#and god i just know how fucking AMAZING dark!thirteen would be

[acetheta]

thinking about how traumatizing it must be for theta to see daleks and cybermen each time

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

I Prefer My Heart To Be Broken, Chapter Thirteen: Lies

Secrets kept. Tempers blown. Lies confessed.

AO3 | Playlist | Masterpost

-----

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: LIES

They’d hoped to find an exit, but it’s beginning to look like there isn’t one.

It’s like the King wanted this palace so insular that he made the portals the only legitimate way out.

John is grumpy about it, and keeps slipping up. Why would he do this? I wouldn’t do it this way. This is stupid.

“Why the hell would he do it the way you’d do it?” says Arthur.

Since he… because… we were the same being once, damn it, Arthur!

“Sure.”

Arthur is grumpy, too. He’s been going for hours on a plate of apple and carrots and cheese, and while it was pretty darn good, he doesn’t exactly have energy reserves to spare.

He’s hungry, and faint, and tired. More importantly, he knows something is wrong with John.

He doesn’t know what, but something is off. Something has changed.

And also, he really doesn’t like feeling trapped. “Next time we pass that damned ocean view, maybe we should try to climb out and swim around the palace.”

We’d just die, Arthur. Those are Deep Ones in the water. They’d fuck you, then kill you, or kill you, then fuck you,  but either way, it wouldn’t go well for us.

Arthur’s face is burning, and John wouldn’t have known that without his newest trick. “Then why the hell are there so many openings staring out at them?”

Why not? It’s a pretty view, and it’s not like they can kill or fuck the King. Would you brick up a window just because there are squirrels outside?

“These things seem a lot more dangerous than squirrels.”

Not if you’re a nut. There’s a pause. Arthur, that means you’re—

“Yes, yes, that makes me a nut, I get it.”

Heh, heh, heh. You’re a nut, Arthur.

Arthur does not reveal just how much he liked that joke.

He likes John so much, sometimes, which is different from love.

He always loves John. Sometimes, he doesn’t like him at all.

Right now, he doesn’t want to risk a fight by teasing him. He doesn’t have the energy.

Arthur sighs. “This place is just not right, John.”

John kind of likes this place, mostly. It’s different.

“Are we any closer to a kitchen?”

Well, I thought we’d find one back there, but instead, it was the pots.

“Right. Why were there so many pots?” Shelves of pots, piles of pots, pots piling so high that they disappeared into the dark.

Though they were jars, really, and all had lids. John almost knows what those jars are, but that memory is still out of reach. Arthur, if I understood the reason for that, I’d be a lot wiser than I am.

Arthur snorts at him.

He’s really hungry, and it is so strange to be out of pain. He likes it, of course, but he’s so suspicious of it that he isn’t capable of just enjoying it.

That’s interesting, but it’s not the part that fascinates John: simply put, seeing Arthur so much more clearly has done nothing but hook John on him like some couture drug.

Arthur is just fascinating. Mostly because he’s such a mess.

Contradictory in the extreme. Rife with guilt and shame and sorrow and fears for things that weren’t even his fault. A breadth of feeling that surpasses anything John can think of, as if everything Arthur does and experiences is artificially heightened—except it’s not.

It’s just Arthur. He’s just like that.

If John, as King, had stumbled across him and seen him this clearly, out in the wild and with no context, he’d absolutely have snatched him up at once.

It sort of amazes John now, honestly, that more gods and monsters aren’t vying for Arthur’s attention.

Or fighting to own his pain.

If John were the type of creature who fed off fear, or pain, or misery, or anger, Arthur would be the perfect feast.

Remarkable.

So fortunate for Arthur that John just wants him. Mine, he thinks, and focuses again on the hallway. There’s another room on the left. Six steps ahead of you.

“Right.” Arthur really hopes it’s a kitchen, because damn it all, carrots are not cutting it anymore.

John sighs. Good news and bad news, Arthur.

“Hit me,” Arthur says, resigned.

It is a kitchen. It’s also empty.

Arthur groans.

It really seems like he doesn’t have anyone living here but himself. I don’t understand it.

“He really is different,” says Arthur, and balances right on the edge of believing this King is as different as John says.

Then he remembers the pain when the King broke his leg and fucking took John away, and there is no forgiving that, there is no letting that go, and Arthur would sooner see the sainted version of the King burn in hell than ever forgive him.

So that’s a lot to process, and John tries.

The challenge is, Arthur’s memories aren’t always… accurate.

They look accurate. Clear, three-dimensional, rich in full color—but the ones John was there for simply don’t match the ones Arthur has, which, unfortunately, throws everything into doubt.

It’s not that Arthur is mentally unstable, or something. He’s got a lot of guilt, and humans are weird about processing that stuff.

Gods don’t do it that way. John’s not at all sure how to fix it.

“Hello?” says Arthur.

John’s been quiet too long again. There’s nothing here. I’m sorry. We need to go back to the hall and start walking.

“We’re going to need to just take a fucking portal soon no matter where it goes, or I’ll starve,” says Arthur with a light and cheerful tone.

He is afraid of starving.

He’s very afraid of starving.

We’ll find something, John says.

Arthur walks, and sniffs. “I smell something nice. Floral.”

There’s an opening up ahead. Maybe it’s an exit.

Arthur hopes it’s an exit. He’s not eager to be lost in the Dreamlands again, but they have got to get out of this palace. Every second here feels like tempting fate.

So he walks forward, and doesn’t hesitate, and only grows angry when he discovers John didn’t warn him the courtyard plants were blue.

#

Arthur is not okay that they’re in a glowing blue garden.

The last time they were someplace like this, things had gone very, very wrong.

They had fought each other—worse than they ever had, saying things neither of them could take back. They’d been captured, and dumped into the prison pits for months, and Arthur had defended himself against a cannibalistic murderer by committing murder and then cannibalism. None of it was okay, none of it was dealt with, none of it was a thing he’d ever want to think about again, but here they are, and John won’t stop talking.

It’s comforting. The blue light from the fungus might have some unseen properties; it’s calming, I’d say intentionally. There are benches here and there along the black gravel path, human-height, clearly designed to be inviting.

“Mm,” says Arthur.

John knows how Arthur feels. He’s trying to mitigate, to calm, to handle it without violating any more of Arthur’s self. Perhaps the fungus is better tended here, or maybe it’s merely part of the same genus, but I think it is a different plant. There are leaves, Arthur; leaves, and flowers unlike any I’ve known—shaped a little like lavender, but cascading down like weeping willows. The light is soft and gentle. I get the impression the walls, covered as they are in living things, might be soft to the touch. Arthur, are you listening?

“Mm,” says Arthur.

It isn’t working.

John is angry that it isn’t working. There is a pond of sorts in the center; not big enough to be called anything else, yet its clarity and stillness give an impression of great depth. It is somehow silver in spite of the blue light; it doesn’t reflect as much as I’d expect, but remains so clear, so perfect, like the moment between breaths. The position of benches makes me think one is supposed to sit and contemplate it, perhaps think deep inside it, perhaps learn to be as still.

“Mm,” says Arthur.

John is done. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Are you finished?” Arthur wants out. He’s deeply afraid. Keeping that barely under control with anger.

There is a pause. This isn’t like before, Arthur. We aren’t in immediate danger.

“Right. Right. Of course. Are you finished?”

Another pause. Arthur. We need to talk.

“You know, John, you keep saying that, and it keeps being as absurd as it was the first time you said it. No we don’t, and we need to find Martin and his Jon, or find some food, or get the fuck out. Three options, all good. Which direction do I go?”

Yet another pause.

Arthur doesn’t understand what’s going on with those. They’ve been happening since he woke up in that weird, luxurious bed.

Maybe John is consulting the documentation. Arthur gets the imaginary visual of a manual, labeled, RUINED HUMAN (MODEL: ARTHUR LESTER) INSTRUCTION BOOK.

John makes a sort of choked sound, as if he almost laughed.

“Oh, what is it now?” Arthur snaps.

I refuse to go any further until we work some of this out, John snaps back, his basso profundo bolstered by his contrabass growl.

“Are you bloody serious?”

Yes! Do you know how bad it would have been if he’d been who we feared today? Do you have any idea? And we wouldn’t have been prepared because we hadn’t talked about it!

“We most certainly have talked about it,” says Arthur in a light, pleasant voice he can barely believe he’s producing. “We already know what we would do: fight to the death. That’s all.”

NO.

Arthur stiffens. “No? No?”

John puffs away in his head, sounding like an angry bull.

“You want to talk about it? Fine! We’ll sit here until the King changes his mind, or decides to distill us into some kind of stew, or opts to send some fucking animal after us to hunt us down for sport! Is that what you want? Fine! Then we’ll do that!” Wild with stubbornness, Arthur storms in his best guessed direction for a bench, and he rams right into one.

His shin does not thank him.

“Ow! Fucking damn it! That’s your fault.”

Arthur!

Arthur sits, well aware he’s flouncing onto the stone bench the way Faroe would during a tantrum, but utterly unable to stop. “What?”

I can’t lose you again!

Arthur goes completely still, and John is amazed at all he can feel.

The flutter of Arthur’s heart; the twist in his stomach; the way his hand clenches and unclenches; the way his back straightens, stiffens, aches.

The way his eyes blink rapidly, because they are wet, and he doesn’t want John to know.

The taste in his mouth has changed—metallic, now, somehow an anxious flavor, and Arthur is also producing more saliva. Even his balls have tightened, as if to withdraw into his body.

Arthur exhales slowly. “You won’t lose me.”

You don’t know that! He… the King…

“What, John?” And anger rises, narrowing Arthur’s eyes, tightening his jaw. “He did do something to you, didn’t he?”

And here was the perfect segue.

John was going to tell him about the thought-reading thing eventually, but this wasn’t a segue for that. This was an attempt to correct an error before it came back to bite them on the ass.

John had lied about the King in Yellow’s identity. That one wouldn’t stand, not with any scrutiny, not with Kayne poking around.

I need to tell you something. About the King in Yellow. About who he really is. And yes, he did do something to me. He showed me your death. Your counterpart’s death. Arthur, I…

Arthur has grabbed John’s hand and is holding it. “He did?”

Yes.

Arthur exhales. To him, this explains everything. He knows he’d be completely fucked up if he were forced to watch John die. “That’s horrible. John, I’m sorry. Why would he do that to you?”

He wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was trying to warn me. Trying to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes he did.

Arthur isn’t getting it. “What? How could you make the mistakes he did? How did he even know what happened? He was probably just being an asshole.”

John briefly wishes he knew how to calm Arthur the way his counterpart had, then pushes the thought aside. That’s too far. That’s too much. He won’t do that. I… I lied to you, Arthur. I panicked. I didn’t want you to judge me, to… to hate me. And I lied.

Funny, how Arthur’s eyes still widen in response even though he can’t see anything out of them.

Funny, too, how the panic has ebbed, transformed into concern for John—and now, it’s getting a little prickly around the edges. “All right. When did you lie?”

About who the King in Yellow is. He is the King in Yellow, but I…

“He’s something like Kayne, right?” Arthur guesses. “That would explain… but what happened to the original? Where is he?”

Dead. Killed by this one’s hand. But no, he isn’t something like Kayne.

“This one killed the King?” Arthur is staggered; then, disturbingly, he’s jealous.

He thinks about the part of John that is bad being killed, and clear as a bell, wishes he could kill the part of himself that must be responsible for everyone dying, everyone leaving, everything going so wrong.

Oh, that’s… not good.

John knew that was why Arthur wanted to kill Larson, why he’d gone apeshit on Uncle. Sure, he knew.

But this is a lot more self-loathing than he’d realized was there.

It runs deep. Right to Arthur’s core, and that palimpsest conversation comes back to John’s mind. This guilt is dangerous. Poisonous. Damaging.

It cannot be allowed—but John isn’t sure how to make it stop.

“John?”

He’s waited too long again. John tells himself to focus, and tries a different tack. Arthur, what am I?

Arthur is confused. “What? You… you’re John. You’re my friend.”

I am your friend. But Arthur, that’s not what I asked you. What am I?

Arthur is confused and annoyed. “Irritating?”

Arthur!

Arthur sighs and rubs his face. “I don’t know what you want from me, John.”

Yes, you do. He gentles his tone. I didn’t ask you who I was. I asked you what I was.

So here’s a funny thing: Arthur genuinely does not understand that John is, always was, the King.

It’s a disconnect in his mind. He doesn’t see it, really believes John is discrete, and so, he’s just not getting it. “Bored, maybe? John, is this really what you wanted to talk about? You said you lied.”

John sighs.

Fuck the gentle approach. He couldn’t stay here, doing this for hours. There was too much at stake. I am the King in Yellow, Arthur—and the King in Yellow is me.

Arthur’s mind goes as blank as if he’d unplugged it from the wall.

Arthur.

“What?”

Arthur can’t process the sentence. It’s like a key fitted to the wrong lock.

And John has a wicked idea.

It’s so simple. Entirely true—and deeply manipulative. Arthur would respond to it, pull closer, maybe even push away from some of his stupid desire to die.

So, is it wicked, really? It’s just a fact. But saying it now, when Arthur is in shock—

It will plant itself in him.

And John wants it to. The King in Yellow in this place is me without you.

“Wh… what?” Arthur’s brain tries to start up again like a faulty engine, coughing and stalling.

I lied because I was so afraid you’d judge me by what he’d done. That you’d hate me for it. Arthur, I… I’m sorry.

John tells himself to stop there. Overselling it wouldn’t help.

And Arthur is tearing up properly now, his heart aching, his mouth tasting like it does whenever he cries. “John….”

It is so damned hard to wait.

To let the seed take root.

To sit in silence and feel Arthur churning with anger, betrayal, shock, love, hope, the choice of forgiveness, fear, loneliness, and uncertainty, all pitted against what he thinks he knows.

There’s so much in there. So many emotions, so many conflicting beliefs, so much chaos and shame and anger.

Arthur absolutely believes there is no divine judgment or set of cosmic scales, but he also absolutely believes he is personally, hopelessly ruinous, and his suffering is his due.

John is beginning to regret not taking the King up on the offer to just sit in Arthur’s head for a while when it was still clear.

“John. I forgive you.”

And John had not expected that choice. Oh, Arthur…

“I think I understand why you lied. That you told me before I found out, somehow, not because you had to tell me, but because you chose to—that’s important. Thank you.”

Oh, this human is special, and oh, John loves him so much. He pounds in the final nail. Arthur, seeing what became of me without you has… I’m not okay.

He is, though.

“John.” Arthur squeezes his hand again. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not thrilled you lied, but I understand why. I suppose you’ve seen the worst of yourself today, and it must have been frightening.”

Arthur is thinking it must be like when he saw Larson.

Oh; no, it’s not like that.

John has zero problems with how his alternate self turned out. He can see the reasons behind every decision this other-him made.

But he’s still going to make different ones. Why? He won’t lose his Arthur. You forgive me.

“I do.”

Arthur…

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

Arthur is his. And while Arthur might not think of it in those words, exactly, he’s leaning into that reality. Y… yes.

“No wonder you’ve been buggy ever since we got here.” Arthur hasn’t risen yet. “I understand. I don’t envy you, my friend.”

You don’t hate me for it?

“Of course not.”

Then I don’t care about him anymore.

Arthur squeezes John’s hand reassuringly. “Thank you for your honesty. We might not want to tell Martin and Jon, though. This other you has hurt that Jon badly. I don’t know how they’d respond, and I don’t want to have to try to protect you against Martin’s strength and Jon’s… whatever it is he does.”

John doesn’t want to think of those two, but Arthur has a point. Agreed. We can keep exploring now.

“I’m ready.” Arthur stands. Now that he feels like he’s carrying John metaphorically, not just physically, he is determined.

John can see inside that, too.

Arthur believes he’s let down every single person he's ever known except for John. (John, too, but John is still here.) It's like he's trying to make up for a lifetime of failure with this one, good thing.

Mine, thinks John, who hasn’t missed that when doing things for him, Arthur is far more stable than when doing things for himself. That feels right, too. Turn left. Now straight. Arthur, I’ll be honest… I don’t think we’ll get home unless Kayne decides to send us back.

“Well,” says Arthur with a sigh. “He owes us a body, anyway. I suppose we can discuss it when he bothers to show up.”

The chill of fear that washes down Arthur’s spine with those words is so much worse than John expected, and he peers closer.

Left me, Arthur is thinking, literally thinking, left me, leaving me again, and he doesn’t stop thinking it, and doesn’t stop remembering when John left (That’s not what happened! John thinks, uselessly), when John proved that Arthur had suffered so much for nothing, when John proved that Arthur really would always be alone, and Arthur may have forced John back via Kayne and capriciousness, but it was only for now because John would leave because everybody leaves, everybody always leaves, and—

“Straight?” says Arthur, not even the tiniest hint of any of that showing up in his voice.

My Arthur is bleeding, John thinks, because he’s going to fix this, find a way to stitch this, though he doesn't know how.

He mentally shouts a thank-you to his alternate self, because he wouldn’t have known about this if not pushed to look inside.

He’s definitely not telling Arthur about this new ability. Not for a while. He has to gather more information first. It’s logical.

Mine, he thinks again. Straight ahead.

It was not too late to turn this around.

(part fourteen)

NOTE

I made the Deep Ones into pests because really. WTF, Lovecraft?

[toomanyfandomsorkinafs]

IT’S TIME AGAIN

*child playing dress up with ** *

“Now she/he’s happy!”

“She/he looks dead inside-“

*(child)big smile*

-

“You know what I’ve realized?”

“Some thoughts are better left unsaid?”

“Nice try, anyways-“

-

“I could fix him, but whatever the hell is going on with him is way funnier.”

-

“I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone.”

“Mine just says ‘*** no.’”

“I want you to apply it to every possible situation.”

-

“Oh my god! We won!”

“Yeah I know.”

-

“Wait for me you before you go attacking! I can’t heal you if your already dead!”

“I’m sorryyyyyyy”

-

“Why are you burning our marriage certificate!?”

“Good luck trying to return me without a receipt.”

-

“I've never had a student score zero in everything.”

“What do you mean?! I chose the perfect spell for every situation!”

“Well, you answered "fireballs" for every situation.”

“What do you mean, person within fireball distance?”

-

“So you’re dating ***?”

“What? No! I’m just buying him an accessory since he has terrible fashion sense!”

“That’s literally a wedding ring.”

-

“Remember what I told you?”

“Don't be a cunt.”

-

“Darkness!”

“Oh my god. *, could you come in here for a second? **'s acting up again.”

“Hey ya, **, you acting up again?”

“You!”

“Yeah, it's me.”

** looks over to *** then back to *

“You are not the man of the house.”

“... Okay, yeah, that tracks. Alright, sorry honey, nothing I can do.”

“You are useless.”

-

“Bad news, **** locked themself outside of their own house.”

“Good news, we didn’t have to wait around for a locksmith.”

“Bad news, *** finds it very concerning that I know how to pick locks, and tried to unlock my Tragic Backstory(TM). I was too embarrassed to admit that the reason I learned it was because, at thirteen, I figured that was the kind of skill that would impress cute guys/girls/enbies.”

“Good news, a cute guy/girl/enby saw me do it.”

“Bad news, it was **, and since they’ve already seen me fall out of several trees, cry because I saw a fawn that was just too damn small, and knows I can ride a unicycle, they’ll never think I’m cool no matter what I do. It’s too late. They know.”

-

“Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?”

“If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid.”

-

“Hi, I’m ** and I like burning things! You look flammable.”

-

“Some people eat snails.”

“They must not like fast food.”

-

“*** won’t wake up, what do I do?”

“Did you try kicking him?”

“Yes.”

“I’m out of ideas.”

-

“I wonder if she/he likes me..”

“He/she doesn’t.”

“What if she/he doesn’t?”

“He/she doesn’t.”

-

“We've known each other for a long time, right? You've come to respect me?”

“Sure.”

“Well, get ready to stop.”

-

“You know, it wouldn't kill you to be nice to ** once in a while.”

“We don't know that.”

-

“I made lightly fried fish fillets for dinner.”

“**, It’s 1:15 am, what the fuck.”

“Do you want the lightly fried fish fillets or not.”

“Well, I mean yeah.”

“So come downstairs while they’re still hot.”

“Wait, you just made them?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t tired so I decided to make lightly fried fish fillets.”

“Say lightly fried fish fillets one more time **.”

-

“Who are we fooling, we’re all going to hell anyway.”

-

“*bad joke*”

“And the crowd went home.”

 -

*playing bad music*

“This is fire!”

“Put it out!”

-

*playing bad music.*

“Yoooo! Turn it down!”

-

“Do you or do you not have me saved as ‘**'s puppyboy’ in your phone?”

“…”

“You know, your cloak looks amazing today.”

“Answer the question, ***.”

-

“I wish there was a better way to deal with **.”

“There is, but we’re all too pretty for jail.”

-

“Murder is okay! Sometimes!”

“So long as you kill the persons arresting you.”

-

“Dracula had it right, sleep all day, live alone in a castle, and explode into bats to get out of all social situations.”

-

“My heart is just dead right now.”

“Your heart is always dead.”

-

“I was walking around hoping no one would notice and no one did.”

“The moral of the story is… lie.”

-

“What’s 2 + 2?”

“4!”

“8!”

“21!”

“It’s 8! It’s 8!”

“Okay then what’s 10 + 10?”

“46!”

-

“It’s no longer gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. It’s gaslight, gatekeep, guilttrip.”

-

“Last I heard, you were still on the run.”

“Last I heard, you were still a bitch.”

-

***, taping a knife onto a Roomba* “Be free, my child.”

** entering the room with a small cut on his ankle* “Who the f-“

-

*(People) is gathered in the living room for a meeting* 

* *** walks in and sits on **’s lap* 

“…”

“Why are you sitting there?”

“There’s no free seats!”

“But we made sure there was enough room for-“

*hugs ** tightly* “There are no free seats.”

-

*just found out someone they hate has a crush on them.*

“This is scary..”

“What? That a boy/girl likes you or that it’s ***?”

“Both.”

-

“I did a bad thing..” - ***

*next day*

“What did you do?” - *

“One minute I’m trying to remember” - ***

“I do a lot of ‘bad things’ daily” - ***

-

"Don't you know who I am? I'm broke, bitch. Recognize"

-

“The ritual. To preform it requires a sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice? I nominate ***.”

“Wait, what?”

“Because you're little, you'll fit on a barbecue.”

“I'm 5'9, it's like average height in most of the world!”

“Its not that kind of of sacrifice!”

-

“Worst she/he say is no.”

*ask for number/flirts*

“Your like a brother/sister to me.”

“We just met-“

-

“I never question my wife/husband’s choices because I am one of them.”

-

“My full name is *** * **** ****** *** (last name).”

“Did ur parents have a stroke while naming u or something?”

“Knowing them, prolly.”

-

“We’re playing Scrabble. It’s a nightmare.”

“Scrabble? Scrabble’s great.”

“Not when you’re playing with **, it’s not. They put words like ‘ephemeral’ and I put ‘dog.’”

-

“I think we can be evil as a treat.”

“We?”

“We.”

*** I’m the other room* “Oui is French!”

-

“You've got to act tough, ***! Show 'em you can't be pushed around! Show 'em they can't mess with you!”

“Right. Yes. Tough. Got it.”

*** standing up on his stool and slamming his hands down on the bar* “I'LL TAKE A CHOCOLATE MILK.”

-

*after the Squad has been separated for a few years* 

“what have you been up to recently? “

“Leading a revolution with *****.”

“Good for you two! Me, I've joined the mob.”

*nods* “Oh, how cool! That's awesome!”

“I know! Anyway, have you heard from the others? ***?”

“Happily living as a hermit in the woods. **?”

“Wrongfully locked up in an asylum, which reminds me, we need to break him out later. *?”

“Cult leader.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

-

“He/she took one look at my face and burst out laughing. Who does that?!”

“Best friends actually-“

-

“Oh no! My daughter/son is weird…”

“Your only now learning that?”

-

“Do you know the best way to respond to disagreement?”

“With tears?”

“No.”

*tears up*

-

“i'm going to make one of those diagrams that uses circles.”

“venn”

“probably tomorrow”

-

*breaks down the door to ** and ***’s room*

“GAYS/LESBIANS! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!”

-

“While in a stressful meltdown, his/her boyfriend/girlfriend provides comfort with a bowl of ice cream and words of kindness.”

“Sweetie, you will fail if you keep sitting here.”

-

“Well you see, the explanation is perfectly simple and scientific. It was because shut up. Shut up is why.”

-

“This food is too hot... I can't eat it.”

“You’re very hot, and I still eat you.”

*silence*

“YOU GUYS ARE DISGUSTING!”

“One dinner... I just want ONE DINNER!”

-

*shows drawing*

“It’s screaming in fear!”

“It’s screaming in fear of someone wanting to keep it alive.”

“I’d be screaming if someone did that to me too.”

-

“Okay, help me, please!”

“Got two words for you.”

“I bet they won't be helpful.”

“Your problem.”

“I was right.”

-

“What do you want to be for Halloween?”

“Respected.”

“Appreciated.”

“At peace.”

“...I was gonna be a cat.” 

-

“You deserve a reward for putting up with me.”

“You are my reward.”

-

“You deserve a reward for putting up with me.”

“True, you can be really difficult at times.”

-

*rolls over in bed and knees *** in the side*

“Ow! you kneed me!”

*sleepily* “Yeah, I do need you….”

-

“Honestly, I am so evil. So full of darkness. I feed of the souls of the living I strike fear into-“

“You sleep with a teddybear.”

“He’s my sECOND IN COMMAND IN MY ARMY OF DARKNESS!”

-

“Well, remember when ** made a romantic dinner for me?” 

“***, they microwaved you a pizza.” 

-

“Hey, I took your soul last month and-“ 

“No returns.” 

 *sobbing* “But it's making me sad...” 

-

“Someone care to explain why we have 6 dogs in our apartment?” 

“They're golden retrievers, dude. They retrieve gold. I did this for us.” 

-

“Who are you to demand anything!? I run this town! You're just a bunch of low-income nobodies!” 

“Uh, election in November. Election in November.” 

“What, again?! This stupid country!” 

-

“Yesterday, I overheard ** saying ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ and **** replying ‘Trust me,’ and I have never moved from one room to another so quickly in my life.”

-

“I'm never having a debate with *** again, he/she literally started his/her argument with ‘Riddle me this.’”

-

“Hey, are you free on Friday? Like, around 8PM?”

“Yes?”

“What about you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Great! Because I’m not. You two go on without me. Enjoy your date.”

“Did he just-“

-

“I have a plan.” 

“Good! As long as we aren’t breaking the law again, I’m open to hearing it.” 

“…” 

“…” 

“I no longer have a plan.” 

-

“The real question is: was all this legal? Absolutely fucking not!”

-

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“It’s okay! I like You cause your weird and spontaneous, I never know what to expect from you!”

-

“I gave her/him a knife.”

“So you put all our lives at stack?! For what!”

“He/she gave me a kiss :(“

-

“I gave her/him a knife.”

“So you put all our lives at stack?! For what!”

“He/she gave me (expensive gift) :(“

-

“So your technical a billionaire now, congrats! And can I borrow 20 bucks?”

-

“No I’m gay! I cant!

“No your not, I’m gay. Your five.”

-

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I’d probably be a criminal or something.”

“There’s better ways to make money then stealing it.”

“I said nothing about theft! I just wanna go to jail. And don’t worry it’s gunna be small and simple and harmless.. like arson!”

-

“I have an idea.” 

​“A good idea?” 

​“Let's not get ahead of ourselves.” 

-

“I truly go into housewife mode when I'm someone's soulmate- like, I'll make you pancakes and bacon every morning.” - ***

“This is a lie.” - *

“I'm literally dating them. This is a lie.” - *

 “THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO COOK A PANCAKE, WHAT IS THIS.” - *

-

“Did you know? There is no escape.”

“Yeah I did know that.”

-

“*** started drink to forget her/his past.”

“It’s highly effective because now he/she can’t remember anything!”

-

“Why is this so much heavier then the other one?”   

“Could it be the weight of my sins?! NOOOoooOoooOOOoo.”    

-

“Okay then. You’ll regret it.” 

“YAY! I LOVE GETTING CONSEQUENCES TO MY ACTIONS!!!” 

-

“Where are you going?”  

“To get MYSELF a gift cause somebody didn't get me one!”  

“I told you I did! It’s coming here on Friday!”  

*** knowing full well that ** got *** an engagement ring* “Wow, I can’t believe that!” 

-

“What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know. My brain told me to do it and I went ‘okay!’” 

-

“**, I was thinking by the way.” 

“That’s a bad start.” 

“Are we…(something people usually hate)?” 

-

*doing a lecture* 

*** falls asleep* 

“*, wake him up!” 

“Why do I have to wake him up when you put him to sleep?!” 

-

“(Band/choir/restaurant that no one likes because is actually really bad) is the best one!”  

“Are you sure?”  

“Yeah?”  

“Are you SURE?”  

“Yeah!”  

*later*  

“I don’t know if she/he’s commit to the bit or you know…”  

-

“Would you like to join our (choir/restaurant)?” 

“No.” 

“You answered that really quickly-“ 

“NO.” 

*later* 

“Why didn’t you give her/him one of your polite ‘no thank you’s?” 

“No thank you.” 

-

“Sorry guys, won’t be able to help for the next 9 months.” 

“YOU’RE PREGNANT?!” 

“No, I’m in a cast. My brother/sister pushed me off the roof. I broke my leg.” 

“Also he’s male so how does that work?” 

-

“What's worse than a heartbreak?”  

“Stepping on a cat's tail and not being able to explain that you're sorry.”  

-

“There’s Murphy’s Law, they say, and then there’s **’s Law – if something has the potential to go wrong, ** will be there to push it in just the direction to make it happen.” 

-

“Help! They won’t leave.” 

“Ma’am, sir, wha’ver you is, I don ca’e. Get out.” 

-

“*teasing while saying best ways to go on a date with their child/sibling*” 

“***!” 

“Take this as a substitution for a shovel talk. I’m shoving you two together instead.” 

-

*Laughs* “Babe, you had a crush on me? That’s embarrassing-“ 

“We’re married.” 

-

“You might not know this, **, but I am a flawed person.”  

“I do know that.” 

-

“Breathe, just breathe.”  

“I’ve done nothing with my life! I’m a failure!”  

“Awww, that never bothered you before.” 

-

“I bet if you look ‘self absorbed’ up in a dictionary, you’d find your picture.” 

“My picture’s in the dictionary? Is it a good one? What am I wearing?” 

-

“We can't lose. Because we have this.” *points to his chest*  

“We have heart?” 

“Heart? No, me. I'm pointing at myself. I'm going to win this for us.” 

-

“What’s the straightest thing you’ve ever done?” 

*sighs* “I killed a man.”

-

“Are you regarded?”

“Yeah I’m regarded.”

-

“Can you be serious for five minutes?” 

“My record is four, but I think I can do it.” 

-

*telling a story about two friends that they knew*

“for ** and * are both happily married”

“To each other, you can't convince me otherwise”

-

“Okay let’s go-“

*is playing with something they shouldn’t/something breakable* “Put that down.”

-

“You can find practically everything at a junk shop!”

“Except a will to live.”

“That’s expensive to get. How much you paying?”

-

“Dinosaurs aren't extinct. I mean, *** is walking in this room.”

-

“What did you two do?”

“………..”

“You’re not in trouble, I just need to know if I have to lie to the police again or not.”

-

“Of course I have a lot of pent-up rage, you fool! I've been the same height since I was twelve!”

“More like since You eight.”

-

“I’m the sexiest bitch in this therapy waiting room.”

“And that’s not concerning to you?”

-

“**, you’ve done a crime. You’ve done it again.”

“Oh no.”

-

*cocks gun* “Go to Bed. This is no longer a request, This is now a Threat.”

-

“Hello all, it is I, your favorite person.” 

“Actually, *** is my favourite.” 

“Okay then, it is I, that bitch.” 

-

“If I'm extra sarcastic with you it probably means I'm flirting with you or you really annoy me and I can't handle your crap... have fun figuring out which one.”

“I think that was a threat. Send help.”

-

“I love tea!”

“Oh so your British?”

“We’ve been dating for three years. You know this.”

-

“** what's your type?”

“(* their lover).”

“That's sweet.”

“It's also a lie, his type is (hair colour).”

“That's not true!”

“The first person you ever had a crush on was a (hair colour) man.”

(Optional)

“I met * long before I met ****.”

*spews water* “****?!”

“I was talking about ******.”

“I never had a crush on ******!?”

“That's bullshit.”

“Are we gonna talk about the **** thing or... No....? Okay.”

“No it's not!”

“It most definitely is.”

“What?”

“You blushed every time you were around him.”

“I- I did not!”

“Yeah you did.”

“No....?”

“Even the way you talked about him sometimes I could tell you had a crush on him at one point.” 

*flabbergasted* I- I huh? Did I?”

*walks over* Hey ** can you- What did you guys do to him?”

*wide eyed staring at the ground, mumbling incoherently*

“He's having an existential crisis, give him a minute.”

-

“I think-“

“That’s a dangerous thing coming from you.”

-

“(Very different name from their own. Not even a little bit similar)!”

“Have many times I got to tell you my name ain’t (not their name). My name is ***, *** (last name).”

-

“I have a confession to make.”

*gasps*

“I was caught eavesdropping on (day).”

“*tells a fake story to promote something of theirs, like an event or store*.”

“So moral of the story, (stock/tickets for event) are running out.”

-

“Yeah can’t handle loud sounds. My ears are too sensitive.” 

“How do you survive (parties/parades/concerts)?!” 

“I don’t.” 

-

“I really don't want to go.” 

“Stay calm and trust yourself.” 

“Say you're ill.” 

“Pretend to break your leg.” 

“Really break your leg.” 

-

“Ah yes. The mysterious and beautiful *, so demure…” 

“…I wonder what sort of melodic sounds this wonderful being makes?” 

*screaming*

-

“FUCK YOU.”

*raises eyebrow*

“Ew no. Go die in a hole.”

-

“Please, stay out of trouble.” 

“Not my strong suit.” 

-

“Cry me a river so I could drown in it.”

“That’s not what I meant by that.”

“Then what did you mean, huh?”

“What’s happening?”

“*** said I can’t hang out with his dog/cat.”

“My dog/cat’s at the vet.”

-

“Wait so your parent/sibling/friend is the (leader/owner of like some kind of animal), right?” 

“Yeah..” 

“Is that why (animal) keeps attacking me!? I thought he/she/they liked me!” 

“Oh ****..” 

-

“I didn’t miss that social cue, I thought it was stupid.”

-

“Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.”

“That's deep.”

“That means that ketchup is a smoothie.”

“That's deeper.”

“...You guys are idiots.”

-

“So, how long have you and * been together?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. * and I are not together. No. No. 

“Really? Sixteen ‘no’s? Really?”

-

*Finally stands up to abuser/person that hurt them both*

“Babe that was hot.”

“How hot?”

“So hot you should do it every time.”

“I’m working on it…” 

-

* carrying a box* “What would you say if- if I, hypothetically, came home with 7 kittens one day?” 

“….” 

“What’s in the box?”  

“What woul-“  

“**, what’s in the box?”  

“I think you know.”   

-

“You know I can drive.” 

“Drive me Crazy?” 

-

“Hey hey hey!”

“You don’t talk to me like that.”

*does no with finger*

-

“What’s your real name?”

“Chris********.”

“Isn’t that Christ?”

“THATS THE BEST ONE!”

-

“*flirting*”

“I got a man/woman.”

“Small thing. You could have two.”

“Nah he/she loyal.”

-

“God, you’re SO clingy.”

“YOU came into MY bed?!”

-

“Anyone else gave that awkward moment where they have a crush on their wife/husband?”

“No- because I already married them? I had a crush on them since we started dating? Are you okay?”

-

“So, are you two dating now?” 

** and *** “Yes.” 

“Why?”  

“I happen to find ** very appealing.” 

“Yeah, I can understand that. I'm trying to figure out what's wrong with **.” 

-

*lying down and crying*

“There, there. Why don’t you take some time off to not be around me while you’re like this?”

-

“The difference is that kids are helpfully unhelpful. They will make the job harder. Teens are unhelpfully helpful, also cable of malicious compliance.”

“You told me to unload the dishwasher. Not put it away.”

-

“Ow!”   

“What’s wrong?”    

“I have a weird pain right above my eyebrow. “   

“It’s called a stress headache. I got my first one when I was four.”   

*sibling that’s four years younger walks in* 

-

“Why are you wearing red?”

“It’s orange!”

“That’s red.”

“*tries explaining why it’s actually dark orange and not red*.”

“And that’s black-“

“At least you know what black is.”

-

“Hello?” 

*** looms over* “Oh your close…”

*looms over more* “Your getting close..”

*looms over even more* “You getting real close-“

-

“I’m going to murder someone.”

“Yay! Murder!”

-

“But his name is **!”

“Anyone named ** is on my hit list.”

-

“He sees you because he had eyes. Not because he likes you.”

“Is that why he kissed me like a bowl of soup yesterday? Cause he has a mouth?”

“A bowl of- what is he a dog?”

“Yeah he doesn’t listen very closely to what you say cause he cares. It’s because he has ears.”

“Is that why he scratching my arm as if he was marking it? Cause he has hands with nails?”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS MAN?!”

-

“I’ve been waiting for an hour!”

“What time did you finish?”

“(An hour ago). My (person that picks them up) only comes when my family member/friend finishes.”

“Wow. That’s homophobic.”

-

*sees child walking in looking for someone*

“Hey! Who you for? I’ma theft you!”

-

*pretend hitting friend/family member*

“Don’t hurt him/her! She/he’s fragile..”

“Sometimes.”

-

*makes *** a cup of tea but puts salt in it*  

*** sips tea*  

“…” 

*** finishes tea*  

“Didn't it taste bad?” 

“Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.”  

*tearing up* “Oh, okay.”  

-

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit.”

“MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS!”

-

“Recently someone asked me how i put up with him. and the answer is i don’t.”

“**?”

“Of course.”

-

“Look! Can your religion telling explain that?!”

“Can your science explain why it rains?”

“Yes! Yes, it can!”

-

“hey, ***! what if we got a dog?” 

“Huh? we already have a dog. **, remember?”

“What?! Why am I the dog?!”

-

“two bros chilling in a bed, not a millimetre in between cause they’re so gay.”

-

“Stop devoting yourself to a man.”

“Um, excuse me. This is my girlfriend.” *points to man in a dress*

“Yeah. Okay. Fair.”

-

*playing a game but teammate made a mistake*

“When you mess up, I don’t give a fuck. I just continue.”

“WE MAKE NO MISTAKE!”

-

“This Girl is on fire!”

“No really she’s on fire. She’s on fire! Put her put!”

-

“Have you seen this boy/girl?!”

“Not today thankfully!”

-

“Does that dog bite?”

“It don’t got a single teeth in its mouth.”

*shows rows of very sharp teeth*

-

“He/she may be a dumpster fire, but he/she's MY dumpster fire.”

“...This thing must be broken.”

-

“Murder?”

“Yes.”

-

“Question.”

“Answer.”

“Murder?”

“I’d love to do that right now, any kind, especially suicide.”

-

“I'm cold.” 

“Here, take my hoodie.”  

*meanwhile*  

“I'm cold.” 

“I can't control the weather, **.” 

-

“What time did you wake up today?”

*screatch* “Sorry.”

“**, what time did you wake up today?”

“3….pm..But before I moved I use to wake up 5.”

“Wha- what time did you go sleep!?”

“10.”

“10 pm!?”

“Am…”

-

“Heh, and what’s a tiny kid like you even capable of?” *pats head*

“I killed a man.”

“…” *removes hand*

-

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” 

“Sorry, I have to go do literally anything other than this.” 

“You don’t even have a legitimate reason?” 

“Oh, no, I do.” 

“Well, what is it?” 

“You see, I simply don’t give a fuck.” 

-

“Listen up. I’ve got one good reason why you should listen to me, instead of **. Look at what I can do!” *does a one-armed handstand*

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“No, no, she's got a point.”

-

“And that’s why-“

*starts walking away*

“Hey! You get back here!”

*starts walking away then turning back around*

-

*sees that their parent came on time for them*

“WOOOOOO! Yeah!”

“Wait- come here!”

“Oh right-“ *hugs neck tightly* “WOOOO!”

-

“If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.”

-

“When I first got my autism diagnosis, my first thought was “woah… it’s canon” and I think that maybe thoughts like that is why *** made me get tested.”

-

“Merry Christmas!”

“IT’S AUGUST!”

-

“I would never kiss a man.”

“You kissed *** and ** in the span of 15 seconds. What do you mean ‘I’ll never kiss a man’?!”

-

“Here’s how to hype up your girl/boyfriend while he/she struggles to learn (their native language).”

“My (language is getting no where. I understand nothing.”

“That’s not true. I will play you a (language) conversation and you will tell me how much you understand.”

*(children cartoon in language)*

*surprise face* “I understand all of it! I understand (language)!”

“It’s a conversation designed for a 6 year old to understand but we don’t have to point that out to her/him.”

-

“Which one of us do you think is gunna die first?”

“I hope it’s me.”

*laughs in drunk* 

“I hope so too!”

-

*watching a conversation between their friend/lover and a god*

“*something bad that happened to the last person*”

“That won’t happen to me right?”

“It better not!”

“I’ve never fought a god before but I’m willing to try everything once!”

-

“No.”

“No what?”

“You can’t kill me. You don’t have my consent to kill me so no.”

“Alright, have a nice day.”

-

“I’m taking away your straightness.”

“Oh no..my straightness…whatever will I do?”

-

“Ugh! The past is in the past!”

“Yeah yeah yeah. And my fist can fit up your ass.”

-

“My pronouns are he/him but my gender is Danger.”

-

*sees friend/lover.*

*hands food.*

*they don’t eat it so puts in mouth and they start eating.*

*realises they are half asleep.* “Wake up!”

“Huh- what- what am I eating?”

“*food*.”

-

“Can I have some water?”

*starts chugging her/his water bottle* 

*chokes from drinking too fast* 

*spills water all over him/herself* 

*coughing* “I don't have any water.”

-

“Hey I’m about to get in the shower. You wanna join me?” 

“There’s a pistol taped underneath the island in the kitchen. If I ever say no to that question, I want you to shoot me. Aim for the head, don’t stop until I’m dead.” 

-

“I’m really glad “fight me” has replaced “sue me” in the common vernacular because I don’t have money, but I do have fists and I am always angry.”  

-

*13th birthday is soon*

“Yes finally! I’m going to be a teenager! I can destroy the world!”

-

*their friends accidentally crossed into magic persons land*

“Did you do something to them?”

“I only revealed their true forms.”

“You turned them into pigs…”

-

“I failed at raising a tamagotchi how the fuck am I supposed to raise a child.”

-

“Do you ever love them so much you’d kill for them, but also want to strangle them sometimes?”

“…”

“Just me?”

*raises hand*

“No ***, put down your hand, your apart of the problem.”

*lowers hand*

-

“Are you straight?”

“Straight from hell.”

-

“Did you know that your sister/brother is a robber?”

“Yeah, she/he stole my life, happiness, and sanity.”

-

“My mother’s my spawn point.”

“Then what’s your dad?”

“World generator.” 

-

“You wanna tell me how this happened?”

“Well, *** thought-“

“Oh man, I wish that (wo)man would stop doing that.”

-

“And you see her/him! He/she did nothing!”

“I did my nails…”

-

“Oh, is that bag new?”

“Yeah, my daughter/son claimed the other one.”

-

“**, you are very hard woman/man to keep track of.”

“It’s called allusive, darling.”

-

“What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever said?”

“Help. Asking for help isn’t giving up, it’s refusing to give you.”

-

“So your telling me I made a volcano with baking soda and you are trying to take over the world.”

“Yeah.”

-

“Come on **, do it for our friendship. You can't put a price on that...”

“Yes I can, dear. Fifty dollars.”

-

���Hey can I-“

“No, I don’t have time to get you out of jail for the next two weeks.”

“No I was going to-“

“No, *** been on my ass since the last time.”

“No I want to-“

“** hates when you do that. Don’t try.”

“Get ingredients to bake. I want to bake.”

“Yeah I still don’t trust you to do it.”

-

“I want a hamster and you want a baby. What- what is this?”

-

“My mother always said that it’s impossible to mess up chicken wings.” 

“Unless your ** that is.” 

-

“Is murder illegal?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Cause your killing someone.” 

“What if it’s ***?” 

“Uhm-“ 

-

“You ever see something that changes your life and you're just like ‘huh..’” 

“I saw you.”  

“Honestly that's so cute and sweet but it kinda makes this awkward because I was gonna show you a picture of * in a turkey costume.” 

-

“Okay buh bye! Stay stay!”  

“Mhm hm you too.” 

“Off yourself.” 

“Kill yourself.” 

-

“You're making me look bad!”  

“Ok. Number one, you don't need my help to do that.” 

-

“How many hours of sleep have you gotten?” 

“Over what period of time?” 

“…I don’t like that answer.” 

-

“You know, there’s something weird going on with your face?”  

“What?” 

“You’re smiling! I didn’t know you could do that?” 

-

“How much sense you got?”

“Oh I got 50 cents!”

“Not what I mean…”

-

*reading a recipe* “Beat three eggs?”  

“It means like in hand-to-hand combat.”  “Ohhhh-“  

“Both of you get out of this kitchen.”  

-

“*investigating person who has a crush on sibling/parent*”

“If this singing business doesn’t work out, you should be a psychiatrist.”

-

“You know the story on the radio gets crazy when everyone stops talking and the volume gets turned up.”

“(Description of ***) has been found placing bombs on government property.”

“Nah that’s just a regular Thursday.”

-

“You know at first it made me feel ‘what?!’ 😡 but then it made me feel ‘what..?😔.”

“You did not just say those emojis out loud.”

“Well duh! I have to explain how it made me feel very angry face emoji verse sad face emoji.”

-

“For self defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely.” 

“Okay.” 

“If you don't want to die, give me all your money.” 

“Bold of you to assume I have money.” 

“Bold of you to assume I don't want to die.” 

“Bold of you to assume I can die.” 

-

“I would do anything for money.” 

*later*  

*covered in blood* “THE STATEMENT STILL STANDS!” 

This is for you Bunny(I KNOW YOU SEE THIS, DONT LIE)

I have been collecting incorrect quotes from IRL, things online or my own self. Have at it. I have to many and I really want to share :D

“You know, I used to think that ** was a bad influence on you.”

*arm stuck in somewhere it shouldn’t be*“Oh?”

“Now I realize that you both influence each other to do equally stupid things.”

“What has the world come to?!”

“Depression.”

“You can't make everyone like you; you're not **.”

“What? Not everyone likes **.”

“Who doesn't like **?!”

“Uh”

***, gripping *'s shoulders with the intensity of a thousand burning suns “Names, *, now. GIVE ME THEIR NAMES”

**(female) struggling to to open something so asks ****(male) to help but **** can’t open it so they ask ***(female) to help and they open it

“See ****, you have to become more feminine”

“What-“

“Cause even with barely any nails or with long nails the girls can open it better then you!”

“What do we say to the universe when we’re having a bad day?”

“How dare you seek to inconvenience me. I have been through things that you can’t fathom.”

“Why does it feel like the world fights me in every turn!?”

“Eat good food, happy thoughts come soon”

“Where is **?!”

“At very time and moment that is illegal to share-“

Honestly doesn’t take much to confuse me. I’m just a simple lad.

“YOU'RE A MONSTER! I'm so proud.”

“WHAT is wrong with you. It is so attractive”

"We're not dating, but we're devoted toeach other, and get jealous if someone hits on the other, but we are just friends"

“i'll cut your throat open, that'll shut you up!"

"you're beautiful...”

“Seems like I touch a nerve”*touches their own broken nerve* “AAAAH-“

"** brought emotional trauma to a knife fight”

“How much longer are we going to wait?”

“Just... give it a few more minutes.”

*  ** continues to forcefully push at a door that says pull on it*

“I just drove thru a rainbow” -*

“am I gay now?” -*

“a gay drive-thru?”-**

“Cheers!”

“To what?”

“To my most beautiful and amazing boyfriend/girlfriend!”

“Huh? What? Do you have another one?”

“By the power invested in me.. gay”

“This is the best financial decision I’ve ever made”

“What colour you want? Red or white?”

“Thats blue and gold.”

“OH- thats a mistake!”

“What colour are the balloons?”

“Red(white), green(gold), purple(blue)”

“I thought you were blind but turns out your blind and colourblind”

(Extra)

“What?”

“I literally just ask what was next.”

“Huh?!”

“Oh so you’re deaf, blind, stupid and colourblind!” 

“Oh i forgot your deaf, blind, stupid and colourblind! What don’t you have?!”

“Colours.”

“**, what don’t you have?”

“Brains?”

“What is this?! Vomit green!?”

“It’s olive..”

“It a mistake, that’s what it is.”

“Are you excited for (school name)?”

“Why would I ever be excited about school?”

“In my defence, I was left unsupervised!”

“I think I’ll die actually. Let’s try it!”

“You have to upgrade from a bystander and become-“

“A bully!”

“What you got there?”

*Very dangerous person behind them* “A smoothie?”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve heard about that! Rates are crazy in the States, right?”

“I’m from Canada.”

“Oh.”

“** you don’t have to talk. I have to talk.”

“If you push me, I can push you back.”

“No. You can’t.”

*in the other room*“Can I come out?”

“You’re gay?!”

“No! I can out like that last year!”

“I am a mosaic of every person I have ever loved”

“You Know other men/woman/gays and didn’t tell me?!”

“So, how did you two meet?"

“...You know, we actually legally can't answer that."

“As a members of the high gay council, he is gay.”

“Shout out to (person), gotta be one of my favourite genders”

“We'll blow up that bridge when we come to it."

"Nothing is getting blown up, **."

"The bridge is!" 

OR

“Not with that attitude”

“Remember guys, pain is just weakness leaving the body”

“When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade, make life take them back.”

“Aw, he’s cute and stupid. I’m keeping him.”

“He- he almost killed like half of us with that shit!”

“Shush.”

“Hey ** do you know about the autistic monkeys?”

“Wha- *laughs* N-nO”

“Good.”

*laughs* “that’s so funny, the autistic monkeys”

“I said Arctic Monkeys”

“Oh- *laughs* Y-yEah, I know the band”

“What- I mean monkeys that live in the arctic”

“Oh- we were not on the same page for this entire conversation”

“I DID IT! I MADE HER/HIM CRY!”

“In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you”

“I- thanks?”

“Who needs hygiene when you got cake?”

“Your horrible and I love you”

[onsunnyside]

Alpha!Lloyd and Bunny! Reader ahhh

He’s like a big bad wolf 🥵

he isn’t an alpha since it’s just bunny hybrid!reader but the vibes are there 🌚 This is inspired by a scene in TGM.  

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 | Lloyd Hansen x bunny hybrid!reader

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | dark, manipulation, mean daddy!lloyd, innocent!reader, smut - minors dni, thigh riding, daddy kink, degradation, dumbification, dacryphilia, dom/sub undertones, rough oral (m), facefucking, mhm balls sucking, ears and tail tugging. through screens: violence, death (reader is briefly forced to watch, not in detail). 

𝗪/𝗖 | 1255

˗ˏˋ 𝐂𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭ˎˊ˗ ♡⋆* 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

You peek around the corner, eyes wide with amazement at the many screens displaying different views of a city. From buildings, roads and stone walkways, it was a place you’ve never seen before.  

You lean a little further, spotting the various agents at the rows of desks, typing on keyboards with focused expressions. 

Lloyd never let you watch television unattended, he said it was because it was dangerous for you to be exposed to things you didn’t know. It was either himself or someone from his team sitting next to you, and carefully picking what you would watch. 

Lloyd’s voice is faint, and curiosity gets the better of you, pulling you deeper into the room.  

“You have my permission to take out anyone in the way. Light it up.” 

The screens blip out before multiplying tenfold, showing many more views of the city. It’s hard to see from this angle, you barely make out the interior of cars and trucks, and the cityscapes from rooftops. 

“I said, shoot anyone who gets in the way. God, it’s like everyone forgot basic comprehension skills.” 

“There are civilians—”

“You heard me the first time didn’t you?” Lloyd’s voice deepens, you can almost feel the rumbling in your tummy, “or do you need me to repeat myself? If so, you’re just like my girl. The only difference is, I like when she’s just a little dummy, it makes everything way more fun—”

You stiffen, your sweaty palms sliding down the doorframe. 

“—Fucking morons!”

The sudden shout has you tumbling through the door and landing on the floor. Your knees slam into the hardwood, as do the palms of your hands, the loud thump shatters the tension. You don’t dare to move—as if that would help you, and everyone would magically not see the girl lying on the ground in a sundress. It was just hopeless at this point, but you didn’t want to get punished. 

Lloyd sighs from his seat behind the rows of desks and computers, “Speak of the bunny.” He murmurs, setting down his empty glass and turning his attention to you as if there weren’t dozens of bullets flying on the screens. “Pumpkin, you know you aren’t allowed to be in here.” He keeps his voice levelled although he knew you were there the whole time.

Who else’s fluffy ear was peeking through the doorway?

You slowly stand up, shaking in your socks as you meet his surprisingly calm gaze. 

Your first instinct is to hide, in his closet maybe—no, he found you there last time. The bathtub in one of the guest rooms is better, it gives you more time to come up with an apology, and you’d be extra quiet this time. 

You go to leave but Lloyd snaps his fingers, making you freeze on the spot. “C’mere, baby. Let’s watch daddy win together.”

Quiet as a ghost, you clamber into his lap, straddling one of his thighs with a shuddering breath. He caresses your back, trailing up and down your neck before his fingers rub your ears. “Pick a number, sunshine.”

“A-Any number?” You don’t know why he isn’t yelling or spanking you, but you’re thankful for the strange moment, regardless of how short it’ll be. 

“Any number.”  

You avoid the screens, staring down at his shiny shoes. “Five?”

Lloyd tuts, playfully tugging your tail. “You can count higher than that.”

“Uh… thirteen?”

Lloyd grins, “Still not high enough, but that’s better.” He loosely grips your puffy tail, turning away. His tone lowers, losing all the creamy sweetness it had when he was speaking with you. “Extra thirteen million to the first person to blow that guy’s head off.” 

You must’ve blacked out or something because the next thing you know, half the screens are gone and explosions erupt on the rest. 

Immediately, you cover your eyes with your ears, shaking on Lloyd’s lap as the loud noises filter through the speakers. Behind you and sipping on a fresh glass of bourbon, Lloyd coos. “Oh, you can’t see anything like that, dumb bunny. Don’t you want to see daddy win?” 

He moves your ears and forces you to watch the feed by holding your ears in a firm grip, keeping your eyes locked forward. It reminds you of last night when he fucked your mouth, pulling on your ears to control your pace, and making you into a stupid mess. 

“You taste yourself on me, bunny? All that fucking cream soaked to my balls, so you’re gonna clean up your mess.” He pulls you off, then brings you forward to his heavy sack. Automatically, you suckle at the wet skin, alternating between flat licks and noisy slurps, you clean your mess from his balls. 

Your thighs clench tight as you let out a muffled whine that vibrates against his sack, making him groan. He tightens his hold on your ears almost painfully, but it only makes you more eager to please him. You shut your eyes, moaning and sucking his balls while his thick cock lies against your face, drippy with cum and your saliva. 

When his grip loosens, you switch to his dick, taking him down your throat until you gag. Tears well in your eyes, blurring your vision as your brain gets foggy. You don’t even notice him snapping a quick picture with his cellphone. 

Lloyd yanks you off by your ears, growling at the string of saliva connecting his bulbous tip to your swollen lips. He angles your head until his sack is in your parted mouth, and you, being the good bunny you are, start kissing and licking him immediately. He curses lowly, gripping his hard length with his other hand, jerking off above you. 

“That’s a good little whore, you really like sucking on daddy’s fat balls, huh? You thanking me for all the cum I’ve given you?” Lloyd cruelly slaps his cock on your cheek when you pull away for a breath, with spit and cum all over your face. “What’s wrong, bunny? Forgot to breathe with my balls in your mouth?” 

You start crying as more screens go blank and disappear, the active ones get bigger and you see the various bodies and pools of blood in whatever city it was. That’s when Lloyd releases you and you spin around, clumsily curling into his lap and tucking yourself into his neck, whining. 

“You aren’t going to leave?”

“T-Too scared,” You jump as another explosion goes off, you don’t even want to know how many screens—people—are left. “Don’t wanna—please don’t make me.” 

“Oh, I won’t.” He bounces his thigh that’s snug between your legs, the muscle flexes under your cotton panties, and you’re already wet from simply remembering the previous night. 

That’s why he also called you an easy bunny. Anything, a single touch or kiss, or a dirty sentence could make you soaked, regardless of the situation. It makes him proud and immensely turned on considering he just completed another job and made more money than other people will in their entire lives—in the time span of a few hours. 

That’s why he was the best in the sector. 

He won, yet again, and he has you crying and wet in his lap, yet again. 

Life was good. 

“Looks like you missed daddy’s victory—that’s okay, you’ll get to stay if you make a pretty mess on my leg.” Lloyd grips your tail, using it to move you on his thigh despite your whimpers, “Keep crying, bunny, you know how much I love seeing you like that.” 

[punemy-spotted]

The Price You Pay

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Non-con/Dub-con, mentions of murder, unclear timeline, blackmail, unprotected sex, fingering (F!receiving), smut, esoteric references to past abuse, manipulation, Dark!Fic

Words: 5.2k (holy fuck?)

Summary: You need his help. He names his price.

Notes: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 and her incredible 5K Soft!Dark Challenge and I can't believe I wrote over 5k words for a oneshot, making this the longest piece I've ever written. I took a blend of prompts: Mob!AU; “When I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this;” and “That’s a big favor you’re asking for, I think you need to make it worth my while.”

And this was intended to be a oneshot but now I can't stop thinking about it so thanks Siri, I think this is now a part of my WIPs too! Your work is amazing and I had a blast being able to take part in this!

As usual, my work is 18+ ONLY, Minors DO NOT INTERACT

You went to him first.

You went to him, handed them your business card and I want to speak to Steve Rogers.

Honestly they almost threw you out with an extra hole in your head but then the man of the hour walked right in.

So now you’re here. Now you’re here, sitting across a gorgeous dining table with a ten-course meal laid out and honestly you’re surprised they didn’t tie your wrists to the arms of the chair while you watch him eat and take in the look of those baby blue eyes scanning you over.

He even brought you non-alcoholic rosé, when you said you didn’t drink.

So.

So.

You wanted to talk to me?

Yeah, I do. Thought you’d just sit me in your office, have a consultation.

I like breaking bread with new friends. Have a nice dinner, get the wine flowing — of course, that’s not gonna loosen your tongue, but we’ll forgive it.

Oh. Cool, I like being forgiven.

He laughs at that one and the room, strumming with tension, snaps into amusement. So do you, cracking a half smile on dark red lips, before swallowing down the lump of anxiety threatening to break through and destroy everything. You need this. You need this and you can’t let anything — not your nervousness, not your morals, not him — stop you. You need this and it needs to be done and if this is what justice is in this fucking city then so be it.

Well, sweetness, you’ve got my attention. You want to talk business or pleasure?

That one makes you laugh, a little sharp and a little cruel, and the curling smirk on his face gets a little furrowed because he hears it too — pain.

It could be both, you say finally, picking up the glass of rosé-that-wasn’t, if your reputation is as real as they say it is.

He lifts a bite of cheesecake into his mouth and lets it melt on his tongue while he watches you, somewhere between impressed and incensed. You know the look — you saw it the last time he met you in court, but you weren’t there as allies then. Never thought you’d come to me, he admits finally, sounding halfway bemused at the idea, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Counsel?

You wince, or maybe smirk, eyes on the man before you.

It’s a game, a dance, a ruse, and the woman you thought you were thirteen months ago when you put four of Steve Rogers’s best men in jail for fifteen years — fifteen years longer than any District Attorney had ever managed to do before you, and you were just the rookie they handed a shit case to — is leagues different from the woman you are now, seated prim and proper in the lion’s den.

You’re not innocent. That’s not been your game for years — this life doesn’t leave room for innocence, it tears at you, leaves you tired and broken and ill.

Your colleagues learned to fear him a long time ago, the man before you. Captain America, leading the city, the country, the world into a new era of high tech crime all under his thumb. It’s a pretty shiny shield, the one that sits behind him, but mirrors are black on the other side and his soul is dark as coal.

You’re not an angel yourself, and this deal with the Devil isn’t for anyone but you.

I need someone taken care of.

So you come to me? I thought you were a lady of morals, Counsel.

Certain kinds of morals.

You can see him smile, see the way he raises his glass, the glimmer of malice and amusement in his eyes. So tell me. What’s the name?

You give it.

He’s not in the city, your target, but he will be. A Judge, an activist, real tough-on-crime-sweet-on-justice type of shit. You don’t tell him the reasons why, because those are yours, but you tell him the name. You tell him he’s a problem, you tell him he’s dangerous, you tell him you’ll pay to have him taken care of, you tell him you don’t want to practice in front of that black, black robe.

And he smiles like the Devil he is, watches you with a grin and drinks his whiskey in one last shot before slamming it down, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You said that when we met the first time.

He’s a hunter, you can see it in his eyes. That lion’s mane might be tamed right now but it won’t be for long and you’re playing with wild animals. The eyes on you are ice and daggers, daring you to do the one thing everyone in the office has been begging you not to do.

(Drop the charges, Rookie, the case is just to get your face in front of the judge.)

You upped the charges.

(Rookie, you don’t know what you’re dealing with, there’s other cases.)

You subpoenaed his phone records.

(Rookie, don’t make me drag you off this case!)

You won.

You had no witnesses and a jury you had to drag in from god-knows-where after you proved, over and over again, that he’d paid off the cohort in the courtroom. Finding people with nothing to lose and a desire to do their civic duty wasn’t harder than you thought — it was exactly as impossible as you expected.

But you did it.

That’s what you do, isn’t it? Push and push and fight, claw your fingers at the ledge and pull yourself up, you pay for your crimes in your blood, sweat and tears you pay for the things you could have done then and didn’tdo.

You pay.

And sometimes, that payment bounces back.

And when it was all said and done, when the closing statements were delivered, when the Jury came back out and the Judge — hands shaking, mouth agape, eyes wide — read out the verdict no one expected, you… didn’t feel any better, did you? There was no justice for you in that room, just the searing glare of ice-blue eyes and the burning of your steel spine.

Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

First words he said to you, while the courtroom emptied out and you stood there, facing the man you’d just made an enemy of with your briefcase in your hand and your eyes aflame.

I did my job.

Did you? Is that what you think your job is?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

You leave him with a smile on his face and the scent of your perfume in his memories.

He leaves you with the pride of victory in your bones and a reminder that your strife could be worth it.

One day.

How do you plan to fill that pit, the one you tossed the corpses of your old self into? The one you let them claw up out of, to haunt you? Remind you?

You’re digging your own grave and you know it, but you won’t let Steven Grant Rogers be the first one to toss a handful of dirt over your corpse.

But now here you are.

In his dining room, enjoying dessert and some sort of after-meal coffee. In need of him…

This might almost have been a date, if not for the topic of conversation.

So. You want a Judge taken out. What if he’s already on my payroll?

Why would you keep a dead man in your pocket?

You like the sound of his laugh, and you don’t even have the excuse of wine to fall back on when it warms your core. Don’t admit it though, don’t say it aloud, don’t let him get an in. Be smart, cross your legs tighter, keep your eyes on the prize.

You’re so close to the finish line.

That’s a big favor you’re asking for, Counsel, I think you need to make it worth my while.

Worth your while?

I’m not a charity. And since you put the guy I usually use to handle these things behind bars for a few years—

You know I can get him out too.

That’s not payment, that’s putting things right.

You take a drink. Steady on, girl.

I’m leaving the DA’s office.

That stops him.

Oh that stops him good, and he looks fascinated. Interested. You’ve said something he can use as leverage and it’s not just about a job. That smirk on his face is smug and his eyes are darker and he has to know the impact that look has.

Can’t falter, don’t falter, don’t give in.

Am I allowed to ask why?

No.

You’ve done your research. You just don’t know why you’re thinking about it now. Steven Grant Rogers, “Captain America,” leader of a crime family that had too many names to stamp out, bolstered by a mad scientist, a military man through-and-through who turned New York into his own private base against whatever stood against his way.

Get in his good graces and you’re set for life. Get in his good graces and you’re safe, you’re protected, you’re good.

Get on his bad side and you only make that mistake once.

There are no second chances in this game, and here you are, asking for one.

So what? You leave the DA’s office, you leave yourself open to me — you think leaving New York is going to be the thing that stops me, Counsel?

No.

Then what?

Breathe. Steady.

I know you gave me that win on purpose — you could have taken out my last jury cohort. This isn’t about the four men… and you know I’ll get them out. This is something else, but I’m not here to ask about what or why.

He falters just briefly, like he’s surprised you knew, but the crack in his mask smooths itself over as soon as it forms and he’s back to watching you, nodding along in silence while you breathe and watch him and keep talking.

But even then. I got four of your guys in prison. And I know how your organization works — I subpoenaed the documents, remember? Your lawyers are good, but they’re not used to people asking the right questions. You want someone to seal up the cracks you need someone who actually knows what to look for.

You have more than his attention, you have his interest, and now he’s leaning in a little. Imperceptibly, but enough. Scanning over you from across the table, like he’s thinking how you managed to get so impertinent in the face of the likes of him but that’s the thing — when the only thing you have left to lose is your life, you’ll risk everything.

So what are you offering?

Breathe. Don’t. Stammer.

Myself.

The chair scrapes and suddenly there’s the clicking of guns, aimed and ready until his hand rises up and he stops them and he’s stalking towards you.

This is the lion’s den, sweetness.

The stakes are higher and you ought to be braver and he’s got your chin in his hand before you have a chance to react, dragging you to your feet. Do you know what you’re offering me, Counsel? Low and hissed and hungry, like those perfect teeth might be sinking into your throat in the next moment.

Oh, you have no idea.

You get me. On your payroll — you know. The offer you sent me a year ago.

You think it’s still open?

If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have met with me.

The chuckle in your face makes your cheeks warm and you’re looking more flushed than you would like, the open shoulders of your dress suddenly feeling a lot more like a mistake the more you realize just what kind of meal he might make out of you tonight.

We might need to have a discussion about your workplace duties, Counsel.

You don’t notice the hand near your thigh until it’s too late, sliding up the soft fabric of your skirt until it’s squeezing your ass, until it’s jerking you towards him, until you’re pressed against his chest and the hand on your chin is now hooked around the back of your neck, thumb pushing your jaw until you’re forced to look at him. Won’t lie, when I woke up this morning, I certainly didn’t think my day would end like this, having your pretty little body in my arms,and you can look as indignant as you want but he’s got the upper hand and you only thought you were two steps ahead of him.

You think I haven’t thought about what it’d be like to put you in your place, Counsel? You’ve got a smart mouth — I wanna know what else it can do.

He doesn’t give you a chance to use that mouth to lash at him, lips sliding over yours, swallowing that indignant yelp with a punishing kiss. Nipping at the plushness of your lower lip until you open your mouth and yield to him with a sigh of reluctant surrender, let his tongue slide past that barrier for him to explore. He’s got his fingers wound through your hair, just a little too tight and whether the whimper in your chest is because of the pain or because of the want, he doesn’t care.

Knew you’d be sweet, Counsel… softly, when he pulls back to look at you, take a look at those love-swollen lips and your ruined lipstick, the pretty way you pant at him already, the heat burning your cheeks. Pay no attention to the slick warmth between your thighs, pay no attention to the way he makes you burn already, pay no attention to how your fingers have curled into the lapel of his coat to hold yourself steady, pay no attention to how you suddenly miss the pressure of his lips.

All that smart-talk and now you’re quiet, Counsel? F’I knew it just took a kiss to get you to shut up, I would’ve done that at trial, he’s purring in your ear, soft and sweet and you should push at his chest, so uncurl your fingers girl and push.

I didn’t say I was selling my body, there’s your harshness, and there he is, laughing at you again, the grip on your hair jerking your head back until you’re looking into those dagger-cold eyes again.

You don’t make the rules here, Counsel, I do, and you need me more than I need you. So if you want to make sure your Judge can’t start wreaking havoc on your career… you might want to get used to readjusting it for me. I promise I’ll make you feel nice, if you let me…

And if I don’t?

Then I take what I want and I don’t feel bad for not holding up my end of the bargain. Your choice, Counsel, you cum willingly and I’ll give you everything you want. Don’t, and it’ll hurt you more than it hurts me.

That’s not a threat, that’s a promise, and suddenly you’re more scared than you ever thought you’d be, wondering if you’ll need to sell another part of your soul to take him down after. How much of yourself will you put up as collateral to get justice for the wrongs you were never able to correct?

You’re afraid.

Oh sweetness, you’re afraid.

Here? Now?

No, Counsel, we’re gonna do this right, aren’t we? You wanna be in bed with me, I’ll take you to bed with me. Come on, say it. Say the word.

Say no. Say no, rail and fight, stamp your heels into the expensive leather of his shoes, jam your knee into the sensitive between his legs, scream and yell and tell him you will never let another man take advantage of you again to help you reach your goals. Do it. Do the thing you swore you would do the next time a man like him — men who think they can take anything from anyone, men who think they own the world and the women in it, men who think you aren’t strong enough to fight back — propositioned you just like this.

You’re selling your soul to get rid of a man just like this.

But that’s coiling heat in your core that wasn’t there the last time, was it? That’s want. That’s the realization that you like the way this predatory smile feels, that you like the way this one wants you. You’re not her, not scared and alone and helpless. You could fight back and run and maybe escape if you were lucky.

You could choose.

He’s let go of your hair to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers, soft and sweet, You gonna give me an answer, Counsel, or am I gonna have to take it?

Say something. Say no. Scream. Say no say no say no say— Yes.

It’s a whisper. A desperate, soft whisper. A helpless, lonely whisper. It’s enough.

He sweeps you around until you’re pressed with your back against his unyielding chest, feeling him flex with every movement, broad arm wrapped around your shoulders from the front. All of you are dismissed, and that’s when you remember there were others in the room with you. Others who just watched you concede to becoming Captain America’s newest plaything and the burn on your cheeks is more shame than lust. You pull at his arm briefly, futilely, earning a tighter hold for your efforts and a whispered don’t make me choke you, before you are half-walked, half-dragged out of the dining room.

The walk to his room is slow and agonizing as you’re pulled along, barely struggling but barely helping at the same time, tears sliding down your cheeks as you come to terms with what’s going to happen next — no one is going to save you tonight, no one’s going to interrupt and drag you out, this is your job and this is your place and here you are.

No one speaks. There’s no sound but the steady tap of your heels and his shoes on fine marble. Even your sobs are silent, even your breathing is muffled, until the stairs are traversed and the faintest click of a lock turning opens the door to the rest of your life.

You made a deal.

Time to pay.

Sit on the bed.

You move as if in a trance, and he watches your face, the hint of waterproof mascara failing to do its job, the smudged ruby red of your lipstick. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were signing up for when you walked into this house, Counsel.

His hands are gentler than you’d expect, when he wipes away the streaks your tears leave down your pretty cheeks, coaxing you to look up at him, We’ll set ground rules later. Tonight? I wanna see if I can get that mouth of yours to beg for me.

It won’t, you snap without thinking, knifeblade sharp and cruel, ready for a fight again. He promised you that once, in a hiss you thought you’d misheard but no, you heard him just fine and now if he thinks he can quench your fire and have you pleading just because you sold your body for the prospect of revenge then he’s wrong.

Thing is, he laughs like that’s a challenge, and the hand holding your chin so gently is wrapped around your throat before you know it, silencing your voice with just the right application of pressure. I can do this all night, Counsel. Do you think you can last that long?

Fear. Anger. Indignation. You are fury made flesh and he is manipulating you with just the barest press of his palm and sliding over you, until you’re laid out there on soft sheets and he’s looming over you, splaying that big hand out and sliding it down your throat, over your chest, feeling the ruching of the fabric under his palm. You wrapped yourself up like a present for me, didn’t you sweetness?

The change in nickname isn’t lost on you but here you are, glaring up at him while he smiles so beatifically it leaves your blood boiling and your skin steadily warming. The rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, every angry breath a swear you don’t utter, every inhale your protests dying in your throat. What can you say, what would you say, right now? There’s nothing that can change the way he looks at you, or the way his eyes flicker from ice to blue fire the more he takes stock of the pretty little thing he’s about to start sharing his bed with.

Fuck, you’re beautiful, that one shocks you, but not as much as the sudden rush of cold air when he tears the emerald green fabric of your dress down and reveals the soft swells of your breasts, nipples peaked from the sudden cold.

You don’t get much time to gasp, just something soft and strangled before he turns your voice to whimpers, wrapping lips around that pebbled tip and laving his tongue over sensitive flesh. Where are your words now, Counsel, while he threatens the softness of your chest with the scrape of his teeth, when he slides his hands over the round curve of your thighs and parts your legs so he can press himself between them, so he can press himselfagainst you? Where is the knife-dagger of your wit to protest each soft, suckling kiss to your skin, each press of his fingers like he could just squeeze his ownership of you into the plushness of your hips, into the sweet swell of your ass? What do you say to the dirty little thrust of his hips as he bucks with his own burning need, reminding you just how much this is for hispleasure as he will make it for yours.

You would, could, should push him off and instead what are you doing? Curling your fingers into the silk-smooth of his comforter, desperate to writhe out of your own skin away from the burning pressure between your thighs, the foreign, unfamiliar heat you suddenly feel like you might be craving.

Anyone ever touch you like this before me, Counsel?Warm breath splays across your skin when he questions you, eyes fixed on yours and he waits. Answer him, answer him, tell him he’s nothing, tell him you’ve had better, lie and destroy that ego, lie lie lie lie—

Nnnh—no.

He looks like you’ve just told him the best news of his life, eyes wide and blown with lust, Oh is that right? You’re saying no one’s ever touched you this good? Or just no one’s ever touched you at all?

You don’t have to answer. The furious blush on your cheeks? The way your eyes slide away from his? The way you writhe, trying to press your thighs together to relieve the pressure and finding the effort futile? If the man’s grin could get any wider, it would, right now. Oh sweetness, we’re going to have so much fun exploring your body together…

He pulls back just enough to take a look at you, already flushed and writhing and overwhelmed and if he could take a picture of this right now he would. He’ll save that for later though. Tonight? Tonight is just the two of you, and his hands are back to your skirt, pushing the tight fabric up over your round hips and revealing the lace of your panties… just before he rips them off, to the sound of your indignant yelp Steve!

You’re going to call me Captain, sweetness, we’re not close enough to use my name just yet.

No. No you’re not, and he’s not sure you’ll ever be — he rather likes the idea of hearing you whimper out his title when he gets you desperate and wanting.

He touches, slow and steady, watching you try to jerk away and tutting at you when you do, fingers at your delicate nerves like an assault on your pleasure. Bite your lip, bite back the moans, whine at him like he’s wounded you, You’re so wet, sweetness, you’re so desperate for me aren’t you, as he palms his cock to relieve the pressure on himself. You’re going to beg before he does and he’s patient, he’ll last the night.

St-stop it, it’s too— he shushes you ahtahtaht and rests his free hand on your mound, holding you down so his probing, inspecting fingers can take stock of the velveteen plushness of your delicate cunt. It’s too much, too much and you want to scream the moment he presses one finger into you, already overwhelmed, already so tightly wound the barest touches are unraveling you steadily.

You’re such a pretty thing, all desperate and needy, sweetness. You wanna cum already, don’t you? So busy, never gave anyone the chance to fuck that stuck-up bitch right out of you, did they? It’s almost pitying, isn’t it, the way he talks, hums at you while you’re reduced to a whining, whimpering mess so soon, so desperate for the release he’s on the edge of denying you, feeling you flexing around his finger and then the second leaping jolt of your body when another joins the inspection. Taking careful stock of the pretty cunt he owns now, and he’s careful to curl his fingers just right as he seeks the spot to hammer just to get you to scream.

You don’t, not yet, but that’s okay too, because he sees the way you take desperate hold of the sheets, the way your eyes roll backwards just slightly, the way you strain against his heavy hand to arch your back. Gotta tell you, sweetness, I imagined you under me a thousand and one ways but this one, right now? Tops the list. You ready to beg for me?

Do it. Do it and end your pleasurable torment. Do it and be released from the pressure, the coiling want. Surrender to him. Let him have you.

The white hot rush of your orgasm is not unexpected to him, his curling, cruel fingers having found the sweetness of your g-spot, but — you, too busy climbing the ranks to think of your own pleasure, too busy demanding your due from an unjust world explore your own warmth beyond that of a memory of a college hookup you would rather forget — you left breathless and wanton in the heat of the explosion he draws out of you, mewling something desperate and pleading against your own will and the song of it fills his ears like it’s all he’s ever wanted. There it is, and I thought we’d be here all night. A thumb flickers over the nerves at your entrance and you practically jump, something between a yelp and a moan escaping your lips.

First one’s just a treat, sweetness. Now on, you cum when I say you do, understand?

You nod.

Oh you nod, and you are lost, here and now. Sensitive and broken and there is so little of that steel spine here, writhing in his sheets and ohyou don’t know the things you do to him.

Think you can go again, sweetness? He’s purring, smug, twisting fingers stretching you slowly, muttering under his breath about how fucking tight you are around his fingers, how good you’re going to feel for him, and the smugness on his face is slowly fading into a dark consternation, brows furrowed like he’s somehow angry at you for being plush and delicate and fuckable.

You’re almost begging him to stop, and yet the pressure is building again, the twisting, coiling heat that leaves you breathless and mewling and he looks like he might be trying to immortalize this moment forever. Say it, sweetness. Say you need me. Beg me for my cock.

That’s it.

That’s what you need to, you need to beg, you need to give in. No more fighting, no more arguing no more —

Please…

Please what, sweetness, come on now. You got a way with words. The snarl is so barely contained.

Please, Captain, please just…

What do you need, sweetness? The fingers are relentless, the buzz in your nerves is overwhelming, you can barely even hear yourself talk, much less him.

Please just fuck me, Captain, I need your cock! It’s hurried and it’s crude and it’s desperate and it’s exactly what he wants as just another wall crumbles and you fall off your pedestal right into his arms.

He’s barely able to resist the buck of his hips, the need to be inside you, the knowledge that you are soft and velvet and you could be all over his senses just like this.

When did he free his cock? You don’t know, you just know it’s practically salvation when he sinks into you, when he fills you like you’ve been desperate for and Oh sweetness…pours from his lips just as you hiss out something like praise right back at him.

You’re so full and he’s so gentle, at first, like you’re made of crystal in his arms, like the slow shifting of his hips might have you shattering underneath him if he’s not careful. Cradling you, even, sliding your legs around his narrow hips as he leans in and takes a hungry kiss from your wanting, whimpering mouth.

Love this look on you, all wrapped around me, whispered low and slow into your ear, sweetness you have no idea how good you look…

Melt into those compliments, melt into him, because the way he’s holding you is divine and you can feel him so deep in you it’s making your head spin. When did your arms end up around him? When did you start clinging to him like an anchor, start winding your fingers through his hair, start leaving the marks of your nails on his back to the sound of his own needy groaning?

He noses your cheek and leaves a mark of ownership on your neck with hungry lips, knowing you’ll bruise a beautiful flower right over your pulsebeat and continuing the steady assault on your nerves, cunt-first.

Harder. Faster. More.

And oh, sweetness, you do shatter.

You shatter all around him, you shatter into something divine and rapturous, full of him and filled with him and he cums so deep inside you as you do, still fucking you through your joined climax, hips rutting and breath hitching and nearly furious at you for the way his vision whites out too, the way he feels like he can Never get enough and so he hisses that at you like an accusation while his thoughts reorient back to reality, back to smugness, back to the control you took from him while he tried to strip you of yours.

In the end, as he pulls away from you and sinks to the side of you, watching your sweet expression as you return to the reality of your new situation, he is satisfied… thoroughly.

Oh yeah, I think we can make this a working relationship, Counsel.

[hansensgirl]

salvatore. | vi.

series summary. | Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

warnings. | NONCON/DUBCON, dark themes, manipulation, gaslighting, arguments, toxic relationships (reader and steve), cheating, nightmares, violent behaviour? (no actual hitting), spying, voyeurism, stalking, use of cameras, angst, fluff, soft!dark!bucky, protectiveness, obsessiveness, creepy bucky, perversion, + more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 2.5k

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers.

a/n. | i know i haven’t updated in a while i’m really sorry!! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog!

“Doll, please calm down. You’re scaring me,” Steve begged, sitting on the bed. “How can I calm down, Steve? Huh? You only just came back, and now you’re going away again,” you spat, crossing your arms. Your stance was almost adorable, but Steve knew that if he made a comment, he’d just push you further away. He couldn’t let that happen. “Why can’t you ask for a vacation, Stevie? We haven’t done anything romantic since my birthday, and that was six months ago.” You turned your back to Steve, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Doll, but I have to go save the world,”  he solemnly told you. His voice carried a faux sadness that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. “Bullshit, you have so many more people to do it. Sam, Wanda, Tony—don’t lie, Steve. Why are you going to Sydney? There’s no way you have to travel to another continent to mess up some sort of drug deal. Isn’t that what the police are for?” you questioned him.

Tears stung your eyes. They were ones of anger, but you couldn’t lie. In the midst of them, were sad ones ready to leak, too. Steve stayed silent. “For fucks sake, Steve, you can’t even give me an answer?” you asked in disbelief. You gasped as the tears began to fall. “I knew it, I knew it the whole time,” you whispered under your breath. “Knew what?” he asked, walking up to you. You backed up into the corner of the room.

“That you’re cheating on me,” you mumbled quietly. “What? Baby– no, listen.” He paused to take a deep breath, meant to calm his nerves down. “I don’t want to hear anything, Steve. I know about you and Natasha. All those trips? Those text messages? God, the only person I feel bad for is myself. How could I be so blind to it all?” you shook your head as you spoke. You walked around Steve’s strong figure and headed towards the door. “Where are you going?” He called out, following you behind.

“For some fresh air, I can’t handle this,” you yelled back, but Steve only sped his steps up. “You’re not leaving me, Doll,” he growled, stepping in front of you. “I never said I was, but now you’re tempting me,” you snapped back. “You’re not leaving me, Doll. You never can.” Steve gripped your shoulders tightly, and you winced in pain. “Even if you did, I’ll go to the ends of the Earth to get you back.”

Your eyes shot open. Gasping, you struggled to catch your breath. Your heart pumped like no tomorrow. Each time your chest raised to the highest point, you felt like you had a heart attack. You fell back onto your pillow, and you couldn't care enough about the slightly painful thud that came with it. Nightmares were never pleasant. Though they give amazing writing inspiration, they still were not nice.

Unfortunately, your nights seemed to be filled with them. Every time you fell asleep for the past week, you’d wake up in a panicky mode. At that point, you were okay with settling for a weird dream that resembled surrealistic art. Who wouldn’t want to have a Dali-inspired dream? You rubbed your eyes roughly and could feel the exhaustion in your every movement.

Your phone rang loudly. The sound made you jump in shock, and you reached to your bedside table for it. The screen read Bucky’s name, and you sighed. You answered the phone and brought it to your ear. “Hey, Bucky,” you croaked tiredly. He laughed, and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. But the sound of tiredness differed from yours. “Did I wake you up?” he asked, and you moaned. “No, I just woke up,” you told him. “Why would you wake up at one in the morning, Doll?” he asked.

“Nightmare,” you breathlessly told him. You could swear on the daisy that began to bloom two weeks ago that you started to feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders. “Talk to me, Doll. Was it bad?” he questioned. “Yeah, it was worse than the previous ones.” You hadn’t even realized that you just spilled your secret. “You’ve been getting them for the past few nights? Doll– I’m so sorry, but you know you can always talk to me, right?”

His words were more reassuring than anything Steve ever said. “I know, it’s just… The nightmares—they’re very personal. You might not understand how scary they are. Plus, I don’t want to bother you,” you sheepishly admitted to him. He sighed heavily. “I understand, Doll, but you can never bother me, okay? I’m the one who’s supposed to feel that way, not you,” he chuckled, just to ease the tension.

“Now, I’m gonna be there in the next twenty minutes. Do you think you can sort yourself out by then?” he asked, and you started to stutter. “Uhm, sure, yeah, sure,” you agreed obediently. “Good girl, I’ll be there in a few.” And with that, he hung up. Your eyeballs bulged out of their sockets at those two words he uttered. Steve never said anything like that. He’d always just nod, even if you couldn't see it.  You simply wrapped yourself in one of your most favourite blankets because changing seemed pointless to you.

There was no way he was not in pyjamas… right?

You turned the lamp on next to you before you could convince yourself that your chair was a monster. Your back was cold but also covered in sweat. You hated that feeling, and your mother always had the best way to describe it. “It’s like heating something in the microwave but failing nonetheless. The outside of it is warm, but the inside is still cold.” She’d tell you as she’d wipe down your back with a towel.

That was before everything went downhill. Before you turned thirteen and before she married him.

You sighed and got out of bed, willing yourself to put the kettle on. Maybe you’ll make some hot chocolate, or perhaps some tea… In your mind, twenty minutes always seemed like a long time. It sounded as though you could get quite a lot done in a third of an hour. The reality always felt like getting ice water poured on you as a method for waking up.

Unless your life was significantly put together, those one thousand and two hundred seconds are equivalent to five minutes. The ceramic lid for the jar clinked as you set it down on the counter. You grabbed two chamomile tea bags and closed the pot with a ‘ping!’. You grabbed two cups from the cupboard and then groaned loudly when you realized that you hadn’t turned the kettle on.

With a flick of your finger, you turned it on and leaned onto the counter. You sighed pretty loudly. Your head fell into the cup that your hands made, and you closed your eyes. You didn’t have a headache, and your eyes didn’t hurt either; you were just exhausted. You sighed once again, and the kettle clicked, telling you the water was done boiling.

Timing was everything, as always. And sometimes “timing” is just a coincidence, just like how Bucky rang the doorbell as soon as the water stopped boiling. You rubbed your eyes and walked to the door slowly, not caring that he may have been standing out there for thirty seconds too long. You opened it—not all the way—but wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of your tired form. “Hi,” he greeted, letting himself in.

Bucky looked around your home as if he was waiting for someone to round the corner with a knife and shotgun. “Nice place,” he said with an awkward smile on his face. “Thanks, even though our homes are formatted the same way,” you chuckled. He nodded, and then a few seconds after, he let out a forced laugh. You looked up at him and gave him a meek grin, and then went back to making the tea.

“I’m so glad I have two bags of chamomile left. It’s like the universe has decided to bless me again,” you breathlessly said. “What was the blessing before?” he curiously asked. “You.” You poured the hot water inside the cups, and then the bags of tea followed. “Honey or sugar?” you asked, and he pointed at the sugar. You passed it to him wordlessly, and the only sounds that filled the room were from your lungs and cups of tea.

“So… Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a few more wordless moments. “S- sure, thank you once again! You’re so kind,” you sighed as you brought the cup of tea to your mouth. Bucky copied your movements, but just a bit slower. “It was about my ex,” you admitted once you set your cup down. Bucky struggled to keep his eyes from popping out of their sockets at your mention of him.

“It was so similar to an argument we had a few months before I broke up with him… The only difference was that he wasn’t as… terrifying. And yet he still scared me,” you solemnly spoke. Bucky stretched a hand across the counter and placed it on your shoulder. He pleasantly squeezed it a bit, and you were tempted to lean into his touch.

But you just can’t, because Steve is in the back of your mind, taunting you.

“What really happened in the dream?” he asked, and you took another sip of tea. “Well… We were fighting. He had to go away for a while, even though he just came back. He’d always do that; it’s what helped destroy our relationship. He valued his job over me, and also, someone else,” you sadly recounted. Bucky listened in carefully, because he wanted to help out his best girl in any way possible.

“I caught him in his lies because his excuses became so… Inexplicable. I always had that nagging feeling that he was cheating on me with his friend, his coworker. That argument confirmed everything. I couldn’t handle it all being true, so I tried to leave for a walk,” you paused to take a shaky breath. “He got angry and stopped me, and then he threatened me,” you bluntly finished.

Bucky was so glad that his hand was no longer resting on your shoulder because Goddamn was his fist clenched tightly. You brought the cup of tea up to your mouth, and Bucky just watched you as you diverted your eyes away from him. Once you set the cup down, Bucky grabbed your hands. In contrast, his were extremely hot, and yet the flesh one was dry. Yours were a bit cold, but they were soft and a bit dewy. You looked up at him, only to lock eyes.

“It’s just a dream, doll, okay? And it’s in the past, it won’t happen again, our minds can be crazy sometimes, so try not to worry about it,” he whispered lowly, bringing both of your hands up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss on both sets of your knuckles. You nodded softly, and you leaned down to press a kiss on his flesh knuckles in return. You smiled against his skin, even though it was bruised and slightly red. You wanted to ignore the weird feeling of his metal arm against your sweaty skin, but you couldn’t help it.

“Can- Can I do the thing to your metal hand?�� you asked him, hopeful that he would say yes. Bucky nodded, with a slight smile on his face, of course. You closed your eyes and puckered your lips just a bit, pecking the metal. His breathing hitched, unbearably so. It was something he would always catch himself doing whenever he’d think about you or whenever he was simply just in your presence. You opened up eyes and looked back up at him, and you could see the way his eyes glazed over.

He let go of your hands abruptly, allowing them to fall onto the marble countertop. His fingers slotted themselves against your cheeks, and he grabbed your face gently. Bucky pulled you close to him, and he smashed his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, but it was full of passion. You kept your lips locked against his, and your fingers carded through his long hair. There was no other movement apart from the way Bucky kept trying to pull you closer and closer.

It was almost like he wanted to merge bodies, minds, and souls with you.

A few more seconds passed, and Bucky eventually pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours, and you exhaled a shaky breath. “Steve… His name is Steve, and I hate him,” you admitted to him, and Bucky kissed your nose. “And I hate him too, doll,” Bucky said before parting ways from you. There was a bit of tea left in his cup, but you had finished all of yours. “Get some rest, okay? Or just close your eyes for a bit. You need it,” he advised, and you nodded. “Thank you, Bucky. I really appreciate you being there for me,” you expressed to him.

“Anything for you, doll, now go tuck yourself in,” he urged once again before walking past you to the door. You placed the cups in the sink, and neither of you looked back at each other. You heard the door shut with a loud echo, and you sighed heavily. Maybe you were going to listen to him. Sleeping in isn’t that bad after all.

Bucky always believed that being vulnerable was stupid. He also believed that opening up was stupid. But, to be fair, he believed that anything involving emotions was stupid. But when it comes to you, he felt the opposite. Maybe vulnerability was good. Perhaps it was exactly where you needed to be for him to finally be able to love you.

And it was then when he realized that he hadn’t been loving you properly. He hadn’t been loving you the way he wanted to love Natasha, and that just ended up with her six feet deep with flowers growing above her body. He needed you, but you clearly needed him more than anything else. Bucky was desperate for you at times, of course, but you matter more to him than anything else.

Bucky looked down at his desk, staring at the single plane ticket that would take him all the way across the state of New York. He hadn’t been there in over a year, and that was when he first learned of Natasha’s promiscuity. Philandering around with his best friend, fucking said best friend in the most memorable locations he had taken her.

He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he found out that the reason why Natasha showed up to the wedding venue late was that she was too busy lifting up that poofy white gown for Steve. He thought that by emptying out Pandora’s box when she passed, everything would be okay. That he’d be able to move on without a care, and he wouldn’t have to shed any more tears for her. Bucky won’t. He promised himself he wouldn't.

He just had a few loose ends to wrap up before he made you his. That was all.

[just-vibingfr]

Ok ok I want 23 13, and i forgot the number but it said like I’m sorry I’m such a burden so yea with jj maybank im a sucker for angst

Same! Like mood 25/8 is angst, angst, angst!

WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, suicide, self harm, close friends and family thinking you are a liar, ANGST ANGST ANGST, cursing, reader will be using They/Them pronouns.

A/N: I went really angst in this one, this will be all angst with no fluff, at all, like none. Please do not read if anything mentioned will trigger you. This is going to be one of the last OBX fics for a few weeks, I’m going to finish the other four requests I have then I will be writing some Harry Potter Marauders Era stuff! Thank you all for being so patient! I love you guys ❤️ 💕 Bold will be flashbacks!

ABDUCTED

Prompts- 13:God I wish that you had thought this through before I went and fell in love with you. 23:I was kidnapped, I was r@ped! 49: I-I-I’m sorry I’m such a burden

JJ POV:

Thirteen weeks. Thirteen fucking weeks. That’s how long it’s been since they went missing. God, all I can think about is our last conversation.

“I slept with her okay?! I cheated on you and I don’t regret it. At all. You have been nothing but a pain in my ass trying to fix me. Setting me in a path to what, redemption?! Well guess what it’s never gonna fucking happen because I’m a no good, dirty, pogue! My whole family has been doomed to live here, always poor, always a bunch of dead beat losers! I cant be fixed, this is my destiny, so go fuck yourself and you pathetic hopes and dreams and morals! Because none of us liked you anyways, we were only using you to help us grieve after we lost John B. He’s back now, so we don’t fucking need you okay?! I don’t need you! I never have and I never will!”, I ranted. I’m angry at my dad, angry at myself for cheating, angry at Rafe for getting away with everything, angry at Ward for being a bastard, angry at Y/N for making me fall in love with them. I am just so angry. I didn’t mean to take it out on them, but they were there. They’ve always been there even when I treated them like shit. That’s the problem, they were there. I don’t know what to do, I’m so used to pointless hook ups, empty relationships, and abusive behavior, that when someone puts me in a freaking pedestal like I’m actually worth something I flip. I have been looking down for the past five minutes. All I know is their muffled sobs, how their eyes are probably red rimmed and bloodshot, how they’re probably pulling on their wrists like they do when they’re stressed. If I look up I might just crack. “God I wish that you had thought this the before I went and fell in love with you!”, they screamed, letting out all of their emotions. “You said I was different, you said you saw a future together! You told me you fucking loves me! You fucking piece of shit! I hope you get everything you want in the sickest sense! I hope you remember me and feel nothing but pain and guilt! I’m done with you Maybank!”,Those words cut deeper than any blade or bullet could. Being told those venomous words by the person I love most in the world hurts, but I deserve it. I hurt them more than anything, I broke them.

But, now I see truth in their words. Every time I think of them all I can feel is pain, guilt, and remorse. It was all my fault.

Y/N POV

I stumbled through woods. Safety. That’s all I can think. Safety. Safety. I kept stumbling around going anywhere, anywhere as long as it’s away from fucking Jules. That’s what they would call my kidnapper and rapist, Jules. He earned that name because he would take a piece of jewelry off of every virgin he raped. Pathetic. My lower half ached, my mind fuzzy, my wrists scarred. Thirteen weeks, that’s how long I’ve been missing. Thirteen weeks or rape and abuse. Twelve weeks of self harm. I started slitting vanes on my ankles, and the back of my knees, to feel something. Something other than the pain he caused. Self inflicted pain was a way out, a way to still have freedom and independence. Sick and twisted, I know, but it was my way of rebellion. I started to break down crying in the middle of, woods?! It these woods are familiar and I can hear the sound of the ocean. Outer Banks… Outer Banks! Thank God! I’m home. I’m safer, I’m back. I kept stumbling around, my tears making it harder to see. Up ahead I saw what looked like porch lights. “Help! Help!”, I yelled out, although the dryness of my throat mad it extremely difficult.I sped up, basically running to reach a sense of haven. Once I arrived at the house I realized where I was. The Chateau. Anywhere but here. But I needed help, and I was lucky I even found my way here. I knocked on the door, actually I pounded on the door. I was desperate. I heard shuffling and then the door opened revealing a very disheveled Pope, Kiara, Sarah, John B, and JJ.

“Y/N?! How-What-! Just- just come in!” Pope said frantically .

“What happened?!”, Kiara and Sarah said in unison. The boys nodding their heads in agreement to the question.

“I-erm- I was kidnapped, I was raped. I was held in a where house with the other girls. This bitch named Jules was the one in charge. He would take turn with the girls. It was terrifying. I thought he was going to kill me once he saw me helping one of the girls with her miscarriage. I had already had three or four myself and a few of the girls actually gave birth in that where house. The youngest to have a baby was eleven. Eleven fucking years old. I just ran out of the door one day, I got shot. It’s been a few days, maybe five or six? All I know is that I had to burn the wound to stop the bleeding. And I feel really sick right now. I think I’m going to vomit.”, I said before passing out.

I woke up in a hospital bed. The lights burning my eyes. The sheets clean. Someone had bathed me and changed my clothes. I felt clean, it felt good. Everyone scrambled to get up at my sudden consciousness. Looking at me with that pity in their eyes. That pitiful look that made me regret telling them. I didn’t want their fucking pity, I just wanted them to know I have new boundaries, and as my friends they deserved to know. The doctor came rushing in, asking me to explain what happened. I explained everything, the trauma bringing ugly sobs. I didn’t care. I had just been through hell and back, I was allowed to shed some god damn tears.

I was discharged later that day when they had diagnosed me with PTSD, anxiety, ADHD, and self harm. Yay. Weeks went by with my friends checking up on me, never leaving my side: I loved them all for it, but I could see the look of boredom in their eyes, the look that said as soon as I was good enough to be on my own they would leave me to my own devices. It hurt, everything did. I didn’t deserve to put them through this, watching me fall apart. I didn’t deserve this. I needed to end the pain. I had to. And I needed to do it now. I pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, went to the nearest flat surface and began writing.

“ I’m sorry I’m such a burden. But thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for supporting me. I didn’t really get to know you before John B and Sarah, I see that I really missed out on some good people. Kie, you have been nothing but amazing to me. I can’t thank you enough. Pope, you are like a workers mix of older brother, younger brother, and dad. It always amazes me how you can be protective as fuck, need protecting, and are always prepared with that mind of yours. JJ, I’m sorry. Sorry that we ended things on such terrible terms. You deserve the world and I couldn’t give that to you, I truly apologize for holding you back. But you did break me that night, I was going to end it then, but I was abducted. Ironic how I’m ending it now. I love you all and wish you the best! “

Love, Y/N ❤️

I folded the letter and set it on the island with the pen. Then I crawled into the tub, slit my wrists, and let the darkness take over, sweet, safe, darkness.

@hannahnikohl

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: remus and lily as siblings or half siblings or biological family in any capacity pls 🥺

Oh God!!! Baby!!!🥺🥺😭 This is such a favorite AU of mine!! I’m literally— sorta— writing a To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before AU right now and they are the bestest siblings in that!!!  They share a little sister and they are just so cute!! And Petunia is conveniently off in university oaiwefjoiaswejfiogreghoij And I just love Remus and Lily both so much it hurts!!! And so I wanna spit out a bullet point Ficlet at you! And I’m not even sorry just because I love you so endlessly for tossing this into my inbox foiwaeifmkaeoirfgjieoarujoidkioweajgh 

So like in my head, becs that Voldy bitch doesn’t know how to actually world build, the Muggle born children who get their Hogwarts letters, are also invited to join this like support group for ordinary folks with magical children. It’s like a thing that’s held in the Ministry of magic over in London once a month, and the parents are taught about the Wizarding world while their children kind of go to this separate room to intermingle and read Hogwarts; A History with one another, and just vibe, because pure bloods and those close to that have always sorta known one another and such, so this is a nice way for the Muggle borns not to feel so excluded.

So the thing is, obviously Lyall was a wizard, but also we all know I don’t fuck with him lmfao. So I picture that after he leaves for the final time when Remus is around nine, and finalizes the  divorce with Hope, she— being the bad bitch that she is, just marches to the ministry with her half-blood, werewolf son, and demands to learn everything about the world he’s part of, because she refuses to let him be deprived of anything. 

Eventually she becomes one of the tutors for the adult section because she’s such a quick study— being a professor herself back in Cardiff and just being an all around bombshell tbh. So one day, in February of 1970, there’s this ginger haired, northerner who stumbles in with his daughter who looks so much like him that it’s crazy— dimples and smile and upturned nose. Though she has her mother’s eyes, who had past away when she was only seven from a freak car accident.

And when he first shake’s Hope’s hand, he’s like kind of mind boggled over how beautiful she is, and thinks that maybe all wizards just put on some sort of charm to look unearthly, till he finds out that she’s as Muggle as he is towards the end of his visit. And he is just entirely love struck tbh.

And for the next couple months or so, he kind of just yearns from afar, and then spends the ride home to Cokeworth listening to Lily’s excited chortling about her friend Remus who’s apparently a half blood and who likes the same treats as her and knows how to draw things so amazingly, and it isn’t until like May, when he ambles to the other room and realizes that Remus is actually Hope’s fucking son, and he already knows that she said she began this group after separating from her husband who was a wizard himself. So Lily’s father— Nate— quite literally just shoots his shot and asks if Lily would like to get ice cream with her new friend since Petunia won’t be coming back from there Grams’s house till late, and Hope sorta smirks from over the kids’ heads because she sees exactly what he’s doing and is impressed that he’s finally done something for fuck’s sake.

And like obviously they fall hard for one another, and they probs get married like Lily’s second year at Hogwarts.

Wait, just Lily’s you ask??

Yes my beautiful duckling,  because plot twist!! (We lovee plot twists!!!)

In this AU i picture that McGonagall kind of visits during the summer months leading up to the children’s first year at Hogwarts, just to give them some supplementary readings and answer the questions for their future schooling, and when Dumbledore tells her about Remus’s full situation with his lycanthropy and all, she does some research, and figures out how Beauxbatons is much, MUCH more accommodating to “dark” creatures, and she’s already pretty chummy with Hope and knows that she’s actually a French citizen herself, the daughter of Algerian immigrants. So Remus technically has the possibility to attend Hogwarts or Beauxbatons, and so Hope and Remus talk on it long and hard, and she knows he’s already become fast friends with Lily and their thick as thieves with one another, but it’s also just so much safer for him.

So the week before Lily is set to go off to King’s Cross, they fly over to France and they get Remus settled in his dorm abroad.

I think while they’re away, Lily and Remus actually somehow become closer, because their parents are still dutifully dating and neither of them are all that familiar with their surroundings, so they send one another so many fucking letters through that first term, that the owls of their schools always give them the dirtiest looks lmfao. And they really catch on like a house on fire, like it’s one of those relationships that is just innate? Like you know when you have a best friend you guys kind of just slip into one another lives? Like even when you don’t talk for a while or whatever, it’s just natural<3 <3 

So neither of them ever spend the hols of winter or spring in Hogwarts/Beauxbatons, becs that’s when they really get to vibe.

They tell one another the different cool charms they’ve learned, and hate that they can’t show them with their actual wands yet. And they watch all their favorite films and almost adopt this secret language that’s only the quirk of their brows and twitch of the lips, and Petunia hates how freakily attuned they are with one another and sneers at them for being such freaks in all aspects. Also in this AU Lily fucks off from Snape wayyyy sooner, because instead of having to deal with that nasty, bigoted, slime ball she has the cutest and funniest and most amazing bestie in Remus!

And before Hope and Nate exchange vows in the winter of their second year, the little family of five go to this tiny park that’s all lush grassland and a shiny jungle gym and a pair of swings tucked away by trees, and they sit at this picnic table, and Hope— with her steady, ever buoyant voice, explains to them why she and Remus decided to send him to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts, and Petunia is like gawking in fright, and Nate looks sort of distressed, but Lily just cocks her head and shrugs her shoulders, because it’s still Remus— her closest companion Rem— and nothing could change that. So she takes his hand from where it’s fiddling with a splintered piece of wood on the tabletop and she squeezes it tightly, watches him glance up at her with the late summer wind billowing in his tawny curls and the fear in his honey eyes, and she simply tells him that it doesn’t matter. And Lily will never forget the way his features spasm at that, going suddenly loose and bright and thankful, and then Nate probably tousles his hair and kisses Hope’s temple and shyly asks how they should accommodate once they move in with one another.

And that park becomes sorta special tbh.

It’s in that alcove with the swings and trees where Lily and Remus go when things are becoming too much, or they would just like to escape the world by one another’s side.

It’s where they tried their first cigarettes that Remus had gotten from an older bloke in Beauxbaton’s when they were thirteen and feeling adventurous. And where they go to listen to the releases of their favorite albums, and when Remus told Lily that he’s gay for the first time before leaving to both their fourth years and it’s like one of those spots they both think of and feel golden.

Oh God! Imagine how cute of a celebration that Nate and Hope hold for them both becoming prefects!!! Hope and Nate definitely insist on some sort of summer todo! And they invite their friends and all that jazz and OMFG what if Lily’s wearing some sorta powder blue sundress that matches Remus’s oxford shirt and they both are grimacing in all the photos and are just not thriving foieajfoierjgiearfoijsdkgxh But like they would be doted on rotten that whole day! This is so cute! OMFG! And this probs means James became Prefect as well and so Remus gets to tease her when he sends her some sort of congratulations letter and she’s totally blushing and trying to hide her grin, and Lily retaliates by kicking his ankle tbh bahaha 

Okay also now I’m thinking of like Lily’s like fifth year, and her Muggle studies class is doing some sort of seminar to see if these idiots can actually survive in a totally Muggle area without a lick of magic, so like it’s spring hols, and guess who she’s partnered up with??? 

Cookies for you because we all know she had to work with James and Sirius lmfao!!! 

And she’s totally still trying to hide her crush on James— who’s nearly always leering and winking her way— and she might actually punch Sirius’s face simply because he’s such a smug bastard, and being from a working class family like herself, she’s like always ready to fight preppy rich boys tbh

So James and Sirius decide to plan out the simulation in her house that’s right outside Cardiff and Remus is cackling the entire morning before they’re set to arrive because she’s so pissy about it lmfao

Okay so like obviously the boys end up taking the port key and land in front of her place and it’s Remus who answers the door, still painted with humor because Lily was just screaming about “if Potter brings that insufferable snitch here I’ll bloody shove it up his arse” and James is immediately on the defense because Lily’s only ever talked about her sister and brother who live with her at home, and this dude is golden where she’s pale and has curls over her straight hair and just, obviously they’re not related by blood at all. And for his part, Sirius is like *Oh! Oh! Oh! Pretty!!! Pretty boy!! Muggle boy? Pretty Muggle boy!* 

But Remus obviously knows who they are straight away, so he like waves them inside before rounding to the stairs and calling for her to stop clogging the toilet or something else mortifyingly embarrassing, and Lily promises to put like pickles in the next set of face masks that they do because she knows how fucking allergic he is to them, and she wants her chuckles damn it!!  

“Potter— Black,” is how she greets them with a derisive sort of glower that Remus can completely see through, so he has to excuse himself while laughing over to the kitchen. “You’ve met my delightful brother I see.”

And James’s entire posture relaxes and he’s back to grinning like a dope, and the only weird part is that Sirius has got on the very same face, *Pretty Muggle boy is Evan’s brother* So like they are both scary levels of elated, rip.

But sucks to be Sirius because Remus leaves after that to meet up with a friend from town who’s also the best dealer tbh, and  so he has to deal with James’s awful levels of flirting with Lily while they scrounge up their itinerary to send their professor for the seminar type thing, and he doesn’t even have a pretty distraction XS

But Lily does force Remus to come along with her on the trip to London because “On God, if I spend a day alone with those bellends by myself I will punch a wall” 

And it is literally the worst, but best double date/first date that’s full of Sirius and James fucking up with everything— including asking some poor Tesco employee where are their fudgeflies and giving a homeless man a hand full of galleons and James’s snitch somehow ending up in the meaty hands of some kid at the tube. But also tbh it’s hella cute when Lily lets James give her his jacket when they’re walking along the Thames and it’s getting chilly, and when Remus lets Sirius share his stick of cotton candy and they both sorta stare at the sugar on each of their lips.

But then they go to some tiny museum, and while they’re looking at a impressionist piece, Sirius is totally trying to show off to Remus and is explaining how he could turn the bench their sitting on into a really nice bouquet of Lupins, and in the middle of his stupid showboating, Remus lightly corrects him on some facet of Gamp’s law, and Sirius freezes— shocked still— and he’ sort of gaping like an idiot, before Lily stops his blustering with a scoff “He’s a damn wizard also you arse.”

And Sirius is floundering for the rest of the evening, and he has so many questions, but they all die on his lips every time he glances over at Remus and he’s just smirking at him with this electric glint in his golden eyes

So obviously when they’re back at Hogwarts he pesters Lily every second of every day about Remus, and why he’s not at Hogwarts. “None of your fucking business.” And asking where Remus goes instead. “Beauxbatons, thankfully far away from you.” and he asks her about a thousand other questions that Lily either scoffs at or simply cuffs him around the head for daring to even try getting his address.

And she pokes fun about the situation to Remus and tells him how much more of an idiot he’s acting like, and how hilarious it all is. And she’s shocked when he responds to her letter merely by saying, “Hah- he’s cute.”

And so obviously she shoots back a reply that’s a letter of all his worst traits, mainly that he’s an arrogant toerag, and that he’s a posh idiot who could probably live off his inheritance for three lifetimes without blinking, and about how he doesn’t date anyone for longer than a couple months, and how he’s practically brothers with James bloody Potter, and yet again, Remus just tells her, Hah- he’s cute, before mildly moving to talking about his latest charms paper and how he’s been asked to be their DADA’s professors TA next year, and how Andrew keeps trying to try again with him but Remus would rather poke his eyes out with a spork.

So Lily is totally fuming when she recognizes that she’s lost and begrudgingly gives Sirius Remus’s info, after telling him lowly and with her most menacing glower, “IF you fuck around with my brother I will murder you without a flinch.” And she’s quite literally five feet nothing to Sirius’s broad, six-foot frame, but he knows that she could do it with a snap of the finger, and he promises that it’s not just a gag on his end. And Lily actually believes him.

So Remus and Sirius begin writing to one another a sickening amount, like so steadfastly that it gives Lily a complex whenever she finds Sirius waiting at the Owlry every Wednesday morning for the bird that arrives with two letters tied to it’s leg, one for each of them.

And God, one time, right before they let out for summer hols, Lily accidentally takes the one marked for Sirius— and holy christ!!!, She did not need to know just what exactly her brother has been getting up to in the sex department of things— like she legit contemplated using a memory charm on herself JFC

And Sirius probably ends up on their doorstep again in late July, with James at toe, and somehow their is a small harmony painted between the four of them, and it’s by Christmas of sixth year when James and Sirius begin talking about how amazing it’ll be when they’re actually in-law brothers, and Lily blames Remus for everything when she’s pretending to be cross over it, but then James puts his arm around her shoulders, and she sees how gentle Sirius is when he twines his fingers into Remus’s own, and it feels good, feels right. 

It feels like something that can be forever.

Send Me A Prompt/Chat With Me💜  |  My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Dorothea

I can’t believe I’m back! It’s been a little rough these past couple of months but I’m happy to be writing again and hopefully will bring it back to my daily routine! Taylor released a new album so of course I had to write something! I hope you guys enjoy, it’s just a little silly thing.

“We are a failure.”

“We have five Grammys.”

“We are a failure with five Grammys.”

Gavriel snorted at the same time Lorcan threw a piece of paper at Fenrys’s head. Rowan simply sighed, resting his head against the table and letting out a deep groan.

“Why can’t we release the album with twelve songs?” He raised his head, looking at his bandmates. “Every single song we tried to write this past week was absolute shit. I don’t want to shove some lame ass song on our album because my aunt feels like we should have thirteen songs like the last two albums.”

“Yeah, sure.” Fenrys snorted. “Why don’t you go tell Maeve that?”

Vaughan chuckled, putting the drumsticks down and walking to the table where Fenrys, Rowan, and Connall were sitting. Lorcan and Gavriel both sat on the ground nearby, ripping out bad half-finished lyrics from some notebooks.

“We need a vocalist, that’s why he won’t do it.” Vaughan singsonged, sitting by Connall’s side. “We have been trying to write the songs together, why don’t we try something each one of us wrote separately?”

There was a beat of silence. For the five years the band had been together, every single song had been written by all the members. Sometimes two or three of them would do most of the work, but out of their thirty eight songs, there wasn’t one that didn’t have a contribution from all the members. Yeah, they would write their own songs, but it was never really serious or even meant to be used in an album.

And because they weren’t serious or meant to be used in an album, they were either absolute shit or fucking personal.

Rowan held in another groan.

Lorcan shrugged, getting up and sitting by Rowan’s side. Gavriel did the same, sitting on the table head opposite to where Fenrys was.

“Ok, who’s gonna go first?” Gavriel clapped his hands. “Fenrys.”

“Why me?” He squeaked.

“Why not you?” Connall butted in.

“Yeah, why not you?” Vaughan backed his boyfriend.

“Rowan, this is a mutiny against me.” Fenrys turned his head to Rowan, pouting like a child.

Both Rowan and Lorcan smiled sarcastically, and the latter said, “you are not the one in charge. If it was a mutiny, it would be against Rowan.”

“Who asked for the vulture to speak?” Fenrys asked, eyes narrowing at Lorcan.

“Just show us a goddamn song, Fen.” Rowan sighed, rubbing his temples. A few years ago, he had insisted for Gavriel to be the leader of the band. The older man had refused profusely, and Rowan only found out why when he started being the leader.

He was surrounded by adults who had the money and influence of gods but acted like children.

It was like being a mother but without the Mother’s day gifts. No advantages, really.

As instructed, Fenrys presented three songs for the group. And then Vaughan did. And then Connall, Gavriel, and Lorcan.

“I don’t know how to say this politely…” Connall started.

“They are absolute shit.” Lorcan finished.

“Shit is a compliment.” Rowan nodded, letting out a straggled laugh. He scratched the stubble on his cheeks, a small sense of panic rising inside of him. It wasn’t that Rowan was shy— he had let go of his shyness a long time ago—, but that didn’t mean he liked to go around advertising his personal ideas to the world. Some lyrics drafts should remain just that— drafts. Not everything was meant to be heard by everyone. Gathering some of his courage along with the knowledge that an acceptable song was an absolute necessity, he sighed. “I might have something.”

“What is it?” Gavriel said calmly at the same time Lorcan grunted. “You have something and you let us go through the torture of listening to Fenrys’s ideas?”

“You hurt my feelings like that, man.”

Rowan ignored both Lorcan and Fenrys, turning to Gavriel. “It’s about a girl.”

The room was dead silent.

Rowan knew he wasn’t really the dating type, much less the type to write songs about love, but the absolute silence was a little offensive.

“Ok…” Vaughan said, a scary smile on his face. “That came out of nowhere.”

“You can love someone?” Connall asked.

“You can feel emotions?” Fenrys deadpanned after his twin finished his sentence.

Lorcan snorted and Rowan saw Gavriel biting the inside of his cheeks. Absolute regret washed over his body immediately, but it was too late to back down.

Rowan tried to play it cool, keeping any emotions out of his face. He shrugged, opening a notebook and tapping a pen against it. “Not anyone I’ve seen in years. I don’t even remember her real name.”

The Cadre exchanged looks.

“When I was a kid my parents used to send me to this summer camp. From ages six to thirteen there was this girl who also went every single summer. She was a year younger, but we were friends. Barely talked during the rest of the year, maybe exchanged a letter or two.” He continued, eyes skimming through the lyrics in front of him. “Childhood crush and all. I know her name started with an A… Maybe an E? The counselors used to call her Dorothy, and I thought it was Dorothea. Called her that for two months until she corrected me. The nickname stuck between us, so yeah, Dorothea is all I have. I was thirteen when I stopped going, so she was twelve. Probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Oh, that’s cute… Tragic young love and all.” Fenrys was smiling like an idiot, and Rowan rolled his eyes. He had never talked to anyone about Dorothea, not even his parents, not even when he was a kid. Life at home was shit during the whole year, but the summers? They were for late nights, swimming in the lake, running in the forest. They were sunny, and easy, and the few good memories he had from childhood. And she was in all of those memories— the girl and that fucking dog. Dorothea was the purest thing about his childhood, and he never wanted to have her memory stained by telling about her to his parents or school friends.

“Let me see this.” Vaughan said, taking Rowan’s notebook before Rowan could react. His friend’s pitch black eyes skimmed rapidly through the page, mouth opening slowly. “Holy shit.”

“It’s shit?” Lorcan asked.

“No, I mean holy shit as in this is amazing.” Vaughan looked up, brows raised. He passed the notebook to Gavriel, making both Lorcan and Connall move closer to read it too.  “You had this song for two years now according to the date on the edge of the page. Why didn’t you share?”

Rowan cleared his throat, regret just growing more and more. “We write every song together.”

“If every song you write is like this, then we should probably let you take care of this task from now on.” Lorcan said, taking the notebook and throwing it to Fenrys.

Fenrys’s was probably Rowan’s best friend. They knew each other for the longest, and even though Rowan would never admit it out loud, Fenrys was the closest thing he had to a family and his approval was important.

Fen raised his head from the notebook, dark eyes shinning as a huge smile broke his face in half. “We’re recording this. Today.”

Connall and Vaughan laughed, and Lorcan clapped Rowan’s back. “Good job, birdie.”

Rowan didn’t know exactly what he was feeling, but somewhere between absolute fright and excitement could probably describe it.

—————

“Rowan Whitethorn!” A female voice rang through the room, and every member of the Cadre winced.

“Your aunt is gonna kill you.” Connall said, face washed with fear.

Maeve Whitethorn was the scariest woman to ever walk this earth, and so Rowan didn’t think Connall was completely wrong about that.

And yet, when Maeve entered the room she was…

“What the fuck.” Fenrys blurted out.

Smiling?

“She smiles.” Fenrys loudly whispered to Lorcan, receiving a punch to his arm.

“You, my nephew, are a fucking genius.”

“Yeah, ok, what the fuck.” Vaughan asked from the drums.

“What did I do?” Rowan asked cautiously, afraid that his aunt had actually gone insane.

“Dorothea, that’s what you did!”

“People liked the song then?” Gavriel asked from the couch. “It was a filler song, but good to know that’s not forgotten.”

“Oh, you’re not understanding.” Maeve laughed. All the boys’ jaws went slack. “People are eating that song up. And I mean trending everywhere, top in every single chart… Everyone loves Dorothea.”

“But how?” Lorcan frowned. “We didn’t advertise it.”

“Because people love a real life story of love.”

With that comment, Rowan’s body went taunt.

What the fuck.

No one in the band had told anyone what the song was about, nor that it was a real thing. For all the world knew, it was just another song that the band wrote together. And that’s how it should have stayed. Rowan hated being the center of attentions, and hated even more when his personal life was the topic at matter.

Dorothea had been his secret for so long, and he really thought that the song would be a secretive way to tell the story to the world.

If people knew it was real, if people knew anything about it, it was obviously not as secretive as he thought it was gonna be.

Shit, Dorothea wasn’t even her real fucking name. There’s no way anyone could know that.

Unless…

“Wait, she heard the song?” Rowan blurted out, a mix of emotions making his stomach drop. That also wasn’t on his plans.

Fenrys’s eyes widened. “Dorothea came forward?”

“Holy shit.” Vaughan let out a nervous laugh. Connall put a hand over his mouth, and both Lorcan and Gavriel looked at Rowan.

The boys knew how Rowan wanted this song to go. Knew he didn’t want the real story to go around like this. Because when stories went around like this, people would start making theories, and harassing the girl, and just shoving themselves in situations that did not concern them. Rowan loved his fans, loved the world he was in, but he was also the first to admit how brutal it could be. It would only take one slip up, one fact about this girl that the media didn’t like, for the whole world to attack her.

Rowan tried to protect her from his fucked up life during childhood just to throw her to the sharks later on.

And yet, another part of his panic had nothing to do with the media and the fans. It had to do with her. What if she hated the song? What of she didn’t want that story to be told? What if she wished for a calm life where her presence would never be noticed by the media? Rowan couldn’t stop thinking about her reaction, if she had remembered him the first time she listened to it or if it took a while.

He felt like his own body was trying to suffocate itself.

Fuck, he was gonna vomit. Or maybe pass out. Shit maybe even pass out on a pool of his vomit.

Ok, that was disgusting.

“It wasn’t the girl who came forward, it was her roommate. Posted a video online and then boom! Global success.” Maeve said, not even noticing her nephew’s growing panic. “Wait, I’ll show you the video!”

Fenrys grabbed Rowan’s shoulder, sitting by his side on the couch as Maeve plugged her phone to the projector. Lorcan sat between Rowan and Gavriel on the couch, and Connall and Vaughan sat on the ground. All of them looked expectantly at the screen, waiting for the bomb to drop.

He was gonna see her again.

After sixteen years.

Shit, it was getting hot inside that fucking room.

The screen popped up, and a beautiful woman with green eyes and long dark brown hair showed up.

“That’s not her.” Rowan blurted out. She could have dyed her hair, facial expression changed over the years but… That wasn’t the girl he met during the summer. No, he would recognize her eyes anywhere, and they sure as hell weren’t green like his.

Maeve rolled her eyes. “I told you it was her roommate who came forward. Now watch.”

The video started playing, and the strong and excited voice of the smiling woman on the screen started sounding through the speakers. “Ok, so I was driving home the other day, listening to the new album of the Cadre when the song Dorothea came up, right? And I thought that it was a little strange for the Cadre to put a rerecording of a song on the album since they had never done it before.”

The girl started to walk around her apartment, excitement lacing every single word.

“But then I found out that Dorothea is not a rerecording. But that doesn’t make sense, because I was a hundred percent sure I already knew this story. I don’t know any Dorothea, and I sure as hell don’t know Rowan Whitethorn, so it made no sense that I already knew the story being told in the song.” The girl let out a laugh, entering a room inside her apartment. “For days I would listen to that fucking song and keep asking myself why I feel like I know it. It’s not from a book, a movie…”

She started pulling out a box from under the bed, smile widening.

“And so yesterday my roommate asked me to grab an old box of VHS under her bed when I saw this box.” She filmed a huge box in front of her, the lid barely containing all the photos inside. “And that’s when I remembered where I know Dorothea from.”

The girl laughed again, opening the lid and running her hand through the pictures. “I knew the story because she had told me years ago. Dorothea wasn’t her fucking name, it was her nickname.”

As if in slow motion, the brunette took out an old picture from inside the box. Rowan felt all the air leaving his lungs as he stared at it. The picture was a little blurry, but there was no mistaking it. It was eight year old him in swim trunks, his arm over the shoulder of a shorter seven year old blond girl. Her biking was pink and full of frills, her wet blond hair sticking to her shoulders. She was holding a small black puppy, the dog obviously trying to wiggle himself out of the picture. The both stood before the lake, smiling brightly, a bunch of teeth missing. The girl in the video turned the picture, and right there, written in a fading blue pen was what made the song so famous.

Dorothea and Roro and Toto. Summer of 2000.

The girl in the video turned the camera back to her, smile not leaving her lips. “She told me that the nickname was Dorothea because the counselors used to call her Dorothy. As in the Wizard of Oz. The dog’s name was Toto, and so she was Dorothy. But then, he understood it wrong and just called her Dorothea. And…”

“What are you doing in my room?” A sweet, soft, and low voice interrupted whatever the brunette was going to say. She let out a yelp, letting the phone fall.

And the screen went black.

The room was silent for a few minutes after the video was over.

“Well shit.” Fenrys broke the silence. “What are the chances of her being as beautiful as her roommate?”

Lorcan reached behind Rowan to hit Fenrys on the back of his head.

“We should put a gag in his mouth.” Gavriel sighed.

“Oh, kinky.” Fenrys smiled seductively and winked at Gavriel. If it weren’t for the absolute shock raging inside of him, Rowan would have laughed.

“Is there a video of her?” Rowan quietly asked his aunt.

She looked at him for a second too long before nodding. “Just a second, there might be one. She isn’t really one for the cameras, but I do think she showed up in a Halloween video.”

She wasn’t one for the cameras.

Shit, shit, shit.

She wasn’t one for the cameras and Rowan had made her existence global knowledge.

Maeve took a few seconds to try to find the video, smiling again once she found it.

“This is still fucking weird. Your aunt can smile.” Fenrys said, and Rowan was glad for the words. Everything was happening too fast and too slow at the same time, and Fenrys’s stupid comments were a good way of centering himself. Looking at his friend, Rowan realized that Fenrys knew exactly what he was doing. “I thought she had lost the ability when she was, like, five or something.”

“That would imply that Maeve was ever a child.” Vaughan whispered from the ground.

Connall snorted, and Lorcan tried to contain a smirk.

“Here it is!” Maeve announced.

As if the screen was a magnet, all the eyes in the room snapped back to it. They all watched the screen expectantly, and Rowan thought Fenrys was even bouncing on his seat.

A petite woman appeared, clad in a black dress that matched her pitch black hair and eyes. If Rowan wasn’t so distracted, maybe he would have noticed Lorcan’s low, and yet sharp, intake of breath.

The pale girl was in the middle of two taller guys, one with inky black hair with a crown on top of it, sapphire eyes contrasting with the blood red of his cloak, and the other one with golden blond hair under a pirate hat. The three of them stared at a tall woman dressed in what Rowan supposed was a reaper costume. The white blond hair and golden eyes made her perfect for the part.

“He’s a cunt.” The reaper girl said, picking her nails with a scythe Rowan wasn’t absolutely sure was fake. The girl behind the camera— the brunette that recorded the video that exposed the real meaning of the song, Rowan supposed— chuckled as the two other guys exchanged a humorous look.

The petite woman smiled, obviously in agreement with her friend. “He is, but that’s ok. Did Tam end our three year relationship, six hours before Halloween, through the phone? Yes. Were we planning on a couple’s costume and I was left like an idiot wearing an Evie O’Connell costume with no Rick? Yes. But that’s ok because I have…”

“Me.” That same low and soft voice filled the room again, and as if she was always the center of attentions, all heads in the video snapped to her. Even though she wasn’t on camera yet, Rowan could hear the smile in her voice.

The blond guy rolled his eyes. “You have a thing for dramatic entrances, Aelin.”

Aelin.

Her name was Aelin.

“Reason why I live, actually. But come on. Don’t I deserve a dramatic entrance when I look like this? I look rather fucking dashing as Rick O’Connell, don’t I?”

“She does.” The guy with inky black hair nodded towards the blond guy.

“Don’t encourage her.” The other grunted, shaking his head but obviously smiling. “If my cousin’s head grows a little bit more she won’t be able to pass through the door.”

And then, as if time itself had stopped that second, the camera turned to Aelin and all oxygen left the room.

“Fucking shit.” Connall breathed, and Rowan saw Fenrys’s jaw going slack from the corner of his eye.

In his defense, so did Rowan’s.

The woman— Aelin— was exactly what she had just called herself. Fucking dashing.

Golden strawberry hair pulled back into one of those high, terribly made buns, slightly tan skin, and bright blue eyes, Aelin was every inch dashing she claimed to be. The costume was exactly what Brendan Fraser had wore the majority of the movie, and hell if it didn’t fit her perfectly. Aelin had grown to be the most beautiful woman Rowan had ever seen, and he felt his heart doing laps inside his chest just like when he was younger.

Well, fuck.

“If she was Rick O’Connell in the movies I would have probably paid more attention.” Fenrys muttered, dodging another hit from Lorcan. “What?! Look at her. The girl looks like the offspring of an angel and a supermodel.”

Aelin grinned, straight white teeth biting her lower lip. “Thank you, Dorian. And, I don’t need encouragement, Aedion. I am quite capable of being narcissistic on my own.”

The girl with blond white hair chuckled. “You were supposed to be a reaper with me.”

Aelin fake pouted. “Elide, my dearest cousin,” Aelin said pointedly, eyes narrowing at Aedion. Elide, the petite girl dressed as Evie, bit her cheeks to keep a smile in. “Needed me. Put a crown on top of your pretty head and do a couple’s costume with your boyfriend, Manon.”

Dorian sighed. “I tried convincing her.”

Manon simply crossed her arms. “I don’t do couple’s costume.”

Aelin shrugged nonchalantly. “Pity.”

And then, much to Rowan’s absolute panic and fascination, Aelin turned directly to the camera. She was obviously going to talk to the girl recording, but Rowan could barely hear the words as her full face came into view. Aelin was beautiful, but Aelin staring straight at you? Breathtaking.

“Don’t you think it’s a pity, Lys?” Aelin asked innocently, but a smirk graced her lips.

The smile in Lys’s voice was obvious. “Oh, yes. A pity.”

Aelin smiled, turning to Elide with a raised brow. Her cousin gave a less vicious version of Aelin’s smile. “Such a pity.”

It was obviously some inside joke, because Manon grunted, rolling her eyes. “Are we going or not?”

Aelin rich laugh drowned the room before the video ended.

“Well.” Vaughan said after a few beats of silence.

“Well.” Gavriel agreed.

“Well.” Another voice came from the door, and Rowan had to keep a displeased grunt in as Erawan walked into the room. The man was smiling sarcastically, eyeing the frozen image on the screen hungrily. Aelin had thrown her head back, mouth half open as she laughed. “Would you be pissed if I asked her hand in marriage, Rowan? Quite a beautiful girl, your Dorothea.”

Rowan would have gotten up and punched Erawan if Fenrys hadn’t literally sat on his lap before he could do anything. His friend turned to Erawan with a smile on his lips. “Unfortunately, Ewew, I believe the lady in question must prefer to stick to humans. She doesn’t really look like the I-do-demons type.”

Despite the obvious tension in the room, Connall took out his phone and took a picture of Fenrys sitting on Rowan’s lap. Lorcan had his arm behind both Gavriel and Rowan, and Vaughan was sitting in between Rowan and Lorcan’s leg. “You guys look like a strange ass family. This is gonna be this year’s Christmas card. I’ll photoshop myself in.”

Lorcan snorted, shaking his head before looking at Erawan. “Let’s leave the girl out of this, alright? If any of us wanted to use her for advertisement, we would have contacted her ourselves.”

“I’m your PR.” Erawan smiled. He was, a fact that the whole Cadre regretted. All pf them waited excitedly for the day Erawan’s contract expired.

Maeve was hard and cold, Erawan was a straight up asshole. Not even his aunt could put up with him for long.

“A very unfortunate fact you never let us forget, Earwax.” Fenrys said, nodding diplomatically. “Very, very unfortunate.”

“I don’t want her involved in any of this shit.” Rowan finally said something, voice low and threatening. Just the thought of throwing his childhood friends to the wolves that surrounded his life made his stomach turn. “You are my PR, so do your job. Create a distraction, release some rerecording, book us some interviews… I don’t care, but I want the focus away from her. I don’t want her involved in anything, Erawan. I mean it.”

The room was silent, tension threatening to suffocate anyone who breathed deep enough.

To Rowan’s surprise, and some gratefulness, Maeve took a step forward. She unplugged her phone from the projector, and Aelin’s image disappeared. “I believe it’s better if we keep the girl out of this. She’s very low profile, private accounts on both Twitter and Instagram. Dragging her into spotlight might not be a good option, specially since we don’t know how she behaves, what it would do to the image of the band. We have a love story, let the fans speculate, do some theories. Everything will die down in a month and she’ll be able to continue with her life.”

For all her harshness, all her coldness, Maeve wasn’t a bad aunt. She started taking care of Rowan when he was fifteen, and although they never had a close relationship, Maeve knew how to help him whenever he really needed it. It was the reason why he asked her to be the band manager, despite her obvious dislike of the human race. She was smart, cunning, and, at that moment, was using both qualities to keep Aelin out of what would become a huge mess.

“If we bring her in, there is nothing to terrorize. Her personality will be real, not something fans can stipulate and mold to their liking. She’s young and private, throwing her to the media would be a carnage. Leave Aelin out of this.” Gavriel tried to resonate with Erawan, voice low and calm as always.

Erawan sat on a table, a fake hurt expression overtaking his features as he sighed. “If only you had told me that before.”

The pit inside Rowan’s stomach grew.

“Before what.” Vaughan grunted.

“Before I contacted the girl.” Erawan smiled, as Rowan felt all the oxygen leave the room. He stared straight into Rowan’s eyes, a cruel smile overtaking his lips. “Would you like to see your childhood friend again, Whitethorn?”

.

.

.

.

.

Tags

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @woollycat22 @julemmaes @claralady @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @heirofthenightcourt @booksbqueen @heirofthrnightcourt004 @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass

[earthlostgirl]

This is probably the weirdest fic I've ever written. ha ha ha ha ha But I wanted to see them in that situation....

New, Old life

When Spike opened the door, Faye was sitting on the stool, drinking something steamy from a cup. She smiled when he held out a sunflower.

“What have you done?” she asked, putting the cup down on the table and looking at him skeptically.

“Don’t you know what day it is today?” Spike asked, approaching her and holding out the flower.

“Would I have to know?” she asked as she took it.

“It’s our anniversary, it’s been twenty years since we met.” Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and stood in front of her, smiling.

“Twenty years? How old I am... I hate you for making me feel old.” Faye brought the flower closer to the face so she could smell it and smiled.

“You’re always so romantic.” Spike moved close and kissed her on the lips. “Are we alone?” he asked as he hiked her skirt up to her thighs.

“No,” Faye murmured, gently passing her hands down Spike’s back. “Vera’s in her room... with a boy.”

“What? Your sixteen-year-old daughter is in her room, alone, with a boy?”

“My daughter? She’s fifty-fifty yours...”

“I don’t think that’s funny.”

“Don’t be paranoid...”

“Paranoid? I lost my virginity when I was thirteen. I know very well what a teenager of that age thinks about girls... At her age I...”

“At her age, you had killed people. I don’t think they are comparable lives,” she interrupted him.

“I at least have memories of everything I did...”

“If she wants to sleep with that boy, she will wherever it is. I prefer it to be under my roof, so if she needs my help, I’ll be there to rip the balls off anyone who wants to go overboard with her,” he said, standing up. “But you’ve always preferred to shoot before you ask.”

Spike hated seeing that hurt look on her face. Over the years, he hadn’t learned to shut his fucking big mouth and stop saying things that hurt her when he got pissed.

He followed Faye into the room. Apologizing was another thing he hadn’t learned.

“Where are you going?” he asked, sitting on the bed.

“To get Jean from training.” Faye hadn’t learned to stop running away instead of facing problems, either.

“It’s two hours before she leaves,” he sighed, trying to remain calm.

“I know,” she replied harshly, as she was shoving things into the bag.

Spike set his eyes on the dresser. There was a little white box with a note on top. He walked over to look. It was a pregnancy test, on the note was written in Faye’s neat handwriting: “Dad?”

“Are you...?” Spike asked, showing her the package.

“I don’t know... I wanted to wait until you were here to find out, but since you’re an idiot,” Faye said, taking it out of his hands. “Now, fuck you.”

“Faye...” He made no move to stop her.

“Try not to kill the kid in front of your daughter. I don’t want you to traumatize her for life,” she snorted sarcastically.

She left the room without looking back, putting on her jacket and holding her car keys in her hand.

Spike just sat smoking in the kitchen, his eyes glued to the stairs leading upstairs. He heard a door open and laughing voice.

Vera came down the stairs, smiling. She was the spitting image of her mother; the same hair color, the same skin tone, she was tall and thin, she even had the same haughty mannerisms. She was followed by a boy, a 16-year-old teenager who was as awkward as a teenager could be, with messy hair and a little fuzz on his face.

Vera smiled in delight at the sight of him and hugged him.

“Why are you smoking?” she asked, pinning her brown eyes to him.

Spike shrugged and looked at the boy above her.

“Who is he?” Spike asked, looking at his daughter in a serious tone.

“Hello sir...” the boy stuttered nervously. “I’m Ricky.”

He nodded to him, and his daughter gave him a cheeky glance.

“He’s my boyfriend.” Vera shook the head, waving her long hair and placed her hands on the hips.

Spike held back a laugh as she pushed the boy in front of him.

“Want a beer, kid?” He asked, moving over to the cooler.

“I can’t drink alcohol... I’m a minor sir.”

Spike enjoyed making the boy nervous more than he had imagined.

“I didn’t ask you that,” he replied seriously.

“I... uh... I,” the boy didn’t know what to say or where to jump in, wondering if this was some kind of test he had to pass.

“Do you want one, sweetie?” Spike asked Vera, who smiled at him in disbelief with a hint of malice.

“That smile only works for your mother, so don’t even try it.” Spike smiled smoothly as he opened three beers and set them on the table. “If you think I don’t know you drink once in a while you’re very naïve.”

Vera took hers and raised it to her lips.

“I’ve only tried it,” she said, dropping her long eyelashes and putting on a sweet, girlish voice.

Spike raised an eyebrow in disbelief as he passed the other bottle of beer to Rick.

They sat on the couch, listening as Vera enthusiastically talked about her plans for the summer. Rick nodded, ready to follow her wherever she went.

A car horn blared down the street. Rick waved goodbye with a limp handshake, and Vera walked him to the door.

Spike sighed in exhaustion. She would be the one to break the boy’s heart, his little witch, beautiful and evil. The little boy looked up at her from the door with a goofy face and she blew him a kiss.

When he closed the door, Vera jumped onto the couch and snuggled up against him.

“You don’t like him at all, do you?” she said, taking the beer that her friend hadn’t even touched.

“You don’t like him either,” said Spike, taking the bottle from her hands and she pouted in disgust. “Don’t push it.”

She huffed, crossing her arms and leaning back on the couch.

“Have you finished all your homework?” he asked, lighting a cigarette. She gave him a grim look.

“You smoke too much,” Vera said, crossing her legs on the couch, “I don’t know how mom can kiss you if you taste like a cigarette butt.”

“Your mother quit smoking when she got pregnant with you,” Spike smiled. “She smoked as much as I do. She kisses me because she wants to taste cigarettes, not because she loves me.” Spike joked.

“Well, you could have quit smoking for her, couldn’t you?” She smirked mischievously “Or is it you didn’t love me? Am I an unwanted daughter? Did I destroy your dreams of being a rock star?” Vera put her hand to her forehead and threw herself on top of him. She loved drama. “You were forced to raise a child...”

“A demon is what I raised,” Spike said, grabbing her waist and tickling her.

Vera burst out laughing, kicking as she tried to get rid of him.

“I’m going to call Rick,” she said when she got rid of him.

“He won’t even have made it home...”

“I miss him already...” she said as she hummed up the stairs.

Spike heard the street door opening and a little girl with her hair in a messy ponytail came running in, leaving a sports bag on the ground, jumped on him, and hugged him.

Jean had the same skin color as him. She was lanky and thin. Just like Vera, she had the same hair color as Faye, dark and straight. She had huge green eyes and the same charming smile as her father.

“I pulled off an incredible goal,” she said, sitting on his lap. “You should have seen it. I tackled one of the girls, I got stitches,” Jean said, pushing her bangs aside and showing him the wound. “I broke two of her teeth.”

“But it was training...” Spike looked at her, smiling as he examined the girl’s wound.

“I don’t know where she got that habit of fighting until the last bloody second, even if she gets hurt,” Faye said, throwing her jacket on the couch.

“It was amazing,” Jean said, jumping to her feet, “I ran all over the field, Mel passed me the ball, I grabbed it hard, Judy ran to me and...” She couldn’t stop talking, she was hysterical, she was ecstatic, her big green eyes were shining with happiness. “I plated her, bam! I head-butted her, jumped over her, and threw with all my heart into the net...”

Jean jumped onto the couch and flipped over.

“I’m starving,” she blurted as she bolted for the kitchen.

“I think Ed bit me when I was pregnant with her and she’s infected,” Faye sighed, dropping onto the couch.

She looked at the beer bottles and the cigarette butts in the ashtray, gave him a questioning look, and kissed him on the lips.

“How I missed it,” she muttered, running the tongue over her lips.

Spike leaned in to kiss her again, and she pulled away, smiling as she put her hand to his face.

“Dad,” Jean shouted from the kitchen. “I can’t reach the cookie jar.”

“Do you have to scream like a manic?” Vera spoke, stepping up behind her and lowering the boat. “There is no way to talk on the phone .”

“You talk on the phone all the time,” Jean replied. “I don’t know how you have things to tell.”

“When you’re older, you’ll understand...”

“When you’re older, you’ll understand,” she mimicked her, sticking her tongue out and showing the half-chewed cookie in her mouth. “Snob”

“What a disgusting brat.” Vera gave Jean a shove and headed for the living room. “Mom! Tell Jean to eat with her mouth closed.”

“Eat with her mouth closed, Jean,” Faye sighed, looking at Spike, who leaned back in the seat with his hands over his head, putting his feet up on the table.

“But Mom,” jean replied, sitting back in the easy chair. “Vera started it. She said I suck.”

“You showed me the food.”

“Snob!”

“Monster!”

“Oh god,” Faye complained, holding her hands to her forehead. “I should have abandoned you in a basket downstream...��

“Mama!” said the little girl indignantly, squatting down on the couch and wiggling like a cat about to pounce on its prey.

Jean was about to jump on Faye, but Spike stopped her in her tracks.

“Enough, both of you,” he added, slinging the girl over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes, while she kept bursting out laughing. “I’m sure you have better things to do than fight and annoy your mother and me.”

Spike put her down, and Jean pouted at him, which he endured stoically before sending her to her room. Vera mumbled an “I can’t wait to be old enough to leave home” and left, huffing down the stairs.

They were alone in the kitchen again. Spike was sitting on the stool, turning in on himself, holding the sunflower in one hand.

Faye looked up at him as she nibbled on a chocolate stick. He stopped and held out his hand to her. Faye hesitated for a second, but she took it, and he gently tugged and caught her between his legs.

“Are you not angry anymore?” he inquired, taking her hands and caressing them gently.

“I can’t be mad at you, you just wanted to protect your daughter. I’m sure you’d kill the little girl who put a gash on Jean.” Faye kissed him on the forehead. “You even stopped the little girl from jumping on me, you can’t help it.”

“Are we having a baby?” he asked, clasping his hands behind her back.

“Yes...” Faye leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m too old for this now.”

“Sure, you’re over a hundred years old,” he teased, stroking her hair.

“Spike...” she broke away, looking at him, annoyed. He caught her before she could take another step back.

“Do you think the chromosome gods will give us a boy this time? There are very few dicks in this house.” Spike rested his hands on Faye’s belly and moved closer to speak into her belly button. “Olive, Can you hear me? Can you develop a penis for me?”

“What a fool you are,” Faye told, running her hands through his hair.

“I’m in the minority...” Spike pulled her to him and hugged her by sliding his hands around her waist. “You can conspire against me... And murder me and eat at my corpse...”

“You’re the king of the house.” Faye kissed him on the hair and he lifted her by the waist, sitting her on top of him.

“Shall we keep it a secret for now?” Spike kissed her neck, and she wrapped her arms around him as she nodded her head. “The girls are going to go crazy.”

“This still terrifies me like the first day,” Faye whispered, hugging him. “I still have nightmares about the Syndicate...”

“I know, I sleep with you.” he cupped her face with both hands and kissed her nose. “I have them too, but we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” she smiled frankly. “Happy anniversary, Spike.”

“Happy anniversary, Romani.”

by the way it's another girl

[idiopath-fic-smile]

hey hi I've been trying to write something, anything, and what came out is like 3k of an extremely stupid supervillain/superhero story that I’d been kicking around in some form like over ten years ago. it doesn’t map onto any kind of an AU so I guess it’s original fiction? enjoy?

Cityton Chronicles, part 1

The problem with carrying out an evil scheme, thought Edmund, was the scheme part.

Anyone could nurse a sinister thought or two; it wasn't that hard to shake one's fist at the sky and murmur, “You'll pay for this. With God as my witness, oh, you will pay” and then maybe cackle a little. That much was child's play. (Literal child's play; he had witnessed more than a few dire pronouncements from his classmates at Hawthorne Grimmsbury's Academy for Ominous Boys, especially when recess was threatened.)

Actually going through with a plan was a whole different story. There were logistics to manage. There were people to manipulate, details to babysit, hypotheticals to anticipate. The nitty-gritty, as it were.

Edmund was not destined for the nitty-gritty.

Although, wasn't that what useless people always said? “I'm more of a big-picture person.” Maybe he was useless. Maybe that was the issue. Maybe Edmund Malarkey, heir to Malarkey Industries, was simply not cut out for masterminding.

Case in point, he had a terrible feeling he was about to make a complete hash of the Ritual.

The parameters were clear enough: full moon—check. Chalk for pentagrams—check. One hundred lit candles—check. (Some were scented; the store hadn't had enough plain tapers in stock, but the text of the Ritual had been written well before the notion of pumpkin spice was a cozy twinkle in some godless marketer's eye, and so Edmund figured this would probably not disqualify him.) Thirteen hooded figures, all in black...

This was where things got dicey.

The first sign of the trouble to come was when Carl showed up in navy fucking blue.

Edmund pinched at the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, breath crystalline in the late November air. The invitations had been so specific.

“It looked pretty dark online,” Carl offered as the wind whipped at them atop the roof of the Cityton Natural History Museum.

“Pretty dark? Pretty dark? Did it look like the blackest black?” said Edmund. “Did it look like Anish Kapur's most haunting nightmare? Did it look like a raven's wing in shadow at the stroke of midnight, Carl?” Carl stuck out his chin. “It's almost black.”

“Yes, and bananas and humans share about sixty percent of their DNA, we're almost cousins,” Edmund told him, dangerously quiet, “but fortunately for you, I'm not going to peel you and eat you in a fruit salad, you buffoonish optimist.”

Edmund should never have relied upon his father's former henchpeople. They were loyal to his father; they looked upon him with bemused tolerance. He should've just gone ahead and recruited all of the necessary twelve people from Craigslist. He'd held off due to a suspicion that anyone he found on the internet would assume the Ritual was fundamentally a weird sex thing, but at least a bunch of kinksters would have probably taken the rules seriously.

He sighed. “Carl, there's a bodega down on the corner. Go buy two black trash bags and make yourself a garbage-robe.” Carl frowned. “Is there time?”

Edmund checked his phone. Eleven fifty-three. “Hurry. And save the receipt.”

Another gust of wind kicked up. Edmund shivered. He'd been smart enough to request a fabric swatch ahead of time from the Etsy store where he'd custom-ordered his own set of hooded black robes. He hadn't stopped to consider how warm—or not—a single layer of said fabric would feel well into autumn, completely unshielded by the elements. Theoretically, he could've crammed a coat under the robes, like a child wearing a Halloween costume in an unseasonably cold October, but no, he hadn't wanted to look bulky.

He checked the candles again, for want of anything better to do.

“Boss,” said a hesitant voice behind him.

“What is it, Stephanie,” said Edmund.

Stephanie had clearly repurposed her teenager's old Hermione costume as her robes, but she had bothered to remove the Hogwarts branding, which was something, at least. Beyond the fact that Edmund didn't feel like giving a repellent transphobe any extra attention, there might have been copyright issues.

“Is that thing about bananas really true?”

“Yeah,” said Edmund. He had read it many years ago, in a book titled 2002 MORE WACKY FACTS TO BLOW YOUR MIND AND AMAZE YOUR FRIENDS, which didn't seem especially pertinent. He did a quick headcount. Even without Carl, they only numbered eleven. “Where's Donna?”

“You should call her,” said Stephanie. “Donna never answers her texts.”

Edmund had been halfway through tapping out a text. Ugh, Boomers. Calling was for emergencies only; everyone knew that. Unfortunately, this qualified. He gritted his teeth and dialed.

Donna answered on the fourth ring. “What?” She sounded groggy.

“Did you,” said Edmund, still through gritted teeth, “forget what night the Ritual was?”

“Oh shit,” mumbled Donna. “Are you sure? I thought it was at noon tomorrow. Carl told me twelve o'clock.”

“At night,” said Edmund. “Twelve o'clock at night, this is a dark incantation to a primordial god, it does not overlap with daytime television.”

Just then, Edmund's phone beeped with another call. “Can you hold, Donna,” he hissed.

“Hey boss,” said Carl, “the bodega only has white or green trash bags, what's my next step?”

“HOLD,” Edmund shouted, switching calls again. “Donna, can you grab an extremely dark-colored robe and be here immediately?”

“Like a bathrobe?” said Donna, sounding lost.

Of course Carl had not bothered to relay the dress code. Of course he hadn't even managed to hand her the painstakingly crafted invitation. Edmund had used the nicest card stock available to him, not that it mattered.

“Uh, boss?” Leroy called over the roar of the wind. Edmund flexed his stiffening fingers.

“One second, Donna,” said Edmund.

“How much longer is this gonna be?” said Leroy. “Because I was gonna catch the late show tonight—”

“Watch it on YouTube the next day like a normal person!” Edmund snapped. “Donna—”

“I can be there by 12:40,” said Donna through the tinny phone speaker. “There's some errands I wanna run first.”

“It's the middle of the night, what errands!” said Edmund. “Donna, hold—” He switched back to Carl. “Listen, are you sure there aren't any black trash bags?”

“White or green only,” Carl affirmed. “Some of them are scented, do you think that would make a difference?”

“Boss,” said Frank from the other side of the roof, “we lost the chalk?”

“Hold on, Carl,” said Edmund. “What?”

“It was here a second ago!” “Did you secure the chalk against the wind?”

“What?” said Frank.

“The chalk, it's cylindrical!” Edmund managed to shout. “Did you do anything so it wouldn't just roll straight off the roof?”

Somewhere above the din of wind came the sound of a half dozen pieces of sidewalk chalk landing on the street five stories below and shattering.

Edmund buried his (cold) face in his (frozen) hands.

“Uh boss,” said Stephanie. “It's 12:01.”

Edmund sighed. The primordial god K'h'gg'ragel might have allowed for some creative interpretations on Ritual-adjacent matters, but everyone knew K'h'gg'ragel was a stickler for punctuality.

“Alright,” said Edmund, pitching his voice to carry. “Pack it in, we'll try again next full moon.”

“Phew,” said Leroy, who was wearing a thick downy jacket over his robes, and a hat with earflaps, and mittens. “It's cold out.”

“I FOUND A BLUE ONE!” Carl shouted from the speaker. “IS THAT ANY BETTER?”

Edmund turned his phone off.

Lighting and strategically placing one hundred candles had been something of an undertaking. Blowing them all out alone and stuffing them back into a series of duffel bags was somehow worse. Edmund was about half-done when he heard a distinct whirring buzz. He looked up.

It was Dragonfly. Of course it was Dragonfly, heading right for him.

Great. Edmund's first-ever showdown was going to be a one-on-one against a superhero armed with a jetpack, one hell of a punch, and electrified darts. Edmund was going to get flattened, and all before he even got the chance to point out that the darts and for that matter the punching didn't fit with the overall insect theme. 

“Hey man,” said Dragonfly, dropping effortlessly down to the roof of the museum. “I saw the lights from the sky, thought I'd investigate.”

They weren't fighting yet. Why weren't they fighting? Edmund's whole body fizzed with adrenaline. Also, cold. Either way, he was shaking a little, and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“And what, strike another heroic blow against the terror that is a bunch of sweater-themed Yankee Candles?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly shrugged. His costume included a bottle-green moto jacket and gloves. It looked warm, in a way that made Edmund feel even colder. “Sweater candles? What, like burning wool?” he said.

Privately, Edmund had wondered about that too. This, he decided obscurely, was another strike against Dragonfly.

“Maybe burning wool smells phenomenal,” said Edmund instead, rocking forward. “There's no way you could possibly know, unless you're here to tell me you've lit a sheep on fire, which seems well outside your whole—” he waved his hands vaguely “—moral compass.”

“Word travels fast,” said Dragonfly gravely. “I am foursquare against sheep-burning. Always have been.”

Edmund squared his shoulders. “So, are we doing this, or what?”

From behind his signature oversized goggles, Dragonfly's brow seemed to furrow slightly. “Doing what?”

“Fighting,” said Edmund. He had to grind his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“Ah,” said Dragonfly after a pause. “Oh. Um. Okay. Here's the thing?” He steepled his fingers. “You seem unarmed. You're not hurting anyone. You're also not committing any crimes.” Edmund opened his mouth to protest, and Dragonfly continued, “Or, okay, you're trespassing on the museum, I guess, technically, but it's not like you're even trying to sneak into an exhibit without paying.”

“I am here,” said Edmund firmly, “to perform a terrible and arcane Ritual which will summon—”

“Yeah?” said Dragonfly. “Where's your followers? Where's your summoning chalk? It's well past midnight and the only sign of any occult activity I can see is the candles, but for all I know, you were just up here trying to have a little me-time, which, like, on some level I get, you know?”

“So,” said Edmund blankly, “what now?” He had given up on trying to tense his jaw. His upper and lower teeth clacked rhythmically against each other.

“I give you a stern verbal warning about what's probably a minor fire hazard and recommend that you enjoy the museum from the inside, during business hours, with a ticket,” said Dragonfly. “I hear they have a great exhibit on prehistoric mammals. In the meantime, get somewhere warm, okay? Your lips are turning blue.” “Fuck off,” Edmund more or less managed to say through his shivers.

Dragonfly spread his hands, placating. “Fair enough.” He began to walk away. At the edge of the roof, he hesitated. “Uh, do you have a way down?”

“Obviously,” said Edmund.

“Yeah,” said Dragonfly. “Uh, okay.” They regarded each other. “What is it?” said Dragonfly after a few seconds.

Edmund froze. Or well, he was already half-frozen. Edmund stopped moving, was the point.

Apparently interpreting Edmund's silence as helplessness, Dragonfly offered dubiously, “I could carry you down?”

“How,” said Edmund, flat. It was the wrong thing to say, in that it wasn't 'No,' or 'Fuck off' again, something sensible like that, but damn it, he was freezing, and if he gave up the way he'd gotten everyone onto the roof, then this whole fucking evening was going to be a wash. He had tried so hard. It wasn't fair.

Dragonfly took a step closer. “Fireman or bridal?”

Edmund tried and failed to parse this three separate times in his cold-fuzzed brain. “Is that a meme?” he settled on finally.

“Do you,” said Dragonfly, “have a preference on how I carry you.”

“We haven't even established that you're going to,” Edmund said. Clackity clackity clack went his traitorous teeth.

Dragonfly sighed. “I can't leave you up here,” he said. “One, if I let you keep hanging out on the roof of the history museum, then technically I'm kinda aiding and abetting your whole trespassing situation. Two, it is really fucking chilly up here, and if you freeze to death, then that's on me. Which is also not, like, great for my conscience.”

“So I don't have a choice,” Edmund spat.

“You totally have a choice,” said Dragonfly. He tilted his head to the side. “Hell, you could do me a solid and just exit using whatever secret method you entered with, but I have a feeling mum's the word on that particular angle.”

This Dragonfly character was smarter than he looked. Of course, he was a grown man who fought crime dressed as a giant insect. The bar was not particularly high.

“Mum's the word?” Edmund echoed. “What are you, ninety?”

“I'm an old fucking soul, dude,” said Dragonfly. “Point being, you don't trust me not to watch you leave the roof. Which is hurtful, frankly. I'm not sure I trust you not to stay up here out of pure stubbornness. If I give you a quick boost down, then it's problem solved and we can both go about our nights. Crime-fighting for me, and for you hopefully a pile of blankets and whatever warm food rich people eat. Mashed potatoes? With...caviar?”

This clearly did not merit a response. Dragonfly knew who Edmund was, apparently. Most people did.

“What if you drop me?” said Edmund.

Dragonfly laughed. He had a nice laugh. It was yet another point against him, somehow. “Don't you think that might go against my whole—” he gestured with both hands “moral compass?”

Edmund recognized his own words being used against him. On the other hand, the thought of a hot meal and, moreover, central heating beckoned.

“I don't care,” Edmund said at last.

“What?” said Dragonfly.

“Bridal or fireman's carry,” said Edmund. “I don't care.”

Dragonfly nodded sagely. “Let's get this over with, then,” he said. “Hey, d’you want help with your candles?”

Did he? He didn't want to want help with his candles, but that was another question. On the other hand, if Edmund accepted Dragonfly's aid, it would shave off valuable minutes of this excruciating headache. The backs of Edmund's knees were cold. It was absurd.

“Fine,” said Edmund.

“Huh,” said Dragonfly several minutes later. “This one's rain-scented, and this one's Ocean Spray, and yet they smell nothing alike.”

Dragonfly had without fail commented on every single scented candle in the bunch. Edmund looked up from his umpteenth taper candle, momentarily distracted from the knifelike chill.

“Rain and ocean are two completely different things,” said Edmund. “The surrounding environment, the vibe, the salt content.”

“The vibe, I grant you,” said Dragonfly. “But salt, really? Have you ever smelled salt before?”

“The ocean has a smell,” Edmund insisted. His family had summered on the coast every year before—well. Before last year. He mostly remembered the sea as having a whiff of fish about it, which didn't sound promising for a candle, but it was the principle of the thing.

Dragonfly shrugged. “You've got me there,” he said. “Never been.” Cityton was only about an hour's drive from the beach. Edmund wasn't sure he knew anyone who had never visited at least once, for a long weekend at least. Of course, it wasn't like Edmund knew Dragonfly. He didn't even know what Dragonfly's eyes looked like.

Edmund blew out another few tapers.

“This one's just called Singing Carols,” Dragonfly announced. “Guess what it smells like, I dare you.”

And so on.

In the end, Dragonfly carried Edmund off the roof of the Natural History Museum scooped under the armpits, the way you might hold a cat if you were engaging in some light cat-related horseplay. The mechanical dragonfly wings were well-made, Edmund could admit that much; Dragonfly didn't seem to have any issue bearing Edmund's weight or the combined weight of the candles, and their feet gently touched the ground after only a few seconds. It was already slightly warmer—or at least slightly less freezing—on street-level.

Dragonfly let go and stepped back immediately. This close, Edmund could see that his lips were pretty badly chapped. It made sense that someone who donated all their time to—again—flitting around town trying to right every minuscule so-called wrong while dressed like a bug wouldn't be experienced enough with self-care to be acquainted with a good lip balm, but the thought made Edmund weirdly a little sad.

His sense of deeply ingrained politeness warred against the equally powerful urge to be a real bastard about the whole thing. In the end, politeness won out, by the very skin of its mannerly little teeth.

“Thank you for not dropping me to my almost certain death,” Edmund gritted out with extreme reluctance. He stared over Dragonfly's shoulder as he said it.

Nevertheless, for some awful reason, for just that moment, it felt a little like the end of a date.

“Right,” said Dragonfly. “Right. Well then. Happy trails.” He seemed to consider this. “Or you know, if doing crimes is what makes you happy, then for the sake of Cityton, let's say, mediocre trails. Do you wanna borrow my gloves?”

“Why,” said Edmund flatly.

Even though the goggles completely obscured much of the upper half of Dragonfly's face, Edmund had the distinct sense that a disbelieving stare was being leveled at him.

“For your hands? You know, the traditional office of gloves?”

As the scion of Malarkey Industries, Edmund was long accustomed to being hated for who he was. Hated, feared, not-too-secretly envied. And lately: mocked, dismissed, his family name transmuted into a juicy, low-hanging punchline for lazy late night writers.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been pitied before. It did not sit well.

“I'll warm my hands on the fires of hell while I plot your demise, you miserable fool,” growled Edmund.

“Yikes,” said Dragonfly easily. “Well, I'm off.” And with that, he took to the sky.

Edmund curled his fingers into the sleeves of his stupid, summer-weight summoner's robes and started back towards what remained of his home.

[cyhyr]

Whumpmas in July: Mistake

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: E

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka

WC: ~2910

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: Oral sex, Dissociation, Triggers, Hair-pulling, Aftercare, Vomiting, Past Abuse, Past Mizuki/Iruka, flashbacks, Self-Esteem Issues

A/N: I'm. Not comfortable in my ability to write smut. And so we throw in whump to cover up the fact that I don't know how to write smut.

A sequel to "Sleep"

For @whumpmasinjuly prompt list

Read On The Archive

~

When Iruka gets stressed, he cleans. Obsessively. The day after his and Kakashi’s failed first time together, Iruka scrubbed the grout in his bathroom for hours before realizing that maybe it was gray on purpose, to accent the white tile. He couldn’t find it in himself to feel stupid; his bathroom was clean and he was no longer stressed about what he’d done—or, as the case was, not done.

Today, he preemptively organizes and dusts the bookshelves. Do they need it? Not particularly; he’d dusted the whole apartment top-to-bottom three weeks ago when he’d said something dumb at one of his and Kakashi’s dates. He doesn’t remember what it was he’d said but it was… urgh.

He’s going to see Kakashi again tonight. He is excited. They’ll have dinner, then go for a walk, and then Kakashi will walk him home. That’s when Iruka will ask him to come inside and he will get over himself and finally sleep with his boyfriend.

But if he thinks about it too much his chest starts to ache. Therefore: dusting and organizing. He can’t think about Kakashi’s dick when he’s trying to sort out his fūinjutsu scrolls from his teaching references. He can’t think about how much he wants to do literally anything else besides getting naked with Kakashi. He can’t think about… about how, in the wrong lighting, Kakashi and Mizuki look similar enough that—

Iruka drops his dusting cloth and runs to the toilet.

~

The date goes well, their walk through Konoha is relaxing and perfect, and like always, Kakashi asks if he can walk Iruka home.

“Of course,” he says. He leans into Kakashi and relishes the arm around his shoulders. His own arm is loose around Kakashi’s waist. They’re not far from Iruka’s apartment, so they take their time and stroll slowly, silently.

It’s nice.

(It’d be nicer if everyone would stop staring at Iruka like he’s the shit on the bottom of Kakashi’s sandal. He knows Kakashi can do so much better, but could the village curb their disgust just a little so he can enjoy the time Kakashi deigns to give him?)

They stop outside Iruka’s door and Kakashi politely steps back while he works the wards. He keeps a hand on the small of his back, but his body is turned away to face the village. Iruka appreciates the gesture, even though he’s vaguely sure that Kakashi could break through his wards if he really wanted to.

“I’ll see you later, then?” Kakashi asks after the door swings open.

“Or,” Iruka loops his fingers in Kakashi’s vest and tugs gently. Kakashi comes closer like it was his own idea, his arms slipping all the way around Iruka. “You could come inside,” Iruka murmurs against Kakashi’s mask, letting the double entendre hover between them.

Kakashi walks him into the apartment and closes the door behind them. He crowds Iruka back against the door. “Get your wards back up,” he growls, pulling his mask down and kissing Iruka’s neck while his fingers unbutton the civvie shirt Iruka had chosen to wear for their date.

Oh, but pulling his hands away from Kakashi’s body, even long enough just to put the wards back in place, is hell. He places his palms on the door behind him and shivers while Kakashi touches him and moves from his neck to his jaw and back to his ear. Iruka finishes the wards at the same time as Kakashi slips free the last button on his shirt and pushes it aside.

Iruka fumbles with Kakashi’s vest zipper while they slide Iruka’s shirt off his shoulders. Kakashi’s thigh gets in-between his legs and presses up and Iruka dies a little, moans and closes his eyes. Iruka’s shirt goes… somewhere, along with Kakashi’s vest, and then his uniform shirt.

They’d gotten further before; not too much further. Iruka pulls Kakashi out of the genkan and together, they stumble through the living room and down the hall to his bedroom. Along the way they lose his belt and Kakashi’s trousers, and they have to stop in the same place they had last week so Iruka can shove his palms in Kakashi’s underwear and grope him mercilessly.

It’s here, mere paces from his bed, with Kakashi’s cock in one hand and the firm flesh of his ass in the other, that Iruka quiets the panic and ache in his chest, and mutters, “I’d really like to find out how you taste.”

The look Kakashi gives him is almost enough to drop him to his knees right there. Kakashi takes his hands and pulls them away from his body, and then drags Iruka the rest of the way to the bedroom. Iruka can’t help but giggle at his enthusiasm, and smiles into the kisses Kakashi draws him into once they’re in sight of the bed.

He pushes Kakashi to sit down. Kakashi’s mouth drifts down his body to his chest, his arms wrapping around him to hold him close. Iruka pets silver hair while Kakashi licks and nips at him, groans when he sucks one of Iruka’s nipples into his mouth and tongues at it. Kakashi slips a hand down the back of Iruka’s trousers, palming his ass and groaning against his chest. Iruka gasps, swallows the newly rising panic, and pulls away just enough to place his hand along Kakashi’s cheek and jaw, to thumb at his lips.

Kakashi nips him. Iruka breathes and grins.

He goes down slowly, willfully the opposite of how Mizuki always wanted. Mizuki had always wanted to hear Iruka’s knees hit the floor; it made him feel powerful or something, Iruka isn’t sure anymore. But he knows he has to do this differently than he used to, or he isn’t going to make it through without panicking. So he relaxes between Kakashi’s legs, braces his hands on the mattress on either side of his hips, and glances up to catch Kakashi’s eye as he leans in and noses Kakashi’s erection through his boxers.

“Iruka—” he chokes. His lips part and his chest heaves. He keeps his arms locked behind him, propping himself upright.

So far, different reactions than he’d ever gotten with Mizuki. Good. Iruka is going to need to latch onto that, should his head start going fuzzy.

Iruka breathes in Kakashi, bitter and dark and unfortunately so much like Mizuki. He’ll get past it. He tips his head and mouths at pale inner thighs, delights at the gasping sigh he gets in return, then looks back up and projects his movements enough to let Kakashi know; he pulls on the waistband of his boxers and Kakashi helpfully lifts his hips so they can pull them off. Iruka lets them pool around his ankles because holy shit he’s got better things to do.

Like—

He takes the tip in his mouth and they moan in harmony. Bitter arousal settles on his tongue and clings to his lips as he slides down KAkashi’s thick cock, and oh gods it hits his throat too soon. He whimpers, pulls back, tries again; he gets Kakashi to slide down his throat a little bit that time.

Like—

Iruka touches Kakashi’s thighs, drifts his fingertips over the thin skin of his hips, cups and fondles his balls. He closes his eyes and his stomach clenches and his pants are tight. He’s turning himself on by touching Kakashi and it’s a rush he hasn’t felt in so long. Since before he and Mizuki attained chūnin, when they were still too young. When he could still reasonably delude himself into thinking that Mizuki loved him.

Like—

“Oh gods, oh fuck, Iruka, please please please let me touch you too, you have no idea how beautiful you are right now, so perfect, so—shit, so hot, please Iruka I wanna touch you please.”

~

So he does something stupid.

Something catastrophically stupid.

But gods, Kakashi’s cock was in his mouth and he was so turned on for the first time in-in years.

And he acts on instinct.

~

Kakashi is trying. So… hard. Not to explode. But Iruka is between his legs, licking and sucking at his cock and touching him so gently. So gently it fucking hurts and it hurts so good. So he babbles.

He’s not proud of it. But he gets turned on, and his mouth starts running. There’s a reason he doesn’t do honeypot missions. He did one and nearly got himself and his contact killed.

Then Iruka takes his hands and places them on his head, looks up at him with a mouthful of cock and fucking hums, and Kakashi shivers and threads his fingers through beautiful brown locks. Iruka goes back to touching him and Kakashi relishes the texture of soft hair under his palms.

Iruka’s mouth is a warm vice around his cock. He gently urges Iruka’s head further down until he’s comfortably down Iruka’s throat, feeling Iruka relax around him and whimper and groan. His lips are stretched obscenely around Kakashi’s cock; he drops one hand away from Iruka’s hair to thumb at his lips. He’s drooling a bit. Kakashi wipes it away.

“So good, Iruka,” he mutters. Iruka whines below him—he tightens his hand in his hair. “Gods, look at you, so perfect, taking me so well. No gag reflex—if you wanted, I could fuck your throat all night, couldn’t I?”

Iruka sucks his cock tighter. Kakashi gasps.

“Close,” he grunts. “Can I—oh fuck—can I come in your mouth? It’s okay if not, I get most people don’t like it but please you’re so good I don’t want to pull out.”

He doesn’t back off. He doesn’t stop. His tongue moves more if it’s possible. Kakashi shuts his eye.

“Iruka, please, I really need you to—ahh. Yes or no. Can I—shit shit fuck oh gods Iruka—!”

Then he has both hands in Iruka’s hair and his cock pulsing down Iruka’s throat and he’s in heaven for a spectacular, perfect, thirteen seconds. Iruka continues to swallow around him while he catches his breath, until he edges into overstimulation and pulls back.

Iruka whimpers and licks at him as he goes, and Kakashi can’t help but chuckle and hold Iruka’s face. “That was amazing. Are you—Iruka?”

Iruka’s breath is stuttering again. He’s still looking at Kakashi’s dick, but he’s dazed and his eyes are unfocused.

Kakashi reaches down and pulls his boxers back up. “Shit,” he mutters. He brushes hair away from Iruka’s face and tips his chin up so he’s not staring at Kakashi’s crotch. “Fuck, hey, Iruka? Iruka, please, please talk to me. You were able to talk before. What do you need?”

No response.

“Shit.”

~

Iruka drifts.

He knows his chest aches, but he stopped feeling it a minute ago. His scalp tingles, but it’s better than the pain he was in before Mizu—Kaka—um. Before. Before. He’s nauseous, and he knows as soon as he resurfaces he’ll need to throw up and Mizuki’ll be furious—no, Mizuki’s gone.

What do you need?

How does one say that one needs to be used? How does he tell someone that, in order to feel… right… he needs Mizuki. Mizuki’s the only one who could love him, right? Even if he didn’t, in the end, he’s the only one who could, and that made all the difference.

Shit.

Shit, indeed. He can’t. He can’t tell anyone. He’s stuck now, he’s stuck here, his scalp aching after his hair’s been pulled and his stomach turning, full of come. He wants Mizuki. Mizuki doesn’t leave forever. It’s been so long, but Mizuki always comes back.

What did Naruto say about these episodes…

Nononono

“No, gods, please, I’ll be good, don’t hurt him.”

He knows his voice is small, his throat is wrecked from the cock he’d sucked before. But whoever’s in the room with him—and he can be reasonably certain there’s someone around him because he hasn’t dissociated alone in over a year and a half—crowds him, picks him up, and places him somewhere soft.

It’s not… it doesn’t work with the rest of his memory.

Naruto’s safe, Iruka. You’re safe.

Safe? He hasn’t been safe with—with—hmm.

He’s on… he’s on his bed. Alone. Not-not alone in the room. He can’t tell who/what/when but he’s not-alone in his room and there are fingers gently stroking his arm from elbow to wrist.

Please come back.

“Please, Iruka, come back to me.”

Oh.

Iruka blinks and his chest aches and his stomach turns and Mizuki is kneeling next to his bedside; blinks and it’s Kakashi, still shirtless and keeping a good distance.

Oh, Kakashi.

It’s. It’s sweet. Not what he needs, or wants, but sweet all the same.

“K’kashi?” he mutters.

“Oh thank fuck. Are you okay? Can I get you anything—water, snack, blanket? Do you need me to leave, stay, what? What can I do for you?”

Iruka smiles as best he can. He reaches out with the hand closest to Kakashi and brushes his own fingers against Kakashi’s still-bare cheek. “Water would be great, please,” he says.

Kakashi nods, and turns his lips against Iruka’s fingers briefly before leaving. He’s still in just his boxers—he never left his side while he dissociated. He could have. Iruka would never have known.

Then his stomach flips and Iruka covers his mouth and jumps up, stumbling to the bathroom. He doesn’t get a chance to close the door, and barely lifts the lid on the toilet. His knees slam against the tile and he heaves, bracing one hand on his belly and the other on the toilet seat. Tears collect in the corner of his eyes and he sobs after the fourth and final heave.

“Iruka?”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. He spits, flushes, and closes the lid. He’ll clean later. Gods, he’ll clean later.

Kakashi is beside him, helping him stand with strong hands on his elbow and back. Iruka stops to wash up—hands, teeth, rinse, toss the toothbrush—and then they continue back to the bedroom. Well, they almost go back.

Iruka stops in the doorway.

It smells of musk and sex. His stomach tries to flip again.

“I can’t—Kakashi, I can’t go back in there right now, please don’t—”

“Hey, shh,” Kakashi pulls him back and leads him down the hall to the living room. They stop briefly to pick up his trousers, but not long enough to put them on. He guides Iruka to sit at the kotatsu, lifting the quilt to settle him underneath. “Do you want me to bring you a shirt?”

Iruka nods shakily. Kakashi leaves and comes back quickly with a glass of water, and before he leaves again he brushes a kiss on the top of Iruka’s head. Iruka snuggles under the quilt and breathes, trying to figure out where he went wrong.

They’d stripped—fine.

He’d gotten his mouth on Kakashi—fine.

Found out Kakashi is really chatty during sex—had a suspicion about that, nice to have it confirmed.

Kakashi wanted to touch him, too—that was—

Oh. Um.

Kakashi called him “good.”

Not good.

Kakashi pulled his hair.

Iruka basically did this to himself, didn’t he?

Kakashi comes back, trousers on and a uniform shirt in hand. He stops in front of Iruka and asks, “Can I join you?”

Iruka tries to answer by lifting the quilt.

Kakashi shakes his head. “Verbal response only, please. I… for my peace of mind.”

He can’t help a soft smile. “Yes,” he whispers.

And Kakashi falls to his side and hands him his shirt. He pulls it on and curls up next to Kakashi, breathes in his skin and realizes he must have stopped off at the bathroom to wash up.

“We need to talk about this,” Kakashi says, holding him close. “Not now, if you can’t. But as soon as possible. I can’t—I can’t hurt you like this again, okay?”

Iruka nods. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—”

“It’s my fault, Kakashi. I… I thought I could do it. And I was the one who didn’t stop when it was too much.”

“Were you able to stop?”

Iruka blinks. Lifts his head and looks evenly at Kakashi. “What’s that mean?”

“In your flashback,” Kakashi scowls, “would you have been able—allowed—to stop?”

His mouth goes dry. He looks away.

Kakashi’s hand cups his chin and draws him back. “This is why we need to talk it out. I need to know your limits. I need to know your triggers. I need to know your tells.”

Iruka closes his eyes. “I—I don’t know a lot of it. Naruto knows… some of it. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Kakashi tips their foreheads together. “We’ll get through this. I’m not—I’m not gonna leave just because loving you is tricky.”

Love?

“Also, that blowjob was excellent and I’m very much looking forward to the day I can get another one without triggering you.”

Iruka laughs sadly. “Sorry to say, I think if you’re looking for ways to avoid, um, that… blowjobs are off the table for the foreseeable future.”

Kakashi hums in response. “I’ll go without. I can go without anything and everything if it means I get to keep this.” He pulls Iruka ever closer and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Iruka hesitates.

“Just a kiss, I promise.”

Iruka nods, confirms, “Just a kiss,” and presses their lips together chastely.

[eat0crow]

Not So Dead

Summary: Kakashi’s regretted a lot of things in his life. More than he can ever hope to put a number on. He never imagined not being more philosophical would make its way onto the list.

Notes: Written for @amusl02 as part of the @akatsuki-gift-exchange. I”m so sorry this is late!

You siad you wanted angst so I tried to be emo about it :D

_____

Kakashi’s never cared enough to worry about whatever bastardization of the afterlife his soul would end up in.

Most shinobi’s don’t as a general rule. How can they when they stain their hands with enough blood to fill hundreds of small basins for a paycheck? Sure, there’s a few like the Hyuga and the Uchiha, whose clan lore glamorizes battle so much they have a clear picture of their soul’s destination. But the general population of nins are more than happy with understanding that wherever their souls go...it can’t be anywhere good, and leaving it at that.

Avoiding the afterlife is a much more pressing, present, concern.

But fuck if the information wouldn’t come in handy right about now. He’s regretted a lot of things in his life. More than he can ever hope to put a number on. He never imagined not being more philosophical would make its way onto the list.

He should have listened to Sasuke when he’d had been explaining, in excruciating detail, to Naruto and Sakura just where the departed go, last night when they set up camp. He would have, but the temptation to remind Sasuke that technically, he was oversharing clan secrets, had been at the tip of his tongue and—

Seeing Sasuke start to open up, even if it was over something morose like death, with progress that was downright groundbreaking for him, kept Kakashi from saying anything. He’d never heard the boy talk even a third as much. So what was the harm in him giving away lore.

Sasuke is the clan, it’s his right to decide what gets guarded fiercely and what gets given away freely.

Tuning the kids conversation out, while immediately satisfying, evidently, had been a mistake. Because Kakashi has no fucking clue where he is. Probably not hell? He feels like his soul would be a lot more tormented than it is right now, if it was. Definity not heaven. Not ever heaven. Not after Rin. Or Obito. Or Kushina. Or Minato. Or—

All he knows for a fact is that he isn’t alive anymore. He can’t be. And it’s not the darkness that’s telling him that, not the nothingness or the weightlessness or the cold that seeps into his bones and bites at him harder than the chakra exhaustion that knocked him out had.

No, it’s none of that.

No.

It’s Obito that lets him know that he’s no longer part of the world of the living.

Obito, who’s older than he was the last time Kakashi saw him, who’s his age, which makes sense and doesn’t at the same time. Death, he supposes, gets to make its own set of rules. Whatever they are, aren’t nearly as important as the fact that Obito is here.

Not as the boy Kakashi remembers, who’d been sunshine and summer, warm smiles and endless hope. Or even as any of the variants he’s spent years creating as the answers to half his ‘what ifs’.

No, he’s here and all hard edges. Mangled and torn and cold and so much more beautiful in that he exists. That he’s in front of him. Kakashi has missed him, more with every precious person he’s lost, and the longer he’s lived. Seeing him with his arms crossed, with an orange, swirled mask dangling from his side that screams Naruto, is like stepping back in time. He feels like a genin. Albeit one with slightly more trauma, not to say he didn't already have his fair share than.

The glare on his face is like none of the expressions Kakashi can remember from his friend, but exactly what he always imagined when thinking about them meeting again in the next life. It causes a weird sense of validation to flood him. How could any of the people Kakashi failed possibly do anything but hate him?

Saving Kakashi was the last thing Obito had done, and for what? Him to turn around and kill Rin? For him to shove his hand through her chest and carve out her heart with lightning? Obito loved Rin, in every way he couldn’t. Didn’t want to, for that matter. Kakashi was happy to let her love him, if it meant she was happy and stayed in his life. Existing in her life, being her friend, was enough—all he was capable of.

Rin, was a butterfly. She was always destined to outgrow him once she found someone who loved her back, in the way she wanted and not just in the ways he could manage. She deserved to. Rin was amazing and wonderful and worth so much more than team seven.

He’d have been more than happy to let her fly away, if fate hadn’t been a bitch that decided thirteen was old enough for her to die.

“Bakakashi.” There’s a warning in Obito’s voice, his eyes are murderous, and it goes against every single one of Kakashi’s instincts to stay where he is. Not that he thinks he can move much. Apparently dying doesn’t come with a healing session, he still has all his injuries, and he feels just as drained as he did in Wave.

“Obito,” he finally says, he’s doing nothing to disguise any of the complicated knot of emotion that’s had more than a decade to tangle up from his voice. Maybe Obito will hear it and be able to understand them more than Kakashi himself does.

All he knows is that he’s feeling something.

Whether it’s a good something remains to be seen.

Though, he doubts that he can be part of any something that’s good.

Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, they’re proof of that. He’d worried so much about them getting to keep their childhoods, he hadn’t actually prepared them for the reality of shinobi life. Despite team 7’s history of cursed C ranks, he’d let them take this mission with nothing more than academy skills and D ranks under their belts. Fuck.

And now he’d gone and died on them. He’d left them behind in the middle of Wave with no one.

Desperately, he hopes they have the common sense to terminate their mission and return to the village.

Realistically he very much doubts they do.

“Pay attention to me, God damn it,” Obito hisses at him, voice sharp-edged and dripping with venom. He’s standing at Kakashi’s feet, kunai angled toward his throat. When did he get there? It’s hard to focus in wherever the fuck they are. “I guess some things never change, huh?”

“That’s not true,” he answers, he can’t stop himself. It’s Obito. No amount of post mortem introspection is going to prevent him from being at least a little bit of a bastard to him. “I’m taller than you now.”

Obito’s breath catches. He freezes, goes impossibly still, his fingers curling around the hilt of his knife so tightly his arm shakes. “You don’t get it, do you?” That’s not his angry tone. No, Obito's beyond that. This is his furious one. The one Kakashi never actually heard but always assumed he had. “Unbelievable. Fifteen years. After fifteen fucking years, here I am, a living corpse standing over you with a knife to your god damned throat and you still won’t take me seriously.”

“That’s not true,” Kakashi says, only, his words come out thick, slurred together around his tongue and the black spots thickening in his vision. “I always pay attention to you.”

How could he not?

Above him, Obito looks seconds away from dismembering him. He says...something. All Kakashi can hear is the rush of blood in his ears. Whatever cutting remark that Obito has to say—that Kakashi deserves to hear—is lost over the sound of his breathing.

He doesn’t want to pass out. Not when he’s just gotten Obito back and there’s a good chance he’ll wake up somewhere else, alone. He doesn’t know how this whole afterlife thing works. He’s terrified that if he closes his eyes, he won’t have the chance to find out.

It doesn’t seem to be up to him, though. The darkness keeps slipping into his vision, the cotton clouding his brain getting thicker with every second he forces himself to stay conscious.

The last thing he sees before he's swept away in the waves of chakra exhaustion is Obito’s face, hovering inches from his own with something that might have been concern flashing across it.

Kakashi’s next return to the land of the not so living (purgatory?), is a bit easier. There’s less of the bone-deep cold from before and more of the floating sensation. Like he’s stuck somewhere with just enough gravity to keep him steady in one place. He doesn’t hurt as badly, the only aches he feels are the ones he’s always had. It would be stranger for him to wake up with them gone, so he counts himself fully healed.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, his muscles stiff and protesting even with the simple movement. His side is tender, but, considering Kakashi remembers his ribs being broken by that fucking overgrown sword, it’s nothing more than an inconvenience.

“It’s not the same if you roll over and die,” a quiet voice says, off to his left. Kakashi blinks, his mask is gone, so is his hitai-ate. All he can do is run his hands over his face and blink the last bits of sleep from his vision. Obito’s breath doesn’t catch when he turns to look at him, which makes sense, assuming he was the one to take his mask off in the first place. And really, who else is there to do it? “I have to be the one to kill you.”

“Sorry,” he manages after what feels like a small eternity. His brain hasn’t caught up with his tongue just yet. “You can. If you want to.”

Keeping his shoulders intentionally relaxed, his movements loose and lazy in a way that takes effort, Kakashi reaches toward his thigh, grabbing the tanto still strapped there. For a moment he weights the blade in his hand. It's standard issue, the same one given out to all jounin. Nothing remarkable about it.

Handle out, he offers it up to Obito.

And Obito stares, for a long endless moment that stretches into the next. Around them the landscape echoes the tension in his shoulders, the dark grey nothing rising up into jagged peaks, sharpening with every fraction of tension that makes its way into his frame. “Just like that. After everything, you’re not going to fight back?”

“I would,” Kakashi says, looking away first. “If it was anyone else.”

“Then why?” Obito asks, searching.

Kakashi cuts him off before he can continue. “Because you deserve to. Obito, I’m the reason you died, if anyone has the right to run a blade through me it’s you.”

Long, spindly fingers curl around the handle of the blade, and even though they don’t touch his skin, Kakashi can feel the phantom sensations of them across his hand. “I’m not killing you for me, dumbass.”

Kakashi swallows hard around the lump in his throat. He still doesn’t turn to face him. It’s weird seeing Obito with only a single Sharingan flashing red in his face. In a way, it’s a bit like seeing his own reflection mirrored back to him, and Kakashi has never been good with looking at his own face. “I know, and if Rin or Minato or Kushina was here I would let them kill me, too. But they’re not.”

“So what,” Obito scoffs, harsh and cruel as he throws the tanto sheath. “I’m the consolation prize? A get out of jail free card? I’m here so I might as well absolve you of your guilt like a convenient little escape-goat, is that right? Do you even care?”

Obito laughs. It sounds like a sob. Like something wretched from a wounded animal that’s hurting and has been hurting for so long it’s forgotten how to feel any differently. Kakashi hates that sound, he really really hates it.

Before he can help himself, Kakashi turns, grabbing the hand not clutching the blade between them in a white-knuckled grip that looks painful, and pulls. The tanto goes chattering forward and Obito is mashed against him into something that might resemble a hug and what feels more like a lifeline.

“Of course I care,” Kakashi says into the crown of Obito's hair. He smells like clay and metal and something not quite natural that doesn’t matter nearly as much as his warmth against his chest. “You’re not an escape-goat Obito. You’re the one I owe the most to. I’m sorry I couldn’t find some way to make it up to you before I died and ended up here.”

Against him, Obito stiffens further, pushing away with bony elbows that dig into his stomach until clawed fingers make their way into the skin of his shoulders. Obito holds himself there, arms-length away and propped up enough for Kakashi to have to crane his neck to make eye contact. “Wait. What? Kakashi, where the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Kakashi says, doing his best to make his voice come out breezily. “I don’t know anything about the afterlife”s geography.”

Obito pinches his side, hard. “You’re not—Bakakashi—I’m not dead. Neither are you.”

“Wait, what?”

“How you—this whole time you thought you were dead?” Obito shakes him, throwing his whole body weight into moving Kakashi’s upper torso. “You were going to let me kill you a second ago!”

“In the metaphorical sense.” Kakashi raises an eyebrow at him, the confused look on his face natural with not even a bit of exaggeration. “I figured after you got your justice, I’d move on to whatever hell comes next.”

“You were bleeding when you came here. You’re sitting in a patch of dried blood right now.”

“I haven’t died before, I don’t know how death works.” Kakashi shrugs.

For all he knows the afterlife could just be a really bland version of...well life.

Maybe if he wasn’t recovering from the after-effects of what he now knows for a fact had originally been a concussion, he’d be a lot more suspicious. Probably not though, because even without the head injury he’d have a lap full of Obito and there is absolutely no way he could be skeptical about his living or dead status with his arms around the ghost of a boy he watched die.

“My heart's beating, you idiot.” Obito protests, reaching down and placing Kakashi’s palm flat against his chest. On reflex, Kakashi tries to jerk it away, the only time he ever touches anyone's chest is when he’s tasked with carving out their heart. Obito’s grip is crushing, though. He holds his hand there firmly in place, not allowing even a fraction of give. “Don’t you think It would be a lot more still if I was a ghost.”

Kakashi wants to say he doesn’t know. Wants to point out that he can’t feel Obito’s heartbeat through the overwhelming panic that's nipping across Kakashi’s skin—and fuck, if he didn’t already have enough triggers, he should have expected to have a little trauma surrounding this. He can’t get the words out of his throat, though. Not through his breathing, that’s coming out in harsh pants. Not over the panic attack that had no business ruining this and is a good chunk of time past due.

For his part, Obito just watches him through it. Immovable as he keeps his grip welded around Kakashi’s wrist.

Eventually, after however long time takes to move here, he forces his mind to steady itself and compartmentalize this into the little boxes in the far-off corners labeled do not revisit. When he finally does feel, not okay, he’s too shaky for okay, but solid, he makes the effort to feel what Obito’s trying to show him.

When he does, he’s met with the steady thump of a heart beating under his hand. It feels like a bird, beating its wings—and that’s enough of the fragile animal metaphors for today, thank you very much. “Oh. Oh you’re real.”

Obito blinks at him, and the final bits of anger that have steadily been falling away, drains out of him. “Yeah,” Obito breathes, letting go of Kakashi’s hand, finally, and slumping forward, back into his arms. “Yeah, Kakashi, I’m real.”

“You’re alive,” Kakashi whispers. His grip must be painful, but he can’t stop himself from tightening his hold. Afraid that Obito will slip away as some figment of his imagination the second he eases up. “You’re alive.”

“Come on now,” Obito huffs. Something hot makes its way to the crook of Kakashi’s neck. He can’t be bothered to check and see which one of them is crying. “You didn’t think I’d actually let Iwa kill me, did you?”

Yes.

Yes, Kakashi very much did. If he had suspected for even a second that Obito was still out there, somewhere, alive and whole, he would have hunted him down with enough vigor to make his ninken jealous.

But saying that feels cheap when actions speak louder than words and enough time has passed for anything along that vein to ring as hollow platitudes.

Kakashi thinks Obito expects him to get angry at him, to demand to know where he’s been for the last fifteen years. Don’t get him wrong, Kakashi wants to know, he really desperately does. But the answer isn’t nearly as important as the fact that Obito is alive and whole and with him, so instead he settles on asking, “Where is here, then.”

Obito lets out a breath, slumping impossibly more against him. “This is a part of Kamui. Somehow when you exhausted yourself, you managed to find your way into the pocket dimension created by the Sharingan. Since we share the same set, we can access the same place. You’re lucky I was already here. You really would have been dead if I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Kakashi says, simply. He supposes, in a way it makes sense. Their Mangekyou can banish objects, it has to have a place to send them to. Maybe he caught himself in the reflection of Zabuza’s water prison.

Kaskshi closes his eyes, content to just hold Obito there. It’s not like he’s gotten the chance to be close to anyone recently, physically or otherwise. So while he’s hyper aware of every inch of skin Obito is touching, it feels good. In a reassuring, alive, kind of way.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, the only sounds around being their combined breathing which quickly takes the place of white noise.

Obito’s the one to break it, turning his face against Kakashi’s chest and looking up. “Hey, Bakakashi, if I asked to kill you right now, would you let me?” His voice is soft without the venom in it, with nothing to hide the uncertainty.”

Kakashi doesn’t have to think about his answer before he responds, “Yes.”

He’s not his father, he’s not about to throw himself down on his own blade just to run from his ghosts. But, he thinks if one of his ghosts, the one that’s not quite dead yet, wants him to be, that’s okay. It’s different.

“You’d really give me your life, just like that?”

“Just like that,” Kakashi agrees, because it really is that simple. For him at least.

He hopes though, that Obito will want to wait just a little bit longer to kill him. Kakashi’s waited so long to see him again, he’d hate to have to wait until the end of Obito’s life to do it. Though, that would be fitting, in an ironic sort of way.

“In that case,” Obito starts, moving to stand up. Kakashi helps him the best he can, supporting him with a gentle hand against his back even if he misses the warmth instantly. “Will you come with me?”

Part of Kakashi wants to ask Obito what he means, won’t he come back with him? Back to the village, to Konoha and….and a stone carved with the name of almost everyone that made the place a home.

A large part of Kakashi, the part that makes him bite his tongue, reminds him that Obito’s had fifteen years to make his way back to the leaf. Back to him. If he was going to return to the village it would have happened by now. No. If they’re going anywhere it’s going to be on Obito’s terms.

This time it’s Kakashi’s turn to chase after him.

So he doesn’t have to think about it before responding, “Okay.” The only thing truly holding him back is….Naruto, who won’t get another instructor who will look at him as anything but a monster and fuck, he can’t abandon him again, not after finally being allowed to see him. And Sakura who’s going to be flushed out as a paper nin, which is a complete waste of her potential. And Sasuke, who’s going to be snatched up by Danzo’s grimy hands the second he comes back to the village with no one to keep him in the light and away from the shadows and— “But I have some kids I need to pick up first.”

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 2:

“Say ‘please?’”

“Fuck off, Greenbriar.”

“Close enough.”

Previous

Read chapter 2 on AO3 or read below:

This is the shape of my nightmares:

My sister Taryn and I are thirteen years old, sick and miserable. We’ve just endured our first heats and stayed home from school for a week with doctor permission. Even now, we feel residual awfulness: headaches and sore muscles. Heats are painful when there’s no one to help you through them, and obviously we’re too young to mate. We sheltered in our rooms, and our adoptive father briefly hired an omega nurse to tend to our high temperatures and help us wrap up in blankets, so at least we felt safe and cocooned.

Everybody knows why we missed school, and they whisper about it behind our backs. Even before we presented, our designation was obvious. The rest of our class—the rest of the school—is alpha kids, and the ones in our year have all started growing out of their baby fat, shooting up like wheat stalks. Taryn and I are only barely taller than we were last year, our cheeks are still soft, and we are gaining weight in our hips and chests. Everything about this is awful. Nothing is fun.

We are outside for gym class. The alpha kids, growing into their bodies, have a lot of extra energy, so they need to spend time circling the track or tackling each other in games of capture the flag. Taryn and I will join them until we get tired, but if we show signs of flagging, we’re benched. Omegas aren’t as sturdy. Omegas break.

Today, the teacher is more generous. During our game of capture the flag, she simply mandates we play defense, guarding the precious flag, and abstain from running around with our classmates. It’s boring, but fine. We get to talk to each other while the alphas tussle among themselves upfield.

Except a few of them are “on defense” today too—the alpha elites, too lazy or too important for gym, who can slack off. As the only two omegas on school grounds who aren’t staff, Taryn and I are categorically beneath their notice, but we know every member of the clique by name: Locke, the son of a wealthy consultant who’s never home, always traveling; Nicasia, whose mom is a senator; Valerian—nobody knows what his family does so we all kind of assume it’s crime; Cardan, the youngest of six heirs to the most absurd family fortune this side of the Rockies.

Already, they are taller than us, stronger than us, looking unfairly sculpted in the autumn sun. Already I am aware of how we are different.

Then the wind blows past me, picking up my hair. And the scene changes.

The first thing I notice when Cardan unexpectedly strides toward me is that he smells amazing. He smells so incredible that I goggle at him for a second, baffled by how I somehow didn’t notice this about him before. I feel a clenching in my stomach and the urge to do something, although at the time I don’t know what. And then, while I am paralyzed by his scent, he gives me a hard shove for no reason, knocking me off-balance.

I land on my backside, an embarrassing but safe place to land, padded with muscle and fat. Our adoptive father always taught us that it’s better to land there than anywhere else, better to suffer a little humiliation than to crack your skull open or shatter your ankle or wrist. It still smarts, but at least the only thing bruised is my pride.

Then Valerian throws his head back and laughs. “That’s where she belongs,” he crows. “On her back, like a good little omega.”

Nicasia thinks that’s hilarious. Locke raises his eyebrows, blinking at us with large, tawny eyes. And Cardan, the instigator. Cardan just sneers.

That sneer has haunted me. I’ve seen it countless times since then. He starts holding his nose when he passes me in the hallway. Whenever I get complacent, he makes sure to whisper in my ear that I reek. He and his friends seem to find it more fun to bully the alphas smaller or weaker than them—omegas already know their place, after all—but that does not protect us when they’re bored, or when said alphas further down the food chain need to take out their own aggressions.

I think they thought it would break me.

They couldn’t know it would do the opposite.

---

“Jude?”

I open my eyes to a darkened room, and groan. I feel vaguely like I’ve been run over by a truck, then the truck stopped and someone picked me up and threw me in the back of it, and we proceeded to drive down a very bumpy road. In other words: like shit. My head throbs, and when I try to sit up, the world spins and I flop back over.

“What happened?” I mutter. Everything is greyish and blurry. Dim light seems to be filtering in from somewhere above my head and to the left, but there isn’t very much of it. I hold my hand up in front of my eyes and squint at it until I stop seeing double.

There’s a relieved sigh from somewhere past my hand. A male voice. “You’re okay.”

I make a second attempt at sitting up and am more successful this time. My shoulder scrapes against a wall to my right, so I lean into it. The light source I clocked before is a small window, longer than it is wide, set high up above me. And on the other side of the room, sitting across from me, sits the dark shape of a boy, or a man, or someone caught eternally in between those two things.

Cardan.

I blink at him. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, you too.” Cardan rubs his eye. He isn’t sneering now. In fact, he looks worse than I’ve ever seen him. His hair is messy—which is nothing new, people are doubtless running their hands through it all the time with how perpetually tousled it seems—but there are circles under his eyes and he looks pale. He’s also bleary-eyed and squinting a little. He doesn’t seem to have any visible injuries, though, although jury’s out on whether that’s good or bad. I’ve often thought he could stand to get pushed around a little more, instead of always being the one to do the pushing.

“I gave you the mattress,” he says, gesturing at what I’m sitting on. “There was only one.”

I look down. I’m indeed sitting on a mattress. There’s no linens, but someone has thrown a slightly scratchy blanket over the lower half of my body. I peer around, dread sinking in as I begin to grasp the severity of our situation. “Oh, fuck.”

“I think it’s ransom,” Cardan volunteers. “I mean, I really can’t think of anything else it would be.”

I hug my arms to my chest and say the thing drilled into every omega’s brain since they’re old enough to wander off from their parents. “What about sex slavery?”

“Yeah, there’s not a huge demand for alpha men on the black market. Although…” He looks down at himself and smirks a little. He’s built like a classical sculpture and he is well aware of this fact. “Can’t blame them if they decided to make an exception.”

It’s impossible to think he’s making a joke about this, not when it’s actually a thing that could happen to me, a possibility that my stepmother Oriana warned us of ever since she married Madoc and inherited his adopted twins. Sex slavers looking to snatch up omega girls became our bogeymen.

But the odds are that Cardan’s right: it’s probably ransom. I imagine people would do and have done worse to get their hands on a fraction of the late Eldred Greenbriar’s billions.

But I say, “Maybe someone finally got tired of you being annoying as shit.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Feeling mouthy, are we?”

“Fuck off. This is your fault,” I accuse, wagging a finger at him. “You did this.”

Cardan blinks at me. “What, you think I kidnapped myself?”

“Not literally.” I slump back against the wall. “Although it seems like something you would do. You love attention.”

“Ah, yes. All of the attention I am getting from you in our cozy eight-by-ten cell. I’m just soaking it in.” He pantomimes splashing water on his face. “Great for the skin.”

“You’re in a playful mood.” But of course he’s feeling better than me. He would have needed a larger dose—of the chloroform? ether? they used on us to get us here—but he also would have bounced back quicker. Everything about alpha biology is kind of extra like that.

“I joke a lot when I’m nervous.” He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I am actually freaking the fuck out.”

“Oh, great.”

“I do have water, though. Thought that might interest you.”

I sit up a little straighter. “God, my head is killing me. Yes.”

“Say ‘please?’”

“Fuck off, Greenbriar.”

“Close enough.”

Instead of getting up, which I think for a moment he might, he rolls the half-empty bottle of water across the floor and over to me. It bumps against the edge of the mattress and I have to lean over to grab it, which nearly makes me hurl then and there. The water helps, though. It’s room temp, but even a mouthful makes me feel more like a person.

“It’s not drugged,” Cardan calls. “Surprised you didn’t ask in advance.”

I flip him off. After I’ve drained the last of the bottle, I let myself just breathe, counting backwards from ten in my head. There are many warring emotions vying to tip me over the edge of a panic attack, but I can’t let them. I have to get out of here.

Cardan flicks at a bit of dust on the floor. When I am on three, he interrupts my mindful breathing. “You realize that, technically, we have now swapped saliva?”

“Ew.” I throw the empty water bottle at him and am annoyed when he catches it effortlessly from the air. “Could you be, like, useful for once in your life?”

“Sure.” He leans forward and lowers his voice, like he’s afraid someone might overhear. “There are three of them. One’s a woman, I think the other two are men. The only one I’ve seen is tall and white and barely spoke a word to me. He dropped off the water when I was still groggy.”

That is useful. Dammit. I frown. “Designation?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t get a read on him. I think they might be using maskers for their scents.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I exhale. “Tall” doesn’t have to mean alpha—my sister Vivi, who’s shorter than me, is proof enough of that. But it doesn’t sound good. “Any idea where we are?”

“I don’t think we’ve left Long Island. I don’t know for sure, though. We could be in Jersey for all I know.”

“Right.” I sigh again and rub my temples. “Okay, so ransom. Ransom. You could technically pay the ransom yourself, right? You’re over eighteen—”

“I’m twenty.” When I blink at him, he clarifies, “Repeated sixth grade, remember? And I just had my birthday in July.”

How could I forget? My life wasn’t exactly blissful before he came along, but it definitely got worse when he got bumped down to my year. “Okay, you’re twenty, and your dad died last year. So you’ve got your own money now.”

Cardan raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Real considerate.”

Now is definitely not the time to quibble over manners, but I manage, “Sorry, I guess.”

“Don’t be. He was a dick.” I glare at him, but he ignores me, patting down the pockets of his skinny jeans. “Huh, you know, when they took my phone and my wallet, they must have also taken the special checkbook I keep on me just for hostage situations. Think they’d accept Venmo?”

“Very funny.”

“But the real issue here is that I can’t touch my trust until I turn twenty-one.”

I wish I could say that didn’t interest me, but it does. Sure, Madoc has money. He’s a ruthlessly efficient attorney with killer instincts, and, among other prominent clients, he’s represented Cardan’s dad and both of his older brothers at one point or another. But he’s not among the alpha ultra-rich. Private helicopter rich. Secluded island rich. And I’m nosy enough about how the point one percent of the one percent lives. Anyone would be. So I ask, “Why’s that?”

“Why did my dad do anything?” Cardan folds his hands behind his head. “To make my life difficult, I guess. It was probably to ensure I wouldn’t embarrass myself by buying and crashing seventeen Porsches in a row. Give that frontal lobe time to develop. He’s not here to say. Anyway, Balekin’s the trustee. Maybe there’s some clause about life-threatening emergencies.”

Balekin is Cardan’s oldest brother, but thinking about siblings makes me wonder, with a pang in my chest, about Taryn. What had she done when she and Locke couldn’t find me at the party? Had she panicked? Had she gotten home safe? I don’t want to think about Madoc because he’s probably freaking out in a big way, a side of him I have only seen once before, the last time someone threatened me. It’s more likely that he’ll tear the kidnappers limb from limb than give into anybody’s demands. I hope Balekin has a more level head, although given his reputation for throwing massive parties, I am not counting on it.

“Right,” I say. “So they’ll hit up Balekin for the money?”

“Dude, I don’t know. Honestly? He might have staged this himself to get at the trust, or more likely my stake in the corporation. In some ways, I think it’s better for my family if I disappear.”

It surprises me to hear him say that. “Wouldn’t—that would be a huge scandal, though?”

I don’t say what I think, which is Don’t they love you? But there’s a pretty big age gap between Cardan and his oldest siblings. They could be practically strangers for all I know.

Cardan just shrugs and looks gloomy.

“I don’t think they planned on getting me, too,” I say quietly. There’s only one mattress in the room. One bottle of water on hand for when Cardan woke up. And anyone who thinks they can extort “Mad Dog” Madoc is definitely biting off more than they can chew. But that curdles my stomach, because if Cardan hadn’t chased me down the beach, I probably would have woken up in my lavender canopied bed, safe. Probably with a killer headache from overstimulation, but safe. As safe as I can ever be.

“Yeah,” Cardan agrees, which doesn’t help me feel any better. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, Balekin better pay up in the next forty-eight hours, or we need to figure out how to get out of here. Otherwise we’re going to have problems.”

“We are?”

I swallow. I hate that I have to spell it out for him. But I keep my voice even, casual. “Unless you’ve got spare heat suppressants on you.”

Cardan looks dumbstruck. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Shit, no. I must have left them in my other jeans with my hostage checkbook.”

I feel myself blush, which is ridiculous. Unregulated heat cycles, messy and inconvenient as they are, are nothing to be ashamed of, as everyone says. Just a quirk of biology. Just the way I am. There’s even a group of pretty radical omega activists out there fighting to destigmatize unregulated cycles, citing the damage that suppressants can wreak on the body. Except my designation is going to be pretty problematic if I’m locked in this room with Cardan for reasons other than societal stigma.

To be honest, it’s already a problem. The room is probably ten feet long, not long enough for us both to lie down across from each other without curling up to avoid touching. I am already hyper-aware of his presence, the nervous drumming of his long fingers, the terrible urge I have to run my fingers through his already messy curls. It’s just chemistry, but if it’s bad now, it’ll be about eighty times worse for both of us if I go into heat.

And if any of our captors are also alphas…

I shake myself all over. I can’t go down that road. I’ll never pull myself back. I’ll just curl up in a little ball and then it’ll be up to Cardan to save us, which, no thank you. “Yeah. So, one way or another we have to get out of here.”

Cardan goes pale. “Jude, I—”

“So we assume nobody’s coming,” I continue. “Use the next twenty-four hours to figure out as much as we can about the people who’ve taken us and where we’re being held, and the next twenty-four to escape. That’s the plan.”

“That’s a reasonable plan,” he says, vaguely startled.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. You were valedictorian, of course you have a plan. Just, uh, my mind went totally blank when you pointed out you’d—”

“We don’t have to talk about it, okay?” I snap. “I assume you want that just as much as I do.” Which is not at all.

The way he pales further tells me I’m not far from wrong. I mean, he’s always made it clear how much he’s hated my scent, the way I look, the fact that I get better grades than him. He hates pretty much everything about me, because I am an omega and he is an alpha, and that means he should be on top of the world and I should know my place.

I massage my temples, trying to clear my head. “No, we’re going to get out of here before that happens.”

For reasons I can’t pretend to understand, that seems to reassure Cardan. He nods and unfolds his arms, letting his head fall back against the wall. His eyes close. “Okay.”

I am surprised that he seems at all willing to trust me, but I suppose he is pretty low on options. That’s his mistake. Already I am thinking of what a relief it will be to leave him behind, even though I know that, morally speaking, I should be formulating an escape plan for the both of us. Besides, abandoning Cardan to his fate wouldn’t really solve any of my problems. But I wouldn’t have to face his sneer anymore, wouldn’t have to wonder what it would take to convince him I have earned my place when the answer is clearly “Nothing, ever.”

“I just have to figure out how,” I mutter under my breath.

Cardan cracks one dark eye open to look at me, but I ignore him, staring up at the little window. There has to be a way to crack this place open like a nut, and if there is, I’ll find it. There is no other option but this, no other way but out.

I refuse to believe otherwise.

Next

[itsadamcole]

you’re not broken

fem!reader x kyle o’reilly

reader and Kyle go back to reader’s home in Philadelphia for Christmas. little does Kyle know that reader’s mother isn’t the nicest person .... “i promise you that you’re not broken”

word count: 2.5k+

warnings: angst, mentions of death / plane crash, verbal assault, fluff

— day 3 in a row ... out of (hopefully) 25 —

masterlist || request an imagine here

part 2

***

You smile as you walk up to the front door of your childhood home. Your boyfriend's hand in yours. You hope to God that your parents and siblings will be nice to you. Maybe because Kyle is here then they might.

Christmas at home hasn't been the same since your older sister's plane crash. It's been two years but since the year after she died, your family hasn't been treating you like they used to. They've started comparing you to your sister that passed, telling you that you'll never be like she was, telling you that you'll never achieve the same success that she did in WWE.

It hasn't been the same since she died. You miss your sister. You were best friends and tag partners. She was so understanding when Kyle asked you to join the Undisputed Era and was so supportive when you had a storyline against her after you joined the Undisputed Era.

Kyle knows about some of what your family has said to you, but he doesn't know about what they've said about you and comparing you to your sister.

Speaking of Kyle, he senses you're nervous even though you have a smile on your face. He tightens his grip on your hand and he says, "Relax, Y/N. If they say something to you then I'll make sure to say something back to them. No one hurts my girl without consequences."

You look up at Kyle and say, "You're the best." You smile.

Kyle smiles down at you and pecks your lips before you knock on the door.

There is shuffling behind the door as you smooth out the front of your dark red dress and move closer to Kyle.

Your younger sister, who is thirteen years old, answers the door. "Y/N! You're here!" she says happily.

"Hey, shortie," you say, laughing. "You're not exactly short anymore, are you. You're almost as tall as me. Have you grown since I last saw you?"

She giggles and says, "It's been a little bit since you've seen me, Y/N. Come home more often." Her giggles stop and she starts to pout.

You hug your younger sister and say, "I would love to come home but I have a title to defend." You look at Kyle. He smiles at you.

Ever since your parents changed their attitude toward you, you've stayed away from Philadelphia. You've been staying with Kyle in Orlando to be close to the Performance Center and Full Sail. You haven't been back home since July and it's now December. Your sister turned thirteen in the time you've been away.

"I know," your younger sister says. "I just miss you."

You kiss the side of your sister's head and say, "I miss you too. You can always come down to Florida. I'll even buy you a plane ticket if you want to come visit. Maybe get Y/B/N to come with you since he's 18."

Your older sister was almost 30 when she died. You're 28. There's a ten year difference between you and your brother and your youngest sister is 13.

Y/S/N says, "If Mom and Dad will let me go. They've been strict since the accident and they won't even let us get on a plane."

"I'll talk to them tonight," you say. "Maybe you guys can come spend New Years with Kyle and I."

Kyle nods and says, "The boys will be there too with their girlfriends and wives but we'd love to have you come down, Y/S/N."

She smiles and says, "Yay." Your sister skips inside the house and you sigh, looking up at Kyle.

"Are you naturally that good with kids or what?" you ask.

Kyle laughs and says, "Naturally that good."

You smile and reach up, pressing a kiss to Kyle's lips. You walk into the house holding Kyle's hand.

"Mom!" you call. "I'm here!"

Your mom says, "In the kitchen, sweetheart!" You walk into the large kitchen. You're greeted with the smell of roast beef as soon as you walk into the kitchen.

Y/B/N sits at the kitchen island with Y/S/N and they're playing something on Y/B/N computer. You run up behind your brother and attack him with a hug from behind. "Hey, baby bro," you say.

"Jesus, Y/N," he gasps. "You scared me and I'm trying to win as imposter."

That's when you realize he's playing Among Us. You see his name in red. "Ooh," you giggle. "Let me in at some point tonight. I wanna kick you ass."

You, Kyle, and your siblings laugh. You mother scolds, "Y/N! Language please."

"Ass isn't a bad word, mother," you sigh. "Relax."

Kyle looks at you then looks at your mom, who says, "You know such language is not allowed in this house."

You roll your eyes and say to your brother, "I'll play after dinner, if I'm still here."

Your brother nods and you take Kyle's hand, leaving the kitchen and walking into the living room. Your dad sits on the couch with wrestling on the TV.

"Hi, daddy," you smile, kissing the top of his head. "What are you watching?"

Your dad smiles and say, "Hi, pumpkin. I'm watching one of Shawn Michaels' old matches."

You sit beside your dad and Kyle sits beside you. "Nice to see you again, Mr. L/N," Kyle says.

"You too, Kyle," your dad says. "Is there a match the two of you would like to watch?"

Kyle says, "How about Randy Orton versus Drew McIntyre at Hell in a Cell? That match was amazing."

You dad says, "I agree. It's such a good match." He puts it on. "You have good taste in matches, Kyle."

He laughs and says, "Y/N and I have very similar taste in matches. We both like the matches that involve cells or weapons. Y/N likes tables."

"They're the worst to go through in real life but it's fun to watch other people go through them," you say.

Your dad laughs and says, "Your sister liked table matches too. She said the same thing. They were a pain to go through but she loved watching them."

Your mood tanks at the mention of your sister. Kyle notices this and takes your hand. You rest your head on his shoulder and watch Drew lose his title to Randy.

It's close to twenty minutes later before your mother calls, "Dinner!"

Your dad gets up, walking to the dining room. You look up at Kyle and you say, "Whatever they say, either ignore it or just let me handle it, okay?"

Kyle says, "I'm jumping in if it looks like you need help. I'm serious."

You nod and walk into the dining room with Kyle. Your mother is serving your father dinner. A lot sits out on the large table. A plate with cut up roast beef, corn sits in a bowl, mashed potatoes right next to the corn, biscuits, green beans, and a bowl of mac n' cheese all sit on the table.

You help yourself to some mac n' cheese and say, "Dinner looks amazing, Mom."

"Thank you, Y/N," she says. Her voice is cold. Obviously she's still mad about you saying the word 'ass' in front of her.

Kyle grabs some roast beef and takes a bit. "Mhm," he hums. "This is the best roast beef I've had in a long time."

You smile and say, "Mom slow roasts it in the oven. It takes all day but so worth it." Kyle smiles and takes another bite.

Y/S/N says, "Mom, can Y/B/N and I spend New Years in Florida with Y/N and Kyle?"

Mom looks at you then at your sister before asking, "How do you plan on getting back here, Y/S/N?"

You look at your mom and say, "I can accompany them back. Kyle and I leave in two days to go back to Orlando so we can just book Y/S/N and Y/B/N seats on the same flight as Kyle and I."

"Please, Mom?" your sister pleads.

"Yeah, please?" your brother chimes in.

Your mom looks at your siblings and says, "You both know how I feel about planes. They crash."

Your sister gets a sad look on her face and you say, "It's very rare, Mom. I've flown plenty of times."

"You were supposed to be on the flight that Y/OS/N was on," your mother snaps. "You realize that, right?"

A pang of hurt hits you in the chest and you say, "I'm well aware but it's not my fault that the plane crashed, Mom."

Your mother looks at you from across the table and says, "It should've been you on that plane, Y/N. Instead it was your sister, who actually made this family proud."

Kyle says, "Woah, okay. Mrs. L/N, that's not fair on Y/N's part. She had no idea that the plane would crash."

Tears well up in your eyes and you say, "I make this family proud too, Mom. I've held tag titles, I currently hold the only women's singles title in NXT. I'm in a group that has made history in NXT. I've made history with Y/OS/N as longest reigning and most reigns as WWE Women's Tag Team champion."

Your mother says, "Your sister held the Raw Women's title for a record breaking 450 days. How long have you held the NXT Women's title for?"

"348 days, and counting," you spit at her. "I'm only behind her by 100 days, which I plan on breaking. Then I plan on breaking Asuka's longest reign of 510 days just to prove to you that I can do every fucking thing that Y/OS/N did!"

Your mother's eyes widen and she says, "Curse one more time in my house and you will never be allowed back in."

You stare at her and say, "Fine. Fuck you, Mom. Fuck you for ever comparing me to Y/OS/N and fuck you for never being proud of me even though I've achieved the same success as she did." You look at your siblings. "Go upstairs and pack a suitcase. I'm taking you two with me."

They nod and run upstairs. You slam your silverware down on the table and you stand up. Your mother says, "That is not how you talk to your mother, Y/N."

You cry, "You have not been my mother since my sister died. Not the way that you've been treating me."

As you walk away, you hear Kyle say, "She's grieving too. She knows that it should have been her too, and she'll carry that with her for the rest of her life. She doesn't need her mother of all people telling her that it should've been her in the plane instead of Y/OS/N. Her sister was her best friend and she lost a lot that day too."

Your sister and brother walk down the stairs and you look at them. Your sister runs to you and hugs you. Your brother hugs you too. You hug them back.

Kyle walks out into the foyer and you look up at him. He says, "Come on. I'll change our flights to tonight and we can be down in Florida by midnight. We'll buy Y/S/N and Y/B/N some clothes when we get back to Orlando."

You nod, leaving the house with Kyle and your siblings.

***

It's right after midnight when you, Kyle, and your siblings get back to the house you share with Kyle.

You moved in with Kyle about six months ago after a year or so of dating. The house is three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, and two floors. You sigh as you walk in the door.

Kyle sets your siblings up in the guest bedrooms as you go and lay in your bedroom. You finally change out of the dress and get into one of Kyle's shirts. You curl into a ball and let out what you've been holding in.

Your face is in your pillow and your makeup is being cried off your face.

The door to the bedroom closes and Kyle sighs, "Your siblings are in bed and they're both all set up in their rooms."

You sit up and look at Kyle. He looks at you and his face falls. He grabs a box of tissues and you say, "I'm a mess, I'm sorry." You take a tissue and wipe your makeup stained tears away.

"You're okay," he says, sitting next to you. "It's okay to cry, Y/N. You don't have to be strong every day, especially after what you have been through."

You crawl over onto Kyle's lap and say, "I feel broken, Kyle. I have since my sister died in that plane crash. I feel like I haven't healed at all."

"Hey," Kyle says. "I promise you that you're not broken, Y/N. You're sad, you're grieving, but you're not broken."

You start to cry softly and say, "I miss her, Kyle. Why couldn't it have been me instead of her?"

Kyle says, "Don't say that. Please don't. I need you here. Your sister and your brother need you here. The WWE Universe needs you here. Adam, Roderick, and Bobby need you here. Don't let your mother tell you otherwise."

You look up at Kyle. He wipes your tears away with his thumbs. You say, "I love you, Kyle. I'm so in love with you."

Kyle smiles at you and says, "I love you too, Y/N. I need you here. Selfishly, a part of me is glad you were on that plane because I don't know what I would do without you."

You lean in and press a lingering kiss to his lips. Kyle kisses you back before he pulls back and says, "Marry me."

"Kyle," you say, meeting his eyes.

He says, "I'm serious. Marry me. You can come to my family's house in Canada for holidays, we can spend the rest of our lives doing this. I love you, and I want to start a family with you."

You don't hesitate to nod and say, "Yes. I'll marry you, Kyle."

Kyle smiles and kisses you. You smile into the kiss. You smile for real for the first time in a very long time.

That smile doesn't leave your lips as you lay with Kyle in bed, cuddles up to him. He holds you in his arms and your legs are intertwined with his.

His fingers run through your hair. Your eyes are closed and he says, "I don't have a ring yet, by the way. I didn't even know that I was going to propose until I did."

You giggle and say, "We'll go ring shopping eventually. I just want to lay with you right now."

Kyle shifts a bit and gets comfortable. You smile and begin to doze off.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Kyle whispers. "I forgot to tell you at midnight."

You mumble, "Merry Christmas, Kyle."

Then you fall asleep.

[notyetneedcoffee]

Soul Seer, Pt. 11

Loki Master List

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: Angst, 18+ Smut

Author’s Note: Takes place right after Avengers 1, with time travel elements and hints of Infinity Wars. Does NOT follow cannon after Avengers.

Sorry for taking so long to update!

“Who the hell is this guy?” The Army Major looked over Captain Rogers’ shoulder at the tall sandy haired man. The man, tall and lithe, with a scruff of a beard and curl to his hair appeared ordinary enough. Only his posture and the look in his eye gave any hint that this was actually the God of Mischief.  

“Special Consultant. Highly classified. You can call him Luke.” Steve answered, voice leaving no room for question.

“Consultant, huh?” Major Belcher stared into the other man’s hazel eyes and blank face, trying to get a reaction. “So, what does he do?”

Loki swallowed back the instinct to show this cocky soldier just exactly what he could so. Instead, he just stared back, unflinching. It seemed to agitate the man, which was enough for the moment.  

“He’s here to help find survivors. He also possesses special knowledge on the alien technology; what’s dangerous, how it should be handled. Listen to him. That’s an order.” Steve did not like the fact that Belcher still did not look at him as he spoke. He shifted sideways, physically moving into his line of sight. “Understood?”

“Yes, Captain.” Belcher nodded. “Understood. Where do we start?”

Loki followed the Captain and the other soldiers through the streets. Large construction machinery filled the available areas in the streets. Building debris had been piled in heaps. Trucks loaded with alien technology and questionable slag waited to be filled before being moved out.  

The soldiers and city workers moved with quick organized effort, that if you did not know, looked like chaos. As the day progressed, Loki witnessed the reactions as slabs of concrete were lifted to reveal unidentifiable corpses. The resolve and fortitude of the people surprised him. His eyes locked on a man operating a back-hoe, carefully performing his duty with careful precision despite the tear tracks clearly visible on his dirty face.  

He stopped a crew from moving a Chitauri skiff with a leaking fuel cell. Crawling over the twisted wreck, Loki magically rendered the danger inert out of the sight of the others before allowing them to move it. He helped a unit secure several weapons, showing the soldiers how to check for active charge or damaged power cells.  

As the work continued, Loki stretched his senses for survivors. There were so many dead. The Army piled Chitauri bodies on trucks. Tents had been erected for on-site morgues for the humans. Loki mentally built a wall around the sight. He did not want you to accidentally see his memory of this.  

A violent rumble, a scrape of concrete and groaning of steel, drew Loki’s attention. A desperate cry reached his mind. It was distant and weak, but distinct. “Stop!”  

His call prompted no action, so he sprinted forward to shout again. Damn his promise to not overtly expose his magic. Loki just wanted to freeze the operator of the great mechanical beast. “Stop, you fool! Now!”

“What?” The machine ground to a halt.  

“There are survivors down there!” Loki bellowed, pointing harshly. “Do not move that thing another iota.”  

“What the hell is going on here?” Another man jogged up. Judging by the ill fitting dress shirt and tie he wore under the bright orange safety vest and different colored hardhat, Loki assumed he was a superior of some sort.  

“I have ordered that man to cease his actions.” Loki clenched his teeth at the exasperated look on the other man’s face. He loathed explaining himself. “There are survivors down there. The shifting of this weight will collapse the void they are in.”  

“And just how the fuck would you know?”  

Loki’s eyes rolled. “Because I know.”

“Oh, because you know?” The guy mocked. “I’ve got a schedule, buddy. Stop interrupting my crews.” He turned back to the mover spinning his finger in the air, signaling for the work to continue.  

The machinery roared into gear, moving a large chuck and causing everything to shift.  

Mental screaming filled his mind.

Loki spun around, roaring with a voice louder than a human’s should be. “Stop! Don’t you move!”

“Listen…”

Loki twisted his fist in the man’s shirt and lifted him to his toes before stopping himself. “No you listen. That machine will not move, nor am I your ‘buddy’.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Steve came running over. “Lo – Luke, let him go. What’s happened?”

Loki explained, and to his surprise, the Captain listened.  

“Okay, what’s the play? Can you get to them or do we need to bring in the engineers to stabilize this?” Steve looked at the pile of concrete collapsed into a below level mezzanine or platform of some sort.  

“Allow me to take a look around.” Loki took a few steps and then paused. “Perhaps, Captain, you could join me.”

Steve followed as they picked their way over the pile to an area where the marble floor of the building lobby could be seen under the dirt. They were mostly out of the sight of everyone else. “Can you tell how many are down there?”

“Thirteen,” Loki paused. “Perhaps twelve. They are weak, dehydrated and terrified. Now thanks to the fool up there, some have new injuries.”

“How are we doing this?” Steve’s stomach churned a little at the thought of being trapped all this time.

“Fast or slow. If you wish to maintain appearances, I can magically stabilize the debris while you remove the obstacles. Or I can just push open a pathway and you can go get them.”

“Open the path.” Steve gave a grim nod. “We’ll explain it later.”

Loki focused, feeling the humans below. With a sudden roar and screech, the debris shifted. A rough and irregular tunnel formed. From perhaps thirty feet down screams and shouts called to them. Steve rushed down, sliding along the broken concrete.  

A familiar face looked up from behind an overturned car. Loki called out without shifting his attention. “Ah, Major Belcher. Do be of assistance and bring around the medical personnel. The Captain is bring up survivors and some are not well.”

“What the hell…”

“Now, Major.”

“Ah, yeah. On it.” The man turned, shouting for EMS.  

Thirty minutes later, Steve gave a hand up to a very dirty and very exhausted looking man in his mid-forties. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you. I tried to keep spirits up, but I thought we were all going to die down there.”

“You did amazing.” Steve put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You stepped up and took care of them, kept a clear head. Now, go with these folks and let them take care of you.”

The man stepped forward and hugged Steve, weakly slapping his back. “Thank you for saving us.”

“I just went down and helped you up.” Steve looked over at Loki in his human disguise. “He’s the one that found you and opened up a way to get you out.”

The man turned to Loki and before he could step back, Loki found himself in the man’s embrace. He froze, awkward and unsure. The tunnel crashed closed. Everyone jumped.  

“Wow! Close.” The man exhaled. “Thank you, man. Thank you so much.”

“No need…”

“Go on,” Steve came to Loki’s rescue. “Get checked out. Rest. And for heaven’s sake eat a sandwich.”

The man gave something between a laugh and a sob. Still, he allowed the EMTs to draw him away.  

“That was…” Loki began. “Odd.”

“Not so much.” Steve smiled. Loki noted it was a genuine smile, like the kind he gave you. “Give it a chance. The hero gig might grow on you.”

The weight of Loki’s body curling around your body woke you from your deep slumber. His arms pulled you close, tucking your back against his chest. His nose rubbed along the skin behind your ear.  

You sighed contently, until your conscious mind realized what Loki was doing. You felt him physically. You felt his presence. But the depth of him, the rich warmth of his touch on your mind was gone.  

“What’s wrong?” You whispered.  

“Nothing, my pet. Sleep.”

“Please, Loki. There’s no need to lie to me. Something happened.”  

His rich voice poured over your skin. “Many thing happened.” He pulled you tighter.  “Many.”

Snuggling back against him, you tentatively brushed your mind against Loki’s. After a moment you felt a flood. Confusion. Sorrow. Admiration. Regret. Surprisingly you realized, you also recognized a strange kind of satisfaction.

“Did you save people today?” You whispered.

“Yes.” He whispered back.

You struggled to roll over. He let you and you kissed him. Your tongue slid along his, drawing soft moan from his chest.  You touched his face, pulling back to look into his eyes despite the darkness. “Good.”

Loki’s eyes fell closed, physically wrapping around you as he mentally sunk into your love and support.

His hand slipped over your flesh, hands cool on your warm skin. With an equally  gentle touch, you pushed him over onto his back. Loki allowed you to guide him to lie back so you could pet and touch his perfect flesh.

You straddled his hips, rubbing yourself against his length, slicking him up. The fact that this man, this powerful god, would submit back and allow you to touch him and taste him as you wished, filled you with a heady mix of awe and desire. That he felt it too, took your breath away.

His hand cupped your face, staring at you as you moved against him in the slow and languid rhythm. You sucked the tip of his thumb into your mouth, nipping it with your teeth, as you shifted your hips and impaled yourself on him.

A low moan slipped from his lips. “Oh, my sweet pet.”

“Yes.” You so the full length of him rubbed along your sweet spot. Loki’s palms slipped over your breasts, down to your hips. His feelings washed over you. Not the engulfing fire, but a deep and complicated need. 

You pace quickened, the tension building. Loki pulled you close, his mouth devouring yours. One hand tugging at your hair, the other guiding your hips, he began to take more control. 

“My dear.” He moaned into your mouth, kissing you between words. “My pet.” You body began to quivered around him. “I’m so happy you are mine.” 

Heat flooded from your core to your limbs. Your release making you whimper against his lips. Loki’s hips snapped, body twitched, as he followed you. He held you there, draped over him, until you began to pepper his jaw with light kisses.

“And am I happy you are mine.” You whispered. 

His arms tightened. It was a long time before he let you go.

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