#as always the comments are fucking crazy on this. “fist magnet??”

[tweexcore-undrgrnd]

A one-page on The Mars Volta by Q magazine (2003)

available in clearer pdf here

[hoshigray]

SUB TOJIKUNA.

꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: true form! Sukuna + Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size difference - shibari; bondage - anal fingering (m! receiving) - doggystyle/doggy blowjob position - unprotected sex (psa: wrap that shit up) - pet names (baby, little dove/one, mama, princess) - cervix-fucking - usage of aphrodisiacs (talismans) - toji & kuna being a bit whiny! - mention of drool/saliva.

It’s always fun to switch the roles of a relationship, and it’s even more of a treat when your husbands, Toji and Sukuna, allow you to flip their typical hegemonic worlds all around. 

Have you ever imagined the day of Sukuna being stooped down to your level — literally? Well, tonight was the night, especially for you. Huge thighs spread for you to situate between, his quadruple arms restricted behind his back with red rope and ofuda stuck to the string. Four scarlet eyes magnetized to the tiny mouth that bobs up and down on his lower cock while your warm hands fist the upper one.

Fuck, your eyes hooded and glossy, your face and frame highlighted by the glow of the room emitted by the candles around. Shivers tread up Sukuna’s spine from watching your tongue swirl around the glans, biting his lip at the flick of it on his frenulum. “—Mmmm, shit…Enjoying doing all the work, huh, little one.”

Your orbs glint with a smirk, kissing his tip before nibbling on the corona. “Me? Or you; you’re the one leaking precum like crazy, my love.”

“Tch, no thanks to these damn talismans,” your eyes flicker to the paper on the rope he’s referring to; the talisman is usually meant to diminish any supernatural prowess, a perfect tool to use on a substantial individual like the behemoth in front of you. However…there’s a catch. “Fucking aphrodisiac effect is making me weak, can’t even think straight.”

His comment humors you. “Hmm, can’t think straight…but all you can think about is cumming on my hands, right?” Your palms tighten the grip around the root of his dick, his white premature liquid sliding to your fingertips to assist the friction. “I can tell that you want to cum so bad; you’re pulsing nonstop.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow darkly with a guttural purr, attempting to fight the buck of his hips. “Don’t test your luck, dove; don’t think this rope—Mmmph!” You suck on his cockhead harshly as you knead his massive balls. “…Will restrain me for long.”

“We’ll see about that…Ohhh!” You titter when you feel the weight from behind adds to yours. “Mmmm, looking good back there? Don’t lose your balance now.” 

“Tahhh, hahaha, not tryin’ to, mama.” Toji, the other husband, groans behind you. Rugged breaths as the raven-headed man pounds his sweaty pelvis to your ass. His cock is erect and grazing at the right places for you to whimper blissfully. Hungry hands hold you by the waist, keeping you attached as he increases the pace. “Fuuuck…! Feel so good…”

“Ohhshit, yesss, right there,” you wail with a deeper arch as Toji plows his length deep inside you. “Yesss, so good at this, baby! Know how to treat me well.”

The man inclines to your right ear; hot breaths brush the helix and lobe. “—Shiiit, so tight…” He coos, nestling his sweaty forehead to your neck and shoulder for strands of his hair to stick to your cheek. “Baby, please–I can’t, ‘bout to—Khhh!”

“Oh, no, you don’t~” you throw a foot up to smack his ass and testicles, and the hiss he fails to swallow makes your heart sing and cheeks hot. “Don’t cum without my say-so, okay? Be a good boy and wait a minute.”

The title you give him fuels his hips to quicken the pace, the skin of his pelvis and thighs constantly intermittently hitting your ass. Pleasurable sobs escape you before taking Sukuna’s dick back into your mouth, gobbling his girth until it hits the back of your throat. And the giant under your lips whines lowly like a purr, his stomach vibrating under your caressing touch on his second mouth. 

The effects of the stimulant talismans exacerbate the haze for him, the King of Curses throwing his head back as you stroke and orally feast on his sensitive cocks. He nearly chokes on spit from your fiesty hands going faster, practically whining as you roughly suck on the skin of the underside. But you’re careful not to mention less you want him to end up freeing himself off the ropes and fuck you and Toji relentlessly. 

“Goddamn it…!” You release your mouth momentarily to coat your fingers in saliva and sneak them downwards between Sukuna’s asscheeks to dance around his asshole. “Wait, stop, don’t—Mmmff!” And you insert two digits inside, and more excess come threatens to spill from his urethras. “Ohhh, fucking shit…!! Keheh, what a brat…”

“That’s right, my love,” you praise him while wiggling your fingers, the pink-haired man struggling to say anything every time you scrape his inner texture. “Keep squeezing—Ahaaa!!” Toji takes the advantage to slither his hand down to your clitoris, swiping the neglected pearl to the point you almost wobble. “Noohhh, ohhmyGod…!!”

Headaches worsen by the second — Sukuna can’t take it anymore; his patience wears thin with the shivers. “God! Princess, I can’t,” your gaze goes to him. “I need to…Oh, fuck…!”

“Need to what, big guy?” You tease, your digits grow quick in movement, and the way Sukuna squirms strokes your ego dangerously. “Tell me what you need.”

Crimson eyes shine furiously; the cloud of lust only makes them ever more attractive. “Let me…cum, little dove,” God, the blush of his face and ears shay to his shoulders, his grin becoming broader as he fucks your hand wantonly. “Need to cum in these dirty hands of yours.”

“—Mmmm, shit, me too, sweetheart,” Toji slurs while placing lazy kisses on your cheek before kissing you helplessly. “Gotta cum—Lemme cum inside ya, mama; wanna—Nnnmm!—f-fill y’ up so bad…!” His legs are shaky, yet the drive never falters, hammering himself till he’s balls-deep and pinching your clit.

You moan into the kiss, drool coming down to your chin while your cunt can’t help but twitch around the dark-headed man with every grind of his thick digits on your bud and poke to your cervix. “Nnnmm, okay, boys. Go ahead,” You suck on Toji’s tongue one last time before moving back to suck Sukuna off. “You may now cum.”

There have never been words that brought so much relief to the men: Toji inexorably bucking into your wetness as his balls kiss your folds, and Sukuna groans aloud at you, taking his length once more to an unforgiving pace that has him feeling euphoric.

The giant is first to release, bursting his load into your warm mouth that instantly sucks his fluids, his other cock ejaculating to the air before hitting your forehead and cheeks. You alternate between the two to lick and lap their glans clean, no matter how much they paint you with Sukuna’s semen. Toji comes right behind him, climaxing into your fluttering chasm every time he hits your cervix, sighing deeply as you milk him dry. 

His heavy body slumps onto you, two trembling bodies standing with their knees as the aftershocks keep them humble to the cold atmosphere. You lament with a mouth full of Sukuna’s tip, swallowing whatever drops you can gather. “Holy shit,” Toji chuckles. “That was good, mama…”

“Hmmnn, agreed,” Sukuna swades his hips around, snickering at the sight of your lips staying glued to his dick. “Well done, princess.”

With a soft ‘pop,’ you peer at your husband with an overjoyed expression. “Thank you, my King.”

© HOSHIGRAY2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[keisukes-number1]

Fem!Baji x fem!reader imagine - Manicure

CW: Genderbent!baji, Aged up baji! (If you don't fuck with that then u should block me), Catcalling/harassment, brief mentions of Kazutora/chifuyu (ALSO genderbent), Violence (not directed at reader), Suggestive material towards the end but no smut otherwise.

Note: This work isn't proof-read so don't be suprised if there is alot of errors. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Reblogs and comments are ALSO appreciated. Minors and blank blogs DNI or you will be blocked.

© keisukes-number1 (2024) I reserve all rights to my work. Please do not copy, repost or translate my works. Thank you.

Divder credits by ianrkives

Affiliated with @pixelcafe-network

Imagine that you are strolling through the city with her, the sound of nail files delicately shaping nails, the scent of lavender-infused lotions, and the gentle touch of the manicurist's hands as they pamper your fingertips and toes still fresh on your mind—a luxurious treat you both deserved. Then you see some guys leering at you, but she snarls at them venomously, "What are you looking at?" Anyone with working brain cells knows that challenging her is a fucking death wish because she's just looking for an excuse to knock out their teeth. As the guys approach, one of them admires, "You're stunning," while the other boldly asks, "What's your socials?" And now you're trying to get her out there because the last thing you want is for her to be arrested for aggravated assault, so you're just telling them, "We aren't interested," only to be cut off by one of them, "Why is it always the basic bitches that yap the most?" "You gotta be crazy to think that we want you when there's a bad bitch right there?"

A chilling sensation crept down your spine, leaving you breathless as if a fist had struck your stomach. In an instant, your earlier confidence evaporated, leaving only a void of self-doubt. He isn't wrong; a damming voice speaks to you, and according to her, you're as basic as they come. A plain Jane. That's right, how did you forget? You were unremarkable, merely existing to occupy the space, much like a non-playable character; you weren't anyone special, at least not in the same way as Baji. It seemed that no matter where she went, she had a magnetic pull on people. Her honey brown eyes shimmered in the sunlight, complementing her tanned skin. Her impeccable sense of style, including a pair of leather trousers that accentuated her figure, never failed to catch your attention. With a personality as radiant as the sun, she effortlessly assumes the role of everyone's big sister, and she has a devoted following of admirers who would do anything to get her attention. Her kindness towards animals is truly remarkable.

She possessed qualities that differed from your own; while she may not have been the most intelligent, her appearance and kindness more than compensated for it. She's absolutely incredible. An enchantress. You couldn't help but feel a sense of insignificance in her presence. The question lingered in your mind: Why you, of all people? You aren't Chifuyu, whose unwavering devotion to Baji resulted in the latter torturing the former with her life over her blond hair and seafoam eyes. Her captivating presence turned heads, leaving men stumbling over words and feet in a futile attempt to capture her essence in a photograph, yet none could do justice to her true allure. You sure as hell weren't like Kazutora with those sandy yellow eyes, her two toned hair that cascaded down her back like a water fall, and sporting a tiger tattoo that gave her a dangerous, alluring vibe to match her personality.

You've witnessed her stride with the poise of a runway model, yet her spirit is as wild as a party in full swing. She's the instigator of your escapades, suggesting reckless activities like arson, exploring abandoned places, and indulging in forbidden thrills. What made it worse was how casual she was with Baji—how they'd argue, fight, and greet each other with casual slaps as greetings. They were thick as thieves with how close they were, to the point where if they weren't together, then they must've had issues. Why do you think she deserves better than someone so plain? You don't deserve her. You can't keep up with her adventurous spirit, and you're constantly dragging her down. She's out of your league, and sooner or later she'll see you for the bum you really are. She'll find someone better than you who can keep up with her, and you'll be all alone—

You were interrupted from your thoughts to see her hand swiftly connect with the guy's jaw, hattering it and sending a cascade of teeth flying through the air. The force is so intense that it spins him around like a top before he crumbles to the ground. Shocking his little friend, who immediately tried to swing at Baji, "You little bit—" Without wasting a moment, he attempts to swing at her, but she swiftly intercepts his fist. With a vice-like grip, she crushes the bones beneath her grasp, leaving him desperately struggling to break free. "Let me go! BITCH, LET ME GO!" he shouts, desperately attempting to break free. However, she ruthlessly applies pressure to his hand, causing him to collapse to the ground in excruciating pain. With her unwavering strength, she prevented his body from succumbing to the ground, keeping him suspended in a precarious state between standing tall and crumbling under the weight of exhaustion.

With a deliberate and calculated motion, she gracefully raises her hand, each joint clenched with precision. Her intention is clear as she wants him to witness the impending strike. And then, in one swift and powerful motion, she delivers a devastating blow, causing his teeth to scatter and his nose to shatter. She relentlessly unleashes a flurry of devastating blows upon his jaw, leaving his nose and cheeks shattered in her wake. With unwavering resolve, she delivers a mighty right hook to his gut, causing him to expel his breakfast and lunch in a display of sheer force. Finally, she dismisses him with a casual toss, treating him as nothing more than discarded trash.

In the lingering silence, she halted abruptly, her hands coming to rest gently on your shoulders, a weighty tension hanging in the air like a thick fog. She fixed her gaze on you and growled."Listen to me, y/n; what they said was wrong. I'm so sorry that they said that. Nobody, I mean nobody, especially not those SHITS has any right to talk about you. You hear me?" You gaze towards the ground, a tumultuous blend of anger and sadness washing over you. Her words provide a small solace, yet the sharpness of their heartless remarks continues to haunt your thoughts. Uncertainty begins to creep in, casting doubt on your worth in her perception.

"But what if they're right? I mean, as compared to you, I'm—" Your last doubts are immediately put to rest as her body slams into yours. You attempt to wiggle away, your sound muted as you let out a startled cry. Nevertheless, she pulls you nearer by the waist, and to your surprise, you end up kissing her back. Her mouth is so delicate that it presses against yours. In an effort to intensify the kiss, you cup her neck in your arms and pull her closer. As her tongue entwines with yours, you find yourself completely absorbed in the moment.

She slithers her long, perfectly manicured nails downward to clasp your full derriere, eliciting a moan that you are unable to hear, and the kiss feels as though it goes on forever. The world around you fades away as time seems to stand still. The kiss lingers, filled with a mix of passion and longing. Eventually, the need for oxygen pulls you apart, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you gaze at each other with darkened gazes and hearts racing.

"Stop thinking about what others say; I love you for you," she whispers against your lips, her eyes filled with sincerity. In that moment, you realise that her love is all that truly matters. Baji wouldn't be with someone if she didn't think they were worth her time. "Okay," you respond, feeling a sense of reassurance and acceptance wash over you. With Baji by your side, she kisses your forehead before taking you by the hand. "Come on, let's go get some yakisoba. We'll split it, okay?" As you gaze at her, a determination wells up within you—you'll do anything to protect that smile. "Absolutely," you respond with a soft chuckle, "we'll split it. 

[collecting-stories]

Heaven, We’re Already Here - t. 05 - JJ Maybank

Summary: Things are progressing between y/n and JJ. 

A/N: We’re halfway to the end...can you even believe it?

You Are Ok Masterlist | Outer Banks Masterlist

✞ My soul isn’t yours to save anymore ✞

The bet had become a thing of contention between JJ and John B since the night of the kegger. It was fairly obvious that JJ wanted out and the only reason he was still hanging on was because he had convinced himself that he desperately needed the cash. 

But the more he spent time with you the harder it was becoming to justify to himself that cash was worth the level of humiliation he would be subjecting you to if you knew that this was all just one massive joke on you. From the moment he saw you in the church JJ knew that this was no game or bet, no matter what he tried to tell himself when you weren’t around. And after spending the day in Chapel Hill with you he was more convinced than ever that he needed to end things before they got out of hand.  

“Here.” JJ practically slammed the money on the table, pushing it across to Sarah.

“What’s this?”

“I forfeit.” He replied. “Take your 200 back.” 

“I thought you needed the money,” John B said, tone mocking the way JJ had grumbled about needing cash three weeks ago. 

“Yeah and now I don’t.” He snapped.  

Kiara looked away, grabbing the empty glasses off the table and taking them back to the counter. The only nice thing about him doing this in the Wreck was that she could walk away from the table when it got uncomfortable. Kiara hadn’t been shy in telling JJ that he should call off the bet, “if you really need 200, I’ll front you.” But she was less inclined to put herself in the middle of the altercation with him, John B, and Sarah. 

She knew that he regretted making the bet in the first place and she had felt guilty hanging out with you, knowing that it was all just a joke behind your back that JJ and his friends could laugh at. But he was making good on his promise to cut off the head of the beast, giving Sarah her money back and ending the bet before anyone really got hurt. It could fade into obscurity, just be something no one even remembered anymore. 

“You were almost to the finish line,” John B teased, feeling shockingly okay with a bet he’d first made when he was drunk and barely coherent enough to walk. “I mean, unless you don’t think she’ll let you get that far-”

“Shut up.” JJ snapped. “I said I was done, so I’m done.”

“Why?” Sarah pried.  

“I thought it would be funny but it’s not. She’s a real person, I’m not gonna fuck with her just so you guys can laugh.” JJ replied. He’d been feeling guilty about the bet since that first day he saw you in the church. The way you looked at him, a mirrored image of his own restlessness, depression, and emptiness. He didn’t deserve you on a good day, when he was completely devoted to you with no ulterior motive at the back of his head.  

He couldn’t do this to you, make you the butt of the joke to every pogue who heard about the bet and was enough of an asshole to find it funny. On his second time around the thought, he knew he really couldn’t do that to anyone. But John B thought it was funny and he and Sarah had used JJ’s lack of funds and general ‘go-with-the-flow’ attitude as a means to an end. 

“You’d do it if she was some kook.” Sarah commented, counting the 20’s he’d handed over. 

“Well she’s not.” JJ snapped, “look, I’m giving you the fucking money back, bet’s off.”

“Dude-“

“He said it was over John B, just quit being a dick.” Kiara piped up. She hadn’t been there when the bet was made but she had heard about it after the fact and been pissed. She was only relieved now that JJ seemed ready to put the bet to rest.  

“She might like you now but it won’t last.” Sarah said when JJ started to walk away, “I mean, you guys have nothing in common JJ, do you really think she fits in at keggers or sitting around getting high all day?”

JJ stood there, jaw tense, clenching his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms, face turning red. The anger was just insecurity because, yeah, he agreed with Sarah. He knew he didn’t have a lot to offer you but hearing her say it knocked him down a peg and had him seeing red. 

“Just go,��� Kiara urged, grabbing JJ’s arm and pushing at him, trying to get him to turn around and leave, “go.” She would yell at them for him, a much better defender of his character than he was. 

The door slammed behind him, the spring on the old wooden screen creaking in protest when JJ threw it shut as he left, already brushing tears out of his eyes as he walked, cutting through the woods back to the cut. It was stupid to get so upset about something Sarah said but he couldn’t help it. He’d been worked up as it was over calling off the bet and Sarah had only made him feel worse. 

Despite that, or maybe because of it, JJ took the path through the woods that led to the church. Taking a walk to cool down worked for everyone in the world but him, the further through the woods he walked the angrier he got. At himself, at Sarah and John B, at everything that made him take that stupid bet in the first place. The only thing keeping his anger in check was the thought of you. Sitting in the church practicing the piano or hanging laundry outside. Anywhere he could stay just out of sight of your parents, relishing in your attention.  

JJ came up on the church, not thinking to look inside before he entered. All he was thinking about was seeing you, forgetting entirely that you were not the only one who lived on the property. He stopped at the end of the aisle, still a little worked up, and caught off guard by the sight of your dad at the altar, rehearsing his sermon for Sunday. He tried to back up but failed, his clumsiness catching your dad’s attention.  

“Can I help you?” He called out when JJ bumped into one of the pews, the sound of his boot colliding with the wood reverberating in the nave. 

“Sorry,” JJ spoke up, “sorry I-“

“You came to church a few Sundays ago?” Your dad said, recognizing JJ’s face when he stepped off the altar and walked down the aisle. The blond, he realized, was the boy he’d noticed watching you. Though his wife told him he was being crazy, he was certain that he’d seen the boy in the yard once after that. 

“Ah, yeah...” JJ nodded, sniffling a little to clear the congestion from crying, “wrong turn on the way to the smoke shop I guess.” He was sure his face was still red, eyes still bloodshot, and the last thing he wanted to do was get cornered into some weird testimonial moment with your dad. He just wanted to see you, to remind himself that what Sarah said was bullshit, that you liked him, that this was more than a bet.  

“Is there something I can help you with now?” Everyone always said how welcoming and charismatic your dad was. The church wouldn’t have half the congregation it did now if it wasn’t for your dad’s ability to reel people in with smiles and an easy-going personality. 

That ease was not present as he stood there sizing up JJ. The kid gave him a bad feeling and he was absolutely certain he’d seen flashes of him around the yard before. The teenage population on the island was not a group your father was a fan of and JJ seemed the perfect embodiment of all the things wrong with that group. He looked unkempt, a little worse for the wear, and he smelled like pot. 

Before JJ could say anymore, the doors to the church opened and you walked in, eyes wide at finding your boyfriend there, “uh, mom said to call you for lunch?” You said. 

For his part, the second the door opened, JJ’s attention had snapped that way, and there you were. Exactly who he had been looking for and he felt like he could breath, like things would be alright because you were right there and he shouldn’t be so conspicuous but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. Like a magnet.  

“Of course,” he seemed to recover his bad mood relatively quick though he glared at the back of JJ’s head when he realized the boy was staring at you. “Go ahead back to the house and tell your mom I’ll be in.” 

You kept your eyes on your dad, not daring to look at JJ, “should I ask her to set an extra space?” Your dad had always been a fan of inviting church members in for dinner or lunch when they stopped by with something, you weren’t sure if it was compensation for a dwindling household or if he just liked to seem approachable but you used it against him now. If you had looked at him, you’d have noticed the slow smirk on JJ’s face as he stood there. 

If your dad said no it reflected badly on him. He always guilted you about not being helpful enough or considerate enough. “If...” he trailed off, clearing his throat to get JJ’s attention as he waited for a name. 

“JJ...JJ Maybank.” 

The frown increased in size; he’d heard the last name before. He’d hired a Maybank to do work on the roofing a few years back and remembered the man being nothing but a mean drunk. “If JJ wants to stay, we would love to have him.”

“I’ve got no where to be,” JJ replied, grinning at your dad. 

Lunch had already been finished when you went to call your dad, needing only to be plated, something you were thankful for because the awkward and uncomfortable silence that settled between JJ and your dad was unbearable. There was no way you could’ve survived waiting through lunch prep with the two of them.  

You weren’t even entirely sure what JJ was doing there. He hadn’t mentioned seeing you, he was supposed to be spending the day with his friends, as he’d already told you the night before when he snuck over because “couldn’t stay away”. He’d invited you on the boat but both your parents were home all day so there was little chance that you could go anywhere without drawing attention to yourself. Weekends were easier, your brothers and sisters who had stayed close came over with their kids and if you left no one missed you. But during the week it was just the three of you, an odd adjustment after so many years with so many kids.  

You sat at the table across from JJ, doing your absolute best not to look at him, knowing he was staring at you just to piss off your dad, who had already mentioned your upcoming engagement twice. Your mom let your dad lead the conversation like she always did and didn’t object to his over excessive mention of Timothy.  

“Do you go to the high school then?” She was doing her best to be polite, not completely certain your dad’s paranoia was based on fact. (“Just because you say you saw him in the yard doesn’t mean you saw him in the yard.”)

“Ah, yeah...” JJ nodded, “sometimes.” He took another bite of the sandwich, “hey, this is really good, you’re a really good cook.”

While The Wreck technically counted as homemade because it was Kiara’s dad who made it, JJ hadn’t eaten a real, home cooked meal, in a long time. His mom, when she had been around in his childhood, was not making lunches or any meals for him that she couldn’t microwave.  

“Oh, Ace made it.” Your mom said, beaming at you, “she’s a natural in the kitchen.” 

“You’ve been-“ JJ stopped himself short of saying you’d been holding out on him, coughing and then continuing on, “it’s good.”

“Thank you,” you chanced a glance up and then quickly back down at your plate. 

Lunch was excruciating and when it was finally over, JJ leaving and your dad watching him walk back into the woods, you told your parents you weren’t feeling well and went to lay down. You were flushed all over from lunch, sitting there across from JJ with your parents in the room. It was like knowing a secret you knew you weren’t supposed to. 

Tapping sounded on your window and you opened it, JJ standing there outside, “you’re gonna get me trouble,” you whispered. “My dad is convinced he’s seen you around our yard.”

“That’s cause he has.” JJ replied, kissing you once he was inside the room. 

“I know that.” You whispered, “what are you doing?”

“I’m reading your love letter from Timmy,” he shrugged, sitting down at your desk and pulling the letter out of the envelope. 

“It’s not a love letter,” you huffed. When you got close enough to try and take the letter away JJ spun in the chair, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his lap. 

“Let’s see, oh, coming to visit?” JJ said, poking your sides as he read the letter, leaving kisses along your shoulder. “So you get to go on a date?”

“Well, chaperoned.” You replied. “My dad wants to go somewhere ‘outer banks’ style, whatever he thinks that is, to show off to Timothy and his parents.” 

“Go to the Wreck.” JJ said. 

“I’m not going to Kie’s, I’m not gonna embarrass myself.” 

“Trust me,” JJ insisted, kissing you, “go to the Wreck.” 

You ran your fingers through his hair, brushing it back out of his face and kissing him. Your hands moved down so you could hold his face, leaning your forehead against his.  

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, his hands sliding up under your shirt, his warm skin against yours.  

“I don’t want to do this.” You admitted, “I don’t wanna have dinner with Timmy.”  

“Hey,” JJ pulled his face away, tilting so he could look you in the eye, “That shit doesn’t mean anything.”  

“It does in the long run,” you replied. When you had gotten Timothy’s letter that morning you’d been more than upset, knowing he was coming to North Carolina felt like the last nail in the coffin before your dad was sending you off to Tennessee.  

“Do you like him?” He asked, matter of fact.

“No, no.” You shook your head. There was no way you had any feelings toward Timothy other than mild annoyance. He wasn’t bad but he wasn’t for you. And maybe he would’ve been if this was all there was but you had JJ and there was an entire other space out there. “I wish we could just…stay like this.”

“Me too.” JJ replied.  

You pulled away from him suddenly, remembering the way he’d looked when you had walked into the church and found him there with your father. “I forgot, you were upset earlier-”

“It’s fine, it was just a dumb fight with John B.” He insisted, “I’m over it.”

“Are you sure? You can tell me anything.” You promised. You had been secret keeper and confidant for your siblings plenty of times over the years and while their conflicts had never really been worthy the secrecy, you had still been good at the task.  

“I’m fine, I promise,” he repeated, “I was just upset and I wanted to see you.”

“Well you’re seeing me now,” you teased, holding his face again so you could kiss him, “though I think you should consider leaving before anyone comes to check on me.”

-

The Wreck was totally not where you wanted to be going on a chaperoned first date with a guy who looked almost more sheltered than you felt on a regular basis. He had khakis and a polo tucked in, spikey blond hair and you were trying so hard not to be mean in your head. This was the guy your parents thought would make a great addition to their family. This was your future husband?

Any concerns or reservations you had about Timothy went out the window as you walked into the Wreck ahead of him and realized that JJ and Pope were sitting at the counter. JJ turned in his stool as you came in, propping his chin on his hand and smiling at you. 

“Hey,” Kiara had donned jeans and a t-shirt for the occasion, “six?” 

“Actually, these two will have their own table.” Your mom piped up and you looked at Kiara, attempting to convey the absolute horror of the early evening dinner.  

“Of course,” she said, grabbing menus. You could hear your father behind you, mentioning JJ’s presence in the restaurant. Whether Kiara heard it or JJ had just requested that this be the most difficult first date to get through, the table she sat you at was facing the counter. Your parents sat two tables over with Timothy’s parents while you sat down in perfect view of JJ and Pope.  

“So, what’s good here?” Timothy asked, his voice an octave higher than he looked like it would be.

You scanned the menu as if you ate there all the time and then looked at Kiara, hoping she could offer more of an answer then you could.  

“The grits are good, we do them with sausage and shrimp.” Kiara replied.  

“That’s fine.” You handed off your menu, not bothering to consider another option. Even though Kiara knew that this was all something you had to do, you felt a sense of guilt, sitting there with Timothy while JJ was sitting at the counter.  

It was palpable, you felt like you could taste it in your mouth as you spoke, felt the guilt dripping off you. Timothy wasn’t the worst, probably, and, probably, in someone else’s life he would make them happy but you weren’t sure there was any reality that would allow you to walk away from what you had with JJ and resign yourself to this life. To your mom’s life, or your sisters’ lives.  

“I’ve been looking into getting my pilot’s license, I’ll be done seminary soon-” Timothy started to say after Kiara walked off.  

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were interested in becoming a pilot.” You replied, glancing over his shoulder at JJ who was turned around in his stool, his back against the counter, watching you. If your dad wasn’t facing the opposite direction you were certain he’d be having a fit right now.  

“...the plane license would take another year at least but it’s something I can easily pursue after the marriage and it would allow us the opportunity to be missionaries-”

“Missionaries?” You paled, focusing your attention back on Timothy and away from JJ.  

“Timmy’s older brother is ministering in Zambia and they’ve always talked about Timmy joining him,” his mom cut in.  

“Missionaries in Zambia...all the time?” You asked. Your father had already launched into a separate conversation about the importance of ministry work and you felt close to absolute collapse. When Kiara came back to the table to make sure the food was okay you practically clung to her, “bathroom?”

“Through the kitchen,” Kiara lied, noting the look of distress. “Our regular bathroom is being fixed.”  

“Thanks.” You bolted. Through the restaurant and the kitchen, right out the back door and you might’ve run all the way home but somehow JJ was right there, grabbing you as you collided with him. “I can’t do this...I can’t, I can’t....I can’t be a missionary! I can’t live in Zambia and have like thirteen kids and name them all something stupid and have poufy fucking hair!”  

“Whoa, hey, babe,” JJ urged, pulling you into a hug, rubbing your back soothingly, “it’s gonna be okay.”  

“What if it’s not?” You could keep pretending like you didn’t have to think about it but the truth was, you couldn’t run from your parents’ expectations and plans forever. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” JJ promised, kissing the side of your head as he stood there holding you, “I love you. And I don’t give a shit about Timmy, or your parents, or whatever...we’ll figure this out.”

“This was a bad idea, having lunch here.”

“Hey, I don’t think so. I got to hear you curse for the first time.” He joked. “We’ll be okay, just head back inside alright?”

“Okay,” you pulled away, fixing your hair and taking a deep breath, trying to right yourself. It was just dinner. It wasn’t Zambia yet. It wasn’t even the wedding. Just dinner and JJ was right there. “Oh, JJ?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.” You said before hurrying back inside, leaving him standing behind the Wreck with a sad smile on his face.  

-

“Scarlett does it every year with some of the kooks, like a raffle.” Sarah explained, recounting Scarlett’s ’Touron Game’ for JJ and John B, “500 to whoever gets the most tourons...they have like a scoring system. Kind of awful, I guess, but...I mean it’s not like they don’t know it’s just sex.”

“500?” JJ asked, “I could use that.”

“What are you gonna do, pimp yourself out?” John B joked.

“I’ll give you 200,” Sarah replied immediately, cutting her boyfriend off. She was looking across the parking lot of the convenience store.  

“What’s the catch?” JJ asked, following Sarah’s line of sight to the old minivan, a girl their age standing with her mom at the trunk.  

“That’s the weird pastor’s daughter, right?” Sarah asked, already knowing the answer, “get her to sleep with you. I’ll even give you the 200 dollars up front.”

“Yeah okay. It’s a deal.”  

-

Taglist: @heavenlymama @vindictive-hearts @alexa-playafricabytoto @dontjinx-it @randomficsandshit @niamhobrien @strangerthanfanfiction713 @tovvaa @freckled-and-daydreaming @harleylynn @bibliophilewednesday @dpaccione @bolaurel @poguestyleskye @beautyandthebleh @under-a-canyon-moon @stevie-buck @bijleegiregi @vitaminekabc @minigranger @teamnick @just-smile-darling @obxsummer @damonsalvawhore27 @isqbella @tomzfrog @fangirlvoice @phantompogues @98starkeys @ilovejjmaybank @lemur46 @khiaraaa-in-spacee @babygal-babygal @niya-savage @divvrx @princess-of-the-fandoms @thecaptainsgingersnap @jenjie @yourprincess-maybe @outrbanks @mendesmaybank @thehomeiknow @minnie-bby @katiaw2 @2kayla64 

[theyscreamjade]

Sugar Cookies

Isn’t it strange how Christmas..just seems to be the best time of the year? I hope you guys are prepared, you’re in for a treat.

————————————————————————————————————————

You softly sat on the bed within the home you shared with your fiancé Shoto Todoroki. You lifted your foot as it crossed over your lap while slipping your heel on. You and Shoto were invited to a family dinner within the Todoroki household which hardly ever ends right. Since the discovery of Touya and everything, it’s been tense inside the house.

“Shoto? I’ve seen you get dressed faster to see Izuku.” You commented while looking at the red and white-haired individual casually sitting on the ottoman inside the room. You sighed at his silent glare towards you before walking to him, your hand touching his warm chin. “We won’t be there for long okay?” You suggested with a soft smile. His cyan and grey eyes looked into yours before giving you a soft smile back.

You knew how to make him melt like butter with your words. It’s amazing how the once rebellious teen is going to a husband to a wonderful person like you. “I’d hate to be late, so please get ready.” You instructed before walking out of the room to retrieve the dish you were asked (more like demanded) to make.

Since Fuyumi was cooking the majority of the meal, She and Natsuo insisted you make the desserts especially after you made such a delicious apple pie for thanksgiving. Natsuo loves peppermint and Fuyumi loves chocolate, you decide to make three different dessert dishes for them. Chocolate truffles for Fuyumi, White Chocolate peppermint bars for Natsuo, and lastly Christmas sugar cookies. The other two were completed already and the cookies were sat out to cool when you decided to shower and get dressed.

Your fingers grazed the cool cookies before smiling softly, putting your apron on. You wore a Santa clause dress that Fuyumi brought for you last year. Though it swayed with every move you made, it was a bit short. It was an off-shoulder Santa dress. You decided to play it safe and wear stockings so nothing would be exposed during the small gathering.

You picked up the frosting bag of green frosting while you began to decorate the cookies shaped like trees. You focused intensely while each tree was painted to perfection. Afterward, you switched bags to the red ones and began to paint little balls on the tree to represent ornaments.

You were so focused, you didn’t see your dressed future husband who was staring at you in silence. He admired the amount of effort you’d put into his crazy and dysfunctional family even though..he couldn’t focus on that.

He was staring at your outfit. From your thigh-high heeled boots to the sexy dress you were wearing. From the way you always made yourself look gorgeous with your makeup to the scent of your perfume. It was intoxicating to him. Once he fixed his toe, he walked to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. His suddenness made you jump as frosting squirts on your hand.

“Oh! You startled me..” you said softly, laughing it off a bit before reaching for the dishcloth that was sitting on the counter.

Your hand was suddenly pulled back as Shoto’s tongue grazed your hand. His tongue became slightly green from the sweet frosting until he touched the tip of your finger, sucking it without hesitation. His other hand that sat at your waist touched your stomach softly while your body heat increased.

“S-S-Shoto?” You began to say as he pulled you closer to his warm and cool body while his face rubbed against your neck before kissing it.

“I want you..” he whispered, his voice deep enough to send chills through your body. “W-What about...What about the dinner?” You asked, trying to hold your moans back from his soft nips and sucks on your neck. He didn’t respond to your question but instead spun you around to face him. Your lips connected almost instantly as his body pinned you against the counter in the kitchen right beside the fridge.

The sweet taste of the frosting swirled within your mouths while his hands gripped your dress, holding it as if he wanted to snatch it off your body. Your lips moved in sync as his obvious bulge began to rub against you, demanding to be freed. The kiss was broken, leaving you panting for air as he scooped you up and snatched you away.

Lord knows what went through his supposed mind of his, you were plopped on the dining room table. Before you could even question him, his lips connected with yours within the beautiful room. It was a large glass table with gorgeous white chairs. The admirable part of the room was the large windows that surround the room, often reflecting the sunlight or moonlight inside the house. It was such a gorgeous sight and Shoto simply adored seeing you in the beautiful sunlight at dawn.

Your heels clicked on the glass as Shoto’s head ducked down while he snatched his shirt off. The lust between you two was overwhelming and overpowered your thoughts. Your hand was like a magnet and gripped his silky hair when his tongue grazed your eager core.

There was no way you weren’t wet by his demand of wanting you and including the intense, breathtaking make out session. Your once red lipstick was smudged, your hair was a bit wild but who could see you now?

“Shoto!” You cried out, the tingling orgasm slamming against your imaginary knot, begging for a release while your boyfriend was eating you like the meal you were supposed to be having at this moment. Your head snatched back while your chest rose and fell quickly. The top of your dress was at your shoulders, and your now ripped bra hung off the side of the table.

Your bottom lip was snatched between your teeth while you struggled to keep yourself together. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Shoto! I’m go-Fuck!” You cried out, sending him a warning as you came to your blissful release. Once he was satisfied, Shoto’s hand snatched you to the edge of the table. You found yourself in a doggy-style position while Shoto held your right leg in his hands. This mere position could send chills down anyone’s spine. He had full control and you are going to feel him everywhere inside you.

He slowly slides inside you, earning a soft grunt from his lips while your mouth opened from his entrance. He paused and smirked, looking down at you. “Looks like you’ve been getting tighter, Baby..” he said softly, applying that he still had a few of him not inside you quite yet. Your right leg was soon lifted and you have spun back around on your back. His hands touched your waist as he pushed himself deeper inside you.

Your hands touched his lower abs while your toes curled in your boots. You prayed he wouldn’t get into the god-forbidden position on this glass table. His hands leaned to your sides while he began to move, slamming deep inside you. Your right hand gripped one of the arms behind it, moaning out in pleasure while a puddle began to form on the table. Unsure to what released this horny man this time, but came you blame him?

You’re a walking masterpiece and he’s willing to admire and love you as much as possible. Each deep thrust sent waves of pleasure through your mind while he slammed all of him inside you. Your moans couldn’t be kept in even if you tried, well..until they increase to screams.

God must’ve missed your prayers before your legs were suddenly opened wider and he slammed himself into your cervix, making your eyes roll back. “D-Don't stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You screamed out before switching back to crying out his name and moans. He was damn near swimming inside you along with the puddle as perfect evidence. Your nails dug into his arm while the knot tightened again along with your walls, gripping him tightly.

Your mascara and eyeliner were now messed up from sweat that coated your face while your lover coated your neck with new hickeys you’d have to cover. “Shoto! OH FUCK!” You screamed out before your release came again, coating your lover in your warm mess. His hands formed fists while he continued to slam inside you, harder than before at a quicker pace. He was nearing his climax as the ding of the doorbell was missed. He grunted loudly as he released himself inside you as the doorbell ring again along with a loud banging.

“Shoto?! Y/N?! You home!?” Natsuo asked from behind the door while you two tried to come down. Then the lock clicked and the alarm beeped, signaling that it was disarmed and someone had the lock. You mentally slapped yourself, remembering that you have Fuyumi a key to the house when you and Shoto had to travel for a mission. She was in charge of watching the house and feeding your pet turtle.

“I smell peppermint bark! They’ve gotta be in here!” Natsuo said, taking his shoes off as he made his way to the kitchen. “Ohh! They even made sugar cookies! This looks delicious!” He continued, admiring the sweets while Fuyumi became worried.

“Y/N?! Shoto?! You guys home?!” She called out, walking around as she pulled the door to the dining room open. You two turned your head to them, now dressed again with a photo album in your hands as if you two were going down memory lane of your relationship.

“Fuyumi! Wait, it’s that late?! I’m so sorry!” You said, rushing over to the older woman. “I hope we’re not too late, Shoto reminded me that we should take another Christmas photo this year you lied, perfectly as Shoto stood up.

“It’s okay! We were just worried, that’s all! Touya hadn’t shown up yet and just wanted to see if you needed help or something.” She offered as you smiled. “Could you help me finish the cookies and we’ll go together? How about that?” You offered while the two of you walked into the kitchen again.

“Shoto, I think you should call a repairman,” Natsuo said, pointing towards the puddle in the middle of the table. “It looks like you’ve got a leak somewhere.” The older brother recommended, earning a nod in agreement.

“I’ll make sure to get that settled later tonight.”

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | two

view pinned post for masterlist for links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut 

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: blood drinking, choking (like some serious choking you’ve been warned), crying kink, corruption kink, praise kink? idk, mentions of alcohol, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

It had been a few weeks since you’d last summoned San. The last time you’d seen him, he’d gone kind of crazy after tasting your blood. You couldn’t forget the darkness in his voice, his all-black eyes shining demonically as he lost it. He had left without even giving himself a chance to explain himself, he just disappeared to, well… wherever it was that demons went, you supposed.

Every so often, your hand would find its way up to check the scar where he’d punctured your neck. Honestly, you just wanted to make sure you hadn’t dreamt it all. As the days went on, you really couldn’t be sure. Eventually the scar dwindled to a faint red mark, and then to nothing at all. 

The sticky note was still pinned to the wall above your desk, taunting you every time you saw it. Each time you’d think today was the day you’d call him back, and yet, you hadn’t been able to do it.  

Until you were drunk, that is. 

You had a particularly rough day of classes. Your professor had called you out in front of the whole class for a mistake you made on an assignment, and it ripped you apart. When you got home, you had poured out a few pathetic drinks to drown the pain of the day, wanting nothing more than to curl up in your bed and disappear. But you forgot one vital thing. When you drank alone, you got sad. Like, really sad. The tears seemed to flow endlessly, and there was a point at which you even forgot why you were crying—or drinking—in the first place. 

There was a part of you that needed in that moment to not be alone, even for just a second. Embarrassed to call any of your friends over, you turned to the only companion who couldn’t turn you down.

Your demon boy.

You ripped the post-it off the wall, finally ready to use it, drunkenly singing out the Latin a few times until it was comprehensible enough to work.  

He was perched on your desk when he appeared. You stumbled back drunkenly, startled by his sudden appearance despite knowing you were summoning him. You just forgot how jarring it was. 

“Oh, you have to be kidding me,” San grumbled. You weren’t sure if he was responding to your sudden summoning, or the fact that you were leaking tears all over the place pathetically, but you couldn’t even manage to choke out a response through your blubbering. 

“This is way out of my pay grade.” He hopped off the desk, sauntering slowly in your direction. “Have you been drinking, hmm? I can smell that cheap liquor from a mile away. It’s fogging up your pretty little scent.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes pitifully. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have summoned you. You can leave.”

“I did miss your cute little human face, I suppose,” he said softly. He was standing close now, towering over you. You pulled your gaze up to meet his eyes, and he gave a gentle pet to your head. In any other situation, it would be sweet, but the look in his eyes was chilling. He looked at you like prey, a piece of meat—and yet his words dripped off his tongue like the sweetest honey. “Don’t cry, okay?” 

His thumb drew across your cheek, passing faintly over your lips, collecting tears. He brought his hand up to his tongue, licking it clean of the saltwater, not breaking eye-contact for even a second. “Virgin tears. Almost as good as the blood,” he sang, eyes rolling back in his head in a quick moment of bliss for just a moment before fixing back on your face. “Almost.”

You forgot how alluring he was, his sharp-featured face in particular. There was something magnetic about it, you couldn’t pull your gaze away no matter how intense he was. 

“So why’d you call me, hmm, darling?” He flashed his teeth villainously. “Missed my bite that much? Have something new to offer, perhaps?”

You dropped your gaze, but he tipped your chin up to meet his again almost immediately. “Look me in the eyes, darling. You’re the one that summoned me, the least you could do is give me that.”

“I shouldn’t have called you here. I shouldn’t have even thought—I should have known you wouldn’t care beyond your own interests,” you said, voice hoarse and shaky through your tears. 

He shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

“Asshole.” 

His brows furrowed. “Okay, a little uncalled for. But not entirely untrue.” He placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bed. It took only a small nudge to plop you down. You felt the effects of the alcohol wash over you. “We can make a contract. If it makes you feel better.”

“What, you’re gonna ask for my blood again?” you scoffed.

“No.”

“Then?”

“Your tears.”

You paused, considering the stakes. “Fine, take them. What do I get?”

He took a seat next to you on the plush blanket, placing a surprisingly comforting hand on your back. “I’ll listen to you. Like, uh… a demon therapist,” he smiled at you from your side, flashing his fangs cheekily. “I promise I’ll do my best to stay serious. I’m contractually obligated.”

“Fine,” you agreed, slightly annoyed at how difficult you found it to resist him. His devilish charm was too much for you—even sober, but especially drunk. 

“Tears first,” he said decidedly, and you caught a glimpse of desire spark in his eyes. 

You nodded, shuffling your butt on the bed to face him. You expected him to run his fingers over your face, like he had earlier. Instead, he brushed his thumb over the side of your face slowly, dancing along the cut of your jaw, then leaned in to brush his lips over your cheek. You flinched as his lips connected with your skin softly, and you felt the distinct wetness of his tongue brushing over the surface. He lapped at your tears through deliberate, drawn-out kisses, and the cold metal of his lip ring felt unexpectedly nice drawing over your cheek. 

His hand came around to the back of your head, lacing his fingers in your hair to steady you. It was incredibly sensual, whether he meant it to be or not. He moaned pleasurably at the taste of your tears, though he didn’t have the same animalistic hunger he seemed to have when he’d tasted your blood. Probably for the best. 

“You’re so cute when you’re crying. Like a helpless little lamb. If I weren’t supposed to be nice to you right now, I’d have a half a mind to make you cry again,” he purred against your ear. 

His other hand threaded around the small of your waist, like he’d done when he drank your blood before. And you couldn’t lie, you kind of loved it. His position was unexpectedly romantic: one hand cupped around your waist, the other laced in your hair, delivering soft kisses and licks across your cheeks. You closed your eyes to get a better idea of the sensation, fisting your hands needily in the silky fabric of his button down. 

You felt him pull away suddenly, an amused smirk dancing up on his lips. “Someone’s getting spicy. This wasn’t in our contract.” 

Fuck. Something in your mind was telling you to kiss him. Not just telling, but more like screaming at you. Fucking kiss him. His lips looked so soft and alluring, so dangerously off-limits. You leaned in slightly, magnetized by his aura, only to feel him pull away entirely. 

“Okay. I’ve had my fun,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, roughing it up messily, giving you a perfect view at the cut of his jaw. “Now I hold up my end of the deal. You talk, I listen.”

Do we have to talk? you thought, annoyed. I’d rather just make out.

You gritted your teeth together as you tried desperately to shift your thoughts away from kissing him. But you couldn’t help but think about how his lips would taste against your lips, how his tongue would dance sinfully against yours, his fingers laced in your hair—god, what was wrong with you? It was probably all the drinks you had, making you unnecessarily sad and even more unnecessarily horny for your hot demon errand boy. You needed to get it the fuck together. 

You pushed away your fantasies for the night, as hard as that was. For the next hour or so, you lamented to him about your rough day, even going into a few things that had happened in the past week. He listened thoughtfully, carefully, though in the back of your mind you knew he was only being so attentive because he was ‘contractually obligated.’ 

You poured your heart to him, feeling incredibly vulnerable under his concentrated gaze. Though this time it wasn’t entirely predatory, but more like interested. Caring, even. You doubted that even was possible. Even so, as you talked, you felt more and more connected with him. 

For a moment, he seemed almost human. 

Summoning San became an almost nightly routine for you. 

You’d summon him, have him help you with mundane activities like homework, cleaning, cooking—whatever task you could think of to keep him around as long as possible. Of course, he couldn’t turn you down unless you didn’t have a reasonable counter to give him. 

Each time you summoned him, it seemed as though he cared less and less about the contract and seemed to enjoy your company a bit more. Not that he’d ever unveil that information to you—he always gave into your mundane proposals begrudgingly, but there was a glint in his eye that said he wanted to be there, even if he wouldn’t admit it yet. 

“You know I have other clients, right?” he’d joke. “You can’t summon me every night.”

“Oh, so you’re cheating on me?” you’d tease back. 

“Don’t worry,” he’d say with a charming wink. “You’re my favorite human.” 

“Not that there’s any competition, but you’re my favorite demon.” 

You loved the playful banter between you. He felt somehow easier to talk to than any human you’d met, perhaps because there was little to no social pressure involved. Something about your dynamic felt almost boyfriend-ish, in a way—if you could consider being a glorified errand boy a boyfriend-ish thing to do. He rarely divulged any personal information about himself, but you got to know him through the littlest things. His small habits, the things that made him laugh. 

You couldn’t believe it, but you were falling for him slowly, like some sort of pathetic schoolgirl crush. The highlight of your day was the minute you could conjure him, even just to see his face smiling in front of you, that familiar devilish grin as he appeared in your room. 

There was still something that felt entirely off-limits, though. Sure, you’d let him drink from your neck a few more times—each time he’d get better at controlling himself—but you weren’t sure how to cross the line from there. He’d been so forward on the very first night you met him. He even asked to take your virginity, which of course you outright denied. But even if it was a joke, if he was just messing with you, the idea swirled in your mind every now and again. You even dreamt of him a few times. But he hadn’t mentioned it since. 

It was late in the night. You had summoned San to do some menial house chores, as you usually did, in exchange for dinner and a back massage—something you weren’t even aware demons needed. San had explained it to you, but you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the inhuman-soul in a human-vessel dynamic, so you chose not to question it too hard.

Today, something felt different about him. He was flirtier, sexier, more outlandishly charming than usual, if that was even possible. You watched him scrubbing your countertops like your hot demon maid—you even went so far as to dress him in an apron you spent a little too long picking out at the store—marveling at the small of his waist cinched in with the fabric tie. 

“Enjoying the view?” he teased with a playful glance over his shoulder, wiggling his hips. 

“Ugh, I was until you did that,” you joked back. “C’mon, that countertop isn’t gonna scrub itself.”

He gave his hips another shake, chuckling as you trained your gaze on his ass. “You’re so cute when you’re drooling over me. Get it together, darling. You’ve still got a massage to give.”  

He was just joking around with you, you knew that. He was probably just as charming with his other summoners, or his ‘clients’ as he called them. But he was right, you couldn’t help but drool over him. It was moments like this where you fell for him, hard, pretty much flat on your face. You wished so desperately for him to be human right now, just for a second. You wanted him to give you a sweet, squeezing hug, kissing your forehead. You wanted to feel his arms around your waist, pulling you in close. You wanted to ask him on a date. You wanted him. 

But you’d have to settle for watching him clean your house. God, what was wrong with you? You couldn’t have caught feelings for a human boy?

And now you had to give him a massage, which wasn’t going to make it any better. 

He laid himself face down on your bed, face resting gingerly against your pillow. You straddled him, setting yourself down gently on the back of his thighs. You had admittedly never given a massage before, but you weren’t going to let that stop you. Your hands explored below the hem of his shirt, lifting up slowly to reveal the soft, perfectly tanned skin underneath. You were able to get a better view of his proportions, the way his waist curved in so delicately and then up into his beautifully broad shoulders. He was fit, but not too muscular, slender, but not too thin. He was absolutely immaculate. 

You rubbed circles in his back, drawing out the sweetest moans from his lips as you massaged down on his muscles. “I may be cursed with this human body—ah—but this does feel kind of amazing,” he admitted in a voice slightly muffled by the pillows. 

You worked at his muscles until he seemed satisfied, even rolling your palms around his neck and shoulders to hear his sweet groans of pleasure. It was unbelievably enticing, and you felt dampness pooling between your legs.  

When you were done he rolled on to his stomach. You watched in awe at the rise and fall of his chest, the tip of his chin accentuating his sharp jawline. You didn’t want him to leave. 

He stood himself up from the bed, shaking his muscles out a bit before smiling cheekily, flashing his fangs as he always did. “Looks like our contract today is complete. See you tomorrow, hmm?” he winked. 

“San wait—”

“Yes?”

“I want another contract.”

He paused to contemplate, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip in thought. He cocked his pierced eyebrow up, stepping forward to close the distance between you. “What’s that, little lamb? Are you finally gonna let me take that pretty little soul?”

You swallowed, mustering up the courage to make your move. “I want you to kiss me.”

“You—what?” he sputtered, clearly caught off guard by your proposition. 

“I’m asking you to kiss me,” you repeated.

You watched his eyes go dark, slightly hooded as he trained his gaze back on you. In contrast from his lighthearted mood earlier in the day, he looked particularly lustful as his eyes found your lips. 

“So, if you want to make a contra—” 

He was on you before you could finish your sentence. His hands found your hips, squeezing tightly to pull you against him.

His lips lingered over yours, the warmth of his breath washing over you like soft waves. He didn’t stay there for long, pulling your lips against his fully. He tasted like heaven, hell, and everything in between. You craved for him as thirstily, barely coming up for air as your lips rocked slowly against each other’s. One of his hands was laced in your hair, the other steadying against your neck. For a moment, you forgot he was even a demon at all, except for the inhumanly exquisite taste of his lips.

He pulled away for only enough time to choke out his next words in a low growl. “I guess I’ll make an exception on the contract this once. Once.”

He bit playfully at your bottom lip, lightly twirling his tongue around the surface. Then harder. You yelped as his fang sunk in, tearing off a small piece of flesh. He smirked against your lips, drawing his tongue across the blood with sensual breaths. His hands came to your shoulders to swivel your hips around, backing you into the wall next to your door frame, caging you in with his body. 

“I always forget how good you taste,” he purred in your ear. He grasped at your body hungrily through your clothes, like he was ready to rip through them at any moment.

You could have stayed there forever, his body trapping you against the wall, lips on you like he would never have another chance to taste you. But he pushed away suddenly, his eyes flashing a demonic black for a moment angrily. 

“Fuck. I have to go. I’m getting another call,” he hissed through his teeth. 

“San wait I—” 

But he was gone. 

Your knees gave out under you weakly, sliding your back down the wall, staring at the empty space he had occupied. He wasn’t yours. He wasn’t your boyfriend, or even your friend. He was a demon. You couldn’t afford to forget that for even a moment. 

It was just too good to be true.

You didn’t discuss the kiss further, not for a while at least. He’d made a few passing comments on his nightly house calls, but you hadn’t dared bring it up again in conversation. However, on one night in particular, you had summoned him without purpose. You were admittedly lonely, and frankly, a bit horny. You wanted company, and he was always on call. 

“Yes, my liege?” he teased with a bow as he appeared in your room. And there was that intoxicating smile again. 

“Will you just talk to me tonight?”

“Okay, darling. And what do I get, hmm?”

“No contract.”

“You know that isn’t how this wo—” 

“I want to know you’re not just here because you have to be tonight. But if you really don’t want to be here, you can leave. You know the way out.”

He sighed heavily. “Y/N, you know this isn’t—”

“Please.” 

You saw the look on his face soften, and he gave in with a nod that said ‘fine, but just this once’.

You talked across from each other on the bed for a while, talking about anything that came to your mind, though not much about him. He mostly listened, cut in a few times with a quip or a cheeky comment, but kept his eyes trained on you with complete concentration otherwise. You actually hadn’t expected him to be such a good listener. Better than most humans you knew, anyway. You loved the moments where you caught a glimmer of humanity, although you knew that wasn’t possible. The only human thing about him was his body, after all. 

As you made conversation, your mind wandered elsewhere. You couldn’t help but admire the curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, his crimson eyes shining like rubies. You felt completely intoxicated by him, as you always did. He was entirely tempting and yet felt completely off limits, even though you had entertained many times the thought of him fucking you. The thought flickered through your head even now. You imagined every rise of the muscles in his chest, sweat glistening on his skin as he towered over you. You imagined what his dick might look like, sliding in and out of you. You imagined his lips all over your body, every curve of your skin, every inch of you from head to toe.

The tension in the room grew thick as you watched his mouth, concentrated on every movement, every flick of his tongue, the faint glimmer of his metal lip ring, the fangs glistening under his slightly parted lips. There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety in the way you watched him, and he slowly stopped moving entirely, focusing all his energy on to you again. You craved the intense heat of his gaze now—you were no longer uncomfortable with his severity, only further entranced by how it pulled you in. You were entirely in his trap. You leaned forward, initiating the kiss, and he leaned in to meet you. His tongue slid against yours, and you reciprocated fervently. He tasted incredible, and the way he moaned against your lips indicated he felt the same about you. “You’re intoxicating,” he purred, his heavy breaths sounding like music in your ears. You wanted him, entirely. Since the moment he’d first appeared you’d wanted him.

Your hands explored his chest, his arms, the small of his waist—everywhere you could touch, you did. His chest was rock-solid, a beautiful display of muscle sculpted beautifully on his core. You felt every desire you’d ever had compounding at once within you, it rocked through you like a wave: the need to be touched, held, fucked right this moment. Although you’d never done it before, at least with another person, you had plenty of experience with the vibrator in your room, and recently, with picturing San as you pleasured yourself. Either way, if you had done it with another human or not, it probably wouldn’t have even mattered—he wasn’t human at all, in fact. What he was was danger wrapped up in an alluringly human-like package.  

���I want you to fuck me, San,” you said confidently, letting the words the drip off your tongue, slowly and deliberately. 

Your bodies were nearly flush, and you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His finger traced along your jaw, a low grumble rolling up through his throat, coming up through his teeth in a hiss. “You can’t tempt me with that kind of offer,” he growled, and the way his fingers trembled as they met your skin indicated his ultimate self-control. “I don’t think you understand how I can get...”

“I saw it, San, before. Remember? I’m not scared of you,” you countered. But that last part was kind of a lie.

“I can’t,” He took a final step closer, closing any remaining gap between you. “Fuck… you don’t understand how… delicious you look to me right now,” he hissed through his teeth, his voice getting rougher and deeper as he held himself together. “I can’t help myself. It’s like some sort of animal instinct.”

“San, please. I can handle it. You even admitted you wanted my virginity the day we met.”

“I was joking back then… sort of. I might be soulless, but I’m not heartless. I couldn’t hurt you.” He gritted his teeth, restraining his heavy, lusted breaths.

“So you don’t want to?”

“Fuck, I do… I do more than anything. Every time I look at you I picture myself destroying you—”

“Then do it.”

“Gah, you—fuck.” He planted a few restrained kisses down the sensitive skin of your neck. He dragged his fangs along the taut flesh, threatening to sink them in. “I can try to hold myself back. No promises.” 

“Please, San,” you whined. Your hands fisted the silky fabric of his shirt, drawing his chest as close to yours as possible. 

“Mmf,” he grunted against your neck, digging his nails into your waist hungrily. “Fuck, you taste like a drug.” He pulled back, his eyes darker now. His usually crimson irises looked nearly black in his state of temptation, so much so that you could barely make out the whites of his eyes. He looked more like a demon than ever before, the wicked aura almost possessing him. He shook his head, as if trying to purify himself. “I can’t—I’m gonna hurt you. Don’t do this to me, I’m not going to be able to—” 

You pulled down the collar of your shirt, revealing your shoulders and a hint of your chest. His eyes went hungry, trained on the soft curve of your collarbone lustfully, wickedly. “I’m giving my body to you, please... Take it.” 

His voice was a low growl, and he seemed to be restraining himself with everything he had left. Thick, enraged veins bulged from his forearms as he grasped at your waist. “I’m telling you, I’m going to lose control… you’re not gonna recognize me.”

“I know. San, please. I’m asking you to take my virginity.”

He finally snapped under your words, his eyes almost fully consumed with black now. His lips attached to your collarbone, sucking gently at the soft skin around it. His desperate clawing nearly tore the fabric of your shirt from your skin as his kisses feasted on you hungrily. You tipped your head back, his lips and tongue eliciting soft moans from you as they danced along the top half of your chest.

His voice was so deep now it nearly rumbled, barely sounding like the San you knew. “You’re delicious—fuck—even better than I remember.” 

His hands pushed you back against the pillows with more strength than he probably meant to use, nearly knocking the wind out of you with his force. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, and you yelped in surprise at the sting of his teeth in your flesh. You felt the distinctly wet and all-too-familiar sensation of blood as the canines pierced your skin. He licked it clean, his whole body shaking with desire as your blood washed over his tongue. He sang the most beautiful moans you’d ever heard into your skin, lapping up every last drop clean from where he’d punctured you. 

You had grown addicted to the sensation of his teeth on your skin and his tongue licking up the blood, like some sort of weird demon-vampire fetish you had never considered before. You laced your fingers in his hair as he worked his way down your chest, tearing away the fabric of your shirt apart with his hands like it was a wet piece of paper, and he didn’t stop until the mess of torn fabric that used to be your shirt slipped off of you easily. His lips kissed and marked your breasts as he worked his way down, then ripped off your pants with the same distinct sound of fabric being torn through like it was nothing. 

His dark eyes gleamed hungrily as he met your gaze. He used his tongue sinfully between your thighs, teasing you mercilessly as he kissed and licked around the seam of your panties. You were soaking wet now, the fabric of your underwear entirely drenched from the anticipation. Not just from today, but from the past few weeks of fantasizing about him completely wrecking you. His fangs gripped into the wet fabric, nearly taking your skin with it as he pulled your panties out from between your legs—the only piece of clothing he hadn’t entirely torn off.

“What a cute little human pet,” he purred seductively in your ear, dragging his fingernails across the cut of your jaw. You winced as he drew his hand over your freshly bitten wound. “It’s too bad your blood won’t be so sweet after I’m done with you, hmm, darling? Maybe just one more time, hmm?”

You felt his teeth sink down into your shoulder, and he pulled you entirely flush against him as he bit down with more ferocity than before. You cried out against him as he slipped his tongue delicately over the wound. His hungry grip around your waist grew tighter with every lick. 

“San—ah—” you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure as he soothed your wound with his tongue, hands coming up to squeeze your breasts.

“I could drain you right here,” he growled harshly, but there was still lust coating his words. You felt his dick harden in his pants as he pulled his teeth from your skin, leaving the aching sting of the fresh wound on your collarbone. You felt a bit dizzy now, not only with lust but also from losing quite a bit of blood to his tongue. He stood up suddenly, stripping like clothes meant nothing to him, ripping them off and tossing them to the floor. His breathing was less like breaths and more like throaty grunts. You were able to marvel at his naked body for only a second before he climbed on top of you, forcing you to lie completely flat under him, his broad shoulders closing you in completely.

“Such a cute human,” he praised, marveling at your smallness, your complete powerlessness beneath him. You couldn’t move if you wanted to, his body caged you in from all sides—it’s a good thing you didn’t want to. His eyes were intense, predatory, but not entirely possessed like he had been before just at the mere taste of your blood. You were surprised by his restraint he seemed to be holding on to. “Tiny, powerless… I want to hear you beg for me,” he purred into your ear. As he awaited your response, he lapped gently at the wounds he’d made earlier, collecting the remaining blood on his tongue with a needy moan.  

“Please, San—” you started apprehensively, unsure of exactly what he wanted from you. Your voice cracked slightly as you spoke, and heat rose in your cheeks. 

He clicked his tongue twice. “Tsk, tsk. I forgot, she’s too pure for this.” 

“Fuck me. Please—” 

“That’s better darling.”

“I want your cock, please, San.”

“I don’t want to hurt you baby, but you’re too fucking tempting. So cute and helpless beneath me.” He drew one of his hands lightly across your chest, dragging his fingers along every curve. “Begging. Embarrassed. It’s adorable.”

His hand drew over your stomach. Hips. Thighs. Then, finally, between your legs, delivering a small, fleeting taste of the pleasure you’d been searching for all night. You bucked your hips up involuntarily under his touch, and he drew his hand back teasingly. His eyes, hooded with desire, were fixed on your face, reveling in every reaction, every small noise that crept up through your throat. Darkness crept through them, nearly entirely black now. He looked like a real demon. 

“What a naughty girl. Practically dripping for me. I thought you were pure, hmm? What happened?” he sang condescendingly, a smirk twitching up on his lips. “Be a sweet little pet for me now.” 

He pushed his hips flush with yours, his cock aligning up against you. A low growl ripped through his throat, digging his fingernails into the sheets with a terrifying display of force. “This is probably gonna hurt, darling,” he purred. “Look me in the eyes. I want to see your cute little face as I ruin you.” He tipped your chin up to meet his eyes just as he rutted his hips in for the first time. 

The tip slipped in easily, but you couldn’t help but wince at the sensation. You’d tried toys before, but nothing could compare to the size—or feeling—of the real thing. “Ah—ah San, it—it kind of hurts,” you whined, your face twisting a bit as he pumped a few times, slowly and shallowly. He watched your face with blackened eyes. 

“You have no idea—” Thrust. “How hard—” Thrust. “It is to—” Thrust. “Keep myself from destroying you.” 

Your broken cries echoed loudly as his mouth came down on your wounds once again, delivering wet, desperate licks at the bloody remnants of the punctures he created. It stung harshly, and a single tear escaped your eyes. He pulled away from your chest, positioning himself completely upright, dick still halfway inside of you. You got a good look at his hard chest, an immaculate display of muscle. An unidentifiable tattoo snaked down his right side. He looked almost statuesque poised above you. 

“Such pretty tears. My little lamb,” he praised with a low growl, sinking his fingernails into the flesh of your thighs. “Fuck—tell me I can ruin you—” his fingernails dug deeper.

You nodded, urging him on. You initiated it, you wanted it, even if he scared you a bit with his harsh gaze and his tightening grip threatening to mark up your skin. “Yes. Please.” With a single thrust he bottomed out inside you entirely, eliciting a sharp cry from your lips. You tossed your head back, but you could still feel the heat of his stare following your every moment, taking in every curve and scar of your body. “Good little human,” he praised, stroking your thighs as he thrust in again. Every movement he made overwhelmed your senses entirely—a lethal mix of the sting of your wounds, the sensitivity of his hands exploring your thighs, the feeling of his dick stretching out inside you, and finally, how much you craved him. 

His hand came up to your throat, latching on to it with a steady viced grip. His eyes went hooded, hungry as he squeezed the air from your lungs. Harder. Tighter. His fingers viced around your neck with dizzying force. You squirmed beneath him, clawing at his hand desperately. TV static buzzed in your brain, and the world went blurry. You just barely caught a glimpse of his black eyes fading back to red before your vision slipped away into darkness. 

Your eyes shuttered open to the familiar image of your ceiling. You recognized you were in your own bed, fully clothed, tucked under the covers neatly. Before you could survey your surroundings, San’s face was above you, eyebrows slightly furrowed, tilting his head as he looked down at you. You’d never seen his eyes so soft.

“Look, she’s awake.” His voice was calmer than usual, warmer. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” you croaked, voice hoarse as you choked out your words. 

“I don’t say this often...” he started, placing a hand on your head. “But I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have even done that in the first place. I went too far.”

“I—what happened—”

“You blacked out. I, uh, well... I choked you until you passed out. I told you, it’s hard for me to control myself like that.” 

“Did you—”

“Of course not,” he interjected, not even letting you finish. He knew what you were implying. “As soon as you stopped moving it snapped me out of it.”

You dropped your gaze, recalling how you saw his black eyes turn to normal right before you lost consciousness. “Right. Uh… thanks.”

“I like my prey fresh, anyways. It’s not fun when I can’t watch them squirm.” And there it was. His devilish smile again. His tongue twitched across his lower lip, playing with his lip ring absentmindedly. He quickly cleared his throat when he saw the unamused expression on your face. “I hope… uh, I hope at least you were having fun before—you know.”

You nodded in response as you tried to sit upright in the bed. Bad idea. Your vision went dizzy, and a rush of pain pounded through your skull. “Ah—ow, fuck.”

“Should I get you some water or something? Whatever it is that humans want when they hurt.” 

You rolled your eyes at his pointedly un-human response. “Sure, water sounds fine.”

He retrieved you a glass from the kitchen, setting it on the nightstand. “I hate to do this, but I’ve been here for way too long,” he started hesitantly. You could see the regret in his eyes. “Without a contract too. I could get in trouble for this.”

“It’s fine, you can go,” you muttered. “I could use some sleep right now anyway.” 

He nodded quietly, administering a small, strangely awkward pat to your head. “Right. Well, uh… get some sleep.” 

You barely blinked before he was gone, but it didn’t matter anyway. You were asleep before you could even take a sip of the water he’d gotten you. 

[svnflowervol666]

I Want Your Belly (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Oddly specific, kinda weird, sappy sweet. Got a good handful of asks for this one so here you go! Harry asks Y/N to join him in the Watermelon Sugar music video. It was a bit hard to write due to the nature of the scenario, but I hope you find it just as cute as I did. Take care and TPWK.

Even in January, the California heat is brutal and unforgiving. Sure, being by the ocean where the momentum of the cool waves cast a light breeze does something to midigate the miserable feeling of feeling like the sun’s rays are going to burn you alive, but it’s only a crumb of salvation really. We’re talking sweat running down the backs of your kneecaps, legs painfully sticking to the seat of whatever chair you’re sitting in, not enough water in the world to keep you from being dehydrated hot. But she wanted to be there.

She’d been oggling him from her sand chair for the past forty-five minutes. I mean, who isn’t oggling him when they see him tracing his fingers coyly over the flesh of a sweet, ripe watermelon. He’d been glancing in her direction in between nearly every take, smirking at her through his aqua-tinted sunnies and wondering if what she was seeing made her reconsider the offer he’d been begging her to take him up on for weeks. All she would give him back was her iconic side-eye before she’d go back to reading the novel in her lap and occasionally picking at the bowl of freshly-cut fruit she’d swiped from the prop table.

“And that’s a wrap on scene one!” one of the directors called out over the crashing waves.

Harry did what was proper - shaking hands and bowing heads and saying his ‘thank you’s before all but jogging over to where she was sat underneath the oversized pale-blue gingham printed umbrella.

“Change yeh mind yet?”

He had his hands on his hips, fingers resting on hem of the crochet-knit tank top he’d chosen himself for the occasion. She waited until she finished the page she was on before even daring to peer up at him through her sunglasses.

“How are you not dying in those pants?” was all that Y/N gave in response before going back to her book.

“‘M absolutely wretched down there if that’s what you’re askin. But yeh didn’t answer my question, lovie.”

She sighed heavily, dog-earring her place in her novel and casting it aside it in the sand before leaning up to rest her elbows on her knees.

“I just don’t know why you want me to be in it so badly. This is your video. If I’m in it, everyone’s gonna go crazy and it’ll be an even bigger shit show in the press than it’s already going to be.”

This made Harry crouch down to her level, his white loafers digging even deeper into the sand as he leaned on his haunches.

“That’s exactly why I want yeh t’ be in it. ‘S my video and that’s what I want. Want this t’ be fun and it would be even more fun if I had m’ girl with me.”

She stared at him, silently giving him her please drop it look, but it only spurred him on further.

“If it’ll make yeh feel any better, I’ll make sure you’re not in it a bunch when it comes ‘round t’ editing. Barely put yeh up close too.”

That was enticing,Y/N could admit. He’d surely let her have the final say in how much she was involved, but there was still a lot of stress that came with being on camera. Especially in her state. She knew she wasn’t exactly hiding anything, as they’d been spotted countless times in public and their friends had posted photos to their stories with her body clearly visible in them, but some things she’d rather not shine a direct spotlight on. Doing something like this would most definitely be putting her business on display for the world to see, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. 

“Please, baby? I won’t ask yeh again, but I’d really love it if you were beside me.”

She wet her lips with her tongue, eyes darting up to the underside of the umbrella as she really, truly contemplating giving in to Harry’s pleads. On her life, she can barely recall a time when she hadn’t given Harry anything that he wanted. He just had a way with people that wasn’t manipulative or conniving in any way - he was magnetic. Everything about him was so charismatic and mesmerizing and anyone that met him found themselves gravitating towards him and going along with whatever he was saying or suggesting. I mean, she let him put a baby in her for christ’s sake.

“Help me up out of this thing and find me something to wear,” she huffed, to which Harry dramatically punched the air with his fist in celebration.

“One condition,” she interjected his boast and Harry tilted his ear in her direction and tapped his earlobe with his finger to show her that he was listening.

“You have to go down on me when we get home. It was torture watching you finger that watermelon, but I’m pretty sure you already knew that.”

“Yeh talkin’ like yeh think I wasn’t gonna try t’ squeeze in a quickie during lunch anyway.”

He pulled her up to her feet, making sure to keep a steady hand on her back as he led her away from the ocean and towards the beach entrance where the trailers were parked.

//

“Wha’ about this one?” Harry asked as he pulled a strapless swimsuit with a palm tree print littered about the fabric and presented it to her.

“One wrong step and my tits will fall right outta that thing,” she quipped.

Harry held it at arm’s reach so he get a better look at the garment himself.

“Yeah. You’re right. They are gettin’ pretty big, aren’t they?”

There was no malice laced within his comment, but when he felt a harsh backhand graze his shoulder, he realized what he’d just said.

“Jesus, Y/N. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it like tha’. Yeh know I love your boobs. Especially now.”

He tried to make up for it by reaching his hand out to playfully grab at Y/N’s chest, but she slapped his fingers away and continued thumbing through the racks filled with dozens if not hundreds of swimsuits for something she could manage to squeeze herself into.

“Ohh, wait! This one’s nice.”

Harry’s fingers got tangled in the lacy straps of the neighboring article of clothing beside the one he was trying to pull out, making a few hangers crash to the ground with a harsh sound against the linoleum. When she saw what he had found, she didn’t hate it. It was a sherbet-orange colored bikini that seemed as if it would cover everything she was concerned about showing, and the bottoms looked like they’d be somewhat decent at keeping her ass contained and wouldn’t ride up and make her constantly have to readjust it every five minutes. 

“Alright, Styles,” she squinted her eyes and nodded in approval.

“I’ll bite.”

He watched her as she peeled her romper that perfectly cradled her small yet still mighty bump, lingering for just a bit too long when she unhooked the back of her bra and dropped it to the floor.

“You gonna give me the swimsuit or are you gonna keep staring at me? It’s fucking hot in here, Harry.”

She was stark naked and had her hands on her hips, a sticky veil of sweat still shining on her skin from the mugginess of the wardrobe trailer. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at her state, his heart full of nothing but admiration for the girl standing in front of him.

“Here, I’ll help yeh into it.”

Harry kneeled down to the floor and guided her legs through the bikini bottoms. Just as he pulled them up around her thighs and onto her hips, he gave her bump a quick kiss. 

“We’re kinda matchin’ yeh know,” Harry babbled as he fastened the straps on her top.

“‘S the same color as m’ nails,” he stuck a leg out in front of her to wiggle his toes and show off the bright orange pedicure he’d gotten that morning.

“That’s disgustingly cute actually. Maybe I should change,” she joked.

“No way,” he dismissed her.

“Yeh ass looks too good in this one.”

Harry clapped both hands against her bum with gentle force, the two of them erupting into a fit of giggles. He spun her around by the shoulders to get a good look at her body, protruding belly and all, in the clementine orange swimsuit.

“M’ pretty, pretty girl,” he whispered as his lips met hers in a kiss.

“You’re lucky I love you enough to do this.”

“I know I am,” Harry muttered against her mouth.

“Alright,” he continued.

“Just gotta change into m’ shorts and then I’ll be good t’ go. Meet yeh at the umbrella?”

“Oh hell no,” she jested.

“If you got to see me naked, I get to see you naked. Now get to stripping.”

//

The day went by in a blur.

What was supposed to be a brief cameo turned into Harry dragging Y/N into every scene he possibly could. When the directors instructed the models to gather in a pile around the pop star, he found his head perched in her lap, nestled perfectly atop her thighs with his temples pressed against her belly. When they’d wanted clips of everyone romping about the shoreline, he’d ended up carrying her around the beach after she’d gotten winded from doing one-too-many takes.

“Harry, I cannot fucking do this anymore,” she panted.

“I can practically feel my cankles growing.”

“Fine then,” he replied, hooking his forearm around the underside of her knees and scooping her up so that she was cradled against his burly chest.

“I’ll just carry yeh.”

He’d made her feed him raspberries as he sang the lyrics into the camera, even going so far as to suck on her fingers seductively when she went to drop one into his mouth. It wasn’t intended to be a serious attempt at filming the video, only him messing around and trying to get a rise out of her as he always did, but everyone ultimately decided that that the take they were going to use. She’d cursed him out under his breath, but they both knew it was for making her practically soak her knickers rather than getting dragged into more than she bargained for during the shoot.

Constantly, his hands always found themselves gravitating towards her belly. Whether it was rubbing her taught skin like a crystal ball as he sang the chorus instead of gesturing to the large watermelon that he was supposed to be holding, he couldn’t keep his hands off of her.

She’d known it was bound to happen at one point, but sometime throughout the afternoon he’d called for her and when she turned around, he was had shoved a watermelon up under his sheer, yellow blouse.

“Y/N!” Harry shouted at her from a few yards away, interrupting a lovely conversation she was having with one of the models.

“I’m you!”

He gestured to the fruit stuffed inside of his shirt, toyfully stroking the exterior in the manner that she always found herself doing even she wasn’t realizing. 

It made everyone, and I mean everyone, explode in laughter. It only made her hide her face in her hands after promptly shoving her middle finger in his direction.

But she’d gotten him back. When the director wanted shots of each of the girls taking bites out of a slice of watermelon, she’d made sure to take the messiest bite she could manage so that the juice ran down her chin and down the valley of her breasts. Y/N threw her head back as if were the greatest thing she’d ever tasted, exposing the column of her neck that Harry loved to mark up and bruise with his skillful tongue and lips.

“Yeh tryin’ t’ make me hard right now?” he all but growled in her ear when she’d joined him behind the camera so the next model could have their turn.

She simply cocked her head to one side and smirked up at him.

“Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it? I’m going to the bathroom. All of this watermelon’s making me have to pee.”

When it came time for the portrait and everyone was being distributed their designated slice of fruit, Y/N found herself confused when Harry pulled her out of line.

“What are you doing, H?”

Harry held up a hand to signal that he’d be right back, to which he returned with an uncut watermelon. Quite possibly the biggest watermelon that she’d ever seen at that.

“Yeh don’t get a slice, yeh get the whole damn watermelon.”

They’d all piled up on the bench and stared stoically into the camera, only instead of raising the wedge to their lips to take a bite, Y/N sat on the grass at Harry’s knees, a whole watermelon resting in between her legs in front of her bump.

//

Y/N’s day ended up being far more fun than she’d ever imagined it could have been despite her constant nagging and jabs at Harry’s expense. While she’d initially only agreed to be a part of Harry’s music video under the condition that her role would be minimum, she was secretly hoping that all of their side conversations and what would be considered “outtakes” would actually make in into the final cut. 

In fact, she’d had so much fun that at the end of the day when filming had wrapped and her and Harry were on the way home, the gentle hum of his convertible and the cool breeze that followed a blistering day on Malibu beach had slowly began willing her eyes shut. 

“Baby,” Harry beckoned her from the driver’s seat.

“Hmm?” Y/N picked her head up from where it was leaning against the window to look over at him.

“Don’t go t’ sleep on me now.”

He reached over to grab her left hand that had settled itself on top of her round stomach. Before lacing his fingers with hers, he kissed her knuckles tenderly.

“Still got t’ go down on yeh when we get home. Bet yeh gonna taste like strawberries.”

[asukamood]

Happy birthday Himiko!

==================

==================

Genre: Wholesome (attempt at) to angst

Fandom: Boku no hero academia

Characters: Mr. Compress, Twice, Shigaraki Tomura, Himiko Toga, Dabi, Magnet and Kurogiri.

Warning(S): Mentions of death, hints at child abuse and maybe manga spoilers too.

Summary: It’s finally Toga’s birthday (07/08) and she is determined to make this day the best one in her life and to force everyone in the League of Villains to take a group picture. Some might be unwilling to do it at first but they are secretly pleased about making the youngest member of the group happy. Little do they know…

==================

I don’t know who is picture’s owner but I found the picture here.

==================

“Come on, please! It will only take a few minutes maximum I promise!”

“It’s still a no from me Toga, I don’t see the point of doing one of these ‘photo shoots’. It won’t change society’s perspective so why should we do it?”

“But it’s my birthday today and you know I’ve always wanted to do a photo group!” The now-adult woman starts swinging her arms up and down like a child whose mother just disagreed to buy them something.

“What would we even get from doing that?” Even behind the giant hand covering his face, the venom in Tomura’s tone was obvious.

“Well-“ Toga didn’t even start explaining that the blue-haired man had already taken off his gloves and chased her around the bar.

======

A few hours later, the leader of the League of Villains stood in the middle of a deserted park, facing him was Toga and Kurogiri currently busy placing the camera in the right direction.

Suddenly Dabi’s annoying voice materialized a few feet away from him.

“Look at you, the oh so scary S-rank villain, being ruled around by a crazy and childish teen.” He snickers under Shigaraki’s death glare.

Compress, who was playing with cards in a nearby spot until now turned around to look at the duo. “You know Dabi if I was you I wouldn’t tease him that much, since you also agreed to participate in this group picture thing.”

Dabi blushed a little and seemed ready to punch someone. “In my defense, she had very good arguments.”

“Sure sure we believe you, you roasted chicken man.”

“The fuck did you just say?”

These two never got along, but this had to be expected considering that Dabi insulted him in their first meeting, which seemed like so long ago already. If they were left alone a few minutes more, hell, even a second more they probably would have thrown a fist but they didn’t have the time to.

“Guys it’s ready, get in the places we’ve discussed before!” Dabi and Tomura both mumbled in annoyance and unwillingly walked over their assigned spots, walking as slow as possible and making sure everyone knew they were not happy about that. Compress just stopped playing Poker with Spinner and the both of them just normally walked to the place, chatting about anything and everything on the way.

Magne sighed, putting down her weapon as she couldn’t have it during the picture, it had been a few weeks since they started to work together and Toga already knew she would swing her weapon at someone after or during the picture just for fun. Talking about her she was now bouncing happily to her spot humming in content, Twice following close behind with his costume, no matter how much she tried to, he wouldn’t take off his mask, much to her disappointment.

But that didn’t matter, today was still a good day and as Kurogiri also posed in front of the camera, she could feel her heart thumping in her chest in excitement. This was the first time she would do something normal with her friends without feeling pressured to do it and damn did that felt amazing.

The audible backward counting of the device seemed to grow louder as time passes, it was coming to an end and she was barely able to keep herself in place. Magne looked at her with an eyebrow raised, no one was humanly this excited to take a picture, what was up with her?

“3…”

“2…”

“1…”

A chorus of ‘CHEESE!’ echoed in the place as the device flashed a blinding white light on everyone’s visions, earning a few groans and these people jumped away right after the picture was taken. Toga hurried towards the camera to snatch the freshly made picture as Kurogiri shouted to be more careful with the expansive machine, she didn’t listen to him though as she was too busy examining the paper in her hands with starry eyes.

Suddenly her smile faded.

“HEY DABI WHY AREN’T YOU SMILING IN THIS?”

“I already agreed to participate in your damn picture, I am not going to smile for shit. This wasn’t part of our deal, talking about that I’m still waiting for my payment.”

“Oh whatever, I’m still going to cherish this forever!” She hugged the picture tightly with a smile, not the psychotic one, just a genuinely happy smile. The sight just made Dabi turn around, not able to look at such adorableness, Twice smiled under his mask, her happiness was contagious okay.

“Toga, if you make us do something like that ever again I swear I will disintegrate you.” Tomura hissed, starting to scratch his neck. A normal person would nod their head and run away in fear but Himiko Toga wasn’t a normal person so instead of doing that, she ran straight in Shigaraki’s arms, almost knocking him on the ground.

“Haha, thanks Tomura-kun you’re the best best friend someone could ask for!” The sudden compliment froze Shigaraki in place, no sounds came out of his mouth as he just awkwardly stood there before Toga finally released him and changed target.

“whAT THE FUCK GET OFF-“ Dabi shrieked as he got tackled hugged from behind, the cat-like girl who jumped on him giggled in amusement.

“IF YOU DON’T GET THE FUCK OFF I WILL BURN YOUR FACE OFF!” Dabi might be screaming that but he wasn’t trying to push her away, Toga noticed that and smiled brightly.

“You might be stubborn but you’re always so helpful, I’m glad that I met you!”

“Wh- I- Gh- Hh- EH-“ No coherent sentences spilled from the burnt man’s mouth.

“Are you on drugs or something?” And she was already running to Magnet by the time he had finished his sentence, also attacking her with some compliments before moving on to another person.

“I don’t know if I like her stabby phase or this genuine happy phase better, both are scary as fuck.”

“I agree with you for once.”

The rest of the day was spent with Toga just bouncing around in happiness, blushing even more than usual which everyone thought was impossible, and stabbing people left and right, but again we were talking about Himiko so this wasn’t new. It was just odd to see anyone in the League this happy, but it could only promise a good future am I right?

=======

Toga sat dully against the grey and cold wall of the cell, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on them. She never felt that empty since she was born and it was… odd. She overheard how the policemen were going to execute her the very next morning they planned to burn her against a heater, what a joke.

She was sure that when she was brought here, they have seen the scars on her back, that was probably what had inspired them with her execution. She turned into a young adult and the heroes and policemen stopped being ‘kind’, a few years ago she found out that they were a little more merciful with children, blaming it all on their parents but the second they turned 18 all the mercy was gone as fast as it appeared.

Her mind waltzed back to her execution.

The thought of going through that punishment again made her tear a sob through her throat and a tear rolled down her cheeks. If she doubted it, now she didn’t, the heroes never considered her and the other members of the League as human beings, just nuisances that they needed to get rid of in the most hurtful way.

As if on cue, the wounds on her back started to sting, making her fall down on the floor and hissed miserably from the pain in her wrists, did every blotch decided to hurt her now out of all times?

It hurt, a lot, and she couldn’t do anything about it, from the moment she was thrown into that cell she knew she wasn’t going to rest but she never thought it would be because of being kept awake by the agony, being chained to the cell’s wall didn’t help ease it. It made it worse since it hit a little too much close to home for her liking.

For some reason the heroes let her keep something in her pocket, why? She had no clue but she didn’t give a care, more like she couldn’t.

She hugged the group picture of the League, pressing it against her heart in an attempt to stop the tears and sobs from escaping her throat. She knew they couldn’t come to save her, she was going to be executed tomorrow and nothing could stop that. She didn’t care about dying or she thought so at least.

After years of searching and rooming in the streets, she had finally found her place in this world and they decided to take that away from her.

The fact that she would never be able to see them again hurt more than dying ever would.

==================

I have gotten the heater idea from the story called “Let’s never go home again” by MockingRed on Archive of our own.

This story is awesome and I really recommend you take a look at it if you have spare time.

If you are confused by anything or need to point out something you’re free to leave a comment.

Have an amazing day/afternoon/night.

[persephonesfill]

choke on me—chapter one

breathe me in (prequel fic)

chapter two

a/n: you all liked breathe me in so much that i got inspired to write a sequel! read breathe me in first before reading this fic. enjoy!

summary: After fending off an alien invasion, Tony Stark has one more obstacle to face; Steve Rogers. Steve believes that they have a connection which Tony is trying hard to ignore. After a moment of passion aboard the helicarrier, Tony can't seem to stay away from Steve as their lives grow ever more intertwined.

rating: Explicit, so explicit

warning(s):  tony has self confidence issues but what else is new, heavy smut

—————

Romanov’s eyes narrow when Tony and Steve enter the briefing room. 

The fact that they’re even having a meeting after a literal alien invasion makes Tony seethe. Bureaucracy never sleeps, he guesses. (He’s not pissed because SHIELD commandeered one of the rooms in his tower. Honest.) 

Tony arches a brow at Romanov. She’s a clever one, she has to be for her line of work, but Tony’s clever, too. He knows that to beat her at her own game, he has to play into it. 

“You’re late,” she says, in lieu of a greeting. Compared to the rest of them, she looks quite put together. Not a hair out of place, the cut on her forehead cleaned and bandaged. The archer—Barton, his brain supplies—sits with his feet propped on the table like a goddamn heathen. Tony doesn’t say anything, though. Barton’s eyes have a faraway look; the archer’s mind is on anything but social etiquette right now. Even Thor, who’s a supposed god, looks a bit winded with one hand on his hammer and the other propping up his face. Bruce is full-on asleep, not that Tony blames him, with a shock blanket strewn about his shoulders. 

“Fury isn’t here yet,” Tony says, sounding like a little kid arguing with his sister. 

Natasha hums, and her eyes flit over to Steve. “You two look friendly.” 

Steve, bless his heart, blushes but doesn’t say anything, and Tony’s just reminded of how he looked when he came down Tony’s throat; head thrown back, mouth open, and skin flushed.

Tony swallows down the sudden lump that arose in his throat and scrambles to come up with something, anything, to not blow their cover. He doesn’t want it to get out that he and Steve had got up to something.

“I was being a good host,” Tony says. “Steve wanted to see the tower. Or...what’s left of it.”

“It’s ‘Steve’ now?” she says with interest, and Tony curses her. He walked right into that one. 

Fortunately, Tony’s good at thinking on his toes. “Alright, you caught me, Romanov. I just spent the last half hour rocking Rogers’ world.” 

Steve chokes, and Tony jams his elbow into his side. Steve coughs into his arm and clears his throat. 

It’s got Romanov’s attention. And everyone else’s, apparently. Bruce is still sleeping, but Barton’s turned his eyes onto them, that faraway look receding slightly. Thor’s sitting up now, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. 

Romanov’s eyes roam from him to Steve and back again before she snorts. 

Tony’s surprised she can even make such a noise. 

“Fine,” she says. “Keep your secrets.” Somehow she makes it sound like a threat. 

“You’re seriously gonna leave it, Nat?” Barton asks.

“You didn’t see them before,” Romanov says, leaning back into her seat. “Rogers wouldn’t touch Stark with a ten-foot pole.”

Okay, that fucking hurts, but before Tony can even open his mouth to argue, because what the fuck Romanov, Fury stalks into the room with his duster flapping behind him. 

If Tony weren’t so pissed, he’d make a snide comment about Severus Snape. 

“Are you two going to sit down, or should I reschedule this meeting?” Fury says. 

Tony grits his teeth but sits down (far away from Romanov), and Steve sits next to him. 

They elect Thor to nudge Bruce awake, who looks at them with bleary eyes and his hair askew.

Steve places a big hand on Tony’s thigh underneath the table. It feels like a brand. 

The meeting is agonizingly slow and painful, and Tony wishes they all would leave. Barton and Thor almost come to blows over what they’re to do with Loki, but in the end, they decide to let the Asgardian face punishment in his own land, far, far away from Earth. 

“It’s not fair,” Barton hisses, his hand balling into a fist when Fury leaves the room with Thor on his coattails to collect his brother. “His daddy,” Barton spits out the word like a curse, “won’t punish him.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Bruce says, stifling a yawn. “Odin exiled Thor to earth when he disappointed him.”

“Banner’s got a point,” Romanov says. “I want him to pay, just as much as you,” she admits. “But how would we even go about punishing a god?” 

“I have ideas,” Barton says, and Tony flashes back to Afghanistan, to three months of darkness and dampness and death, and he understands Barton’s rage. 

“I’m sure you do,” Romanov says. “Pass them along to Thor and see how he takes them.”

“Or better yet, tell me,” Tony finds himself saying. Four pairs of eyes shoot to him. If he were a lesser man, he would have wilted under the sudden attention. “I’ve got a bone to pick with Reindeer Games, too.” 

“Yeah?” Barton says, crossing his arms. 

“Seriously,” Tony says. “Now that we know that beings like Loki and Thor exist, shouldn’t we be prepared for others like them?”

“Stark’s right,” Steve says. Tony tries to hide the surprise on his face. Were his blowjob skills that good? Steve squeezes his thigh in response. “Who’s to say that Loki was the last of them?” 

Tony’s skin prickles. The others may have fought the Chitauri, but Tony had seen them and what lay beyond them. He had always been good at seeing the forest behind the trees. He had a feeling that they had barely scraped the surface with the Chitauri. There was something or someone more vicious, more bloodthirsty than any other foe they had fought combined. 

All of the Avengers seemed to sober at that thought. 

“Well, we’ll just have to be ready, won’t we?” Romanov says, her voice cutting through the silence.

“We also deserve a day off,” Barton says. “At least I do. I don’t know about the rest of you slackers.” 

That defuses the tension in the room, just a bit. Bruce lets out a light chuckle while Natasha just rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, please, if anybody carried this team, it was me,” Natasha says. 

Steve’s hand leaves Tony’s thigh and slides up to the small of his back. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders as he leans back into Steve’s touch. Tony doesn’t know what Steve wants. He doesn’t know if their little triste was just that or if there was room for more. Tony doesn’t like not knowing things. But he’ll let Steve have this, for now.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I didn’t see anybody else carry a nuke on their shoulders into an interdimensional wormhole.” 

He waits for the snide comments, the jeers, the disgust to cross their faces but instead...instead they laugh. And it’s not a laugh of derision; Tony’s heard enough of those to recognize them. These are real, genuine laughs. 

“Fair,” Barton says, the corners of his lips quirking up. 

“No, not fair! Only two of us can fly,” Romanov says. 

“Can Thor really fly?” Bruce says. “I feel like it’s more of a controlled fall. He throws his hammer and lets the weight of it take him where he needs to go.” 

“He’s in the air, he’s moving, as far as I’m concerned, it’s flying,” Barton says. 

Tony and Barton end up arguing the semantics of flying over a finger of Tony’s best scotch, Bruce occasionally chiming in, Romanov and Steve looking on in amusement. 

They’re annoying, Tony thinks. They’re annoying and loud and destructive and—

Tony is starting to like them. His feelings had always crept up on him like a lion stalking its prey, only pouncing when he least expected it. He was starting to like them, even Romanov, who he was still kind of pissed at for her earlier comment. But he didn’t blame her. Why would Steve want to touch him? Tony had practically thrown himself at him.

“He pulled you in,” his mind supplies, trying to be helpful. “He pulled you in, and he kissed the living daylights out of you.”

But maybe Steve had been desperate? Desperation drove men to crazy lengths, including sleeping with your...enemies? That wasn’t right. It held too many negative connotations, and despite their rough start, Tony didn’t think he would ever fight against Steve. Rivals? Or was that too petty? Just what the hell were they? 

The state of his and Steve’s relationship (if he can even call it that) nags at him. The others start making their leave until Steve and Tony are the only ones left. 

The boardroom feels like a matchbox with Steve so close to him with no buffer. Steve’s making himself useful and tidying up the papers and glasses strewn about the table. Tony pours himself another finger of scotch, lets the whiskey burn his throat on the way down. He needed something to ground himself. His eyes follow Steve’s every movement like magnets. Heat blossoms low in his belly when he remembers how Steve had touched him like he was nothing but a toy for Steve’s pleasure. The thought shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. 

Tony clears his throat, catching Steve’s attention. 

“Some meeting,” Tony starts and immediately wants to slap himself. He should just get to the point. Why even bother with small talk? 

“You’re telling me,” Steve says carefully. Always so careful. Except for when his hands are shoved down Tony’s pants. 

Tony shifts in his seat and hopes that Steve won’t notice, but of course, when do things ever work out the way Tony wants them to? Steve’s eyes track his movements with all the purpose of someone used to analyzing situations. Is that what Steve thinks is about to happen? A battle? 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks, setting down a stack of papers. 

“Sticky,” Tony says, deadpan. They hadn’t gotten the chance to clean off after their little...excursion on the helicarrier. 

Tony expects for him to blush like he did earlier after his standoff with Romanov. But instead, the bastard grins at him. 

“My bad,” Steve says. “Any other time, I’m pretty good at uh, cleaning up.” 

Tony throws back the last of his scotch and tries not to think of Steve on his knees licking at Tony’s thighs and groin and—

It’s not working. But then Tony remembers Romanov; “Steve wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole,” and any desire he had dies. He should nip this in the bud now. They are absolutely not having a repeat performance. 

“Good thing it was a one-off,” Tony says, hoping his voice comes off light and airy. “Otherwise, I’d be pissed.” 

Steve’s smile falls, and if Tony didn’t feel like an asshole before, he sure as hell does now. 

“Oh.” 

“Just a little favor between two pals, right?” Tony says just to dig the knife in a little deeper. “Let him hate me,” he thinks. “It’s easier that way.” 

“Right.” Steve clears his throat. “I, uh, guess I’ll get going.” 

Part of Tony wants to latch onto his arm, pull him through the glass and the rubble of his penthouse suite, and into his bedroom and never let him go. He stomps that urge down with steel-toes boots. 

“See you around, Steve,” he says as Steve makes for the door. 

Steve pauses at the threshold and doesn’t look at him when he replies, “See you around, Tony.”

*** 

Life goes on. Tony reunites with Pepper. Tony’s mansion gets blown up. He loses Pepper for the final time. 

And it’s fine, really. Being cool with terrorists blowing up your home and experimenting on you without your consent is a lot to ask of anyone, even if that person is Pepper Potts. 

Pepper kisses him on the cheek, and Tony knows it’s the end. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. 

“It’s okay,” he says, and he means it. Because Pepper is still his and he’s still hers, just not in the way they had originally wanted. 

So, he’s single and homeless, technically, but overall it’s not the worst year of Tony’s life. 

He thinks about rebuilding his mansion in Malibu, but something stops him. 

“New York?” Rhodey asks him over Skype, curiosity twisting his features. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, clutching a pillow to his chest. He’s currently staying at one of his vacation homes on the Amalfi coast. His bedroom has a perfect view of the sea. Every evening, he sits out on his balcony and tries not to think about how Steve’s eyes are the exact color of the Mediterranean at sunset. 

“Malibu feels like an old chapter of my life. I think I’m ready for something new.” 

Italy is lovely, but Tony is so lonely. He’s never been good by himself. 

Within a month, the renovations on Stark Tower are completed, and Tony makes his move to New York. 

It’s odd, living by himself again. Of course, Tony brought his bots with him, and he integrated JARVIS into all of his personal residences. Still, there was no Pepper to remind him of some upcoming awards ceremony, no Rhodey to get into trouble with. Happy went with him because wherever Tony went, Happy followed. Tony’s sure Happy would have followed him into battle if he could. But Happy doesn’t stay in the tower, and Tony doesn’t expect him to. He knows Happy has a life outside of chauffeuring (and he hasn’t missed the looks between Happy and Pepper whenever she’s in town. He’s happy for them.) 

That’s when he starts collecting Avengers like a kid collecting those little trading cards when Tony was in college. Digimon? Pokémon? It was something that ended in -mon, he was sure of that. 

Bruce shows up first, drawn to the idea of a bed to sleep in, a constant food source, and a (relative) lack of people shooting at him.  

Bruce brings warmth to his tower, where there had been nothing but the coldness of electricity and steel. Sometimes when their research aligns, they’ll spend hours together in Bruce’s workshop. They’re good for each other, he thinks. Bruce gets him to eat a real meal and even stops DUM-E from putting motor oil in his smoothies. Tony gets him to open up. He wants to get to know the man behind the Hulk. For a moment, they’re at peace. 

Then SHIELD falls. 

Things get more complicated after that. 

Steve and Natasha show up with Clint right behind them. They’re still healing from their injuries, but overall they’re okay. Aside from dumping hundreds of SHIELD/HYDRA’s secrets onto the world wide web. 

Tony takes them in because, despite everything that happened between him and Steve, he did offer him a place to stay. Tony’s not that much of an asshole. He’s not going to retract on that offer.

Besides, his tower is enormous, and he knows it like the back of his hand; it takes nothing for him to avoid Steve without making it obvious. 

However, Tony didn’t account for the sudden friendship between Steve and Natasha, the traitor. (He doesn’t know when she stopped being just Romanov in his head.) 

Natasha must have been trailing him to learn his schedule because Steve corners him right as he’s leaving his workshop to head up to Bruce’s floor. His fellow scientist was making curry, and Tony didn’t want to miss out before the other Avengers (vultures) devoured it. 

“Can we talk?” Steve asks, leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

Tony stops in his tracks and immediately wants to do a full 180 back to his workshop and not come out for a good ten, twenty years. Stark Industries is in good hands, and Rhodey can take over for him the team, and he can live in his workshop like Gollum in his cave—

“Tony?” 

His eyes snap up to Steve. Right. They were having a conversation. Tony’s self-loathing can kick in later. 

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Sure. Let’s head up here,” he gestures to the living area situated by the staircase. This floor of the tower serves as Tony’s second home, an escape from all of his penthouse suite’s showy glamour and the lack of privacy on the communal floors. The penthouse suite reminds him too much of Pepper, anyway.

There’s a small but up to date kitchenette off to their right done up in polished mahogany, tan stone, and black appliances for whenever hunger strikes. Tony heads to the left with Steve following behind him. His living area also functions as a bedroom of sorts. Tony had invested in a plush brown leather sofa from a high-end Italian furniture manufacturer. Sinfully soft and draped in luxurious throw blankets, it served as both a sofa and his bed when he couldn’t be bothered to take the elevator to his penthouse suite.

In a strange role reversal of the last time the two of them had been alone, Steve grabs onto his wrist and pins Tony down with his stare. 

“We can talk right here.”

Tony swallows. “Okay. Sure. That works, too.” He looks down pointedly at Steve’s hand. 

Steve flushes but lets Tony go. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve starts. 

“No harm done,” Tony says coolly. On the inside, he’s trying not to scream. He had forgotten that Steve’s hands were so big. 

“I just needed to know…” Steve hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “Did I...did I do something wrong?”

And that, that makes Tony blink. 

Steve pushes on. “On the helicarrier...did I come on to you too strong? Because if I did, that wasn’t my intention at all—”

Tony holds up his hands. “Wait, what? That’s what you want to talk about? Steve, it’s been two years.”

“I know! I know it’s just...we haven’t spoken at all about...the thing, and you’ve been avoiding me ever since I stepped foot in this place.”

“I—”

“And don’t say you haven’t,” Steve says with a hard stare. “I’m old, not an idiot.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay. I guess you could call it avoiding.”

“Why?” Steve asks. “I’d rather you just tell me.”

Tony sighs. He’s too old to be having this conversation and telling Steve the truth would just be mortifying. “Romanov hurt my feelings, so I pushed you away before you could do it to me,” sounds pathetic, even to his ears. 

“A half-truth then. A lie grounded in reality,” he thinks. 

“You want to know why?” 

A muscle in Steve’s jaw jumps. “Yes. I would.”

“It wasn’t your fault, trust me,” Tony says. “I just feel like maybe you didn’t want to jump headfirst into this,” Tony gestures between them. He won’t dare call it a relationship. “I came onto you out of nowhere and didn’t even stop to think about whether or not you were ready for...anything.” He’s talking in circles and what’s worse is that he knows he’s talking in circles. Every muscle in his body is taut, waiting for Steve’s reaction. 

“You blew me off,” Steve says slowly, “because you thought I wasn’t ready for...this?” He’s taken on Tony’s terminology. 

“You were fresh out the ice, Steve. I figured the last thing you needed on your plate was something like this while you were still getting used to the 21st century.”

“Tony,” Steve speaks his name so softly it feels like a caress. Tony wants to step back. He wants to put on the suit and fly to Malibu, to Amalfi, to anywhere but here. 

“Tony, I don’t regret what we did,” Steve says. There’s a determined light in his eyes. Tony feels like the prey again. Steve has always made him feel like he’s being hunted. 

“Okay,” Tony says, steeling himself. 

“I want to do it again,” Steve says. “If that’s alright with you.” 

Steve wants to do it again. He wants to fuck Tony again, and the scary thing is, Tony’s going to let him. Arousal pools in his belly as he lifts his head to look at Steve head-on. 

“Okay,” he says. His voice already sounds wrecked. Desperate. Then Steve’s on him.

Tony hates how he falls into Steve’s arms as soon as his lips meet Tony’s. He had thought once would be enough, just enough to satiate the burning in his blood. He hated being wrong. 

Steve’s kisses are sloppy, almost desperate, but if anything, it just winds Tony up more. It’s like he’s fallen ill, with a feverish heat spreading throughout his body in waves. His heart pounds so loudly, it nearly drowns out the words Steve murmurs when he finally pulls away from Tony. 

Steve’s face is devoid of all masks, his lips cotton candy pink against his flushed skin. 

“I did that,” Tony thinks with some wonder. “I made him this way.” 

“What?” Tony says, only a little dazed, or so he hopes. Part of him flinches at the thought of Steve realizing just how far this well of desire he has building beneath his skin goes for him. 

“Don’t run,” Steve says. His arms wind around Tony’s waist with all the finality of a lock clicking into place. 

Tony swallows, his brain trying to parse through the hazy cloud of lust that had descended upon his brain. Steve’s eyes are big and so fucking blue, he almost can’t look at them directly. 

“It’s like looking at the sun,” he thinks. 

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he finds himself saying. 

“Just one more time. Just to get him out of my system.” 

Steve’s eyes narrow like he knows exactly where Tony’s brain went, and isn’t that a terrifying thought that Steve can already read him so well. Steve doesn’t call him out. Instead, he kisses Tony. 

Steve kisses him like a thief, all greedy and ruthless, stealing his breath away. Steve walks them backward until Tony feels his legs hit his sofa. They stumble onto the couch, Steve lying on top of him, eclipsing Tony. 

Steve’s lips are on his again. He can’t get enough of Tony today, it seems. His tongue slips into Tony’s mouth, one of his hands running down his chest and into his pants. Tony arches into his touch, moaning into Steve’s mouth. Steve may be a thief, but in this moment, Tony is just as willing to give him everything he has. 

Steve’s hands are so big and hot as they palm at Tony’s length. It doesn’t take long for him to harden in Steve’s grasp. 

Steve works him over with quick strokes of his hand, breaking their kiss to murmur in his ear, “Come on, baby. Spread these legs for me.” 

Tony did as he was bid, letting his knees fall open. 

“That’s it,” Steve says. 

“Can I?” Tony begins, unsure of how to continue. He’d never been shy during sex, but what he and Steve were doing, as much as Tony stomped it down, felt deeper than a simple hookup. 

“Go ahead, baby,” Steve says. The pet name flows off his tongue like honey. “Tell me what you need.” 

“I want to touch you,” he declares. “Let me?” He looks at Steve and hopes his eyes look wide and sweet. He remembers how Steve had snapped the last time he had looked at him like that, the bruising kisses and the hard, almost punishing way Steve had gotten him off…

Steve gives him a crooked smile. Tony’s not...disappointed, per se, but he wouldn’t have minded it if Steve had lost control again.

“Go ahead,” Steve says. “Whatever that big brain of yours has in mind.” 

That’s all the permission Tony needs, and his own hands work at the fly of Steve’s jeans until he’s pulling Steve’s cock loose. Steve catches on quick and shucks his jeans down to his thighs. He yanks Tony’s sweatpants down in one swift motion. This is the most exposed Tony has been in front of anyone since his relationship with Pepper burst into flames. And listen, Tony knows he’s not ugly (he’d been named Sexiest Man Alive twice, up there with George Clooney and Brad Pitt), but Steve is the literal epitome of human perfection. It could just be the childhood trauma rearing its ugly head, but Tony feels small underneath Steve. Unworthy. Useless. He’s thrown back to the present when Steve rolls his hips and slides his cock against Tony’s. 

“Come on, genius,” Steve says. “Work with me.” 

Tony lifts his hips to meet Steve, and the hot slide of flesh against flesh leaves him gasping like a virgin. 

“Fuck,” Steve hisses. “Just like that.” 

They settle into an easy, almost instinctive rhythm, Steve thrusting, Tony rising to meet him. Their groins are slick with sweat and precome. Tony’s sure that if they had bothered to get some lube, they wouldn’t have lasted half as long. It’s like someone’s turned a dial up on his senses. Wherever Steve touches him, his cock rubbing against Tony’s, is like someone lit a bundle of matches. He’s so hot, he’s sure his skin is smoking. He can hear everything. The hum of electricity present throughout his tower if you listened hard enough, Steve’s muttered curses, the wetness of Steve’s cock rocking against his. 

“One day,” Steve says, picking up speed. “One day, I’m gonna tie you to your bed just like this. Get your thighs all wet and slick and fuck you until you’re coming all over your goddamn stomach,” Steve punctuates his words with a hard thrust, and that’s it for Tony. One more word out of Steve’s mouth and he’s done for. 

“Holy shit, Rogers,” he says, sounding breathless to his ears. 

“I’m not done, sweetheart,” Steve chuckles. “How do you feel about toys?” 

“Yes. Yes. Fuck, Steve, I could make them. Anything you want.” 

And he finds himself meaning it. He’d give Steve the sun if he asked. He tries not to let that scare him. 

“How about a nice vibrating cock ring, hmm? Slip it on you early in the morning. Maybe a long-distance remote to go with it, keep you hard and ready all day long.”

Tony bites back a cry, his cock jumping with arousal. “Fuck, Steve, yes, please, yes.” 

“Then don’t run,” Steve says, his voice sounding all dark and gritty. “Don’t run, and I’ll give you everything you fucking want, just don’t run away from me, again.” 

Afterward, Tony blames it on his approaching orgasm, but in that moment, all Tony can say is, “Yes, fuck, I’m staying right here.” 

They come together, oddly enough. Steve’s teeth sink into Tony’s throat, and Tony’s throwing his head back as his come lands on both of their stomachs, and it’s so. Fucking. Good.

Tony’s floating. He didn’t know when his Italian leather couch turned into a cloud, but he’s floating with Steve kissing the bite he left on his neck. 

They curl close together, uncaring of the mess cooling on their stomachs. If Tony has anything to say about it, there’s a nice joint shower waiting for them when they find the will to move. Steve places one final kiss on the bite. 

Tony knows what it is. A marker. A claim. He’s Steve’s for as long as Steve will have him. Tony’s willing to indulge him. For now. 

“Shower later?” he asks, his words thick and syrupy from post-orgasmic bliss and the sudden need for a nap. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t want to stop looking at Steve’s handsome face. His perfectly coiffed blond hair is mussed. Steve’s skin has taken on a peachy, damn near radiant glow. “Nap first,” Steve says. 

“Steve may have left his mark,” he thinks. “But I left mine.”

[jadedlavendergemini]

As Promised

Summary: If you were to ask Emma Moore how out of control her life became just before the apocalypse, she would have told you how she had never seen it coming. How she fell for someone that she should have avoided at all cost and how she had no control of any of it in anyway possible. Of course she had no clue of her own ‘destiny’. Michael Langdon x OC

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I just started back at my second job and things have been crazy. I want to thank everyone for the positive feedback. I’m so happy so many of you enjoy my writing. If anyone would liked to be tagged in the next update, just let me know! Also I am STILL posting from my phone’

Tag list: @7-wonders @fallenangeldreamer @plymptxn @fckinsupreme

Part one here!!

——————————————————————————

Emma wasn’t always stuck in her dorm. Occasionally she did attend lessons in the classroom with the other students. She did get along fairly well with most of the students. Sometimes she was annoyed at how she was treated by other students but there were a few she liked to call friends.

Most of the time the other students were afraid of her father. John Henry tried not to show favoritism, but not that he needed to. Emma was treated as fair as his other students. He was thankful Behold felt the same way. He felt proud of her progress since her powers first showed. The two agreed that she would better off residing in Hawthorne than Robichauxs. To them, Cordelia was just dangerous. She attracted danger like a magnet.

Three times Cordelia tried to reach out to him in regards to his daughter. She insisted that Emma would excel and grow with her fellow witches. And every time he would tell her no. He wanted her close by at all times. The fear of losing her to some freak accident caused by Cordelia or any of her girls haunted his thoughts often.

She never put up an argument about Robichauxs, she was comfortable where she was. She was a good kid, Behold always told him. She had her fair share of anxiety so naturally giving her her own space was good.

Ariel and Baldwin detested the idea of her attending the school. They argued with John Henry for at least three hours before giving in and laying down the rules. At this time Behold had his back and agreed to help teach the young witch. And she proved herself almost immediately to the instructors. In no time she was already considered at level three.

She was currently sitting in the class room with a few students listening to one of Behold’s lectures. She had paid attention for the first half but towards the end, she felt a strange, low vibration in her skull. Her head aches as she presses her finger tips to her temples.

“You good?” She looked to her left. Edward, another one of the nicer students asks.

Emma nodded. “Yeah, just a headache.”

He just nods and returns his attention back to their instructor, but she cannot focus. All she can do is close her eyes and wait for it to stop.

By the time the lesson was over, Emma noticed that the constant buzzing in the back of her head had stopped. She followed the rest of the class out of the room and into the halls toward the private wing of the school.

She was caught off guard when a strong force knocked the two books out of her arms. When she stopped and looked up, she was met with the faces of three male students who stood to the side of the hallway.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Emma.” Thomas Albershaugh said. Thomas Albershaugh was one of the few students that gave the young witch a hard time. His friends Erik and Justin did just about the same.

Erik used his foot to push off the wall where he had been leaning and approached her. “Let me get that for you.”

Emma glared as he reaches down, picked up both books and place them back in her waiting hands. Before she could turn to walk away and not bother to make a smart comment, once again the books went flying out of her hands by an unseen force. Most likely made by Justin or Thomas.

“Oops.” Justin laughed as Erik stepped around Emma. By this point many of the other students had stopped to watch.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Very mature, assholes.”

“Why don’t you bend over and pick them up for us?” Thomas laughed. “Give us a show.”

The witch now self consciously gripped the ends of her black dress Skirt to make sure it was pulled down. Hesitate steps were taken to where the books had landed right in front of the morons themselves. She slowly bent her knees and with her right arm, she extends it to grab them, while the other hand is holding onto the skirt to prevent any kind of ‘show’ she was teased about.

Just as her hand gripped one of the books, another unseen force knocked her down completely. Luckily for Emma, her skirt kept down, but The boys laughed and she swore she heard other student whistle.

And in that moment, she felt pure rage. Nothing like what she had felt before. Before, she would just walk back to dorm and cry with frustration, but today that was not the case. She remained sitting on the floor and glared at the three boys. Her heart raced and hands formed into fists. Before she could intentionally hex them, Thomas went flying back into the wall, his head made contact with the wall with a loud thud. Erik’s head flew back as if he had been punched directly in the nose and Jared was thrown face down onto the cement floor.

Just like that, all the laughter and whistling stopped. The students became silent, some whispering as they stared at the three boys and the witch. It took Emma a good minute to realize what had just happened. Her eyes stayed glued to Thomas in shock as he lay there, not moving. She was in such shock, she didn’t even hear Behold’s voice

Behold had just entered the hall from the class room to see what noises he was hearing from the students. He slowly pushed his way through the students to see Three students, the troublemakers he knew they were, laying on the ground. He followed the other student’s stares to Emma who was currently sitting opposite of the boys, avoiding eye contact with the instructor.

“Alright, what’s going on?” John Henry made his way out next. He immediately stopped when he saw everyone, including Emma.

As he made his way quickly to his daughter, one of the students answered. “Emma kicked their asses!” More students chimed in. “She didn’t even touch them!”

“Out of the hallway now! Get back to your dorms, shows over.” Behold directed the students out and began checking on the three boys who were luckily still alive. His eyes moved to Emma who finally looked away from them but remained seated. “What in the hell happened?”

Erik sat up, blood coating his hands as he held his nose. “She’s a fucking Psycho that’s what happened!”

“You started it, asshole!” She shot back, her fathers hand grasped her shoulder.

John Henry rolled his eyes. “Alright, well we’re ending it right now.” He helped pull her to her feet. “You, young lady are to go and clean yourself up and go back to your room. We’ll discuss this later.”

Emma followed her fathers words and left as Behold and her father tried to get the other three students taken care of. She replayed the event in her head over and over trying to understand how she did it. She didn’t even recall uttering a word to pull that off.

As she finally made it to her dorm, she tried to find a simple explanation to what it could have been. And what was she going to tell her father? She had no idea.

Closing the door behind her, she made her way to her bathroom. She needed to shower, might help her relax after her embarrassing throw down. She let the water warm up in the shower as she stripped off her uniform. Only looking up at the mirror once does she realize what she looks like right now.

Dried blood that stuck to her right nostril, perhaps from all that energy she released on those boys? Great, now she does look like a psycho that Erik had claimed her to be.

‘What the actual fuck?’ She thought to herself, taking a cloth nearby, wetting it with the tap and using it to clean the blood.

——————————————————————————

Not too long after her shower, Emma was changed into her night clothes. She had already dried her dirty blonde waves and was currently resting on her bed with her spell book in hand. She was trying to distract herself from the fact her father was going to demand what or how she pulled off what had happened earlier.

The sound of her door opening held her attention, closing her book and placing it gently on the night stand. Her father made his way into the room and took a seat opposite from her at the desk. Facing him, she noticed how stressed he seemed to look. She must have pissed off Ariel.

Looking at his daughter, John was the first to speak.“I just finished speaking with Ariel and Baldwin. Ariel is beyond furious to know that a witch, whom he allows to study here, attacked three of his level 2 warlocks.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s not like they’re dead-“

“That’s not the point, Emma. Two boys have broken noses and Thomas has a concussion and a possible skull fracture. I don’t know which spell you used, but you have caused them some serious harm. Ariel and Behold are going to have to deal with the parents.” He sounded almost frightened himself. “I need to know, from you, what happened?

The girl nodded, looking down to her feet dangling off the bed. “I was leaving class and they were picking on me. Well, it was more like sexual harassment and usually I can ignore them but they knocked the books out of my hands and then me.” Her voice started to crack. “I was just so angry, I guess. I was trying to think of something to do and then it just happened. I don’t know what I did.”

John nodded. “Well, like I said Ariel wasn’t very happy but I was able to talk him down. He wanted to have you expelled but I opted something else. Probation.” Emma looked confused. “Dorm lessons only. No classes, no library. You’ll either eat your meals in my office or in here.”

“But, for how long?” She asked.

He stood from the chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Until Ariel says it’s over. Emma, I am sticking up for you as best as I can. But you have got to meet me half way here, okay? This attacking other students stuff? Never again.”

“It won’t.” She promised.

John nodded. “Alright we’ll, get some rest. Behold will be in first thing for your lessons tomorrow.”

And with that he was gone. Emma Laos back onto the bed and sighed. It was going to be a long probation.

——————————————————————————

For the rest of the week Emma was adjusting to her new schedule. Wake up and change, classes held in her dorm with either Behold or her father, eat lunch in her dorm, study in her dorm, and eat dinner... in her dorm. She was beginning to feel lonely. She wanted just to visit the library, but received the same answer every time. She was sick of the same books she was given by her father.

It was around 10 O’clock on a Friday when Emma had given up on following those rules. All instructors had turned in for the night and students as well so there was no way she’d be caught. She wrapped herself in a thick cardigan and made her way quietly out of her dorm. She was sure to keep an eye out as she tip toed her way through the secluded hallways of Hawthorne.

Once she made it to the poorly lit room, she made herself at home. Grabbing the first book she found on hexes. She wanted to know exactly what had happened to those boys and what she did exactly to cause it. She sat curled up on the plush cushions of the couch and read through multiple chapters. She was so focused, she let her guard down and didn’t even notice the other presence enter the room.

“Do you always hang out in the library this late?” She jumped and turned around in shock, but relaxed once she saw that it was Michael.

She carefully raised a finger to her lips with a smile. “Not really, but I didn’t really have a choice.”

Michael made his way into the library, he still wore his uniform but without the jacket, tie abandoned and sleeves rolled up. He took a seat next to her on the couch. “Haven’t seen you in a while. The word in class is that you got expelled.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Almost. I’m on ‘probation’. Which means that I’m basically stuck in my room.”

“So you snuck out,” he smiled, adding on. “Look at you.”

She looked away, trying to hide her blush. But Michael has already seen it. “So, how bad is the gossip?”

Michael shrugged, leaning back more into the cushions. “That you kicked that kid’s ass. Sorry I missed it, heard it was ‘messy’.”

“I didn’t do ‘anything’.” She confessed. “At least I don’t think I did. I honestly can’t figure it out.”

“Well did they upset you, right? Maybe it was just your emotions lashing out? That’s what I did when I-“ he stopped.

“When you what?” She asked, closing her book softly.

“When Ariel found me, I was in jail. I was protecting someone I care about and well, I accidentally killed him. They arrested me and the cop wanted me to confess so he started to beat me and again, I lashed out. I didn’t even know I could do that. The point is I think our emotions play a big role in what we can do. That and that Thomas kid seemed like an ass.”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

It grew quiet between the two. While Emma thought more about what he had told her, Michael took this time to observe her. She looked different in her comfortable pajamas than in her Hawthorne uniform, not that he mind. The fire from the fireplace illuminated the skin of her bare legs and her cardigan slightly open, showing a her thin camisole top. Her long hair curled and shaped her face and laid past her shoulders.

He flicked his eyes back to her face only to find hers on him. She slowly wrapped the cardigan around her a little tighter and sighed. It only just occurred to her that not only had she broke one of the rules for her probation, she broke her father’s rule about Michael. Not wanting to get caught with both, she began to sit up and pick up her book.

“It’s getting late and I don’t want to get caught. I better head back,” she said standing up, book held tightly to her chest.

Michael stood immediately. “Can I walk you to your dorm?”

While Emma should have felt uncomfortable, she didn’t. Instead she felt almost flattered. She nodded and led the way. Michael smiled and followed, hands clasped behind his back.

“So, how do you like the school?” She asked, wanting to end the silence.

“It’s good, everyone is very nice. Although, I swear your father hates me.”

She smiled and shook her head. “He’s just hard on everyone and very protective of the school.”

“And you,” he added.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“What about your mother?”

Emma didn’t speak and her small smile was gone. “Uh, she died when I was two. So I don’t really remember her. So it’s just my dad and me.”

Michael could feel her emotions remain the same. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He added quickly. ��My mom tried to kill me when I was younger.”

The witch’s brow furrowed and stopped to look at him. “Oh god, I’m sorry.”

Michael only offered a small smile and shook his head. “It’s alright, she just didn’t understand who I was. But I have a foster mom, of sorts. She’s great and takes good care of me that I don’t even think about my mom.”

“Oh, well that’s good, I suppose.” She replied, beginning to walk again. Emma’s thoughts raced as she thought about what he had said. A mother attempting to kill her own child, the poor boy probably went through a lot.

They finally came to the private wing of Hawthorne and stopped. “There’s a spell on this wing so other students can’t enter so,” Emma balances on her toes. “Thanks for walking with me.”

“I really enjoy your company,” he said. “Do you think you can sneak out again sometime soon?”

“Michael I-“ she sighs. “I probably shouldn’t. I don’t want to get in trouble. Ariel already hates me and I don’t want to get expelled.” She watched his lips fall from that beautiful smile of his. And suddenly she didn’t care. It seems that she had finally made a friend, a friend she wanted to get to know more. “You know what, sure. Can we meet in the library again tomorrow night?”

“Sounds good. 10 o’clock?”

She smiles. “10 o’clock. Good Night, Michael.”

He watches as she makes her way to her door at the end of the hall and disappear. He quietly observed the corridor itself. A spell to keep students out, really? He cautiously stepped over the threshold of the hallway, waiting for something to shove him away, but nothing happens. Placing his hands behind his back once more, he quietly makes his way to her door. He can practically feel her emotions blossom into happiness. And it’s something he wants to her to feel all the time, he wants to be the one to bring out that smile of hers.

He felt pride for what she did to Thomas and his friends. Well, what he did. The second he heard those words from the boy’s mouth he wanted to snap their necks right there. But he knew he needed to keep low. So he did what anyone would do for their soulmate, he gave her energy. The warlocks believed Emma’s actions to be from her emotions, not Michael’s magic. She didn’t know it, but there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

As for her father, he may need to be a little careful around. He knew John Henry was already suspicious. Nothing he or Miss Meade couldn’t handle.

[notyoursterotypicalnerd]

Online Love

Marvel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Synopsis: Bucky and his mysterious S have only been communicating via phone that is until S suggests they finally meet in person. Bucky isn’t sure how he feels about that idea but he says yes anyway.

Word count: 2026

A/N: Hope you don’t mind that i used your stucky social media post as  inspiration. @snowbarrysolicity

Their lives had finally stopped revolving around fighting. They had both finally figured out how-to live-in peace. No more fight against the enemy and no more fighting against each other.

They were childhood friends; battle tore them apart, but daily remainders kept each other close.

One was known as the hero to the public while the other was known as the enemy, normally stories like this would sound cliched and audiences would know where this would turn. This is exactly that story.

“Yo, Buck. We’re all heading out, want to come join us?” Sam yelled over the music in the gym.

Bucky looked up from the punching bag “Whose us?”

“Stark, Barton and Rogers”

Bucky scrunched up his face “Maybe another time.”

Sam rolled his eyes “Don’t know why you bother training; we both know I’m the stronger one out of the two of us” He laughed.

“I’ll give you whose stronger” Bucky joked as he raised his metal fist.

The two males laughed together.

“Right, fine. Catch ya in a bit” Sam called out as he headed out of their shared house.

Bucky paused for a moment as he listened to front door close shut. He rushed to his phone next to the speakers, he picked it up and smiled as he saw an unread message from his new crush.

Bucky clicked open the message.

It was nice to finally hear your voice in person last night. x S.

Bucky felt like a child with a hidden crush that his too shy to share. No one knew that Bucky had been talking to a guy. They had meet on a dating app, Sam had set one up for Bucky thinking that Buck could move his looking for love online instead of trying old 1940’s tricks that make any woman sick to hear.

He had swiped on a guy who he only knew as S, even the profile picture seemed a bit vague. Bucky didn’t care, the two of them had been messaging each other non-stop since even swapping numbers.

No one knew about Bucky’s new interest; he was even too shy to talk to Steve about it.

Bucky bit his lower lip as he tried to find the words to reply with.

Maybe we could meet in person?

Bucky backspaced the message “No” he sighed to himself.

Want to stay up late again tonight?

“Ah!” he cringed to himself. “Don’t come off quick” he sighed again.

Same time again?

Bucky pressed send. He lowered his head thinking he was going to wreck his chances too quickly. They had only been talking for almost two months, they each had their excuses on not wanting to meet in person.

Bucky’s excuse was always the same, I’m sorry but things have been hectic and trying to meet in person would be rushed.

While S’ excuse would be work’s been holding me hostage, we’ll plan something...eventually.

Bucky looked down at his phone as an instant reply came through.

I’m free now.

Bucky jumped in giddy. He took a deep breath as he rang S’ number. He looked up at the punching bag, he bit his lower lip.

“James”

He loved the way S said his name. No one called him James, not even Steve; at least not anymore.

“S” Bucky smiled at himself as he began to walk out of the gym.

“did you get much sleep after I hung up last night?”

Bucky was glad he was alone, no one could see him blush “Ah, sorry man that I crashed. It’s just been crazy lately.” He couldn’t believe that he fell asleep half way through their conversation last night. 

S laughed a little “has anyone ever told you that your snore is cute?”

Bucky paused for a moment as he stopped on the stairs. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He took a second to recollect his thoughts “you should see what else is cute” his eyes widened as he realised what he had just said. “fuck!” he mouthed to himself.

S laughed a little “Are you finally free from being busy?”

Bucky clenched his human hand, letting his nails dig into his skin. He wasn’t ready to meet in person. What happens if S didn’t like what he saw? What happens if S knew about Bucky’s past?

“James, are you there?”

Bucky unclenched his hand “Yes, sorry” He took the final three steps up the stairs “is work still holding you hostage?”

“At the moment things have seem to died down and I’m no longer chained to my…” S stopped himself from speaking “Maybe we could finally meet up tomorrow?”

Bucky went quiet again, he moved along the hallway. He couldn’t but he wanted to. He shouldn’t but he wanted to. A million thoughts ran through Bucky’s mind.

“James?”

Bucky stopped at the entrance of the kitchen “Tomorrow?” he tried to remain calm.

“Yeah? Say around 3?”

Bucky paused. His thoughts started to swirl around trying to find a good excuse to use, trying to find something that could avoid a meet up. He loved texting S and he loved finally hearing S’ voice for a change but meeting in person? No, that was off the table.

“James?” S started to worry.

Bucky caught his reflection in the window. He didn’t think he was a looker, his shoulder length dark hair pulled into a messy bun, a scruffy beard around his lower jaw. A baggy singlet over his upper body and a pair of sweats over his lower body.

He had heard Sam’s jokes too many times, not that it bruised Bucky’s ego but some days he did believe the joking insults Sam said.

“James? Are you still there?”

Bucky snapped back into the conversation, he wanted to hang up. Use some excuse of the phone call ending abruptly. “I..can...3..is” Bucky fumbled with his words.

“Are you sure, James? We don’t have too meet in person”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Bucky finally managed to find his words.

“Nah, you don’t want to meet up or cool that you do?” S tried to find certainty in the answer.

“Sorry, S. I totally want to see you tomorrow, it’s about time, anyway. Right?” Bucky tried to act cool.

S laughed a little “It’s certainly overdue. Alright, say across the road from the building that used to be Stark towers?”

“3pm, at that coffee shop?”

“Yep. Alright, I get it...I’ll get off the phone” another voice could be heard in the background, but Bucky couldn’t make out what they were saying “Sorry, James. Friends of mine want me off the phone, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye S.”  Bucky waited for the line to go quiet before he put his phone in his pocket.

He couldn’t believe it; he was going on his first date since having his memory and metal arm altered by Shuri. To say Bucky was nervous would be an understand; he was scared and nervous. He couldn’t believe he had agreed to it.

# #

Bucky placed the razor down on the sink’s edge as he looked at his smooth face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror; he smiled a little.

“Oh, come man, now I’m going to have to look at that ugly thing all the time? At least the beard was an improvement” Joked Sam as he stopped in the doorway of the bathroom.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

Sam’s eyes moved to the bathroom floor seeing Bucky’s chopped hair on the floor “hope you plan on cleaning all that up”

Bucky looked at Sam.

“What? I could’ve said something about the towel too but” Same shrugged a little “I’ve grown numb to you walking around in a towel.”

Bucky smiled a little.

“Doors were invented for a reason dude” Sam leaned against the door way. “What’s with the clean-up, anyway?”

Bucky looked at the sink, he turned on the taps trying to clean up the mess of his beard “I..” he paused for a moment “I have a date”

Sam burst out laughing “What girl wants a weak ass like you? Should tell her, that the falcon is over here.”

Bucky wanted to correct Sam, it wasn’t a she he was meeting; it was a he. “Come on, man. We know the ladies love the metal” He joked back at Sam.

“Always using that lame ass excuse” Sam rolled his eyes “Do I know her?”

Bucky shrugged.

Sam shrugged in reply “Is that all I get? A shrug? Man, your finally getting the hang of this century.”

Bucky turned off the taps, he looked at Sam “That’s all your getting, birdman.”

“Bird man?” Sam pretended to feel offended “At least I’m a chick magnet”

It was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Are you bringing her back here?”

Bucky carefully knelt down to the ground trying not to let his towel come loose, he shrugged.

Sam shrugs “again with a shrug?”

“Look, Sam. I don’t know. This is our first-time meeting in person. Probably go back to theirs” He started to try and clean the cuts off his hair from the floor.

“Well if you bring her back here, than just send me a text so I can clear the zone. I don’t want to see your nasty ass walking around naked.”

“ ‘right” Bucky tried not to feel hurt over the last comment. He was trying to stay positive for his date with S but the conversation with Sam was taking Bucky’s thoughts down.

# #

Sam looked at Bucky “Gotta admit, you don’t scrub up too bad” he complimented his friend.

Bucky smiled a little. He was dressed in jeans, plain shirt, and a leather jack. Bucky ran his metal fingers through his hair to slick it back slightly, he used his human hand to check his phone “thanks man.”

“Let me know how it goes and if things don’t work out. Give her my number”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening.” Bucky waved bye to his friend as he walked towards the front door.  He pulled his sunglasses out from the inside of his jacket and put them on. He shoved his metal hand into the pocket of his jeans trying to make himself look as human as possible as he walked out of their property.

# #

Bucky checked the time on his phone. 14:50. He sat down outside the café as he waited for his order. He could feel his heart racing, he wanted to bail, and ghost S. Bucky would rather go back on the run again than deal with meeting S.

Bucky looked down as he felt the table vibrate, he noticed a new message flash across the screen of his phone. He opened the message.

Who am I looking for?

Bucky looked up around him trying to see if anyone was looking at their phone. A lot of different people were, he sighed a little than began typing.

Leather jacket, glasses on. Back corner on the right, outside the café.

Bucky looked up at the café waiter as they placed down the coffee he had ordered “thanks”. Bucky hit send on the message.

He ran his metal fingers through his hair, nervous were building up.

“James?”

Bucky quickly shoved his metal hand in his jacket pocket “S..” he looked up at the male standing next to him; his eyes widened couldn’t be, but it was “Steve?”

Steve Rogers winked at Bucky “You seem surprised?” He sat down across from Bucky.

“Well, yeah...I’m waiting for a friend. I didn’t think this neck of the town would be your thing anymore”

Steve shrugged a little “I’m surprised you never put two and two together.”

Bucky paused for a moment “Your S?” He was in disbelief “you can’t be S.” he was lost for words “How?”

Steve smirked “You see Buckaroo, you weren’t taking my hints before and I thought I’d try something different. Though I’m surprised you even know what a dating app is”

Bucky blushed a little “Me? What about you? Did Stark finally teach you how to finally use a phone?”

The two males laughed.

Bucky was no longer nervous to find out who S was, but he felt stupid that he hadn’t realised it was his childhood friend.

[renaroo]

Some Times (Time and Time Again) (8/8)

Disclaimer: Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, and associated characters are the creative property of DC Comics. Warnings: Canon shaken not stirred, Heavy canon references to Booster Gold (2009-2011) and Blue Beetle (2016-2018) Pairings: Boostle Rating: T Synopsis: Booster Gold and the rest of the Time Masters are still straightening up things in the wake of the most recent universal Rebirth. But Rip Hunter is still missing in the aftermath, leaving Booster in charge with Skeets, Michelle, and Rani. But there’s a distraction for Booster, one he can’t keep himself from ignoring.

Ted Kord, miraculously, is still alive. And that makes everything more complicated than Michael could have ever imagined.

A/N: We’re finally here! After such a long wait, we’ve finally come to the end of this fic. It’s been a wild ride, fueled at the end here by quarantine and anxiety, but I really have loved writing this story. I adore these characters, miss the Time Family in the comics, and hope I did them justice in this story. I hope it is something enjoyable for all of you, too.

As we wrap up this long journey, I absolutely must thank all of you for coming along with me. And, of course, a wonderful and appreciative thank you to @babybatbrat, @spiralcass, @shibascarf, @mcbangle, gaymage, Schw0099, GeorginaNadia, @secretlystephaniebrown, and arouraleona for your lovely comments and supportive words <3 I appreciate them so very much!

Michael Jon Carter

Booster Gold is not new to being a superhero.

He’s been there and seen that. His current “job” interview was him watching the rebirth of the multiverse after a giant mind-controlling worm tore everything to hell. He fought with the bravest and greatest men and women he ever met against the monster that killed Superman. He actually got to confess his feelings and act with them for the friend that he couldn’t stop from dying years beforehand. 

And he is still unprepared for the twists and turns before him now. 

From underneath a metal I-beam, Michael Jon Carter stares in silence at the shimmering black metal of Black Beetle. He heard Rani’s accusation, but what is more deafening is what comes after.

Black Beetle stands in silence rather than correct her. 

Ted, on his back still behind Rani, looks around multiple times before squinting at Black Beetle. “What’s a Boppy?” he asks cluelessly.

“Nothing,” Black Beetle insists, scooping forward and grabbing Rani’s wrist before retching her away from his line of fire. “Not anymore.”

A wild spark of protectiveness takes possession of Booster as he realizes what’s about to happen. Even with the pounding in his chest and ears ever-growing -- god, Rani can’t be right, she can’t -- he knows he has to save Ted first and foremost. He pushes and shoves at the heavy metal laying across him when it rather unexpectedly gives way.

Blinking in surprise, Booster glances over and sees Michelle across the other side of the lab near the transporter platform. She’s weary, but her hand is reaching forward outstretched toward the I-beam, using her suit’s magnetism.

“Mike, go!” she coughs out. 

His family, his loved ones, are all in pain around him, and Booster can’t figure out a way to heal all of it outside of the most direct way first.

Clenching his fist, Booster flings himself forward with the force of his flight ring. He tackles into Black Beetle’s waist and takes him into the nearest wall before he can fire at Ted. 

Then, before either himself or the time-traveling menace can catch their breath again, they are enclosed in a thick bubble produced by the forcefield belt.

“Boost!” “Mikey!” “Michael!” muffled yells cry from outside.

For the moment, Booster ignores them, pushing up to his feet one foot at a time. He can feel a trickle of blood down from his nose yet again, but he ignores it, focusing instead as Black Beetle stands back up. 

“You think you can keep me trapped in here, Gold?” he snarls.

“I don’t know, it worked for Guy Gardner before,” Booster only half jests. He stands tall, meeting Black Beetle eye to eye. “And like it or not, he has a lantern ring. Is that blaster stronger than the most powerful tool in the universe?”

Black Beetle snarls and begins to readjust his suit’s weaponry. “Then I’ll take that belt off of you and free us both.”

“Maybe,” Booster admits, “but you should at least answer some questions for me first.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” Black Beetle growls. 

“Yeah? So sure about that?” Booster taunts, stabbing a finger at Black Beetle’s armored chest. “Is Rani right? Is whoever is inside that black tin can Rip Hunter?” He squinted at the little exposed face he could see and felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. “Are you my missing friend?”

“You and Rip Hunter were never friends,” Black Beetle says coldly.

“We were friends to me,” Booster says gently. He searches Beetle’s face and feels his chest clench. “Rip. C’mon, Rip. It’s you. Please, just. Take the helmet down. I haven’t seen you in months. Years, it feels like.”

For a moment, there is no response from Black Beetle at all. He stands, stoically, nose to nose with Booster before tipping his head down. All at once, his armor responds, cryptically unfolding and reforming away from his head regressing back into the torso of the suit. 

Booster sets his jaw, his heart still aching at the reveal no matter how much Booster attempted to prepare himself. 

Rip Hunter’s face is unmistakable, from his firm brow to the stern lines of his jaw. His hair is returned to the dirty blonde, no longer dyed or shaded as Rip has taken to. But, what is not the same, is the haunting glow that now envelops his eyes. It permeates out around him, rotating in a colorful display of the rainbow lights Booster has become so familiar with from the timestream. 

“What’s happening?” Booster demands immediately. “You wouldn’t do all of this without a reason, you wouldn’t… None of this would be happening unless Rip Hunter had a good reason. No matter how crazy he is. You are. Whatever. What I’m trying to say is...” Booster looks down to his hands which seem to be shrugging back at him in confusion before he throws them up in defeat. “What the actual fuck!?”

Scowling at him in a way that only Rip Hunter can, Black Beetle glares back into Booster’s face. “I am doing what Rip Hunter always must do -- correct the timestream, preserve events, make the tough choices.”

“Were you always Black Beetle?” Booster asks. “Either you need an Oscar or Rip -- my Rip -- didn’t know anything about this when you first showed up.”

“A Rip Hunter is always Black Beetle,” he answers cryptically.

“You really are Rip, because only Rip can make me that infuriated in a sentence,” Booster groans, rubbing a hand across his face only to flinch at the pain from his nose. “Why are you trying to kill Ted? Time has changed -- you yourself used to talk about it being fluid! Everything’s stable! Ted doesn’t have to die to save the universe!”

“He has to die for Rip Hunter to exist, that is obvious!” Black Beetle snarls, the chronal energy beginning to shine through even his mouth. “Each moment takes me closer to being rewritten, closer to impermanence! And without me there will be no protection for time itself! The universe will never survive!” 

“Wow, you egotistical jackass, I’m right here!” Booster shouts back, gesturing to himself wildly. “You trained me! And I wasn’t going to sit back and let you disappear before I knew you were going to have this chronal temper tantrum, and I’m definitely not going to do it now! Give me some credit.”

“You will be too content to see me come to existence,” Rip declares, beginning to fold in on himself, his body convulsing in a seizure that was all too familiar to Booster after his own bout of chronal leprosy. “I will never come to be.”

“What a terrible thing to think of your family,” Booster jokes gently, moving to catch Rip’s now bulking shoulders. He falls to his knees on the floor with him.

“You don’t even know how much family we are,” Rip chokes out. “You may never know.”

Booster’s chest clenches at that and he presses his forehead to Rip’s. “I think, buddy, I’ve got a clue,” he remarks gently. “You’re sick and you’re not thinking straight, Rip. And if you think you’re not coming into existence in this universe, you’re so wrong it’s laughable. Really! When you’re old enough, I’m going to give you such shit for it. The great Rip Hunter, bested by Booster Gold.”

“Bested by Michael Carter,” Rip says weakly back, his skin beginning to crack and shed chronal light more and more. The crevices of his suit shine brightly with it. “Will you promise? To make sure?”

“Of course, Rip,” Booster says, leaning back and away far enough to look fully into Rip’s face. “I’m good on my word to my family. Always.”

He waits, watching as Rip and Black Beetle in one disappear before his very eyes, pieces of chronal energy breaking up bit by bit and folding in on itself, disappearing from visible existence as if it were never there. Michael clutches his fists and tightly squeezes his eyes together as his chin drops to his chest. A surge of emotions he hasn’t let himself feel for Rip rush through him at once. 

After a long breath, he lowers his field and releases a long sigh. 

“Chalk that one down,” he says miserably, barely glancing over his shoulder at the three standing in shocked silence behind him. 

“Chalk what down, Boost?” Ted bothers to utter as Michelle and Rani hug and let tears run down their faces. 

“Well,” Booster sighs, pushing up to his feet, “I promised whenever he’s reborn and old enough, I’m going to give him shit for being wrong for once. That is a father-son promise that absolutely I am going to keep.”

He’s wobbly in his knees as he steps over to Ted and the others, but he tries his best not to show it. He’s already feeling weak in a lot of other ways and he doesn’t feel like letting any of them show. 

Ted is banged up and holding onto his right shoulder rather tenderly. But his face is more concerned than pained. 

“Are you okay?” Ted asks.

“Of course not,” Michael answers back. “You?”

“I’m, honestly, really confused,” Ted says, scratching at the back of his head. “But I’m also, just, really glad. Glad’s a weird way to be right now, isn’t it? I mean I’m relieved. Nope, not any better. I’m, uh. I’m…”

For just a moment, Booster raises a finger to hush Ted and tilts his body enough to look Michelle and Rani’s ways. 

“Girls? Are you guys going to be okay?” he asks tiredly.

“Yeah,” Shel answers, wiping at her eyes with the hand not gripped by Rani. “I-I’ll be okay.”

Rani nods, sniffling. “Boppy’ll be back. So I’m okay.”

Nodding, Booster takes a breath and then immediately slings his arms around Ted’s shoulders and pulls him into a full-body hug. “This is the weirdest, wildest, dumbest reunion of all time, but I don’t want you to ever doubt that…” he looks ahead, searching for his words. He blinks in distraction. “Don’t… want you to…” 

Holding Ted and arm's length, Booster stares ahead at Skeets and, more specifically, at the chalkboard just behind Skeet’s floating form.

Where before Ted Kord is KEY was written by itself, there is now a giant checkmark

“That… That dramatic son of a bitch!” Michael cries out, forgetting his weariness to stomp over to the board and examine. “He’s-- He does exist in this universe and has been writing on the board! The whole time! He could have-- why did he want--”

“Michael,” Michelle clears her throat before stiffly nodding her head toward Ted. “Maybe he… needed to make sure… things happened.”

Ted, for his part, looks utterly lost. 

“Come here,” Booster groans, reaching over to grab Ted’s wrist and yanking him close before planting a kiss to his cheek. 

“God, you could just ask me to take a few steps forward,” Ted chuckles into Booster’s skin.

He then grabs Michelle and Rani and pulls them all close.  “My family is all here,” he says confidently. “Even if one’s hiding out in the timestream like a jackass right now.”

“Language, Michael, really,” Michelle says with no heat to her words at all.

“And I’m always going to do what’s right for all of you,” he promises. 

They hug him back, every bit of his body held close by the people he loves most in the world at that moment in time. 

Then another I-beam falls ten feet ahead of them causing them all to jump and yell in surprise. 

“Okay,” Booster says, slow and drawn out. “What’s best for our family next step is probably fixing this place up before doing any other time shenanigans because I think I’ve put that off for about as long as the old Lab’s going to take it.”

“Well, not to brag,” Ted says before reaching up and pulling his goggles down over his eyes, “but I’m actually kind of a genius with labs.”

Booster feels his face melt into an affectionate smile, looking over Ted so fondly. “I know.”

“Ew, is this what love looks like,” Rani says, sticking out her tongue.

“Come here you,” Booster laughs, grabbing her sides and pulling her into a bear hug so that he can nuzzle her neck while she struggles and shrilly giggles. He flinches and lets go to check on his nose.

“You deserve that, brother-o’-mine,” Shel baps him on the head.

Ted, though, is on his knees and holding out his hands to study the bandage over Booster’s nose instead. He smirks and shakes his head. “You do know that promise goes both ways, right?” he asks, gently putting his hands over Booster’s. “I’ll do anything that’s best for you, too.”

“I know,” Booster says.

He knows there’s a lot of work still left to do, and that this new universe has a lot of things left to fix, but he feels in his soul more than he ever has before that on the track they’re on, there’s no place he’d rather be in that moment. For once, he can’t wait to see what the future might bring.

[imagination-is-key-in-my-world]

Soul-mates

Request : A soulmate au with Alec would be super cute 😍 like maybe the reader gets hurt somehow and physical contact with soulmates helps heal or something?? And both the reader and Alec are trying to resist the soulmate pull cause they don’t get along at first but then just super fluffy and cute. Does that make sense? 😂❤️ (ANONYMOUS)

Summary : Have you ever heard of the bond that a Soul-mate can have? Imagine a Parabati bond but stronger, imagine healing within seconds because someone touched you. Well imagine how hard that must be when you get hurt but the one person who can help you, hates you.

Warnings : Strong language in parts. Magnus is a clear Disney Fan.

Pairing : Alec Lightwood x Reader

Word Count : 2,861

“Get off of me!” Alec yelled at you, shaking your free hand from his arm as you tried to help him up. It was the first mission that required the whole team's participation as the institute was alerted that Valentine and Jonathan Christopher were seen tracking down a Warlock in this particular area.

Alec had been cornered, and he was unwilling to let you help him out of his rough patch. In fact, he seemed irritated at your eagerness to help. You had been aware lately that there was this almost magnetic pull that drew you to him. But it was definitely one sided. Alec couldn't stand to be around you. He also hated it when people thought that he was weak. “I can do it myself!” pulling himself up and shooting an arrow in your direction. “Alec!” You cried, closing your eyes tight as you thought it was going to hit you. However, the impact never came. Instead the arrow flew passed your head and struck one of Valentine's forsaken smack bang in the centre of his chest. For a second, you thought that your eyes locked with his. Knowing it was a crazy assumption you slapped the thought away. This was Alec, the boy that flipped you off with his eyes, the boy who would make a sarcastic comment about any strategic plan that you had. Knowing full well that they were almost always successful, pissing him off even more. “Y/N!” Isabelle screamed from across the alleyway, advancing towards you with her whip at the ready. “Get down!” And yet it was too late, the impact of a sharp instrument entered your back and poked out through your chest. You watched stunned at what had happened. Noticing the blood drops hitting the floor at the end of the blade. Everything was quiet as Jace, Isabelle and Clary ran towards you. You could see the scene play out, plenty of screaming and crying. “Y/N?” But, Jace's voice was the only thing that broke through the silence at first, “Alec help me help her up will you?” “No.. I c-” Alec's stern voice was the last thing you heard before you fell into Jace's arms.

**

“There's my little girl!” Luke laughed when he saw you try to walk for the first time. “You can do it, come on.” The room was filled with muffled cheers, as they tried their hardest not to startle you. Your mother Jocelyn was eyeing you with a mixture of fear and pride, “Don't push her too hard Luke, she will walk when she is ready.” Clary was dangling a toy in front of your face as if you were a dog, guiding you towards her step father Luke. “She is getting better at this daddy.” She wrapped herself into Luke's lap, watching her little sister lift herself up from the floor and stand unsteadily on both feet. Everyone cheered louder than they expected which startled you. Resulting in you landing back down onto your butt with a substantial thud. A small cry left your lips. “No no no,” Luke rushed over to you picking you up and cradling you in his arms as you rubbed your tiny fists against your eyes. Something was strange about this memory, it wasn't as if you were remembering it from the perspective of the younger version of yourself. It was as if you were present there too, stood in the room watching it all play out as if it were a movie. “Don't cry little one, it's okay. You are in a family of fighters. If you fall, you can always pick yourself back up again.” Luke spoke to the small girl in his arms. “Do you hear me Y/N, pick yourself back up again!” This time Luke was staring right at you, the spectator. “You fell. Now pick yourself back up!”

**

The words that were directed at you with so much fear, it startled you awake. When you opened your eyes you found yourself to be in a very familiar environment. The institute infirmary, but you were all alone. Lifting your head ever so slightly you gazed at the gauze taped around the middle of you chest. A sharp sting erupted from you body when you remembered what happened. “Ah!” Crying out as you tried to reach for the area. The monitor that you were wired up to started beeping like mad. The sudden movement to observe your situation caused a strong sense of pain travel through you body, resulting in an increase of your heart rate. Sometimes it was a good thing that you watched all of those doctor programmes on the television in your free time. “You will heal, but it will be hard and it will take some time. It's a pretty bad wound you got there.” Alec spoke up from the doorway, arms crossed, his usual authoritative stance. He turned around as quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared through the door. Part of you had thought that you had imagined him there the entire time. Maybe a hallucination from the pain and drugs that they had given you when your healing rune had failed. You couldn't help but feel saddened by the fact that Alec was this way with you. Clary, your sister, became a Shadowhunter (in training) when she was 18 in order to assist in finding the Mortal Cup. However, your dad Luke trained you to become a police officer, something your mother Jocelyn hated, but hated considerably less to you becoming a Shadowhunter. Once your mother had died, Luke panicked. He didn't know how to protect you any more, and doubted whether you joining the police was the right thing for you. Becoming a Shadowhunter was tough, you were starting late and the one person who was assigned to train you was Alec. Only problem was, he never liked you. You didn't know whether he felt bad because you knew what he had done or whether it was something more personal. Clary had told you on many occasions when you couldn't help but tear up over it, that it was just the way that he was. Over time you thought that his hatred would decrease, but it didn't. He point blank refused to train you when you told him that you found some of his instructions too difficult to comprehend. Calling you a pathetic invalid, “it's not my fault you cant understand the basics of battle training!”

**

“I have a theory, a theory that may help us to understand why she is not healing.” Magnus spoke from in front of you bed. It had been a couple of hours since you had woken to find the ignorant leader in the doorway of the infirmary. Magnus was one of your closest friends at the institute. You got on with everyone, but he always made you feel like you were special, acting more like an OLDER brother. “Have you tried using a Soul-mate bond?” “What on earth is a Soul-mate bond? You mean like a Parabati bond?” Jace said holding onto your hand and squeezing it, his other reaching for his rune on his torso. Magnus shook his head vigorously. “No this is different. This is like.. How should I put it,” he paused and we all watched as he searched for the right words, “Disney, yes Disney.” The grin on his face, obviously showed that he was satisfied with his answer. But by our confused gazes he had to continue. “In a Disney film, Snow White was brought back from death by her true love's kiss. Sleeping Beauty raised from a coma after pricking her finger on a spindle all because of a true love's kiss...” “Wow Magnus, you need to stop drinking.” You said laughing, then regretting it as it sent a stinging paint to your chest. “So what you're saying is, I need to kiss someone?” Your head fell down as you knew there was no hope of healing. “Fucking hell, never kissed a guy and now I have to be prostituted out across the institute to see if they can stitch me back together, yeah no thanks.” You mumble under your breath, hoping your sister doesn't pick up on your cynical behaviour. “Y/N!” She yelled, he clearly heard what you said, 'damn' you thought. “I know it's not ideal, but you need to heal.” “Come 'ere then, let me kiss you!” You mocked Clary, holding your arms out in front of you. “Ew no I'm your sister!” Her faced grimaced at your request. “Aha! Not nice is it when you have to kiss people you don't like!” You both burst out laughing and from the corner of your eye, he was there again. Standing in the doorway of the infirmary. For a split second, you thought you saw him smile. “Before anyone goes around kissing anyone!” Magnus was holding a book in his hand. “There may be another way. It doesn't have to be a kiss.” Jace leaned over to read the book that Magnus held in his hands, scanning the page that he had been reading from. “It says here that a Soul-mate can heal all wounds. Transfer pain from their partner by a simple compassionate touch.” His smile faded, “Looks like it isn't me then.” You knew he wasn’t upset by it, he was only trying to lift your spirits. “Maybe next time, Jace.” He squeezed your hand and sat back down.

**

Two days had passed and you were slowly started to feel yourself again, even though you still had a gaping hole in the middle of your chest. “Can I come in?” It was him, Mr Head of the Institute. “You make the rules, so whatever you want Mr Boss Man.” Your arms went behind your back as you tried to lift yourself into a sitting position. “Fuck me, that hurt,” you muttered as the pain shot through your entire body. “Hmm?” “Nothing, Alec. What brings you to my humble abode?” At least you didn't lose your sense of humour in the accident. “Why did you do it?” He broke the silence, but still keeping his distance from you. Your confused expression on your face gave little away. “Why did you continue to protect me in the mission.” Your shoulders shrugged while you weighed it out in your head. “It's what we do, we are Shadowhunters!” “Bullshit! The only other person you would do that for is Clary, and she wasn't far from me. Why protect me?” He eyed up the floor as if it was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “When all I’ve ever done is given you shit.” “Why is that?” Taking a sip of water from your cup, your mouth all of a sudden very dry. “Why do you always act like you hate me.” It was his turn to shrug his shoulders. “I don't know.” His voice cracked, something you have never heard before with him. “I guess I never forgave myself for what I did to Jocelyn. I wanted you to hate me the way that I hate myself each and everyday. So I teased you and ignored you most of the time. I made your life harder than everyone else's in training because I wanted you to hate me. Make you feel like I was pushing you too hard to be mean. But I also wanted you to learn how to protect yourself the best way you could.” A flash of guilt flooded his face as he edged slightly closer to your bed. “So you don't hate me?” He responded by shaking his head. “I don't hate you, just so you know. I don't blame you either, you know for my mum?” “But why? Why wont you and Clary hate me. I did something bad.” He sat at the edge of your bed close to tears. “I took away someone you loved.” There was yet another voice crack. Hearing him confess like this did soften your heart. You weren't lying. You didn't hate him, but you also couldn't forget what you saw on the footage. “It wasn't your fault Alec, it wasn't you.” The room was filled with sobs, but it wasn't his. They were yours, the sudden reflection on past memories burned at your gut. All of a sudden, there were arms wrapped around your body and lulling you, calming you, and smoothing over your hair. “Shhh,” he whispered letting out a few tears himself now that you couldn't see his weakness. You. “Alec?” You pulled away from him and he shot his head around wiping the evidence from his face. “I don't feel so good.” You said as your chest began to burn. The monitor was going crazy as your heart rate changed pace rapidly.  “What's happening to me?” Alec no longer cared that you were his weakness, he didn't care that you were now watching him cry as he called for help. Scared shitless that he was going to lose you. “Can I get some fucking help in here please!” Turning back to you and stroked your hair from your face. “It's gonna be okay Y/N. I'm not going anywhere, you're not going anywhere. You're staying with me okay?” The tears stung his eyes and his chest burned like mad, “stay with me!” he repeated before your eyes shut, and his face faded with everything turning black.

**

“Would you quit it, please!” You screamed as Alec threw you back down onto the mat just as you had regained your balance on your feet. “It hurts, and you're not giving me enough time to get ready.” “Really Y/N? No one and I repeat no one is going to give you enough time to get ready when we are under attack. They are not going to just stop, stand back, allow you to regain your bearings and then continue with the fight. That is not how real life works.” He yelled back at you. You hated training with Alec, he was far too rough with you. You had put a request in for Clary or even Jace to train you, but unfortunately they were both denied. “Okay I get it, but this isn't a battle. This is training and I am not going to learn if you don't ease up a bit.” You rubbed at your lower back as it trembled from the impact with the mat. Only to have your feet knocked out from under you sending you back down where you started. “I am not like you! For fuck's sake Alec!” “Fine, if you do not want to learn. Then you can find a new Shadowhunter to train your weak ass.” The last thing you saw was him walking out in a huff through the door. “Don't come crying to me when you die!” Tears filled your eyes as you pushed yourself up from the mat. Almost falling back down from the shear weakness of your body. “Oww!” Left your lips, hobbling towards your bag in the corner of the room. Lifting the strap onto your shoulder and limping out of the training room.

**

Alec's head shot up from where he was resting it against his arms on your bed. He had spent all night since you crashed out waiting for you to wake back up. He had only stirred what you moved slightly, which was pretty much the entire night. “Y/N?” Your eyes were now fluttering, threatening to open but when they did you instantly regretted it. The light burned your eyes. “Hey!” Alec whispered gripping your hand tighter, probably preventing the blood flow to your fingers. “how are you doing?” His free hand raised to your head and swiped the stray strands of hair from your forehead. “My own little sleeping white.” You snickered at his response. “That wasn't right was it?” You shook your head ever so slightly not wanting to move too much. “Ah well, not the point.” “What happened Alec? Why did I crash?” He simply pointed to your bandaged area but the bandage was no longer there. “Alec?” “Hey Soul-mate!” He had the biggest grin on his face as he placed a delicate kiss to your forehead. “You're all healed up now.” You began to shake your head, not truly convinced. “Nuhuh,” his eyebrows furrowed, “I haven't had my true love's kiss yet.” The corners of his lips rose to expose a cheesy smile. One that melted your heart but increased your smile. “Well in that case.” He slowly leaned down so that he was mere centimetres from your face, cupping your cheek with one hand but still holding tightly to yours with the other. The kiss was nothing like you expected it to be, you thought it was going to be rough like his fighting skills, but it was definitively a pleasant surprise. Slow and sweet and full of love. When he tried to pull away your hand shot to the back of his head, pulling him back down to continue the kiss. He was your Soul-mate after all.

[charactersadvocatechimata]

Fata Morgana

Here is a preview of the WinterIron I’m working on. Full chapter should be uploaded on Ao3 by the 31st.

People will lie. There is no avoiding that. Nod on cue and politely smile. Think nothing of it. People will lie. When to be cautious, is not at a lie, but at a deflection. Those that distract with blinding smile or a song or an extravagant gesture. Be wary. Fae will bait you away with desires and dreams. Spirited away. Never to return. Be wary.

At least that’s what Ma would say. On loud nights, when the men of Brooklyn would gather to drink and sing. Loud to chase away dark idealizations. She would cuddle him close. Whisper stories of beautiful people who lead good Catholics astray. Of heroes that braved enchanted towers and won against seduction.

Of course, that memory could have been its own seductive dream. Memory was a tricky beast even for the day-to-day people. Having your brain cooked sunny side up by Hydra doesn’t improve things either. Not that anyone thinks it would. Late night television is not selling electroshocks as the cure for old age memory loss.

So Bucky was on the fence about his current situation. Did Tony Stark really kidnap him? If anyone were crazy enough to abduct the Winter Soldier, Stark would be on that list. Well, in his humble opinion. Crazy people never seem to think things through, either. Take, for example, Bucky’s bindings. Rope couldn’t stop an assassin. The Winter Soldier is a super assassin. Rope was cake on a silver platter of escape.

Escape. Right. The hero always struggles to escape. But he has lived far too long to be considered a hero. Heroes hope for humanity’s salvation. Not eternal sleep.

“Boss, I think the Princess is awake.”

Princess?! Oh, that was close. A slight twitch might go unnoticed but slamming his fists against the floor would not.

“Are you sure?”

Something jabs him twice in the shoulder. By some mercy, it was the shoulder attached to the meat arm. Even so, it’s still a jab into sensitive squish parts. But his body remains still. Thank Hydra for unparallel pain tolerance. Ha!

“Friday. How do you tell if a possum is playing dead?”

“It depends on the possum, I think.” A static hum consumes the quiet of the room. “You could draw something unflattering on his forehead.”

“Oh, love it.”

Something pops, and the stick of non-drinkable alcohol tickles his nose. Stark wouldn’t? Would he? Fuck crazy people and their unpredictable tendencies.

“Is this necessary? Couldn’t you just kill me? No reason to desecrate my body.” Bucky slams his hands between himself and the red marker. A wall to protect him from whatever Stark wanted to draw on his face. Probably something worse than the standard dick drawing.

Stark’s eyes trail from Bucky to the marker. A marker that’s only an inch from Bucky’s face. Then pouts. A full pout only found in cartoons with sings birds and large reflective eyes. Seriously. What is so exciting about drawing on a tired man’s face? Or putting starfish magnets on his metal arm?

“We're not going to kill you, Barnes.”

Bucky shifts his eyes around the room. Empty except for the crazy rich man with a marker and himself. No woman, he can’t help but imagine as a redhead. Stark does not voice a comment or give any indication of the location of the third human. In the security office? Remaining far away from Hydra’s favorite killing machine. Perhaps, some who isn’t crazy.

“Right now.”

Stark continues to fiddle with the marker refusing to put the damn thing done. To give up the grand opportunity to use Bucky’s forehead as paper. Not even the quality stuff. No, the scraps an artist uses to doodle.

“Has anyone told you that you resemble a depressing sandwich? And despite what the fire department may tell you, or Pepper for that matter. I know what I'm talking about. I have made my share of depressing sandwiches. Mostly, with mustard.” Stark makes a sweeping motion with the marker- still uncapped. “I tired honey dijon once because a random website told me too. I must say, I prefer mustard.”

The marker jumps up and twirls with the rhythm of Stark’s words in complete sync. A remarkable feat considering he had forgotten all about said writing utensil. Or that’s what Bucky hopes. He’s nice like that.

“What does food have to do with any of this?”

The marker is finally capped, and Stark frowns. Yet doesn’t say a thing. Did Bucky actually say anything? He is far too used to keeping any thought to himself. Stark dropped the marker. Bucky grabs it, just to make sure, while Stark turns away. More silence. Hardly illuminating to what the rats running Stark’s crazy brain thinks.

For a single heartbeat, Stark stilled between one step and the next. In that one thump of his heart, Stark stand between two thoughts. Is he turning his back on a weapon or a monster? Hydra handlers were quick to dismiss the Asset as a simple weapon. Yet he was required to present a gun to the handler if they were alone. As protection from a monster. Which will Stark choose?

Bucky doesn’t expect an answer. Doesn’t get one either. Stark simple takes his next step then another. Until he completely leaves Bucky’s line of sight.

Free from the ropes, and, as far as he can tell, alone in an empty meeting room. Bucky plots. Or at least takes another look around. There is a large table and a lot of chairs. Too many chairs. And windows blacked out. Standard stuff for the business life.

Except.

“Please, remain inside the room.”

The voice. Again. He does not like voices without bodies. There is nothing to stab if there is no body. “Do I have a reason to leave?”

“To destroy. As is your nature.”

“Is that why you will be deactivating and destroying me? For my sins? Or for Stark’s grudge?”

“I think justice is more appropriate. Don’t you, Barnes?”

“Is it just me or did this whole room get several degrees more depressing?” Stark returned holding a plate that looks like a mini Captain America shield with two sandwiches. Another was between his teeth. Already half eaten. He blinks, nose twitching and the sandwich disappears with the last bite. “Are you having a showdown with My AI?” The plate is held high even as Stark tilts his head to the side. “You shouldn’t. She cheats.”

{Comment about AI}

“I do not. I am a proper lady.”

“That cheats and starts fights with cyborgs.”

“I didn’t start anything. But I will finish it.”

Friday, as Stark called the ceiling, ends the sentence with enough implied judgment to anchor an entire fleet of ships. During a heavy storm. But Bucky didn’t start shit. No matter how the ceiling paints it.

Well…

There was the whole thing with Steve.

“I made you depressing sandwiches.” Stark shoves the plate into Bucky’s personal bubble. It is presented with the same pride a child presents a gift to their mother. “There is mustard and tomatoes. Salami. Maybe. The evidence is uncertain.”

Well, the sandwiches look innocent enough sitting on the mini shield. The bread is white with seeds. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just different. There is definitely the strong fatty smell of salami. More of a last meal than what Hydra would offer. Looks good, too.

Taking the food incites Stark to grin, small but bright, like a star off in the distance. How easy it would be for Stark’s blinding smiles to hide all sorts of grime. Pierce could disarm anyone with a smile as well, even Fury.

Stark gave him a sandwich at least.

“Now, according to personal experience, it’s time for the evil monologue. The fun part.”

Bucky takes a bite. Otherwise, etiquette would dictate that he respond. And Stark has a crazy sparkle in his eyes. Never respond to the crazy. That and silence is easy. Nodding is easy. People usually just continue when he nods.

“Right! So last night or the prior evening or something. Not important. What is important is that a waking dream gave me an idea. And no it wasn’t a dream. I was definitely awake. Dreams usually have someone screaming.” Stark’s hand smacks the notion away. “Nor was I hallucinating. You can’t trust hallucinations. But this is a good idea. A genius idea!” His other hand shoots straight into the air.

“What idea?” The fucking moron asks. You’d never figure Buck’s been around for hundred years. He knew not to engage the crazy. Bucky blames the second sandwich. Didn’t get into his mouth fast enough. Fucker.

Stark is too crazy to catch Bucky’s mental stumble. But the AI. The AI is judging him. Judging and laughing it up. Silently. Like a dick. Dick.

“Revenge! Because what else can I do? It’s either this or a time machine. And I promise I was going to go with the time machine. But Pepper vetoed that. Which fair. No one wants me running around in the time stream. I wouldn’t be able to help myself even knowing I’d probably fuck it up.”

Stark flexes his right hand. He stops to stare at the fingers curling and uncurling, grasping for something. “I keep having that same dream. It only got worse after. Zombie Steve with the shield. Blaming me. For fucking up. Not doing enough. Always saying the wrong thing. I work and go to therapy. But the dreams remain. The bodies piling up.” His eyes slide shut. One last time those fingers curl then clench tight.

“So I kidnapped you.” Stark spreads his arms out wide. “Part of it was panic. Rhodey may have destroyed the ancient technology that might have been a mobile phone. Hard to say, archeology isn’t my strong suit. Whatever. I do know he dropped it down the Mariana Trench. But I would be surprised if it survived. And Steve.”

The stars vanish from his eyes. His arms are slammed from the air by gravity. “No, it’s Rogers now. Rogers.” Stark’s mumbling to himself now. His audience forgot.

Because what? Bucky’s just chopped liver. Not the intend audience. Fuck that. He’ll just be stupid and blame it on Hydra. Hydra played happy sack with electricity and his brain. He has earned at least using them as an excuse.

“Why would ‘Pepper’ nix the time machine?”

Bucky could actually see Stark remember he had an audience. His eyes blinking and tilting. His gaze landing on Bucky. And the ‘oh’ formed on his lips. Like prose on a page in a fairytale book for children.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, I got that. But there is no way you could build a time machine that goes back in time. Pretty sure Einstein nixed that.”

“I could.”

Sure. Maybe if he had another hundred years or so. But Bucky ain’t holding his breath.

This whole thing is a farce. Like Stark’s the only one hunted by ghosts. Everyone’s got nightmares. Bucky’s got seventy years to fuel his phantoms and shadows. World War 2. Hydra. The Red Room. But he fucking buries it. Right next to the bodies. Smiles and grins instead. Fucking telling stories from the 1930’s he isn’t sure he remembers or read in Rogers’ file. Writing broken dreams in journals that switch from Russian to English to Italian to German.

And for fucking what. To be used against Stevie. Again. “I refuse.” And fuck him.

“Okay.” Stark nods. Takes back the plate, gripping it to his chest. Takes a step back. Grins and bows. A grand gesture indicating the open door. A showman’s bow ending the play, waiting for the curtains to fall. But for all it’s supposed glam it’s dull. All the color that made Stark shine shut away. With a delicate slam. Something that might even go unnoticed.

Again there is that silent laughter. Mocking him.

But sunlight is pushing itself inside. Bucky follows the light out. Stark had been right. The room was depressing. The blinding hallway wasn’t much better.

Bucky wants his goggles.

[writeopalskyy]

Follow My Lead

It’s crazy what you can discover in your mind in a matter of seconds, minutes, and hours, days, months, maybe even years. I followed you anywhere you wanted to go. Holding your hand along the way, we captured a few stares. Some longing for that type of affection, others minds so twisted and bent that only jaded looks displayed across their faces. But I knew the truth; you loved me just as much as I loved you. If not more, but never less than what I deserved you shared with me. The moment I met Riley there was something different about her. It was all in the way she presented herself. Her golden brown hair was neatly formed into a fishtail braid. She wore a cream ruffled blouse with those high-waisted faded jean shorts you only find in thrift stores, and a pair of cheetah print flats. The way her pale skin shone against the sun as if she were an angel coming down to save me. Save me from the hell I’d been living since the passing of my boyfriend Miles. His death was ruled a suicide but he wouldn’t have done that to himself, to us. We needed each other. But then all it took was one look into Riley’s eyes, a deep grey that I’d only witnessed with one other person, him. I couldn’t let her leave my sight, ever. 

I even remember the first line she ever spoke to me, “Hey can I get a hit?” 

Riley had found me sitting near a disserted bus stop smoking a joint after our group grieving counseling session. During session, she had shared her story about her girlfriend Sam, who died in a motorcycle but I was way too high to share my opinion. 

“Sorry, I’m Riley. I’m quite bored with smoking cigarettes,” she said after receiving no response. I was still stunned by her bold demeanor. I couldn’t identify the reasoning for her randomness but I vowed to never forget the significance of that day. 

On a different night, she stood next to me, my hand cupped in hers as we waited in line to enter the restaurant where we were scheduled to meet her friends. It was going to be the first time meeting them so I was pretty high, hungry, and nervous. I truly wished the night ended before it got a chance to start.

“Are you okay, Terry?” Riley asked. 

“Yeah, I’m really hungry though.” More like petrified.  

I loved the way she laughed. It was thick like honey, full and whole, but sweet at the same time. “Well we smoked plenty before we came.”

“Yeah I know, that’s why I’m starving right now,” I said, playing with my lip ring. 

Sometimes I didn’t know what to say to her. Most of the time she did all the talking, whether we were alone or in a room full of people. She demanded everyone’s attention, while I insisted on being left alone always. 

“You’re so cute,” she said. Then proceeds to kiss me right there on the lips for everyone to see. I caught some stares but I didn’t care. “Don’t be nervous, my friends aren’t vicious people. Lesbian, yes. Vicious, no.”

Two young women with sweaters and jeans seemed to be moved by me and Riley’s performance. I may have been high but my hearing capabilities were quite impressive. 

“Ewww did you see that?” Green sweater said to yellow sweater.

“Yeah, not appropriate at all. There are children present,” yellow sweater said. 

The only child I saw present was lying in a stroller sound asleep. The mother sat nearby on a bench engaged with the activity occurring on her phone. She didn’t blink once. 

“Welp, I hope they like the heat,” green sweater said. “It’s plenty where they’re going.”

“She must be the guy in the relationship. Look at her wearing that flannel shirt, those ripped jeans.”

Green sweater chimed in. “And those doc martens. This is classic.”

I could have swore it was the year 2012, not the 1500s. These religious jokes do become stale like the hairdo green sweater thought she was rocking well.

The girls laughed and changed the subject. Meanwhile, I fought the urge to turn around and punch them both dead in the nose. But Riley squeezed my hand tight and pulled us through the line and inside the warm restaurant. The allure of bread baking, meat being prepared to one’s liking sent my taste buds wild. All I could do was smile when she introduced me to her friends as her girlfriend.

Out of the four girl friends Riley introduced me too, sitting there pretending to like this girl Jessica was the worst. The others were nice, warm, and welcoming. However, this Jessica person stared me down; her vibe read ‘interview’ instead a typical gathering amongst friends. The first thing she decided to ask me was, “So is Riley your first official girl friend?”

I played with my lip ring. “Yeah she is.”

“Oh how sweet,” I didn’t sound sweet the way she said it. “So then you were only dating guys before you met her?”

Riley interrupted, “Jessica, stop.” 

“No, its okay,” I said, but it wasn’t. If I were sober, I could picture the violent things I would have done to her face. Controlling my temper was like telling a four year old that Santa Clause didn’t exist. I was bound to react negatively. 

“Just let her answer the question Riley. I’m sure she’s capable. Go on Terry, speak.”

Playing with my lip ring, turned into tugging on it with my teeth. The frown lines that formed between her eyebrows definitely wanted to make a date with my fist for sure. 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Riley said as she held on to my hand tight, almost begging me not to react to Jessica’s ignorance. 

I did anyways, “I only had one boyfriend. He’s dead.”

Jessica had a smirk on her face as if I told her a bad joke. She leaned back in her chair and casually drunk her beverage before speaking again. “I guess that oversized flannel explains everything right? Not ready to let him go yet, right sweetheart?” 

Riley leaps out the chair and yelled, “You fucking bitch.” I was shunned by her instant aggression over me. 

It had been one year, five months, and sixteen days since Miles left me here to face this world on my own. His overdose took a toll on my ability to function in this world without feeling as though my body would shut down at any moment. Sure I had a mother, but our ideals on how I should live my life conflicted in such ways that I rarely came home anymore. I didn’t need anyone, especially this lame-ass Jessica girl dictating the degree of emotions I shared for Miles or Riley. So I left. I couldn’t stand it anymore so I ran out the restaurant and didn’t look back. Riley drove us here, so I just sat down on a bench and buried my head into my lap, sobbing. Moments passed before I felt her presence in front of me. 

“Come here. Terry, please,” she said. I looked up to see the tears falling from her eyes. They almost matched mines. 

“I just want to be left alone right now. Can you respect that?” No one could possibly understand the whirl of emotions that was taking place in my head. 

“No I can’t just leave you out here. You’re clearly upset and I feel responsible for it, so baby please just let me fix it.”

“Stop it Riley. Stop babying me. I’m eighteen.”

“And I’m twenty so what’s your point?” 

“Just leave me alone.” I didn’t want her to go anywhere. I buried my head into my lap again. The tears wouldn’t stop. No one could possibly understand how hard it was for me. The difficulty it took coming to terms with the death of a person I assumed I’d spend an eternity with to discover that the love I had in my heart beats stronger for her, and only for her. 

She sat down next to me and hugged me the best way she could in my position. “Fuck her, okay? She’s history to us. You and I both know the truth and that’s what counts.”

The truth was, yes the flannel shirt that I wore belonged to Miles. When she had met me the first time I was wearing his clothes, piercing in my lip, with straight-cut bangs to compliment my long dark mane with hints of green. When I wasn’t ready to give up his wardrobe she told me to keep them. She said, “I get that he’ll always be a part of you because he’s your first love. His image influenced you in a way that drew me towards you. It’s almost magnetic. I must be in love with you.”

Even if Jessica had knew that beforehand her bitchy attitude served no true relevance. 

“Like what’s wrong with her. Why did she come at me like that?” I asked Riley.

“I don’t know. Maybe she’s jealous, being overprotective; who knows, but she can’t scare you away from me. I have way too much love in my heart to let that happen. Today was a mistake, I’m really sorry,” she said. 

I could hear the voices of her friends near. I looked up to see them leaving the restaurant and heading in our direction. Jessica of course was the leader of the group. “I don’t want to talk to any of them. I don’t fucking care anymore.”

“Forget about them. I’ll deal with it later. Let’s go somewhere else.” Riley extended her hand out for me to take as she displayed a genuine grin. “Just follow my lead, okay?”

I gazed into her grey eyes again, the same grey pools that drowned me into her world many times before. No hesitation was made as I cupped my hand into hers once more. Our mold together was already hardened and stiff and at this point only God himself could tear us apart.

Any constructive criticism would be highly appreciated!

Comment below or message me directly. Thank you!

– Opal Skyy, theskyyisopal@gmail.com

[justjessame]

Not A Loser Anymore Chapter 3

Morgan ended up staying in Bolivia a week longer. She stayed closer to the airport, and hoped that she could just will Clay out of her system like she willed Roque to take his flag. She stayed in a nicer hotel. Air conditioning, booze, and food. That was what filled her last week in the country. She made flight plans, and hadn’t realized she never changed the destination back to her home.

Morgan stepped off the plane in Florida. Since she’d already confirmed the flight and she thought that she’d take a breather in the warmth before heading north. Back to her house and life. A life she put on hold for her team. She gathered her luggage and grabbed a taxi. She told the driver to take her to a hotel near the beach, and he complied.

Once she paid for a room, took her bags upstairs and put them away, she threw herself onto the king size bed. The view from her window was sand and water. The view inside of her was pain and suffering. She knew that Roque couldn’t promise to keep them all safe. She knew no one could promise that. She was a combat medic, she’d seen it all. She had thought knowing that Clay and the others were alive, that they were OK would calm her fears, but it hadn’t. If anything she was more worried.

What was bringing them back to the states? Why would they risk it? She sighed and decided that a hot bath and rest might make her feel more human. As she was taking her toiletries into the bathroom, a knock came to her door. She couldn’t think of anyone who might come to her door, but looking out the peephole, she saw a well dressed man. Linen suit, handsome, she shrugged thinking she could handle a man who looked so metrosexual.

Opening her door, she was about to ask what he wanted when her world went black.

Clay had to admit, being shipped home in caskets wasn’t something he wanted to experience again. At least not while he was still alive. Aisha met them and gave more intel. Miami, a convoy, and Max.

Working with the others, the plan was set in motion. They needed a helicopter, magnet wench, and hope and prayer. Everything went off without a hitch, well much of a hitch. Max wasn’t inside the truck. Pooch had been seen by a henchman named Wade, and so Max now knew they were alive.

Fuck. The only thing inside the damn truck was an encrypted harddrive. And even fucking Jensen couldn’t decrypt it. So another plan, another rant from Roque about his distrust of Aisha. Clay didn’t want to let the noise invade in his own coping mechanism. Fucking the younger woman, getting lost in her, it was a way to push Morgan out of his mind. Just like she walked away, he tried to force her out with this other woman. A woman that shared NOTHING with Morgan.

The morning after he finally gave in and screwed Aisha, the van was tense. Roque glared at him and he could feel the heat of it. Pooch refused to move the van, refused to do anything until the two of them made up or made an attempt at peace. How? Clay wondered. How could they when Roque KNEW? He knew exactly why the sex happened with Aisha. He knew exactly how Morgan made Clay crazy, how much pain he was in from not seeing her in Bolivia, even though she apparently saw him. He knew it all. A half-assed attempt was made, enough to get Pooch moving at least. But Clay knew that Roque wouldn’t forgive him for it. Not for whatever he’d seen in Morgan’s face. Not for whatever she’d said to him. And definitely not for him finding solace in Aisha’s arms, a woman that Roque clearly didn’t trust.

Jensen was playing the largest role in an OP, yet, so heads needed to be in the game. As they went off to work, Clay had no idea where Max was, or what he was up to.

Morgan woke with a dry mouth and pain in her neck. What the literal fuck, she wondered, and realized it only got worse. She was tied to a hard metal chair in a barely lit room. Well, this doesn’t bode well.

“Ah, good, you’re awake.” A gruff voice said, coming into the light. He held himself like a soldier, buzz cut hair, standing at ease. “Didn’t know if the guy who developed that tranq knew what he was doing. Worried you might not come out of it.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s damn professional. Kidnap a victim with an unknown substance and cross your fingers and hope it doesn’t kill her?” She rolled her shoulders. “How long have I been out?”

“A day and a couple hours.” The man moved closer and Morgan thought he looked somewhat familiar. “Don’t remember me, do you?”

Morgan studied his face. “You look familiar, but I’ve worked on too many soldiers to remember every face.” She tugged against the flex cuffs holding her hands tight behind the chair.

“Yeah, I can understand that. I used to be a marine, you were our medic in-”

Morgan nodded. “Travis, wasn’t it?” She remembered the wound, he’d taken the pain well. “Did you hate the treatment so much I have to be punished for it?” She joked, raising her shoulders.

He chuckled. “No, you’re here because of Clay.” Of course she was, she thought. “My employer knows you’re important to him, so here you are.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “Afraid that’s bad intel on me, Travis. I’m not important to Clay. He’s my former boss, that’s all.”

Another voice came out of the darkness. A snort and laugh. “Do you expect me to believe that, Captain Dean?” He came out into the light and she recognized him as the metrosexual man she thought she could take at her hotel.

She shrugged. “I can’t expect anyone to believe anything. I just know that you’re wrong. I am nothing to Franklin Clay.” She tried to get comfortable in the unforgiving chair. “Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” She asked, looking up at his face. “I mean, you know me, I know former marine Travis, I don’t have a fucking clue who you are.”

The man smiled and Morgan thought if he hadn’t kidnapped her and drugged her, she might have found him slightly attractive. Or not, she thought as he drew nearer and gripped her neck tight in one deceptively powerful gloved hand. “My name doesn’t matter, Captain Dean. What matters is that Clay and his little boys are handled, like they were supposed to be in that jungle.”

“Max, I presume,” Morgan said, refusing to allow him to see any fear she might harbor. She watched his eyes widen. “Was I not supposed to guess?” She shrugged as his grip tightened and her throat burned. “Oops,” she whispered, forcing it out past as she tried to breathe.

He released her throat and fixed his suit and glove. She didn’t pant or show any distress and his face showed he was unnerved by it. “We’ll see, Captain Dean. We’ll see.” He turned and addressed Travis. “Wade, make sure that the Captain is kept as uncomfortable as possible, please.”

She saw Travis flinch at the thought, but as with Max, she’d be damned if he saw any fear from her. “And I thought we were cultivating a beautiful friendship, Max.” She mocked, smiling at his stiffening back. “Guess the honeymoon period is over, huh?”

“Really fucking uncomfortable, Wade.” Max growled, walking out of her sight.

Travis moved closer to her and looked down with something of an apologetic air. “Might as well get it over with, soldier,” Morgan said, meeting his eyes. “After all, Max wouldn’t want to see you slacking on the job, would he?”

Travis took a breath and pulled his fist back as Morgan prepared for the first of many strikes she’d earned in Max’s estimation.

SKIPPY FROM TECH

Jensen had made a good showing. It was touch or go for a minute, but he’d gotten what he needed from Goliath Worldwide. He was learning a lot, such as the fact that Roque was probably right about Aisha. Clay was alone with her, and Jensen had to tell the others.

In route to their commander’s rescue, Roque finally told the others about Morgan’s visit to Bolivia. Jensen sighed and looked at his lap. “She didn’t even come say hello.” He said, his voice as sad as a little kid denied their favorite toy.

“She couldn’t, Jensen.” Roque said, tense about being right about Clay’s little diversion. “She just wanted to be sure we were alright, and she wanted to deliver Clay’s flag to him.”

“His flag?” Pooch asked, driving like a fucking maniac. “What flag?”

“The one our families or next of kin get when we die, or pretend to.” Jensen answered, looking up with wide eyes. “He named Mo as his next of kin?”

The rest of them got quiet. They arrived and rushed to Clay’s age, and Aisha shot Jensen in the arm. As they tried to decide what their next move would be, Jensen made a comment that caused the world to stop moving. “If Mo was here, she’d fix this entire fucking mess. And my fucking arm. And do it with a fucking smile.” He was in pain, he was pissed off, and he wasn’t pulling punches.

Clay glared down at Jensen, but Roque stepped into his line of sight. “He’s right.” Roque said, daring Clay to deny it. “Mo always had our fucking backs, always. Right up until you pushed her once too far.” His face was inches from Clay’s. “You created this fucking mess. You trusted Aisha. You did this. So now, fix it.”

He turned his back on Clay and Clay was stunned. She left them, but he was the one who fucked up? What the hell? Then he realized what they saw. What they noticed while he was feeding his feelings of hurt pride. She had rushed to Bolivia on a HUNCH they might be alive. She had watched them, but hadn’t once tried to contact them, because she knew that someone might connect her to them. She had done what she’d always done. She kept their asses safe. And he was pissed because she left. She’d no doubt seen him with Aisha, since Roque brought the flag to him the day after the hotel fire. For fuck’s sake, could he fucking fuck up more than he already did?

Roque offers Clay an idea, a fucked up and weird idea, one that ANYONE knowing their team well wouldn’t even entertain as being possible. Roque wanted to contact Wade, offering up the team to Max, for his freedom. Max and Wade are going to believe it, Roque convinces them, because they have no real knowledge of their team. And the plan starts to hatch.

Morgan was still tied to the damn chair. Her hair felt like it was matted with enough blood to kill a normal human, but she knew it wasn’t nearly that bad. Not yet, anyway. Travis was nothing if not thorough. She spit a mouthful of blood onto the concrete floor and waited for the next blow to come.

Travis started forward, but was stopped when his phone rang. “Well, shit, Travis I thought we were having some fun.” Morgan teased, her breath coming out in a rush, and thankful for whatever fucking call he was taking. Travis turned to answer the call. He moved far enough away that nothing he said made sense.

Turning back to her when he hung up, he moved closer and gripped her hair in his fist. He brought his face close to hers and glared into the slits of her swollen eyes. “You need to tell me something, Dean. I need you to tell me if you think that Roque would EVER turn on your team. Would he save himself at their expense?”

Morgan considered his questions, considered the call. Clearly Roque called Travis, the truth was almost out of her when she changed the words. “Absolutely. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you want your fucking life back after your commander fucked your life over? Wouldn’t you want to be free of that noise?” She gulped down some saliva, it tasted like iron, more blood. “Why would you ask?”

He released her hair and stepped back, avoiding puddles of spit and blood. He turned and walked away from her, not looking back and not answering.

Morgan wondered, now that the torture was over, if anyone would come back for her. Would anyone find her? Or would she die here, alone and tied to a fucking chair?