got to spend some time with you.

God, it was so fucking sappy. He just needed to fuck you and be done with it. Then, he could move on. Then, when he was fucking someone else, maybe he wouldn't be desperate to shout your name, hoping you were listening on the other side of that wall. He knew that having sex with other people wasn't really a good way to get your attention, but if you got even a little jealous it would be worth it.

He found one of his tightest shirts and threw it on, checking himself in the mirror only briefly before making his way to your apartment. He banged on your door recklessly, all thoughts of trying to be less abrasive gone the second he left his apartment.

You opened the door and before you could say anything, he spoke. "Heard you need to get your pipes checked." He grinned.

"Is this a fucking porno?" You rolled your eyes. "It's the kitchen sink. In here." You led him to your kitchen and turned the faucet on, water sputtering out and then slowly trickling, even when it was turned on all the way.

He put his fingers under the water for a moment before flicking water at you.

"Hey!" You pouted at him as he laughed at your reaction. "I'm not going to keep you company if you're going to act like a child." You turned the water off, grabbing the kitchen towel.

"Sorry, sorry." He was still chuckling. "I couldn't resist." He knelt in front of the sink, opened the cabinets, and started moving your things around to get to the piping in the back.

"Don't worry, I won't look at your ass this time." It took all of your self-restraint, but you really weren't looking at his ass. You were distracted by a text from a guy you'd seen a couple of times, a meme about seeing you again.

"Aww, it's right in front of you, what are you supposed to do?" He mocked you from under the sink. He sat up, seeing that you were grinning at something on your phone. "What's funny?" He asked, feeling a pang of envy at whoever just made you smile when you were supposed to be paying attention to him.

"Oh," You quickly put your phone away, meeting Toji's gaze. "It's nothing."

"Do you have a toolbox?" He asked, uncharacteristically serious.

"Sure." You went and grabbed it for him. After bringing it back, your phone rang. It was the guy you were texting. "Oh, I should take this. I'll be right back."

Toji pulled a monkey wrench out of your toolkit and crawled back under the sink. He could still hear you speaking despite being in the other room. Something about a date on Saturday. His heart twisted in his chest. He had half a mind to smash your sink to pieces and insist he needed to fix it on Saturday, but that wouldn't stop you from seeing whoever this guy was. Or even asking him to come fix it instead.

He twisted the loose bolts and fixed up the piping, but remained under the sink as he collected his thoughts. He was absolutely fuming at the way that asshole was making you giggle. Didn't he know that you belonged to him?

Breathe, Toji. He nearly growled at that last thought. He heard you walking back into the kitchen and emerged from under the sink, now standing in front of it. He turned on the faucet and it ran as it should.

"It's fixed." His voice was almost gentle. Almost. He turned the water off again.

"That was so quick!" You marveled, placing a hand on his arm. His heart felt like it was in a battle of tug-of-war. Your touch was so warm, he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

Toji grabbed your wrist, flipping you around only to back you up against the counter.

"Now, let's talk about payment." He grinned and your heart was racing.

"Payment? I thought this was a favor." You were getting a little nervous. Toji regularly pinned you against things like this but he'd never done it in private. In fact, the two of you had never been in private together.

"How about a date? I'm thinking... Saturday." Toji grabbed your chin with his thumb and index finger, directing your gaze at him. He overheard you.

"I'm... busy." You didn't really know how to handle this. Your heart was racing.

"Busy?" His face closed in on yours, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. "With what?"

You were speechless, your whole body lighting up like it never had before. It was clear to you now that you wanted this. You wanted him. All that time spent ogling his hot body, shoving your emotions aside to attempt to insult him. It was just a ruse to keep him far away. Because you knew this whole time that he was dangerous. A mistake.

Your breath mingled with his as your jaw slackened. You desperately wanted him to kiss you.

"With what, sweetheart?" He repeated, reminding you that he was waiting on an answer.

"N-nothing..." You whimpered.

"You're mine, then." He mumbled, toying with you as he leaned in briefly, pulling himself away just as you tried to kiss him.

"Toji..." you grumbled, your hands trailing up his abs.

"Say it." He slowly moved closer to you again as he waited for your response. He was trying to be intense and manly but there was something soft and vulnerable behind his words. Like he needed you to want him just as desperately as he wanted you.

"I..." You hesitated. He was trouble, you knew it. This was a mistake. That was all you could think. And yet, your brain really wasn't doing the thinking here. Your body was burning with desire. Your sex fluttered with anticipation as his lips brushed against yours again. You pushed your hands up to his shoulders and over the back of his neck. "I'm yours... Toji."

His kisses crashed against you with all the grace of the ocean in a perfect storm, wild and desperate to sink you to the sea floor. He stole your breath moment by moment and you could feel yourself drowning in the lust suddenly trickling through your bones. His hands kneaded into your body, searching for the spots that made you whimper into his mouth. And as his own hunger for you took control, you found yourself returning his desire just as recklessly. Just as violently.

Toji pulled away from your swollen lips with the intention of leaving dark hickeys all over your neck. As he sucked and bit at your sensitive skin, you could feel his eager cock pressed against you. One of his hands floated to your sex, feeling your contours through your clothes.

His lips. His fingers. His teeth. His tongue. All working in tandem to etch themselves in your memory so deeply that you couldn't even come close to forgetting this moment. He needed anything else to be inadequate. After tonight, he needed to be the only one to ever make you cum again.

You were panting for him as he gripped your jeans, hastily unbuttoning them and pushing them down your hips. His teeth didn't leave your collarbone as his hand started rubbing your arousal.

"So needy..." He slurred against your skin, the vibrations of his voice heightening your sensitivity. Your body was so responsive to him as he worked you, greedily corrupting you.

Your whole body shivered with pleasure, waves of desire rolling through you. It was almost too much, but at the same time, you didn't want him to stop. Just as the unforgiving waves of the ocean pulled sailors to their demise, Toji's relentless foreplay pulled you deeper into the bounds of his depravity.

He had you on the edge. "Toji..." You whimpered his name but he didn't stop, so you said it louder. And louder again, this time punctuated by moans.

"Mmh..." He groaned against you. "Cum for me, sweetheart." His motions sped up, the familiar tingle raging in your core had finally broken the barrier, ripping through your body in an earth shattering orgasm. He kept going, even as you came all over his hand. Even as you attempted to squirm out of his grasp. Even as your oversensitive sex sputtered as if shooting blanks.

"Toji, I-" Before you could finish your thought, his soaked fingers plunged into your mouth.

"I don't ever want to hear about another man again." He growled.

tagging @bite-sized-devil

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #me <- no knowledge of plumbing #that's how they fix stuff in the movies which means it's real #might fuck around and write a part two where toji rails you #quite likely actually bc I just Had A Thought

237 notes · View notes

sdwolfpup · 10 months

Note

For the Festive Fic prompts, I'd love to see what you do with 14 or 17!

14. family invites a rival/enemy/the boss to a Christmas party/vacation

"What is she doing here?" Jaime hisses to Tyrion as they stand in the receiving line at their father's annual Christmas party. It's always an overblown affair: everyone dressed up like they're about to meet the Queen, the abuse of gold-plated decorations, the persistent jazzy Christmas music soundtrack, and dear god the garlands. It's like a forest exploded all through the house.

Normally, Jaime finds the whole thing tedious and boring and he and Tyrion skip out halfway through to go get drunk on Tywin's most expensive liquor that gets trickier to find every year. The old man hasn't outwitted them on hiding places yet, but it was a near thing last year.

Jaime expects this year to be different, though, because there, large as life, is Brienne Tarth hovering at the end of the receiving line, her hulking shoulders hunched, the austere black of whatever dress she's wearing doing her no favors. She looks like she's at a funeral, not a Christmas party.

Which would suit the dour, frustratingly stubborn woman that is his primary rival in the world of high-end real estate.

"I can't see who you mean but based on the venom in your tone, I suspect you mean Ms. Tarth," Tyrion drawls. "She's here because Father invited her."

"What?" Jaime turns on his brother, completely ignoring the councilmember just holding his hand out to be shaken. "Why?"

Tyrion takes the councilman's empty hand and pumps it aggressively, wishing him a Merry Christmas before turning back to Jaime. "Because he wants to hire her," he says like Jaime's being especially obtuse.

Jaime stares at the woman creeping closer in the line. "But she works for the Starks. She hates us."

"She hates you," Tyrion says cheerfully, taking over for Jaime as he ignores two more people in line to glare at Brienne. "The rest of us she's neutral about."

Jaime scoffs. "That's only because she hasn't met you yet."

Tyrion kisses the hand of a woman and Jaime watches her laugh prettily. His brother lifts his brow smugly. "I'm very charming, Jaime. I'll bet you a case of that scotch we had last year that I can get her to be my friend before you."

The music dips for a moment and Jaime hears Brienne saying, "Merry Christmas" to one of the many Lannister Realty employees down the line from him. Her voice is soft and almost sweet--nothing like she sounds whenever he has the misfortune of talking with her.

"I'm not taking that bet. She'd befriend you just to spite me," he grouses. He shakes a few more hands without really seeing any of the people in front of him, too busy keeping an eye on Brienne's progress as she makes her way.

He can tell the moment she notices him in line, because all of the ease and shyness drains out of her and she straightens, lifting her head like a bear that's just spotted a threat.

Good, he thinks, meeting her gaze with a cool smile. Best she know what's waiting for her if she's considering this.

Jaime's flooded with anxious energy waiting for the line to hurry and deposit her before him and then it finally does. Up close, the black dress turns out to be shorter than he'd thought, and her very long legs stick out of it thick trunks. Her arms and shoulders--her best features, in his opinion--are covered, but an alarmingly broad swatch of her pale, freckled chest is bare except for a jeweled, golden sword hanging from a delicate necklace chain. It looks incongruous, the fragility of the links against the ropey tendons of her neck, like a trail of kisses against her skin.

Jaime blinks and jerks back. "Tarth," he greets her, folding his hands behind his back. "Did you get lost on the way to the Stark holiday party? Or are you hoping to actually enjoy expensive food at a work function for once?"

She grimaces, a familiar look on her wide face. "Lannister." She shoves her hand out at him as though a parent is standing behind her and forcing her to do so. He looks down at it, the wide span of her palm, the mountainous knuckles, and marvels again this woman is as successful a realtor as he is when he looks like he does and she looks like this.

Her hand hangs between them for a long moment before he finally takes it, feels the sting as she squeezes more than is polite. He hides a grunt and squeezes back, enjoys the way her eyes narrow and she puts even more strength into it, a vise slowly crushing the bones of his hand. He returns it, the two of them locked in an escalating battle of pain until Tyrion clears his throat.

"If you two are done trying to rip each others hands off, you're holding up the line." He sounds richly amused and Jaime realizes that the line has bunched up behind Brienne and there's a large space between her and the people ahead of her now.

She yanks her hand away and Jaime is oddly delighted by the stripes of red that flood over her cheeks like fingerpaint. He's less delighted by the way his hand is throbbing. He sees her flex her hand at her side and hopes he gave as good as he got, because he's convinced he'll have bruises in the morning.

"Enjoy the party, Tarth," Jaime tells her as she hurriedly shakes Tyrion's hand and mumbles Christmas wishes. "I don't expect you'll be invited back next year."

Her eyes skate back to him, blue and cold as the ice in the middle of a glacier. "That's because I'll be in the receiving line ahead of you."

Tyrion hoots with laughter because the best realtor gets the dubious honor of being here at the end of the line nearest Tywin and the leadership team.

Brienne's already hurried too far to make a comeback worth it, or even audible, and Jaime swears he won't have a single drink tonight until he's driven Brienne Tarth from the grounds, or at least from his father's perspective employment.

(Festive prompts here)

#jaime x brienne #my fic #festive prompts #asks answered #pearly--rose #this could have gone another 10k easily lol #have to stop somewhere #(spoiler alert: they end up fighting for best realtor and then fall in love and they stand there together next year bc they're engaged)#(the end)

38 notes · View notes

fixfoxnox · 1 year

Text

In The Dark

Description: Roach works a relatively calm job as a Park Ranger. At least calm until a series of odd events begin occurring during his shifts, all starting with a murder on one of the back roads and a pair of glowing eyes watching him from the trees.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Horror elements, gore, monsters/cryptids

Pairings: ghostroach (potential for ghostroachsoap later)

"There he is," Roach huffed, waving off Logan and Jackson as they laughed at him. "Late as usual."

"Oh fuck off," he walked around to the little computer system at the desk to clock in, "I'm like a minute after my time." He gave another huff but finished checking all of his information in, "Alright, you're free Logan."

"A minute after is still late," Jackson teased, leaning against his security desk with a bright grin, "Thats a minute when anything could have happened."

Roach rolled his eyes and turned away from his friend in favor of nodding to a grinning Logan, "Anything important?"

Logan shook his head, "Few cars in the park for stargazing and drive through, they've all been given the rules of no hiking or exiting their vehicles." He shrugged, "Everything looks calm currently."

"Well, let's hope it stays that way." Roach nodded to his friend and, with a quick goodbye Logan was heading out for the night, leaving Jackson and Roach alone. Roach took the time to pack his "lunch" away in one of the coolers from the kitchen as well as grab himself a few waters, chatting idly with Jackson as he did.

"Shit looks creepy tonight," Jackson flicked through a few of the cameras around the park, "You're a braver man than me."

"You're just a scaredy cat," Roach teased. He leaned over his shoulder to look at the various trail cameras that Jackson was monitoring. They'd set them up alongside the roads to better monitor things, which had worked out for Jackson who hated doing the nightly drive throughs. "Its just dark, you dork."

"Dark and creepy," Jackson shot back, "You can't see shit through there."

Roach gave a low chuckle and pushed himself away from his friend, "Well, lucky you get to stay here and monitor the cameras."

"This place is kinda creepy too," Jackson muttered. "I just want you to know," Jackson called as he grabbed his cooler and radio and headed for the door, "If I see some creepy shit on these cameras heading toward here? I'm gone. You're on your own bud."

"You tell me that every night," Roach pushed his way out of the front door.

As it closed behind him, he could hear Jackson call, "I just have to remind you so you don't haunt me if you die!"

Roach had never been afraid of the forrest. Not when he was a child, running out into the pitch darkness of the trees behind his house with only a tiny flashlight to guide his way. Not when he was a teenager and had to trek through the trails to try and find where one of his families chickens had gotten off to. Not now, when he was an adult and had focused his entire career around the forrest. Perhaps that was what made him such a good park ranger.

He knew the land well. He knew the forrest well. He'd never been scared of the almost overwhelming darkness of the night in the forrest like others did. He'd found a sort of beauty and peace in it. There was something calming about driving through the darkness down the winding roads of the park, watching out for people or animals or anything that needed his attention. The park felt like his home.

That was one of the reasons why he could tell immediately that something was off when he pulled onto one of the small side roads. The particular one that he was on rarely ever got used. Since it just went through the tree's rather than by any particular landmarks, most people avoided it. Roach always checked it though, he knew that because of how little it was used and the easy access to the woods, it would be a frequent place for poachers to try and use. He'd caught five different poachers over the current season, so he knew better than to skip it.

This night he knew that something was different. He could see the tire tracks on the ground from a truck that had driven in before him. And he could see broken branches along the road from where someone had pulled off when they weren't meant to. It spelled trouble for him and he was quick to grab at his radio.

"Hey, Jackson, I'm on Mammoth pull-off right now and I'm worried I may have another poacher through here. Do you have anything on the cams?"

There was a long moment of silence before the radio crackled in, "Camera 40 looks like its blinded," Jackson sounded concerned, "Headlights I think, but looking back it seems like the camera's been blinded for an hour or so at least. Thats a lot time to sit with your headlights on in one place."

"Right," Roach sped up a little bit, moving toward the back half of the road where he knew the camera was located, "I'll proceed with caution. Stay on radio in case I need back up."

He continued around the road, trying to move quickly in hopes of catching whoever was on the road in the middle of the night. He would hope to get them prior to them hurting any of the park animals, but if what Jackson had said was true, he was potentially too late for that.

He sped around the corner to a straight stretch of road only to be forced to slam on his breaks. The tires screeched with their attempt to stop, the sound echoing around the quiet truck.

In front of Roach on the road was a truck. They were facing him, sat sompletely still in the middle of the road. Their headlights were on, the bright light nearly blinding Roach. There was only one thing that he could see clearly with the bright lights shining in his eyes.

The outline of a human figure stood in front of the trucks headlights, silhouetted by the shine. They stood almost perfectly still and, though Roach couldn't see which way they were facing, a tickle at the back of his mind said that they were watching him. That they were staring at him. They didn't move.

Roach slowly reached for his radio, never taking his eyes off of the figure. Something told him not to. "Jackson, I'm at the truck. There's someone here."

"Visual?"

"None. They're standing in front of the truck. Headlights are blocking my sight." He paused for a moment, just watching the figure. They were still frozen, completely still. Unnaturally still. He clicked his tongue after a moment, "I'm going to get out and talk to the guy. Stand by."

Roach grabbed his radio and slipped it onto his belt. His flashlight went into his hands as he pushed the door to his truck open and slowly pulled himself out. The figure still didn't move. He shut the door behind him.

"Hi there!" He kept his voice chirpy and friendly, "How are you?"

There was no answer. Roach listened carefully and he noted, with a bit of worry, that the sounds of the forrest around him were silent. No crickets. No frogs. Nothing. Just silence.

He took a slow step toward the figure, "I don't know if you know, but we have a rule of no exiting your vehicle after ten on park grounds." He took another few slow steps toward the man. No answer, when he was about halfway between his truck and the other vehicle, he asked, "Sorry, can you hear me? It's a safety thing, you know? We don't want anyone getting lost and," he hesitated for a moment before adding, "we don't want any poachers out here trying to get to the animals."

He took another step forward, but found himself shocked into a frozen state when the figure suddenly moved. There was still no noise outside of Roach's own breathing and the two trucks running. Roach couldn't even hear as the figure walked along the gravel road.

It circled around the side of the truck and, for a moment, Roach thought it was going to get in. It didn't, it just kept walking. "Hey!" Roach sped up his steps, "I'm serious you need to get back in your truck. He rushed up to the front of the vehicle and, as he turned the side of it, he flicked on his flashlight, shining it after the figure.

The light didn't offer him much outside of the the fact that the figure was tall and broad. There was something else though. Something wrong. It looked like a person. Everything about it was right, all of the proportions and everything. But something about the tall figure with shining golden hair had dread pooling in Roach's gut. It didn't turn back to him, it just kept walking forward before taking a sharp left turn and starting toward the woods.

"Hey," Roach hurried forward, concern quickly replacing the dread in his gut, "Don't go into the forrest! You'll get lost! Can you-" he rushed past the side of the truck and did his best to catch up with the man. By the time he reached the area of the road the man, he'd already disappeared fully into the thick brush of trees. Roach stepped off of the road and up to the edge of the trees, shining his flashlight through them desperately, hoping to catch a glimpse of the man.

"Sir," he called out, "Listen just follow my voice back to the road, okay? You aren't in trouble, I just want to make sure that you're okay!" There was no response. Roach bit at his lip, his eyes following the shine of his flashlight through the woods. Suddenly the light caught on to something, he stopped it suddenly, finding his eyes locked on to two glowing dots through the trees.

He stared for a long moment, almost locking gazes with whatever it was that he was looking at. It was likely an animal, but...it imdidn't move. Just like the man from earlier, it was completely still. Usually an animal would have looked away or tilted its head or something. The eyes never changed positions. They never moved away from Roach.

Roach stared back. He knew he should have looked away. He knew he needed to look for the man who'd disappeared into the woods. Something in his mind told him to keep looking, though. To keep his gaze locked firmly with whatever he was looking at. So he stared.

He nearly jumped out of his skin at a sudden sound from his radio, his eyes shooting down to the little box as his hands scrambled for it, "Roach? How are you looking?"

Roach gave a deep sigh and brought the radio up to his lips. His eyes traced back up to the woods and he realized suddenly that the eyes were gone. It was just the darkness of the woods now. He moved his flashlight around a bit, noting with confusion that the normal noises of the woods were echoing around him again. It was like with the disappearance of the eyes, the silence had gone too. "The guy walked into the woods."

"What?"

"He walked into the woods," Roach turned back toward the man's still running truck and started toward it. "Left his truck and everything. Still running. I tried to stop him, but he just kept moving." He gave a deep groan as he marched up to the side of the truck and started toward the drivers side door. "I'll check the interior for ID, we'll need to put him in the database as missing in the park. I didn't get a good look, but he was about six foot-"

Roach stopped in his tracks, a cold feeling of horror dousing him. "Roach?" Jackson questioned.

Roach paused for a long moment, just staring. Finally, shakily, he brought the radio back up to his mouth, "Jackson, call local law enforcement out to Mammoth." He paused for a moment, "Tell them to bring the coroner."

"Roach? What is it?" Roach didn't answer. A shiver pulled down his spine. This was not good.

"Hey guys, any news from the police?" Roach pushed his way into the main office of the building, gaining the attention of the three men inside.

"Roach? Dude you're supposed to be off," Jackson gave him a stern look but Roach was quick to wave him off.

"I don't need time off."

"You found a mutilated corpse in the park last night," Logan raised an eyebrow at him and leaned back against the counter behind him. "I would argue that you need like a week off for that."

"It's part of the job description," Roach moved further into the room, settling in the little group with Logan, Jackson, and Ramirez. "Its not the first time I've found a body, probably won't be the last."

"Yeah," Ramirez narrowed his eyes at him, "but nothing like this. We saw the report. This wasn't a hiking accident or an animal incident. This was cold blooded murder and you likely saw the guy who did it."

Roach shivered a bit, images of a face frozen in horror and pain, jawbone hanging on by only a slight bit of flesh. Throat exposed, spine and esophagus hanging out. Flesh torn. Pieces missing. Not a drop of blood to be found.

He shook his head quickly, brushing off the memories, "The guy disappeared into the woods in pitch black to get away," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "Nature will take care of him. You guys know that just as well as I do."

"Doesn't mean that this shit wasn't crazy," Logan shook his head, "Boss wants us to double up on night shifts for the next few weeks."

"So," Ramirez shrugged, "Even if you're staying, we are too."

Roach gave a huff, but didn't argue. "Well, one of you guys is gonna have to stay here with Jackson, he's probably passing his pants with this whole situation."

"Fuck off," Jackson flipped him his middle finger with a roll of his eyes. "Sorry that I don't want to get murdered like you and Logan."

Roach and Logan shot each other an amused look, "Guess that means Jackson expects you to stay behind." Roach turned to Ramirez with a grin and the man was quick to return in.

"Well, I can't say I'm too upset with that choice. I'd much rather sit in the safety of the office then drive around like you and Walker ranger over here."

"Hey," Jackson flicked clicked something on his computer, "Whichever of you guys takes the south road, I need you to stop at the Rainbow Lake picnic area, the camera there is down."

"I'll take it," Roach nodded, "I've changed them out before, so I should be able to do it without you trying to give me your shitty instructions."

He accepted the camera handed to him by Ramirez as Jackson gasped in mock offense, "Is this just bully Paul day? I'll have you know I give only the best instructions."

"Sure," Roach snorted and slung the camera over his shoulder. He grabbed the cooler he'd brought in with him as well, already fully stocked. "Logan, you leaving with?"

"Yeah," Logan grabbed his own cooler, "following you out."

They said a few quick goodbyes to Jackson and Ramirez before starting outside to their trucks. Roach was loading his up when Logan called out to him, "Hey, before you leave." Roach turned to face the man, raising an eyebrow at him when he noticed his serious face. Logan looked hesitant for a moment before stepped closer to him in a few quick strides. "We weren't supposed to tell you," he whispered hesitantly, "but the guy you found yesterday. Police said he was a poacher, they found guns and equipment in the back of his truck. No animals that they could see."

As much as Roach hated to admit it, the words brought a sick sense of satisfaction to him. At least the man hadn't been able to harm any of the animals in the park. He felt bad, but one less poacher in the world was one less problem to him.

"Jackson," Roach radioed in as he hopped out of his truck and started toward the little picnic area, "I'm about to change the camera out, I'll radio when finished so you can tell me how it looks."

"Copy, keep aware of your surroundings." Roach snorted a bit at the words, but didn't respond.

His flashlight lit the dark path down to the picnic area. It was a short little hike from his truck made slightly more difficult by the overwhelming darkness that surrounded him. The picnic area was one of the more popular ones for guests at the park, so he wasn't too surprised that something had gone wrong with the camera. They often had to switch it out because some nosy kid had tried to tear it from the tree while their parents just watched.

The picnic area was quiet so Roach took to humming to himself as he made his way toward the camera to start slowly unscrewing it from its stand. When he was finally able to pull it down from the tree and shine his light on it, he was met with immediate confusion.

The camera wasn't just broken. It was completely shattered. Pieces of it hung out and splintered off as though a heavy creature had walked by and stepped on it. That or someone had come through and slammed it with a baseball bat several times. He twisted it around in his hands, concern written across his face.

A sense of something came over him again and, similar to the night before, he noticed suddenly the complete silence around him. Not a sound. No crickets. No frogs. Not even the sound of the trees rustling in the wind. Only his own breathing could be heard.

Hesitantly, he picked up his radio. "Jackson, send Logan around to the lake. I think there's something-"

He yelped suddenly and span around as quick as he could. His feet got caught together with the speed in which he moved and he found himself tumbling to the ground, his breathing heavy. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He was sure that he'd felt something brush up behind him. Sure that he'd felt a hand brush softly against the back of his neck.

There was nothing. Not a person. Not even the outline of footprints in the gravel he'd fallen into. He took several deep breaths from his place on the ground, moving his flashlight across the area in front of him in long sweeps. There was nothing.

He slowly pushed himself from the ground, listening to the crackle of Jackson calling his name through the radio. "I'm fine," he called over the radio, "Sorry I just," his flashlight caught the glint of something shiny on one of the picnic tables and he started toward it carefully. It hadn't been there moments ago. "I'm fine," he confirmed, "just took a tumble."

"Thank fuck," Jackson gave a sigh of relief over the line, "Scared the shit out of me, Sanderson. Logan's on his way to you now."

"Good, good." Roach stepped up to the picnic and looked down at the little item sitting neatly on the table. He blinked at it for several moments before reaching out to hesitantly pick it up.

His fingers felt over the smoothness of the little crystal. Amethyst. It was a sizeable chunk, about the size of Roach's hand, and overwhelmingly shiny. Almost like it had been painstakingly polished. He turned it in his hands, feeling a bit of awe blossoming in his chest at the offshoots of purple, grey, and white.

There was a snap of a twig in the woods in front of him and Roach was quick to look up, his heart beating faster in his chest. The noise had ricocheted through the silence like a gunshot, immediately gaining his attention. He moved to shine his flashlight through the woods where the sound came from and he found himself pausing as he met the gaze of two flashing eyes.

They didn't move. They just watched. Just like the night before. Roach didn't move either, he just locked gazes with the creature. It was much closer now than it had been the night before, and yet Roach didn't feel any fear. He just paused, watching the creatures unmoving form. He could see its outline now. Similar to a wolf, but much much larger.

There was a long moment where nothing happened. Roach wasn't quite sure what to do. The creature seemed to understand his hesitation and Roach could see as it began to slowly stalk forward. It moved carefully and, even through the darkness, Roach could see how powerful it clearly was. It drew closer, then stopped suddenly, still hidden in the woods.

It tilted its head at him before giving a quick nod downward. Roach followed the motion, his eyes trailing down to the crystal in his hand. He stared at it for another long moment before looking back up at the creature. It was watching him carefully and something suddenly snapped into place for him.

"Is this," he started hesitantly, "for me?" He felt a bit silly asking the random creature in the woods if the crystal was for him. The creature wouldn't answer, it was just an animal. It couldn't understand him.

And yet, the creature gave a jerk of its head, similar to a nod, and Roach felt like it had understood him. Like whatever was looking at him through the woods was able to communicate with him. Was able to talk and was telling him that the crystal in his hands was meant for him.

Roach looked back down at the crystal before back up to the creature, "Thank you." He gripped tighter to the crystal and felt embarrassment run through him when he realized that he was flushed red at the percieved gift, "It's beautiful."

There was another long moment, the creature and Roach just watched one another. It moved again, starting forward slowly.

"Roach?" Roach turned his head suddenly to the pathway, spotting Logan watching him with concerned eyes, "Jackson said you needed help?"

Roach could hear suddenly the noises of the forrest return. The silence was gone and, when he turned to look back into the woods, the creature was gone with it. He hesitated for a moment, looking in the woods again to try and find the creature. He felt almost disappointed when his search came up with nothing. He brushed it off and turned toward Logan, "Yeah." He started forward, tucking the piece of amethyst into his pocket as he moved toward the man. No one but him needed to know about it.

#gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #logan walker #paul jackson #paul jackson cod #ghostroach #cryptid au #monster au #call of duty fanfic #cod #call of duty

101 notes · View notes

saey707 · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 7 {Sett}

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Spooky Prompt: Buttjob Champion Focus: Sett (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) GN reader 🎃 Warning: NSFW

Author's Note: Hooooo I am behind ( • ᴖ • ｡) October is by far my busiest month, it's difficult for me to keep up with everything! Still, I am trying my best to make time to write out these little, kinky prompts ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚ I ended up skipping one day because I couldn't think of anything for it... And the next 3 days (7-9) will all be short as well, as I work to catch up! (╥﹏╥)

Sett has always been the kind of man that wants to balance his work life as much as his love life. Since the day the half-Vastayan decided to declare you as his "mate for life", he knew he wanted to not only provide for you financially but sexually.

Now here you were, face stuffed into a pillow while his calloused fingers dragged up and down, rubbing your back.

He began your sensual evening with slow and titillating kisses that trailed from your upper spine to your shoulder blade, cautious as his spiked teeth gently nibbled on your exposed skin. The last thing the brute man needed was for you to get hurt because of his carelessness, or worse, his strength.

"Mmm... Baby~" You hummed, eliciting an eager chuckle from your lover. His stubble pricked against your skin. But you didn't mind. It never bothered you too much, especially with how clean-cut and treated his shave always was.

Sett placed one hand on your ass, spreading you open just enough so he could slide his member between your cheeks, gradually picking up speed with his movements. Not too slow, but just the right speed to provide him pleasure as much as he looked forward to returning the favor.

"I could never get enough of this ass, honey..." He mumbled, hands on both sides of your significantly smaller frame so he could prop himself up.

You trailed your hands down to spread your ass for him, eyes closing when he rubbed right against you. "You always say that, babe." You reminded him. "I know, just thought I oughtta let ya know again tonight~" He responded casually.

This wasn't the first time your honey badger wanted to give you an assjob, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. You knew Sett had enough stamina to last this buttjob very well over an hour.

Rubbing against his erect cock, he huffed out a breathy sigh, rolling to your side and pulling you with him. Your back pressed against his torso, Sett brushing his large hand against your hip.

He rocked against you, penis still rubbing between your ass cheeks. The only difference was this angle allowed you to tighten more around his dick.

"Hope ya don't mind... babe..." Sett hummed against your shoulder blade, wrapping his arm around you as he continued to hump you. "Ah~ I don't..." And with a sweet tone, you rasped for breath with a sly smile on your sweet, red-flushed cheeks.

"Just make sure you fuck me realllyyy good tonight, okay honey badger~?"

#saey kinktober 2022 #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #saeybaewrites #drabble #x reader #lol #sett league of legends #sett lol #sett x reader #sett lol x reader #sett league of legends x reader #league of legends x reader #lol x reader

301 notes · View notes

myveryownfanfiction · 6 months

Text

Chapter 36

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @plush4bunny, @illiana-mystery, @onedirectionlovers2014

tags: swearing, the wheelers, mediums and con artists, night court spoilers

“so what’s on the docket for tonight?” I asked, swinging my legs as I sat on Wyatt’s desk. He looked over the list and shrugged.

“petty theft. Nude model fight.” I nodded at that appreciatively. “And a couple with issues with a medium…I think. It’s confusing.” Wyatt flipped through the file before looking up and frowning. “I think they’re ready to talk to you counselor.”

”we meet again Mr. Fielding.” The man said. Dan froze and looked at me with wide eyes.

“If I don’t turn around are they really there?” He asked, biting his lip as he scrunched up his nose.

“oh my god!” Abbie cried. “You’re the wheelers! My dad always talked about you guys! I have so many questions!” Dan scowled as he took his spot in front of Abbie. “What’s the charge?” Wyatt handed Abbie the file.

“Animal husbandry.” Wyatt read out. I focused on Dan, wondering what he was thinking seeing the wheelers back in court.

“as someone who’s heard your stories before can we skip the next three calamities and get to the point?” Dan complained. I giggled behind my hand and he looked over at me. The case progressed and abbie called for recess. The only thing I had really caught onto was that she wanted to see the wheelers medium to talk to her dad.

“so what was that like?” I asked as we sat down in the cafeteria. Dan groaned and let his head drop onto my shoulder.

“those poor ghosts.” He said. “Although leave it to them to get stuck with a haunted apartment. I did promise to help them get rid of it though.”

“olivia.” I said. Dan nodded.

“I can’t believe I saw the wheelers.” He shuddered before sitting back up. “Abbie has her psychic though.”

“did you tell her that?” I asked. Dan shook his head but waved her over when he saw her walk in.

“so I have some news.” He said. Abbie nodded. “You’ve got your psychic.”

“wait really?” Abbie exclaimed, almost throwing her arms around dans neck.

“I made it happen. I did a favor for the wheelers and they helped me jump the line with this Fleetwood Mac b side.” Dan said, patting her arm. “We meet in your office after session tonight.”

“what did you do?” Abbie asked, taking a seat at the table. She opened her lunch and I put a hand over my mouth. Dan looked over at me as I swallowed thickly.

“You alright?” He asked me. I nodded and waved him off as the nausea passed. “I just helped them sell their haunted brownstone.” Dan said, turning his attention back to Abbie but keeping an eye on me. As Abbie ate, the smell continued to get to me. I excused myself and headed to Abbie’s office. I opened the window and sat down. “Hey.” I turned to see Dan standing in the doorway.

“Hey.” I said back, rubbing my stomach.

“you ran out of there pretty quickly…” Dan trailed off, eyes focused on my hand movement. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“yeah. Just not feeling well.” I said, rubbing my stomach again. Dan nodded, looking back up at my eyes.

“maybe you should see a doctor.” He said, coming to sit next to me. I leaned into him and closed my eyes.

“already have.” I mumbled. “Just a bug.” Dan nodded as he kissed my head.

“alright.” He said. “Maybe you should sit out the seance.” I nodded.

“I’ll take a nap in your office.” I said. Dan nodded. He walked me back to his office and grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over me before kissing my head and heading towards the door.

“call me if you need me.” He said. I nodded with a smile as he left the room. The phone rang not long after and I sagged with relief at the news. Laying back down, I stared at the ceiling with a smile on my face. When I got antsy, I got up and walked back to Abbie’s office. The psychic was gone and Dan was talking to Abbie.

“Dan…” she whispered. He turned to look at her. “That was the phrase.”

“what?” He asked. “Are you telling me that I’m supposed to be Harry’s vessel?” The lights flickered and Dan quickly tried to appease whatever it was. “Alright. Alright.” The lights stayed on and Dan chuckled. “Always had to have the last word.” Abbie smiled at him and hugged his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. I rubbed my stomach again and knocked on the door.

“hey guys.” I said. Abbie stood up and walked over to hug me. “How’d it go?”

“she was a fake. But Dan and I have come to an understanding.” She said with a smile. I nodded and watched her leave.

“so feeling better?” Dan asked as he stood up and made his way over to me.

“yeah.” I said, lost in thought.

“penny for your thoughts?” He asked, kissing my forehead.

“you know I always thought she’d be a good aunt but now I think Abbie would make a great big sister.” I said absentmindedly, bringing dans hand to my stomach.

#john larroquette fanfic #john larroquette #john larroquette fanfiction #john larroquette imagine #dan fielding #john larroquette x reader #dan fielding x reader #dan fielding fanfic #dan fielding fanfiction #dan fielding imagine #Old enough #old enough series

3 notes · View notes

shih-coulda-had-it · 2 years

Text

FEBUWHUMP DAY FOURTEEN | CAPTIVITY | wc: 463

a/n: Yet another Krakenverse Afohiko Edition Branch, wherein Sorahiko got caught much earlier than in v1 (his ceaseless courting). The pros? He gets to have the strangest in-law relationship with Yoichi, and a really strange parent/not-parent tie to Tamaki. Also, in a reverse of v1, Sorahiko gets to throw his shackles on AfO. Not in this snippet though.

Tamaki’s first memory of his father’s consort always comes down to the golden chains, gleaming defiantly in spite of the darkness of the deep sea. The number of links shift without warning--sometimes, the furthest Consort Torino can keep his wrists apart is a mere foot, and sometimes Consort Torino will be stalking down hallways with glowing yellow lines trailing behind him.

His second clear memory of Consort Torino is the man’s barely-leashed rage, held in check only when out of sight from Tamaki’s father.

Tamaki sits in his uncle’s rooms, cringing back from where Consort Torino is seated across. Between them is his uncle, ignoring the other man’s dark mood in favor of coaxing Tamaki to attend another session of court.

Lord Akkorokamui holds court on an irregular basis; Tamaki has attended every session since he was old enough to be separated from his mother.

Or so Uncle Yoichi says, when Tamaki asks if he could skip just one.

“Just let him,” says Consort Torino flatly. “He’ll want to run from Motoji soon enough, and he might as well see how far he can get while young.”

“He’s seven,” Uncle Yoichi replies, crisp.

“Yeah, and?”

“Father doesn’t like tag,” says Tamaki, and Consort Torino closes his eyes and tips his head to the ceiling, the gills at his neck flaring with a sigh. Then, a slight whap! from one of Uncle Yoichi’s tentacles, smacking the man’s shoulder and eliciting a quick flash of gold. The dazzling effect precludes nothing, though.

“Watch it,” Consort Torino growls.

“Watch yourself,” his uncle says, scoldingly. He reaches over and tugs at one of the consort’s sleeves, until the cuff is hidden from sight. “Half a millennia, and you still react like this. My older brother won’t tolerate your attitude influencing his son.”

“All the more reason to teach him.”

“On a later date, Sorahiko. Don’t stray from the plan.”

“‘Plan’?” Tamaki echoes. He shrinks back from the attention, and hastens to change the subject. This is clearly a conversation not intended for Tamaki; his father has blocked Tamaki’s ears several times over when the doctor speaks with him, and it’s such an unpleasant experience.

Tamaki associates his uncle’s rooms with safety. A bubble of peace, and patience. He wonders if Consort Torino is here for the same reasons.

“... So do I still have to go?”

“No,” says Consort Torino the same time Uncle Yoichi says, “Yes, Tama.” They share a look, and then a scowl from the consort faces off with a frown; surprisingly, the former wins. Uncle Yoichi turns his eyes to his hands, and Consort Torino elaborates: “You don’t have to. I’ll turn up instead, and give your excuses. Your father might be distracted enough with me that he won’t care for an absent prince.”

#bnha #krakenverse afohiko rendition #gran torino #torino sorahiko #amajiki tamaki #suneater #shigaraki yoichi #shih.txt #febuwhump 23 #hm. beginning to see a need to clean up my narration style #but oughh i love my limited third person pov so much #internal name referencing my beloved

29 notes · View notes

lastmurianwarrior · 1 year

Note

💭 !!

((HOo boy, I had fun - settling on a scene was tough though. With this blog's Solo pulling from the games and anime most, it's an interesting dance to incorporate as much lore from either media as possible, while fleshing out the details and making sense of it. I want to do Laplace too, but this ended up long enough, that I think I'll save that for a new post. This is a window into a particularly pivotal day for Solo, from long long ago.))

FLASHBACK: Aching eyes from bright sunlight that poured in through the pale-green air shuttle's sliding door, was the first greeting from this ground-dwelling destination to meet the passengers from Mu as they arrived for a diplomatic meeting that would inevitably unravel into unamusing discourse.

Solo followed from behind as the small crew of Mu officials ambled out onto a wide dusty circle. At 13 he was deemed mature and expected to take on the responsibilities of his noble position. Getting to know the world and involving himself in geopolitical discussions would be a start. But Mu’s tactician always wanted him to play along and read from a script; becoming furious if Solo changed any of the details.

It was too embarrassing to admit he hadn’t paid enough attention to what was happening between Mu and the tribes on the ground. But some of the things he’d had to say, never set well with him, and he at least knew from faces in the crowds that it didn’t set well with the tribes either. Mulling over that fact, Solo didn’t feel like involving himself this time, and the spectacle of this foreign town was enough to tempt him into skipping the day’s meeting altogether to go explore on his own; to get to know the people and sniff out some local treats.

The tactician; Mu’s master-planner, a tall old man, dressed darkly and with a hat like a tower on his head, flattened at the top, marched in front, expecting everyone to keep up with his long stride. He threw a few indignant sneers back at Solo for lagging behind, but didn’t waste any time waiting around.

Jagged megaliths with the visages of important people and revered animals; as though guarding the walkways, guided the visitors to a stone brick roadway populated by village-folk; merchants, carvers, toolmakers, and farmers all with their fare and animals to offer.

There was little hope of convincing the locals that Mu technology wasn’t all powered by some magic or divine force; even many of Mu’s people themselves still believed this. A small portion of the village dawned their most elaborate garb to dance, while musicians of woodwind and bone instruments played tunes almost magical in their own way. Such flamboyance was motivated by hopes of earning favor from their sky visitors, of course.

Each of the Mu officials strolled on, paying no heed to the garish ensemble, stopping only briefly to look back with steely eyes as they entered the tallest building for miles; a relic of stone architecture from a time when the floating continent of Mu was still rooted firmly in the ground; a mere hundred years prior. Newer construction surrounding it seemed oddly more primitive; distinguished by a framework of wood, mastodon tusks, and painted animal hides.

Rather than join his party inside, Solo took a turn on his own to walk further down the street. Breaking the sunlight induced glare, his eyes filled with wonder at the rocky scrublands, patched with temperate foliage and exotic flowers, then shifted to soaking in the sight of all the people; many of them thoroughly tanned, wrapped in lightweight yellow, green, orange, or red textiles, and leather garb. Camelids and barely tame village-dogs moseyed about the street, which narrowed, then broke off into a dead end marked by spiny overgrowth that trailed off in the direction of a distantly roaring waterfall from glacial melt.

As he kept his pace along the bustling street, the thought of moving aside for others hadn’t so much as cross his mind. In spite of the open airspace, the walkway was claustrophobic compared to the vast halls within the upper floors of Mu that he’d grown up in. Roughly brushing shoulders with folk disinterested in showing the noble Murian respect, however, struck Solo with the gut-wrenching sense that something had changed in the atmosphere; there was a rising tension distinctly in opposition to the affection, wonder, intrigue, and most importantly; respect, that his presence once garnered.

Suspicious and apprehensive eyes began to track his white-haired, ruby-eyed presence from all sides, and seemed to grow in number with every step. He had no choice but to stand out. Even the sheen of his perfectly angular earrings set him apart from the largely stone-age folk occupying this territory. Attempting to pay no mind to them, he chose a collection of produce to fixate on; legumes, wild grains, and various medicinal herbs sorted into piles atop mats, or stuffed into laboriously hand-woven baskets. The merchant’s most prized however, were dainty yellow-orange squash whose flowers had been hand pollinated to ensure a pure, sweeter new strain; a dozen of them to the side, clean and neatly ordered.

While small-scale efforts were made to farm on the floating continent, ground dwelling villages such as this one were agriculturally vital to Mu’s food line. Few peoples in the world had proven so dedicated to cultivating new resilient and appetizing crop varieties as here. It was both a necessity and a luxury Mu couldn’t afford to loose by getting into a war with.

“Give me your best one.”

Solo stiffly ordered, absentminded of his entitled tone; after all, why shouldn’t he want the best, when the best is what his people always seemed to expect of him? He was taken aback when the seller chided him for his complex, and refused to give him one unless he had something of value to offer, like his earrings, which was a definite no.

Unsettled, he made a silent turn, landing him unexpectedly in front of a much taller man, that suddenly reprimanded the young noble for his poor manners, sparking a whole onset of village-folk spitting their dissatisfaction with Mu in Solo’s general direction. Before anyone had even said a negative word, his innocent curiosity had already given way, replaced by a confused panic, that he fought to entirely conceal. Up to that point, he’d never personally encountered a crowd that would so readily turn on him; that would band together like this.

“You always get more than we could ever dream to ask for! Yet you have the nerve to want the best that we have!”

“You claim Mu is our security!? You threaten us with the very same power and weapons you claim to protect us with!”

“Do you even remember the villages that were burned for the sake of cooperation with Mu!? Or is that just another necessary sacrifice to you!?”

“The powers of Mu are unnatural! - This world would be better off without your kind, you monsters!”

Mu’s very recent exercise of dominance through displays of great destructive power across the world was likely to blame for igniting the sudden hostility. Offerings made to Mu that were once given out of love and hope of blessing, were now bribes for mere survival or an advantage over other tribes.

None took too kindly to being viewed as tools by much of the higher Murian caste. Some were bursting at the seams to make those feelings clear; viewing this moment as an opportunity to do so; to make a demonstration of one of Mu’s supposedly treasured individuals.

The now quite unpopular noble, snapped a reply,

“Isn’t that how the world works? - Those with power, get to make the rules! They can take what they want!”

Yet somehow, speaking only made him look more foolish to the crowd.

The fuss continued, yet fell into the background of Solo’s mind as an almost sly-looking young man, came within arm’s reach of the lone Murian, and with him, a few others trickled in to form a feisty-looking circle around their flustered visitor. Solo’s first instinct was to tuck his chin into the high teal turtleneck of his uniform, wishing he could just hide within an impenetrable shell, like some kind of turtle. Goading him on, the other young man questioned,

“So you think you can just do what you want huh?”

Without a second thought, Solo snapped back,

“Yes, I’ll do as I please.”

The other young man, keeping his smug cool, continued as though setting up some kind of hostile joke,

“Oh yeah, and what makes you so special?”

The Mu noble spewed whatever came to mind first, everything he said was going to be used against him at this point; but loosing his temper made it impossible to keep his mouth shut.

“The blood of Mu that courses through my veins!”

Swiftly came the interrogator's searing punchline,

“Mhm, and if that’s so valuable, maybe spilling it on the streets will finally pay for all the food and labor you’ve taken from my people!”

“Now tell me Mu child - If you really can see more than us with those unearthly eyes. Can you see this?”

Solo indignantly glanced around with puzzled frustration. But a mere second later the young man’s fist made a hard landing across the noble kid’s face. Enraged shock filled every ounce of Solo’s being, as he finally let out a sharp shout; though almost swallowing his own breath in the process,

“GAAAHH, I-I could take any of you on!”

The prompt response of the crowd was by no means reassuring for the loner in its middle. Someone interjected from behind,

“Shut up! Maybe you could. But not all of us together!”

With that, Solo felt his legs kicked out from behind. Others worked to keep him on the ground. As a soft faced wiry kid, Solo was tough, but against the gang surrounding him, he seemed more akin to a small bird surrounded by lions. They were rugged and strong, they knew they were always lifting more than their share of weight in this world.

The young Murian wasn’t ready for this; he wasn’t ready to just EM Wave change on a whim. Let alone, in the midst of such confusion. But enraged by the insults of the crowd, he used all his strength to prop himself back up with his arms, just to look them in the eyes.

“I’ll hunt you down! …I’ll-I’ll make you know what it really means to suffer!”

At that, they only beat him harder. Face to the bricks, Solo froze up completely, and by the time three thunderous shouts from the other Mu officials broke up the crowd, their child of Mu was already in a limp haze.

Solo hadn’t known true fear or suffering before this. It was his first taste; his first bite, and it made his stomach sick. No one had so much as asked him to think over the fate of the peoples that might’ve opposed Mu. The mere thought of opposing Mu was a pill so foreign, nothing could make him swallow it; they must have been enemies…

As the first of multiple incidents following a similar theme, Solo grew to immensely despise crowds.

Though word spread of decimated villages who opposed Mu’s total reign, many continued to view those of Mu as auspicious, brushing other tribe’s grievances off as rumors, or unconcerning to those that remained loyal to their empire.

However, Solo never got over the feeling that others could turn on him at any moment should Mu fail to ensure they felt blessed with fortunate harvests or secure infrastructure; or for that matter, any reason they wanted. Trusting others became an only barely surpassable obstacle for him.

… The reign of his people lasted only a mere three years after.

#This occurs in a somewhat ambiguous setting along one of the equatorial post-Ice Age cradles of civilization - in this au of earth #sorry my poor boy was indoctrinated by the late empire of Mu - he hasn't entirely recovered. actually he has a long way to go hehhh #((All my week is blocked off for work - But I'll get as much as I can in here; they’re relatively short shifts this time but I need sleeeep #fine to reblog #long post #Cw violence #mega man star force #[Flashback: window to the past]#I have this possibly off the wall headcanon that the game-verse Solo grew up on Mu but didn't remember it- like he has amnesia #and that his flashbacks are fragmented memories #Him living on the top floor is actually an idea pulled from the manga - so there's that little bit of influence lol #Anonymous #answered asks

3 notes · View notes

with-love-from-hell · 2 years

Text

5 Sides of Human

{Part Ten}

Genre: Mixed

Character profiles for the Mc’s featured in this series

WC: ~5.1k

CW: time skipping from main plot (I’m not doing certain parts of the canon story and/or are doing them out of order because I didn’t like them the way they were and it’s my story so there lol), brief appearance of Mephistopheles (but no spoilers), anxiety, depictions of anger and verbal aggression, sarcasm, suggestive, love triangle, Storm has a stutter but I am not depicting it with written word consistently, pining, spoilers for season 1&2!

Part nine <<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>> Part eleven

“Man...how’d I get stuck doin’ this?” Mammon mumbled, dragging his feet slightly behind Storm and No. 2 as they approached the entrance to the carnival.

“Well I can’t say I mind much though, because this means I get to be with Storm!” Little D No. 2 mocked, pretending to voice-over Mammon’s thoughts.

“Aye, quit it!” Mammon grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I thought I told ya to keep yer mouth shut!”

Storm ignored their bickering, gazing up at the huge Ferris Wheel that stood adjacent to the gate. “It always amazes me that y’all have similar stuff in Devildom that we do in the Human realm.”

“They got stuff like this in the Celestial Realm too.” Mammon smirked, turning his attention away from No. 2. He watched her gaze float around the tent-tops and various rides. “One time I took Beel and Belphie to a carnival under Michael’s nose, ‘n they were so happy...but then they wandered off and I couldn’t find them. It was a real pain in the ass.”

“Probably because you weren’t keeping an eye on them in the first place.” No. 2 giggled, skipping happily along in front of the pair.

“Shut it, pipsqueak.” Mammon gritted his teeth. “Remember, we’re doin’ ya a favor here! Ya should give me some respect!”

Storm chuckled, shaking her head as Mammon attempted to scold the small demon, who was clearly not paying attention to anything he was saying. The carnival lights twinkled in the foggy night sky, creating a lazy hue of green, yellow, and purple over the pavement. Each tent held some sort of activity or food, and the air was filled with an aroma of fried food. The sounds of laughter, boisterous carnies advertising their games, and vacant chatter filled the streets, creating an abnormally full atmosphere in the usually quiet streets that surrounding the large park in the center of town.

“So, What brings Diavolo and Lucifer here on an investigation?” She pondered aloud, trailing her fingers and the thick canvas tent they passed by.

“Ohoho! Apparently it’s something very scandalous and exciting!” No. 2 turned to face them, now walking backwards blindly into the crowed. “You see, there’s this rumor that the carnival is actually a front for an illegal casino!”

Mammon cleared his throat, turning away to try to hide the guilt plastered over his face. Storm took no notice, instead shrugging her shoulders in response.

“I mean, isn’t that kind of what carnival games are already? They’re always rigged as fuck, and you’re basically placing a bet on whether you can win the game. The only difference is that you get a shitty prize instead of the bets placed.”

“W-well, it’s not like I know anythin’ about some illegal casino o-or nothin’ of course.” Mammon swallowed hard, darting his gaze between No. 2 and Storm, who both raised an eyebrow at him.

“We didn’t ask if you knew anything...” No. 2 narrowed their eyes, causing Mammon to begin to sweat nervously.

“A-actually, y’know what? I completely forgot that I got this, uh...thing...to do tonight, so...I-I can’t come with ya to find Lucifer and Diavolo after all!” Mammon turned on his heel, beginning to speed walk the other direction.

“Wha- wait!! Mammon!” Storm turned, jogging to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave me here!”

“W-well, Lucifer’s here...he’ll find ya eventually.”

“That’s not very responsible of you, Mammon...” No. 2 scolded. “Losing both of us in one day? It’s a wonder you don’t get turned around in your own house.”

Mammon growled, turning to try to walk away again. Though, he stopped when he felt a gentle tug on his jacket sleeve. He felt his face heat up as Storm’s hand slipped into his, her fingers curling around his own. He swallowed hard and coughed into his arm to hide the growing heat on his cheeks.

“Mammon, please...” Storm murmured, trying to fight off the ruminating fears of being left alone, surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place. “Please stay...”

Mammon groaned, stealing a glance into Storm’s shimmering icy eyes. Maybe it was the twinkling lights that gave her the cutest puppy-like expression he had ever seen, but regardless of the reason, he found it near impossible to refuse her. “Agh, Dammit...Fine. I’ll stay, okay! Ya happy now?! And stop lookin at me like that!”

No. 2 let out a high pitched laugh, nearly squealing in delight. “I love how you’re such a pushover Mammon!”

“Shaddup!” Mammon snapped, pointing threateningly at No. 2. “Ya best watch yer mouth, pipsqueak, or yer gonna have a date with the underside of my shoe!”

Storm smiled, squeezing his hand to get his focus back to her. “Thank you, Mams.”

Mammon snorted in faux disdain, turning his head away as the blush darkened. “whatever, let’s just find them and go home.”

They walked side-by-side through the gates of the carnival, trying to see if the fur on Lucifer’s coat collar or the bright red pattern on Diavolo’s suit-jacket could be seen amongst the crowd. Suddenly, a bright flash of light caused both Storm and Mammon’s vision to go white for a moment, creating spots around their vision as they rubbed their eyes clear.

“Oi! What the hell was that!” Mammon darted his vision around, trying to get a glimpse of what had flashed right in front of them.

“Aw, what a perfect picture for the Newspaper club Devilgram,” The magenta-haired demon before them remarked, before snatching a polaroid out of the fanny pack at his side. “That’ll be 100 Grimm.”

“Excuse me!?” Mammon snapped. “Mephisto! What the hell’re ya doin?!”

“Now now, Mammon. It’s his job to take your picture...and then pressure you into buyin’ it.” No. 2 chuckled, snatching the photo from Mephistopheles’ hands and running off with it.

“No. 2! Get yer tiny ass back here!” Mammon yelled after the demon, attempting to run after him only to be caught by the collar.

“I believe I said you owed 100 Grimm.” Mephistopheles growled, holding out his other hand for payment.

“I didn’t ask ya to take our picture!”

“Well, they seemed to want the photo,” he smirked. “Besides, I’m sure such a cute couples picture will make many folks quite jealous.”

“C-couple?!” Mammon stuttered, his face turning red once more. “W-well...I...”

“It’s fine, Mammon. I got it.” Storm sighed, digging in her purse and fishing out a large golden coin. “Here. Thank you for the picture.”

Mephistopheles snatched the coins out of Storm’s hand flashing her a fake smile. “The pleasure is all mine, human.”

"Uh, you know my name. It’s Storm.” She corrected, narrowing her eyes at him. Mephistopheles ignored her, strolling off with his camera already pointed at newly arriving visitors. She sighed, turning back toward Mammon, only to fine he had ran off. She saw the tips of his snowy white hair near the entry to a nearby game, rushing over to meet him there.

“...And Storm looks crazy cute, doesn’t she? So you should really be thanking me for forcing you to buy it!” No. 2 squirmed around in Mammon’s iron grasp, trying desperately to escape his hold.

Mammon’s gaze appeared to be transfixed on the photo as Storm approached from behind him. “Hmm...well, I guess it did turn out pretty good...”

“You can say she looks cute, c’mon!” No. 2 teased, kicking Mammon in the chest. “I know you’re thinking how much you wanna smooch her!”

“Stop that!” Mammon shook No. 2, causing him to be a bit disoriented. “Stop sayin’ what I’m thinkin’ out loud!”

Storm blinked, surprised to hear Mammon admit to having thought she was cute. She’d be lying if she’d said she hadn’t had a crush on him in the past. She thought Mammon was sweet at times, but her interest in him diminished the more his insults and degradation stung her already sensitive self-esteem. Her breaking point was after the incident in the catacombs, where he had told her to die if he couldn’t be the one to save her. The comment wounded her more than anything he had said to her before, and it still haunted her thoughts to this day- particularly when he was being incredibly cold toward her.

“Um...” Storm squeezed near Mammon’s side, taking a look at the picture, “did it really turn out good?”

Mammon jumped, letting out a yelp when he felt her presence near his side. No. 2 fell to the ground with a grunt as Mammon’s grip on him faltered. Storm glanced at the picture for a moment, not really seeing how her half-closed eyes and blurry arm coming up to shield her face could be counted as ‘cute.’

“Listen, I know this is a really forward, impolite sort of question, but just out of curiosity...” No. 2 batted their eyelashes, “Storm, Mammon...Are you two dating?”

Mammon coughed aggressively at the unexpected question, his face immediately burning crimson at the question. He watched Storm out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge how she would respond. He knew that they weren’t dating, but he hoped deep down she would say yes- just to spare him the embarrassment of having to ask her out himself.

“What..? No.” Storm shook her head, her voice flat. “Why would you think that?”

Mammon’s expression dropped, feeling hurt that she had said ‘no’ so plainly.

“Right, of course you’re not.” No. 2 began laughing maniacally. “He is Mammon, after all. You could do much better, Storm.”

“Wait, what!?” Mammon snapped, attempting to snatch No. 2 up by their neck once more, but No. 2 dodged his grip.

“Well, Storm! As long as you’re single, what do you think of Lord Diavolo, hmm?” No. 2 nudged her forearm playfully. “I can assure you, he’s quite the catch, and he’s very rich so you wont ever have to worry about money. And he’s such a hunk- I mean, those Muscles?! Phew-wee! Plus you will have the very attentive Barbatos as your own steward as an added bonus!”

Storm blinked a few times, trying to process what No. 2 had said after speaking so quickly. Before she had a chance to speak, Mammon butted in.

“There’s so much messed up about what ya just said that I don’t even know where to start.” Mammon huffed, stuffing his hands back in his jacket pocket. “Ya really think someone like Storm could get with the prince of Devildom?”

Storm flashed Mammon a hurt glance, causing him to immediately glance down in shame. There’s a moment of tense silence between them, before No. 2 suddenly gasps.

“Oooh! Look! They have a crane game over there!” They skipped giddily toward the tent, tugging Storm’s pant leg along with them. “Oh! And check out the stuffed animals inside. Those are zombie iguanas, one of the hottest items in Devildom right now!”

“Oh, they’re cute!” Storm noted, following No. 2 toward the booth to get a closer look.

“C-cute? Those things??” Mammon scrunched up his nose. “Their so ugly!”

“They’re so adorable I can barely stand it!” No. 2 squealed.

“You two certainly have weird tastes...” Mammon scoffed, finally catching up to them at the booth.

“Mammon! I want one! Win one for me! Pleassseee?” No. 2 begged, hopping up and down in front of him.

“What!?” Mammon barked, shaking his head. “No way! We’re s’posed to be finding Lucifer and Diavolo! No playin’ games!”

“C’monnnnnn! Papa! Please please Papa! I want one so bad I can barely stand it! Pleeeaaassee!”

“G’AHH! Fine!” Mammon threw up his hands, grabbing the baseballs sitting on the booth counter. “If it gets ya to shut yer damn mouth, I’ll do it.”

He tossed 20 Grimm to the carnie before whipping three balls at once toward the totems stacked at the end of the booth’s range. After knocking over the totem on the first attempt, Mammon presented the zombie ignuana doll to No. 2.

“Eeeeee! Finally!” No. 2 clutched the doll tightly, spinning around with it. “My very own zombie iguana! Thanks papa! I love you soooooo much!”

Mammon kicked No. 2 away as he tried to hug him. “Quit callin’ me papa, dammit! I barely had any money to begin with and now I’m really poor!”

Storm giggled as No. 2 writhed about on the floor, happily singing about their new iguana.

“Hey...uh, Storm...” Mammon pulled her aside, shoving another zombie iguana in her arms. “I feel bad about sayin’ what I said earlier...y’know, about you ‘n Diavolo...so I managed to nab an extra plushie and...here. It’s yours.”

Storm smiled, accepting the plushie carefully. She squeezed it lightly, finding comfort in the give that the soft spandex material and light stuffing allowed. Her smile grew warmer as she looked into Mammon’s eyes. “I love it. Thanks, Mams.”

“I-I wasn’t tryn’a win it for ya or nothin’...it just...happened, okay?” Mammon turned away, beginning to walk the other direction as Storm called out to No. 2 and followed behind him.

“I’d assume if there was an entry to a hidden gambling den, it would be in plain sight, wouldn’t you agree?” Diavolo murmured to Lucifer as they walked into the gates of the Carnival, narrowly avoiding Mephistopheles and his Newspaper Club photo op.

“If I know anything about Mammon and demons like him, that much should be true.” Lucifer glanced around, hoping to spot some suspicious activity right off the bat. “Though I will say, Mammon has a knack for being sneaky, so we shouldn’t rule anything out. While it may be obvious, we don’t want to underestimate their intelligence.”

Diavolo chuckled. “Intelligence, huh? That wouldn’t be the first thing to come to mind when thinking of Mammon.

Lucifer held back the urge to glare at the prince for insulting his brother. “Yes. Mammon can be dense in a lot of ways- that is surely true- but If there’s one way he shines it’s with numbers, and he is quick with it too. I’m assuming we must be looking for something related to numbers, or the passcode is something to do with numbers.”

Diavolo nodded, impressed by Lucifer’s ability to so obviously dot on his brother’s strengths despite his cold exterior toward them normally. They first walked around the perimeter of the park, then worked their way inwards, interviewing carnies for what they may know casually, and watching more seedy demons make their rounds of the carnival. After an hour, they both sat for a break.

“Would you like anything to eat, Lucifer? I may help myself to some Black Tapir bacon on a stick.” Diavolo hummed at the thought. “I figure this can be some time for you to review the evidence we’ve gathered.”

Lucifer shuddered at the thought, finding the choice in food to be atrocious. “I’ll do fine with a bottle of water, though I don’t like the idea of you wandering off. I’ll join you.”

“Nonsense. I will just be at the booth here- so sit back and rest for a moment, would you? Just looking at you is giving me back pain.” Diavolo laughed and sauntered off to the booth only a few feet away, Leaving Lucifer alone near some benches and tables.

With a resided sigh, Lucifer sat and pulled out his notes, flipping through the comments scratched onto the paper. He sighed, rubbing his temple as he tried to put the pieces together, but the constant pinging of his phone was becoming incessant enough to push him over the edge. He quickly pulled out his DDD in an attempt to silence it, only to see a flood of notifications in the group chat with his brothers.

Asmodeus: Did you guys see the picture RAD Newspaper’s Devilgram just posted!?

Beelzebub: No. Why?

Asmodeus: It’s Storm and Mammon! Their on a date!!!!

Satan: 😲

Belphegor: 😲

Leviathan: Lol no their not, stop joking around. Mammon and Storm? Come on now, she’s smarter than that.

Asmodeus: I’m serious! Go look!

Lucifer found his curiosity piqued, and immediately went to his Devilgram app. What had originally intended to be a simple silencing of his notifications turned into a hunt for the post Asmodeus was talking about. After scrolling for a few moments, he found the picture, immediately feeling his heart plummet into his Stomach. The photo was blurry, and seemed ordinary for the most part, other than the obvious way Storm and Mammon were holding hands as they entered the carnival together.

Lucifer gritted his teeth, feeling jealousy well up in his stomach as the notifications in the group chat kept pinging, each brother expressing their interest in disrupting the date. Lucifer felt half a mind to search for them as well- to interrupt their date, or even ruin it by taking Mammon away for questioning about the Casino. For a moment, he felt an evil smile curl onto his lips when imagining pulling the two apart from each other, but shook it away when he realized how petty it was.

Storm is only a human. There’s no reason why she should make you feel this way, and you certainly don’t need to be jealous that one of your brothers has her on their arm...

...And yet...

Lucifer sighed as he tried to push away the conflicting emotions welling in his chest. He muted his phone, shoving it deep into his pocket just as Diavolo plopped down on the bench across from him, fried tapir in hand.

“So, any leads yet?” Diavolo handed Lucifer a bottle of water before tearing into the tapir, continuing to talk with his mouth full. “The Carnie near the haunted house seemed suspicious.”

Lucifer nodded, though winced when some of the tapir flew out of Diavolo’s mouth and onto the table. “I was thinking about circling back to the area and looking around.”

Diavolo nodded. “Then I suppose we should maneuver our way back there.”

Lucifer nodded, taking a sip of his water. He decided to keep the fact that Storm and Mammon were present at the fair a secret for now, and perhaps he would run into them near the haunted house- given it was not far off from the entry of the carnival, and the photo on Devilgram was merely 20 minutes old. With Mammon’s distractibility and desires to impress Storm, he figured they could not have gone too far into the Carnival yet.

Storm anxiously walked closer to Mammon’s side, having found herself growing more unsettled the larger the crowd around her got. A passing family rushed past toward the popcorn booth, causing Storm to stumble into him.

“Whoa, hey now. Careful, Storm.” Mammon steadied her upright. “What’s the big idea? Cant ya walk straight?”

“S-sorry Mammon.” Storm rubbed her forearm. “I’m just not fond of crowds.”

He let out a heavy sight, snatching Storm’s hand in his. “ Alright, well...I s’pose someone outta keep ya safe. Stay close to me, got it?”

“Oh, uh...Thank you.” Storm smiled politely, gripping his hand tighter.

“Oh how cuuutee!” No. 2 squished their cheeks. “It’s like you two are star crossed lovers!”

Mammon groaned. “I almost forgot we had this pipsqueak taggin’ along...It makes serarchin’ for Lord Diavolo much more annoying”

“Where should we look for them next?” Storm glanced at the nearby attractions, standing on her tippy-toes to try to see over the crowd.

No. 2 jumped up and down to try to see as well. “Well, if we knew where the Casino was, maybe we’d find them faster.”

“It moves every year so that’s gonna be a challenge.” Mammon shrugged. “That’s how they avoid being caught.”

“You seem to know a lot about this Casino Mammon.” Storm raised an eyebrow at him.

Mammon averted his gaze, stumbling over his words. “N-no! I don’t know nothin’!”

“Maybe they went into one of the attractions...like that!” No. 2 rushed off through the crowd, pausing in the doorway of a large building. “C’mon!”

Storm and Mammon glanced at each other briefly before rushing after No. 2. The hall they entered into was dark, only lit by a single, flickering red light. Mammon gulped as they passed by a thick black curtain, seeing the walls coated in what appeared to be splattered blood, and hanging skeletons lining the ceiling.

“W-wait, what are we doin’ in a haunted house!?” Mammon yelped as his shoulder grazed a spooky-looking statue.

“Well the Casino was in the house of Mirrors last year, which is right next door. So I was thinking maybe they’d move it here!” No. 2 skipped off, their voice echoing down the corridor as he beckoned them toward him.

“Hey- No! Get your tiny ass back here!” Mammon shouted, wincing when his voice reverberated off the walls. He began to whimper, clutching Storm’s arm. “I wanna go home! Now!”

“Mammon, relax.” Storm squeezed his hand. “We’ll just go through it quick and get it over with.”

Mammon groaned, hiding behind Storm as they walked through the maze-like house. Mammon winced and yelped at every jump scare that came from every crevasse, jerking Storm’s arm violently with each action. The house was cheesy to Storm, having been in many of haunted houses scarier than this in the past. She wondered if perhaps the demons did haunted houses like this mostly for fun or as a laugh, but it was clear that things like this definitely did scare certain demons.

“M-m-make sure ya don’t let go of my hand, got it!?” Mammon squeezed tightly, causing Storm to wince in pain. “No matter what!”

“Don’t worry. I wont.” Storm tried to give him a reassuring smile through the discomfort of having him gripping her so tightly. “We’re almost half-way through, so hold on.”

“T-thank you Storm. Ya don’t ever let me down and it’s just...amazing. I definitely don’t tell ya that enough.” Mammon yelped as a skeleton suddenly dropped in front of him with a loud cackling laugh, bumping into Storm and nearly toppling her over to the ground. Storm managed to catch him and realign him upright, now wondering if his idea of holding hands was more for his sake than hers.

He pushes her along toward the next room, hugging Storm so tightly to where she could barely move or breathe. She was about to give a response, but as they approached the next doorway, A small figure jumped out with a boisterous, ghostly ‘Boo.’

Mammon screamed at the top of his lungs, causing Storm to wince in pain at the shrill noise triggering her tinnitus. He lurched forward, jumping over No. 2, who lay on the floor in the doorway laughing maniacally. Unfortunately for Storm, she was dragged along with him, stumbling and tripping to the floor on top of Mammon.

“L-let go, Storm! I know I said not to but I changed my mind. I need to get away- NOW!” Mammon tried shaking her loose, aggressively whipping her arm around.

“Ow- Mammon! Fuckin’ Stop!” Storm yelled, smacking him in the chest. “It was just No. 2! Calm the hell down!”

“How could you possibly be frightened by that?” No. 2 cackled, leaping onto Mammon’s lap. “That was pathetic. Seriously.”

Mammon paused his movements for a moment, before again trying to pry his hand free from Storm’s. “Ah- wait. Storm! I can’t let go!”

“Oooh how romantic!” No. 2 teased, only to be flung off of Mammon’s lap and into the adjacent wall.

“No, not like that. I mean our hands are stuck together- Look!” Mammon tried once more to yank his hand free, causing Storm to curse loudly at the sound of her shoulder popping.

“Fucking OW! I believe you, alright! Now stop before you yank my arm out of it’s damn socket, Mammon!!”

“Is it some kind of curse or somethin’!?”

“Well even if it is, we can just have Lucifer lift it so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” No. 2 brushed himself off and approached, helping Storm and Mammon to their feet.

Mammon let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, but we better find them quick then. Lets get out of here.”

Several minutes of wandering around the house turned into 10, then 20. Storm grew more and more agitated the more No. 2 tried playing on Mammon’s fear, having her arm jerked in several directions and Mammon’s shrill screaming echoing through her head. The area behind her eyes pulsated in pain, threatening the production of a migraine if she didn’t get out of this situation soon. Eventually, they came across a blood-stained room, the floors of it covered with various fake limbs, organs, and other body parts. Mammon jumped, nearly clinging to Storm like a koala as a voice echoed over the loudspeakers from above.

“Within this chamber, the strength of your bond shall be tested.”

Storm narrowed her eyes, glancing around the room to take stock of her surroundings.

“To know each other is to know yourself. So let us find out how well you know each other...”

“What the hell is it talkin’ about.” Mammon whined, hugging Storm tighter.

The voice went over the instructions, indicating the “game” they would play was similar to that of a gameshow. It would ask 2 questions, and each would have to be answered correctly by the individual asked. If any question would be answered incorrectly, they would be killed by a hoard of zombies.

“Wait, we’re not seriously going to die over some game...right?” Storm glanced at Mammon nervously, who merely shrugged his shaky shoulders. She sighed, straightening her posture. “Fine. Bring it on.”

“Storm, wait! I-”

“First question,” the voice continued, “Storm- answer me this. Mammon once won a figurine as a prize in a convenience store campaign. having no interest in it, he left it on the floor of his room and forgot about it. What was the name of the figurine?”

“What? That’s a stupid question.” Storm murmured in annoyance, crossing her arms. “How the fuck am I supposed to know that? And what does it have to do with our bond?!”

“You have 5 seconds to answer.”

“I think it was Seraphina, or something..? I don’t fucking know!”

“Correct.”

Mammon raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow, I didn’t even remember that.”

“Mammon, I just guessed.” Storm grumbled, annoyed at this seemingly useless test.

“Mammon, your turn. Answer me this.” Mammon shuddered, gripping Storm’s hand tightly. “During the group retreat at the Demon Lord’s Castle, Storm danced with Lucifer. Who did she dance with after him?”

He blushed, turning his gaze downcast. “That would be Solomon.”

“Correct.”

Storm raised an eyebrow at him. “And you remember that...why?”

Mammon rolled his eyes in anger. “’Cuz I asked ya to dance first!! But then Lucifer butted in and then-”

Storm shook her head. “Okay, whatever. It doesn’t matter. We got our questions right, so we’re free to go then...right?”

“Unfortunately for you, I have no control over the zombies.”

“Wait, what!?” Storm yelled angrily as the door they entered in burst open, spewing thousands of grotesque looking undead creatures into the room. The quality of whatever spell or animatronic was behind them increased 10-fold, causing storm to finally become alarmed at the thought of being torn to shreds.

Mammon screamed, burying his head into her neck. For once, storm accompanied him- stumbling backwards and gripping him just as tightly.

“Storm! If we die, I just want ya to know that I love you! M-more than I have ever loved anyone!” Mammon squeaked into her shoulder as the groans and roars grew closer.

Before she could answer, the noises suddenly stopped, and the room they were in completely changed. Before them was the exit, the sign above shining in bright green letters over the doorway. glimmers of light could be seen around the edges of the curtain, and the sounds of laughter and chatter could be heard from outside. Mammon quickly pulled Storm through, again jerking her around rather roughly. They stumbled outside, both panting in sync with the now relieving tension caused by that final scare.

“Jesus, that was fucked up.” Storm coughed, brushing her hair out of her face as she tried to regain her composure.

“Oh hey! There you are! Finally!” No. 2 sauntered up to them. “You guys took so forever!”

“What the- Where the hell were you!?” Mammon roared, pulling No. 2 up by the neck, pausing when seeing the sweet treat in their hands. “And where the hell did you get ice cream!”

No. 2 giggled. “I got it while I was waiting for you, duh.”

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, RUNT.” Mammon screamed, shaking No. 2 aggressively.”

“Ahh! Wait!” No. 2 yelled, dropping the ice cream and shielding their face. “I found Lucifer and Diavolo while I was waiting for you!”

“Oh yeah? And where are they?” Storm asked, unamused by their lack of presence.

“Th-they’re over by the roller coaster!” No. 2 paused. “Or...maybe by the bumper cars.”

“So that’s what this is about then.” Storm shook her head. “You just wanted us to take you on the rides and pay for it because Barbatos wouldn’t let you come here.”

No. 2′s expression dropped as they twisted their fingers together. “Y-yeah...I’m sorry...But I’m not lying about Lucifer and Diavolo being somewhere at the fair!”

Storm sighed. “Whatever. Regardless, I think I need a break to sit for a minute.”

“Me too. Let’s go over there.” Mammon pointed in the direction of the Ferris Wheel briefly before dropping No. 2 and tugging Storm along. “And ya ain’t comin’ with us.”

Mammon stuck out his tongue and made a fart noise at No. 2 as he and storm scrambled into a cart at were immediately lifted into the air. Storm held her breath, unsure if Mammon knew that this wasn’t her idea of taking a break due to her fear of heights.

“Heh, good thing we finally managed to lose that lil’ brat.” Mammon snickered, looking out into the skyline. “And check out this view. You can see all of Devildom from up here!”

“Mmhm. Yep.” Storm swallowed hard, staring at her feet to avoid seeing how high up they were. “Very pretty.

Mammon slouched in his seat breathing a content sigh. “Y’know, everything is so much more fun when yer around, Storm. It was so boring without ya here.”

Storm scoffed. “Really? I don’t really believe that. I’m nowhere near as exciting to be around as Sarah or Fern.”

“Well, they’re fun too...but in a different way.” Mammon squeezed her hand. “I mean it when I say things were boring without ya.”

Storm bit her lip and nodded, catching Mammon’s glance briefly before staring back down at her feet. The rest of the ride was completed in a tense silence, the excitement from today already catching up to her before they again touched the ground.

6 notes · View notes

knifefather · 2 years

Note

could i request bruno fucking a male reader and they are in the middle od having sex when suddenly abbacchio walks in on them? thank you!

Absolutely!!! Honestly, I got super excited about this request, sat down and wrote most of it in one sitting, and now I am drawing a blank for the ending lmao. I hope you like what I was able to get down, though. ♡ Under the cut for The Sexy like always~

𝙋𝘼𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: Bruno x Reader x Leone 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: He/him pronouns for reader, reader has a dick, anal sex, some accidental exhibition, and threesomes.

18+ only. Minors and ageless blocks DNI.

Bruno felt weird about having sex with you while other members of the team were home. He thought it was indecent to do anything sexual if there was even a slight chance they could hear. This was especially the case for members he perceived to be more innocent than the rest, like Narancia or Trish. It was because of this that you and Bruno were not as intimate as you both wanted to be. It was manageable, but not favorable.

But then, on a random Tuesday morning, most of the gang announced they were going on a day trip. And thus, the house was cleared out for the remainder of the day.

That left only you and Bruno, and he was not shy about trying to seduce you while the team was gone. He missed you, your body and sensual touches, and now was his chance to make love to you.

You were making lunch in the kitchen, enjoying the quietness of the empty house. You could sense Bruno's presence in the doorway before you could feel his hands wrapping around your waist. He whispered your name softly in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "I believe we are alone today..." he trailed off, tone suggestive.

Emptying your hands, you looked over your shoulder at him, chuckling. "I think we are. We shouldn't waste this opportunity..."

"That's exactly what I was going to say. I'm glad we're on the same page, amore," Bruno said as he snaked his hands down your hard chest, to your waist. You trembled under his hands, feeling starved for his touch. He pushed you flush against the counter, pinning you in place.

"Are we doing this in the kitchen, or...?" you asked breathily. Bruno answered your question when his hands slid past your pants and into your boxers, gripping your half-hard dick. His rough, scarred hands tugged against your skin delightfully, bringing you to full hardness.

"It does not matter to me where. We could do it here, in the bedroom, dining room, bathroom... As long as I get to have you," he proclaimed, his low voice raspy with lust. You couldn't resist your urges and began bucking into Bruno's hand, tiny moans slipping past your lips. Your precum made his fist slide easier over your shaft, the friction driving you crazy. You reached behind, blindly searching for Bruno's bulge with your hands. You finally located him and grabbed his member through his pants. It wasn't surprising to you that he was already fully erect.

"Let me at you, big boy," you teased him, turning around from the counter. He looked at you with a needy expression, releasing a shameless moan when you started unfastening his pants. In a few moments, you were both free, cocks rubbing together. Bruno's head rolled on his shoulders as you captured both of your members in your grasp, stroking them together. Your precum mingled with his, and you could feel the both of you pulsing with pleasure.

Bruno looked at you with warm, loving eyes before touching his lips to yours. Your kisses were slow and lazy, but still communicated the yearning for more. You increased the pace of your hand, Bruno stirring against you. Pulling away from the kiss, he breathed a simple command against your lips. "Turn around and bend over for me."

Your heart skipped a beat. His words made waves of tingly excitement spread all across your body. You obeyed him, quickly dropping your pants and underwear. Bruno's pants joined the puddle of clothes on the floor, which he kicked aside. You grabbed the edge of the counter and arched your back, raising your ass in his direction. Even though you and Bruno have done this many times before, you still couldn't help but feel shy while he observed you. "Relax," he cooed, kissing the back of your head. "You're doing fine." You mumbled a soft thanks and tried to relax your tense body.

Then, Bruno stepped away for a moment. You could hear him rummaging through his coat pockets, then the clicking of a cap. You braced yourself as he started parting your cheeks. The cold, slick tip of his finger circled your hole. With care, he began fingering you open, slow and steady. You moaned unabashedly, cock leaking between your legs. One finger went to two, and then two to three, bringing your moans to howls.

Meanwhile, the house was not as empty as you both had thought. Upstairs, Abbacchio slept in his bed. He was invited to the day trip with the rest of the gang, but passed in favor of sleeping in. He laid there, silver locks fanning around him, in a strange state between sleep and consciousness. He was about to drift off again until he heard the clattering and crash of something downstairs. His eyelids flew open, his heart racing.

Abbacchio was on his guard, adrenaline moving through him. Being in the mafia, you never knew who could attack you next, or where. He threw on his clothes hastily before stalking down the hall, ears perked for any more noise. He could hear the muffled sound of a man downstairs, putting him further on edge. Stand aura swirled around him, Moody Blues materializing at his side. He was ready for anything to happen.

In the kitchen, a dish had fallen as Bruno rammed you into the counter. You gasped as the plate hit the floor, shattering. "B-Bruno, the plate--!"

"We can deal with it later," he assured you, pressing his hips hard against your ass. You hissed as his cock stretched the sensitive ring of your hole. Your knuckles were turning white from gripping the counter, but all you could do was hold on as Bruno penetrated you.

He pulled out roughly just to plunge in again, warm balls smacking your ass. "More...please..." you moaned, voice breaking. Bruno was more than happy to obey you, picking up his pace. He quickly worked his way up to a fast, yet deep rhythm, holding your waist against him. You cried out, holding on as he battered your prostate.

"B-Babe, I'm c-close, I'm so fucking close," you whined, jerking your cock as he fucked you. A pool of precum was now gathering on the floor underneath you. Bruno narrowed his eyes, seeing your hand work your member desperately. He shooed your hand away, stroking your cock for you instead. Bruno wasn't quite there yet, but he wouldn't deny you your orgasm.

Abbacchio was now downstairs. The sounds were becoming louder. It sounded like the man from before was in pain. As he rounded the corner and approached the kitchen, he stopped and listened some more. It almost sounded like...crying? Anger flared up inside Abbacchio at the thought of someone harming a member of this team. He silently promised himself that he would make the bastard pay for thinking he could mess with Team Bucciarati. Green Stand aura swelled around Abbacchio before he darted around the corner, ready to attack.

At the same time, you were teetering on the edge of orgasm. "C-Cumming~!" you cried out. Bruno breathed heavily in your ear and pistoned his hips into you like your lives depended on it.

Abbacchio's eyes went wide as he witnessed Bruno fucking you silly. Even Moody Blues wore an expression of surprise with its limited facial features.

Like earlier, you felt someone's presence in the threshold of the kitchen. Your eyes were blown wide as you looked over and saw Abbacchio standing in the doorway. "A-A-Ab--!" you tried to articulate his name. Yet, you couldn't speak right or stop the ropes of cum that Bruno wrung from you. You painted the cabinets and counter edge with your spunk, body shaking like a leaf. Not only did you have a hard orgasm, but the shock of seeing Abbacchio made you cum even harder. Your ass clenched around Bruno so wonderfully that he was slow to register that Abbacchio was indeed standing there in the doorway.

Bruno gasped and whipped his head to the side, but the damage was already done. Abbacchio stood, mouth agape, watching you both. He was aware that you two were in a relationship, but knew that Bruno was very private regarding his love life. To see the two of you in a compromising situation like this was something Abbacchio never fathomed.

"Leone," Bruno said, bewildered. "Y-You didn't go out?"

Your body was thrumming with a mix of post-orgasm chemicals and embarrassment. You were frozen in place, unsure what would happen next.

"Y-Yeah," Abbacchio croaked. Moody Blues disappeared from his side. Like you, he was also suspended in place. Neither you nor Bruno made any moves to cover yourselves, and Abbacchio had a hard time looking away from your nakedness. Why wasn't he walking away?

"'Guess I'll leave you to it," Abbacchio said awkwardly, edging towards the door.

"You don't have to leave," you said quickly. Bruno looked you with a twinge of confusion on his face. "Is that okay with you?" you whispered to him.

"If you are fine with it then so am I," he consented.

Abbacchio was floored. There was no way this was happening. "What?"

"You can watch. Or join. Or walk away and pretend like this never happened," Bruno elaborated.

You've never had a threesome before, but the idea of it excited you. You loved Bruno, but you couldn't deny that Abbacchio was extremely attractive. You found your gaze lingering on him just a little too long whenever he was around. There was even an occasion at Libeccio in which you popped a boner while looking at how his shirt stretched over his pecs. You ended up having to excuse yourself to the bathroom to calm down. You also knew that Bruno thought Abbacchio was attractive, but he never pursued anything out of respect for their existing friendship.

Even though you had already came once, you were still hard, and your naughty thoughts only kept you wanting more. You could feel that Bruno was still throbbing, his orgasm not too far away.

Abbacchio was waiting for one of you to announce that this was all a joke. But as the three of you stared at each other, the announcement never came.

Before you realized it, Abbacchio had his pants down to his ankles, his hard cock in his grasp. Your jaw dropped at the image of it: His cock was just as thick as you imagined it to be. The light pink hue of his dick cutely matched the blush that dusted his cheeks.

Bruno caught Abbacchio's gaze, a dark look in his blue eyes. The two men shared a look of mutual understanding and lust before Abbacchio kicked his pants away and made his way towards you both.

Your breath caught in your throat when Abbbacchio locked lips with Bruno and reached to grab your cock at the same time. You were leaking profusely, your body threatening to send you over the edge once again. Abbacchio's hands were more meaty and calloused than Bruno's, but they felt amazing jerking your sensitive cock. He let you go entirely too soon, and you were unable to keep a disappointed sound slipping from your lips. Bruno pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Patience," he reminded you lovingly.

Then, you heard Bruno gasp gently in your ear. Abbacchio had begun to cautiously sink a finger into his hole. Bruno peppered your neck in kisses while Abbacchio stretched him open, your skin muffling the sounds of his moans.

"You ready?" Abbacchio asked Bruno, lining up his cock with his entrance.

"Y-Yes," he replied.

The moment seemed to last an eternity, each passing moment more intense than the last. You could feel Bruno shiver against your back as Abbacchio pushed the head of his cock inside him. As Abbacchio inched deeper and deeper, Bruno pressed deeper into you. By the time that Abbacchio was fully hilted, everyone was covered in sweat and panting. Bruno was completely sheathed in you, and Abbacchio in him.

The three of you enjoyed your quiet home for the rest of the afternoon, breaking the silence and making a bigger mess in the kitchen than you originally planned on.

#bruabba x reader #jjba #not sfw #my work #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #roughly edited #lmao #male reader #knife asks

141 notes · View notes

mourntheantagonist · 2 years

Text

In honor of today, June 9th, I bestow upon you a gift to celebrate the day.

The Sex Number

warning: explicit

read on ao3

There was a long list of things that guys like him were supposed to like. He was supposed to like cars and trucks, he was supposed to like blue and not pink, he was supposed to listen to rock but not pop, he was supposed to like beer and not cocktails because he was supposed to be the man that Neil raised him to be. Sure enough, Billy liked all the things he was supposed to like all the way from muscle cars to metal music.

There was just one thing.

Dick was not on the list of Neil approved enjoyments.

But that didn’t stop Billy from dropping to his knees every chance he got.

It was easy with the other guys. Any guy, gay or straight and horny enough would not pass up the offer to have Billy’s lips wrapped around their cock. Billy ate it all up in every sense of the phrase, milking each guy for every moan he could get them to produce. He lived for it, he was hungry for it, like it was food he needed to survive.

Then there was Steve, who Billy quickly found out had a similar taste.

The first time the two of them hooked up in a locked room and a random high school house party, Steve was the first one down on his knees, practically ripping off the button of Billy’s jeans like he was opening a gift on Christmas morning. Billy had stumbled back into the wall behind him before Steve could even wrap his lips around him, just the thought of being in the other position alone made his dick twitch.

It was mind-numbingly, breathtakingly, earth shatteringly amazing, and Billy wanted nothing more than to return the favor and add an extra dose of euphoria to his already heightened state by having the dick that haunted his fantasies finally in the space of his own mouth.

But he was exhausted. His knees felt like they were seconds away from buckling underneath him, and Steve was no better, tossing his head back and laying out on the floor with his own dick wrapped in his hand whose cum was actively dripping down Billy’s thigh.

As much as the two of them hated to admit it, they were still the same horny teenagers who couldn’t last any longer than five minutes maximum when it was with one another. It was like they had some kind of special ability over each other that sucked the orgasm out along with every last bit of energy.

So, it was always a race to see who would get on their knees first.

The two of them were lying in Steve’s bed one night after Billy had got off work at the pool. He smelled of chlorine, and something about it always got Steve so riled up that Billy skipped the after work shower every single time.

They were essentially completely undressed save for the briefs that still hugged their hips and grew ever so tighter every time Steve hit the sweet spot on his neck just right. They were all trailing hands and sloppy kisses and it was getting closer and closer to the moment they were leading up to and the itch that had been scratching Billy’s brain for roughly a week hadn’t gone away like he hoped it would.

They were in the perfect place. They were in a soft and comfortable bed in an empty house with a locked door with the calming sounds of the breeze and chirping crickets flowing in through the open window.

“I wanna suck you off.” Billy gasped as Steve bit down gently on the skin just above his collar bone, the thought escaping without warning.

Steve hummed into the crook of Billy’s neck. “Not if I beat you to it.”

Billy squirmed as Steve started to roll Billy onto his back, wriggling himself out from under Steve and rolling over to the other side of the bed.

Steve fell back, his head hitting the pillow. “What’s going on?” Steve asked.

Billy felt a fluttering in his stomach as he thought about it in his mind. “Nothing.” he said. “I just want to try something.”

Steve didn’t ask him to clarify, which Billy was grateful for because he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to explain it right if he tried. Steve just looked intrigued, waiting patiently on his side for Billy to show him exactly what he was talking about.

Billy turned his whole body around so that his head was at the foot of the bed. Billy shifted around until he found his eyes locked directly on the prize—the gift wrapped up in a revealing white fabric. Billy reached a hand up and with one finger he traced along the outline of Steve’s erection before slipping that same finger below the waistband.

“Who said we have to take turns?” Billy asked, using both hands to slip Steve’s briefs down, or up, or whatever direction to his knees, exhaling a hot breath onto the highly sensitive area.

Steve had quickly started to follow along, doing just as Billy was doing on the other end of the bed.

Billy felt as though he had a million fuses burning off in his head, ready to go off the second they both connected like an electrical circuit, ready to release a gorgeous display of fireworks.

Billy was right about the fireworks. No amount of shoving his own fingers in his mouth while he face fucked Steve could have prepared him for the moment that he finally got to give and receive at the exact same time. He brought Steve all the way down to his throat so he couldn’t possibly breathe, because it wasn’t like he could breathe anyway with what Steve was doing to the lower half of him. Steve’s lips, soft warm and sweet with hands that knew exactly what to do to make him choke while Billy was already gladly and happily choking on something other than his own breath, eyes watering and throat full.

Billy didn’t like the angle. He didn’t like that he didn’t have the full use of his hands as one was being used to prop him up on his side.

Billy came up for air, slobbering directly onto the bright red tip of Steve’s dick, bottom lip still in contact. Billy took a second to examine the situation before deciding to swing his right leg up and over so that he was reverse straddling Steve, hovering in the air on all fours letting his dick hang right over Steve’s face like a crib mobile.

Billy went back in, eating his food like a dog who hadn’t been fed all day. He positioned his forearms on Steve’s hips and bobbed up and down on Steve’s cock, using his own hips to thrust his dick in and out of Steve’s mouth. He felt like a seesaw moving back and forth.

Billy moaned around Steve’s cock, eyes fluttering shut as he swirled his tongue around like he was on an expedition. He felt like he was floating. His whole body tingled.

Billy felt two hands grip the underside of his ass and push him up, and Billy immediately stopped moving, but he didn’t remove his lips from around Steve. He couldn’t see Steve, but he could hear him whimper and Billy savored the sound for whatever it was worth. Steve wasn’t telling him to stop, he had something else on his mind.

“Sit on my face.” Steve said with a shy and shaky breath that was full of desire.

Billy gasped around Steve’s dick and his eyes shot open at the request. Steve moved his hands up to the crease of Billy’s hips with crawling fingers and gripped him tight, pulling him down onto him.

Billy let his knees relax, allowing himself to use Steve’s face as a chair, fully unprepared for the firework show that was about to shoot all of his brain matter onto the walls of the room.

Billy felt as Steve’s tongue licked up and down over his hole. He could feel his dick leaking onto Steve’s chest, creating a sticky mess of his chest hair. Billy was finding it increasingly harder to focus on pleasuring Steve as the other used his hands to spread open his cheeks, darting his tongue into the cave of his hole, fucking Billy from behind with his own mouth.

Neither of the two of them were able to breathe. Steve was happily suffocating underneath the weight of Billy while Billy gladly kept Steve at the base of his throat, refusing to come up for air. Everything was sensational. Sensation after sensation. So many sensations. He was having a sensory overload in the best way imaginable and he was so close, too close.

He worked away at Steve harder, pulling every trick he could possibly think of to get Steve to come before he did. He couldn’t hear any sounds coming out of Steve to go off of, and if it hadn’t been for the tongue that was actively swirling around inside of him, he would have thought that Steve had suffocated to death.

The only warning Billy had to go off of that Steve was about to come was the way his thumbs had dug into the meat of his ass like he was hanging on for dear life. Billy took it like a champ, doubling down and letting Steve spill himself directly down Billy’s throat.

Billy was only seconds behind Steve, and he was beyond impressed with the way that Steve hadn’t for even a second stopped what he was doing while he came, still using that tongue like he was digging for gold until he finally felt the warmth of Billy’s cum hit his chest and trail down to his belly button.

Billy collapsed forward on top of Steve, resting his head on Steve’s thigh like it was the softest pillow in the world. He could hear the way Steve gasped for air as his face was finally released from underneath him. Billy could feel the heaving of Steve’s chest, moving Billy’s body up and down like he was riding a carousel.

“Fuck, that was—”

“Amazing.” Steve finished, using whatever breath he had left to say it out loud.

“Life changing.” Billy corrected.

Steve laughed.

“How did you hold your breath for that long?” Billy asked, completely bewildered and overcome with euphoria. His whole body was shaking and numb. He felt like he weighed a million pounds.

Steve turned his head and placed a kiss on Billy's inner thigh, slowly finding the ability to breathe again even while his lungs were being compressed by Billy’s weight on top of him.

“You’re not the only trained life-guard in this room.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #mandi writes tresh #lemon #can’t have pride month without 6/9 day

50 notes · View notes

silkenstarlight · 3 years

Text

perpetual motion

Summary: Reader and Bucky are close friends, but they both want something more. Everything comes spilling forth when Bucky lets loose and reader reveals a secret.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warning/s: fluff, friends to lovers, slight body image issues, kissing

Word count: 2.1k

My masterlist

Join my taglist

Author’s note: had a rough couple of days, so I was in the mood to write some pure fluff. I hope you enjoy!! Also, the song that they slow dance to is “I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire” by The Ink Spots :))

“Hey, Bucky. Can you grab the brownies out of the oven for me?”

“Absolutely.” Bucky closed the front door to your apartment, kicking off his boots, taking off his gloves, and wending his way to the oven. “Oh, ‘scuse me, need an oven mitt.” You shifted your hips to the left so that he could open the correct drawer. He sheathed his metal arm in an oven mitt and opened the oven, heat wafting towards you, and he placed the pan on the stove.

“Need any help with anything else?” He asked, and you shifted your hips again so that he could return the oven mitt to its correct place. You tried to ignore the close proximity of your small kitchen, the smell of wet rain that had followed him inside, clinging to his jacket and damp hair.

“Oh, I’m almost done cooking, but can you grab me my phone? I want to change the song. It’s on the couch,” you said, grabbing a couple of plates from the cupboard. Once a week, the two of you got together for a movie night, providing you both with some necessary rest and relaxation. Since he had befriended you, he had opened up a little about his past, regaling funny childhood memories about Steve, stories of Depression-era Brooklyn, and accounts of late-night missions with the Howling Commandos. He had also told you about the holes in his memories-- how, try as he might, most of his life was wiped from his brain, his mind a clean slate tarnished by Hydra. He was so full of darkness, but you could see that he was trying to be a man again. You could see that, after you started your weekly get-togethers, he was smiling more, willing to try more new things. You weren’t trying to fix him, by any means, but you wanted to be there for him, to give him a place to go where the nightmares couldn’t reach him. The two of you had become close, but every time he opened that front door, you had to bury the warm beat of butterflies in your stomach, had to ignore your budding feelings for him, for his sake. It would be better for him for the two of you to remain friends.

He walked over to the couch and picked up your phone, handing it to you and bracing his arms against the counter. You skipped a couple of songs before settling on one, turning up the volume so that the sound boomed through your bluetooth speaker.

“Still don’t understand how that works,” Bucky said, gesturing to the speaker, one eyebrow raised in mild confusion.

“Me neither,” you said, smiling, causing his brows to knit together even more. “This song makes me want to dance, though.” You started swaying your hips, stepping your feet to the rhythm. He watched, face softening, and you beckoned to him. “Come on, old man. D’you dance?”

His nostrils flared, a lump rising in his throat. Yes, he did dance. In the before-time, when he was young and carefree, when he didn’t have to carry the weight of a century’s worth of consequences on his shoulders. He would foxtrot and jive every Saturday night, dipping and lifting and turning a rotating cast of sweet, smiling dames. He couldn’t remember any full routines, most of the steps lost to time, corroded by the ever-looming trauma of his past. He hadn’t danced since his last night in the United States in 1943.

But, as he watched you, he began to smile. Your movements were loose and relaxed, though slightly out of rhythm and somewhat erratic. It was unlike anything he had seen a woman do in the before-time, all of their movements planned and robotic. Right now, you seemed so content, completely comfortable in his presence. So, when you took his hands in yours, motioning for him to copy your movements, he obliged. As you both jumped and danced around the kitchen in a fast-paced shuffle, his first instinct was to downplay his joy, to swallow his smile. But, upon seeing the unabashed delight in your expression, he let laughter bubble up in his chest. You finished the song like that, fingers tangled in his, twisting and twirling and laughing.

Your movements slowed as the song changed. “It’s been years since I’ve danced. And never like that,” Bucky said, catching his breath, a smile still plastered on his face.

“How did you dance, back then?” You leaned against the counter, dinner completely forgotten behind you.

“Mostly with choreographed or planned movements. Lots of fast dances, but slow ones, too.”

“Oh. The fast ones sound fun,” you said.

“The slow ones were pretty fun, too. They had the best music,” he said, wistfully thinking of trumpeting Big Band and sparkling piano notes.

“I, uh-- I wouldn’t know,” you said, smile fading from your face.

“What do you mean?”

“I-I’ve, uh… never slow-danced before. With anyone.” You could feel pink splotches blooming on your cheeks, betraying your usual cool, stoic composure. You clasped your hands together in your lap and looked down at them, suddenly unable to make eye contact with Bucky.

“Never?” He asked quietly. You looked up to see his wide eyes and raised eyebrows-- was he surprised?

“Never.” You smoothed your hands over your jeans, trying to calm the sudden onset nerves. “I’m not really the type that men ask for a dance. I mean, look at me.” You gestured up and down your body and laughed, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes. You didn’t want to admit to all of the deep-rooted insecurity that your romance-lacking past had given you. How men didn’t tend to stick around, always moving on to the next woman, leaving you in the dust after they got what they wanted.

He stepped away, grabbing your phone from the kitchen counter to change the song. After a few seconds of scrolling, he smiled, settling on his choice. As he pressed play, the lilting, woody sound of acoustic guitar floated through the air.

I don’t want to set the world on fire...

He approached you, blue eyes ablaze with some unfamiliar expression, something you could only describe as warmth. He held out his hand. You looked at it, slightly confused, eyes trailing up to his, asking for an explanation.

I just want to start a flame in your heart.

“Take my hand.” His voice was low, serious.

Your gaze settled back on his hand, and you felt a little lump rise in your throat. The song he had chosen was pretty, soft sounds filling every corner of the room. You felt your hand reach up and grasp his tightly, the cool metal easing your jumpiness, before he pulled you towards him, leading you past the coffee table and into the center of the room. He wrapped his right arm around your waist. You watched your hand travel slowly up his chest and settle on his shoulder. You began to sway softly.

In my heart, I have but one desire.

You felt him looking at you, but you could only look down at your feet. You didn’t want to step on him; you felt awkward enough as is. This was a pity dance, after all, a friend doing a favor for another friend. Right?

“Look at me.” He whispered, letting go of your hand and tipping your chin up with his mechanical thumb. When your eyes met, you suddenly realized how close you were to him. Your noses were almost touching. You were surprised, but you didn’t pull away, refusing to bury the swarm of butterflies that erupted in your stomach and offered a pleasant, beating warmth.

“What are you thinking right now?” He asked, taking your hand in his again.

And that one is you, no other will do.

“I’m thinking about how much I would have loved for someone to swoop in and save the day like this at my high school prom.” Your voice was quiet, catching on the syllables as you tried to keep yourself tethered to the ground, tried to remind yourself that he was just being nice, that he didn’t return your feelings. But it was so, so hard. The heady musk of his cologne, the slight, shy smile, and the way his eyebrows furrowed when you spoke, as if he were concentrating deeply on every word you uttered, savoring each syllable as it left your lips-- it all stole the breath from your lungs.

I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim.

He chuckled and lowered his head, breaking eye contact. When he straightened back up, your eyes flickered down to his lips. You could have sworn that his hand on your waist snaked tighter, pulling you slightly closer.

“What are you thinking about?” You turned the question on him, smiling.

“I’m thinking about a few things right now.” He answered, a coy smile tugging at his lips.

“Name one.”

I just want to be the one you love.

“Well, I’m wondering why boys never thought to ask a girl as pretty as you to dance with them.”

Your heart skipped and you felt the blush creeping back up your neck. “Pretty, huh?”

“Yes.” His forehead touched yours, but you maintained eye contact, memorizing every detail of this moment.

“Anything else going on in that brain of yours?” You whispered, voice barely audible.

He paused. There were a lot of things, of course. He thought back to the before time, when he was still a regular man with a regular life, and how he would go dancing with women on the weekends. Those dames were all fun-- swinging hips, fast-paced twirls and steps, red mouths stretched wide in laughter-- but he liked the slow steadiness that you provided. Wrapped around each other, slowly dancing round and round in the center of the living room, as if caught in a snowglobe. It was a space of stillness, of deep tranquility, when all his life, it felt like he was stuck in a perpetual state of motion. But you let him be still and at ease. You didn’t want to show off; you wanted to be vulnerable, and he liked that. He wanted to show that to you.

“Mostly, I’ve been thinking about how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He tilted his head forward, and his lips met yours.

He was gentle with you, the kiss soft and warm. He let go of your hand, wrapping both of his arms around your waist as he tilted his head slightly to the side to allow better access. Your hands travelled up to the back of his neck, ruffling his hair as you tangled your fingers in his rumpled locks. He let out a soft groan at the sensation and your heart fluttered behind your ribs. His tongue traced lightly across your lips.

You pulled back slightly for air and he lowered his head, trailing kisses down your neck and along your jawline. A quiet moan escaped your lips and your eyes fluttered open to find him staring at you with those warm blue eyes again. You hadn’t realized how badly you wanted him until tonight.

“You said you wanted to do that for a long time?” You asked.

“Yes. Longer than I would care to admit,” he chuckled. Now he was the one blushing, the tips of his ears turned bright pink. You smiled, glad that you weren’t the only nervous one in the room.

“Well, I’m glad that you were my first dance, and not some sweaty seventh-grader who would have held me at arms-length.” You both laughed and you closed your eyes, resting your forehead on his chest. The song was on its third or fourth replay, but neither of you cared enough to change it.

“I can teach you some of my moves next time. We can incorporate some twirls and dips, if you’d like. You’ll be an expert in no time.” His voice rumbled in his chest. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell that he was smiling.

“Next time?” You asked, looking up at him.

“I hope-- if you want, of course.” His eyebrows furrowed slightly.

You snaked your hands around his neck and pulled him down for a quick kiss, breaking apart only to answer. “Of course I want there to be a next time.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes self insert #bucky barnes fluff #fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel one shot #marvel fluff #bucky barnes one shot

427 notes · View notes