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casspurrjoybell-26 · 8 months ago

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Too Old For This - Chapter 1 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

There are a lot of regrets in life Leroy Adkins had but at this exact moment in time with him walking down the street to take the bus, the only one that really stood out was his decision to do communications as a major.

Not only was his current job only enough to live but not save for the future... it also had no signs of upward mobility since it was a small marketing start-up with a limited budget and a client list that showed no signs of growing.

Something Leroy also regretted was not paying too much attention at university or studying for exams and now he was stuck with a below B average that was frankly not enough to get into a post-graduate program.

So, sadly, he was stuck working a low-paying job and living paycheck to paycheck while paying off an ever-growing student loan debt.

It was funny how those worked.

He could have sworn it was only twenty thousand when he had graduated but now, after just two years of monthly payments, it was somehow sitting at thirty thousand.

Leroy sighed, shaking his head as he continued on his way to the bus stop.

It was a deserted place, seeing as it sat just at the edge of a suburban street.

He still lived with his mother and sister and paying a bit of rent allowed most of his money to go into other things... like his video game addiction, Vietnamese food and books.

"Oh shit," he said, squinting and then sighing when he saw the bus, he was supposed to be on drove past the stop at the end of the street without a second thought.

It didn't even pause for a second... for goodness' sake, Leroy was just two minutes away.

The young man blinked back his frustration, sucking in his lips as he tried to decide between taking an Uber or just calling home sick.

To be honest, he could also just tell his supervisor what had happened.

She was an understanding and nice older woman nearing her sixties.

The young man sighed, pinching the middle of his thick dark brows before turning around and making the slow walk of shame home.

Wisps of his brown hair, about two shades lighter than his brows, occasionally found their way dangling in front of his eyes.

He would push them away and each time taking that as a reminder that he needed to go into the city for a haircut.

It wasn't that Leroy couldn't drive... he could.

He passed his driving test sometime in the middle of his university days and remembered taking his mother's car to the gym, clear as day.

It had been his first time truly driving alone and he had backed it up into another car when trying to parallel his park.

That had been his first and last day taking out the car and also, his last day at the gym but he didn't like to think about it much.

Leroy found his current state in life embarrassing but he wasn't too embarrassed by it to do anything about it.

Or, it was more than his long stings depression and self-sabotage didn't have a lot of those brief moments of mania and self-confidence where he would be super studious and focus on one of the many skills he'd picked up over the years.

Growing up, he'd had better confidence but hitting high school and realizing it took more than just being smart to pass classes, began to humble him.

Slowly but surely, he accepted that he was average and maybe a little less than average, not just academically but looks-wise too.

He had watched as his classmates grew taller, leaving him behind at a mere 5'6.

He had also watched them bulk up become more athletic and grow facial hair.

He had held out hope, feeling that he maybe was a late bloomer but now twenty-five and still the very lean, short man who couldn't grow much of a beard was something he was starting to accept.

He would say dating was hard but he barely even tried.

He had two friends... one he had met online and met up with once every other week because they had to take a one-hour train to meet up with him and the other who was more of an acquaintance from childhood that he called his best friend.

Even though really at this age where they barely spoke or met up was starting to feel more like something they declared more out of habit than reality.

Leroy hadn't made a lot of friends in university but he'd added people from classes to his social media here and there and it was an indescribable feeling of shame to scroll through pictures of people celebrating graduating with honors or getting accepted into high-paying reputable jobs.

The young man made his way down the street, paying attention to the rows of old suburban houses that seemed to have been erected sometime in the sixties.

Many of them had neatly trimmed yards with fancy lawn ornaments, while some of them hosted gardens.

There was one, however, that was coaxed in the middle of two larger buildings... a small bungalow that hosted a basement with small windows just sitting under the deck.

The lawn had long grass and wild sunflowers over three feet tall.

The short fence was also covered with wrapping weeds.

The house looked unoccupied with the dirty white brick walls and ominous feeling but sometimes when Leroy would pass by, he would see the outline of someone from the sunroom door-length windows.

There was also a wheelchair ramp that looked well-used.

Leroy did know that sometimes he saw a cat or two walking through the grass or perched on the fence.

It was almost never the same cat and Leroy couldn't decide if they belonged to the house owner or were just strays that were just attracted to the property.

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fuckthesworld · 4 years ago

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FREEDOM TO DESIRE

CEO MITCH RAPP AU

MITCH RAPP x Reader

Warnings: SMUT and unprotected sex!

Rapp Corporation was the leading marketing firm in the world. Companies like Disney, Sony and Southwest paid millions of dollars to be associated with it. It represented actors, athletes, business moguls and small businesses. While it was in high demand it was also reasonable - sponsoring schools and nonprofit organizations around the world.

The single person driving the reigns to the crazy international kingdom that resided in London was Mitch Rapp . That’s right. He was part of a decade of strong, successful businessmen.

And he was your boss.

You had literally stumbled into the job of personal assistant. Literally. You were walking out of a coffee shop, resumes in hand when you ran into his large, hard frame. You landed on your ass and when you were able to recover, you were looking into the deepest chocolate eyes you had ever seen. His bright white teeth clashed against his tan skin, his dark locks perfectly framing his face.

Then you remembered that you had spilled coffee on one of the most powerful, young bachelors in the world.

You had also spilled coffee all over your resume and you groaned in realization, the expensive fresh pages coated in thick lakes of coffee. He had helped you pick up the lost keys to your future, taking a second to read over your resume and offered you a job. He was on the way to meet someone about being his personal assistant and you did just get your masters in public relations. You could intern while still making money and if you showed promise he promised to promote you.

Sometimes life really does work out in your favor. Sit in that for five seconds then remember that your boss is one of the sexiest, most successful young CEO’s in the world.

Not only is he attractive but he has the work ethic of an ox. And it made working for him damn hard. Probably harder than managing the clients he had. He was constantly in meetings, constantly leaving early in the morning and late in the evening. Going to galas and charity events, charming new people. He opened up smaller chains in areas in the world stricken by poverty to try to help increase job opportunities. He volunteered at schools and hospitals. He spent his Thanksgiving and Christmas and any other holiday of giving providing food for those in need. Always. He’s always been like this.

Mitch wasn’t just a CEO. Wasn’t even human.

He was a goddamn saint sent from heaven to wreak havoc on earth.

It was on such an occasion that he had asked you to attend one of his events - a large gala celebrating 50 years of business with his father and grandfather. The whole legacy under one roof. You didn’t understand why you were asked to attend. As his assistant sure you had to manage the media and who visited him. But that had been hours ago. The night was now thriving off the rich and famous drunkenly dancing and teasing each other. Mitch never drank more than two glasses of anything at events like these so you didn’t have to babysit him. But you also wanted to go home if he didn’t need you and that he refused.

You watched him as he laughed along with two of his most trusted partners, Scott Mccall and Derek Hale as they sipped expensive champagne and spoke lowly among each other. Mitch was wearing a tailored blue suit, his white button up popping against a black tie. His slight beard had grown since he shaved it these past two days and was now a short beard and all you could think about was how it would feel between your legs.

You shook your head, returning your eyes to your blackberry. You had to get it together. Everyone teased you that he had a thing for you. He never had women assistants. Preferred men to ensure that things stayed professional. Never offered people jobs on the spot either.

There was just something about you they would tease.

Well he sure as hell wasn’t making a move so until he did it would have to stay a mystery.

“You’re still working for him.”

The soft voice takes you off guard and you jump a bit, breaking from your thoughts as your eyes fall on your assailant. Standing in a dark red gown, her pale skin contrasting with her perfectly coiffed dark hair is Katrina Mendes.

Ex-girlfriend of Mitch Rapp.

She takes a seat beside you, the soft smell of Chanel wafting off her skin as she continues.

“Didn’t think a fragile little thing like you would survive a man like him.”

You knew what she was doing. Her younger sister, Annika , had warned you about this months ago. When you had accidentally ran into her at a golf tournament with Mitch. She loved him still. Despite the fact that she married someone new, moved across the world, she still loved and wanted him. Didn’t want anyone else to claim him.

You were a threat. You were beautiful, intelligent. charming and apparently upon Scott’s teasing, he spoke about you a lot. Katrina hated you. And reminded you every time she saw you.

“Surprised you’re here. Thought you’d be back in America with your husband. Oh wait, he’s in Japan with his mistress of the month.”

It was no secret her husband cheated on her. She even laughed about it but deep down you knew it killed her inside. Killed her that she chose a man like that over a man like Mitch. It made you even empathize for her…until she opened her mouth and you were reminded that karma was real.

She narrows her eyes at you before deliberately taking the large flute of champagne in her hand and slowly tilting it on your dress. On your $3,000 dress you had charged on your credit card that you had planned on returning tomorrow. You had only bought the navy blue gown to try to impress Mitch, hoping he would be charmed by the way it looked on your body.

It hadn’t and now, on top of rejection, she had ruined it and put you $3,000 in the hole.

“Have fun returning your De la Rented dress.” she smirks at you as you stand, the champagne trailing down the front of the long gown. You try to bite back tears, try not to bring too much attention to yourself as you pat at he gown down with a napkin before looking at her.

“I really hope you’re happy making other people’s life miserable Katrina. Because from what I hear, you used to be an awesome person and now, now you’re just a lonely bitch.”

You don’t notice the crowd of people who have been crowding around, watching the small scene unfold. Don’t see Mitch head toward you as you make your way down to the hallway to the family restroom. You don’t realize the tears that have been falling down your cheeks until you feel him grab your arm, turning you gently toward him.

“Y/N…” your name sounds different on his tongue and the way he’s looking at you has you sobbing harder. You try to push him away as he draws you to him, his large sculpted arms surrounding you as he whispers,

“Just let it all out.”

You don’t know why you’re crying. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve wasted $3,000 on a dress that had made little impact in your life. Maybe its because you’ve been up since 4:30 because of him, trying to make his night perfect. You missed having a social life. Missed your mom and dad and siblings. Missed your small loft in London.

Missed all of this because of him and he didn’t even give a damn.

The thought drives your sobs deeper and his grip tightens around you as you cry harder, his large hands rubbing your back. His mouth hushes you and he rocks you before you start to calm down, your sobs tampering off and you pull away, shaking your head. You want to apologize for your unprofessionalism and you also wanted to tell him he could take his assistant job and fuck off but then his left hand is hooking under your chin as he tilts your head up to you.

“I can pay for your dress. I’m sorry she ruined it. But holy hell Y/N what did you expect when you wore something like this?”

His right hand that has never left your body tampers down your back as he pulls you closer to him.

“You’ve been driving everybody mad wearing this,” he eyes are shifting now, darkening around the pupils as he licks his lips. “It should be a condemned sin.”

His voice has dropped an octave and the deep bass draws a shiver up your spine. You give your lip a light bite and he gives a short groan, the pad of his thumb brushing over the exposed skin. His hand tightens around your waist as he whispers,

“You should be a condemned sin.”

You’re looking up at him confused, trying to register what he was saying. He watches you back, trying to get a read on you before he straightens, pulling from you.

“I hope you’re feeling better.” he croaks, backing away as he takes you in one last time before he turns on his heel. You stop him, your hand shooting for his arm. You walk around him, his hair covering his pinched eyes as you whisper,

“What do you mean by that Mitch?”

He doesn’t look at you as he manages out,

“I’ve drank too much. I shouldn’t…” he looks at you and groans. “You just, I should have asked you out and not have offered you a job.”

The words takes you off guard as he takes a deep sigh.

“You’re so goddamn sexy and smart and I felt terrible ruining your resumes,” he was referencing your encounter months ago. “That offering you a job was the best I could do. I thought you’d get burnt out and quit and then I could ask you out but you’re so damn good. So damn good at everything you do so I’ve been stuck pretending I don’t care when all I want is you.”

Your dumbstruck as he looks at you and groans, shrugging out of your embrace.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. We can leave, if you want.”

He’s looking past you and you’re trying to process it all.

He really did like you.

You grab his neck, drawing him down to you, your lips pressing against his. It catches him off guard for only a second before he’s registering your actions, his hands grabbing your hips as he pushes you flush against a wall. His kisses are needy and desperate as his tongue teases your mouth open and you are consumed by him. Your hands move to his hair, his beautiful dark tresses getting tangled in your delicate fingers as he moans in your mouth, pushing his hips into your naval.

You moan feeling his erection brush against you and he pulls away, his eyes frenzied with lust.

“Not here.” his voice is hoarse and deep as he grabs you and basically drags you into the family restroom you were seeking out earlier. He shuts the door, locking it before grabbing you and slamming you against the door. He lifts you, your long gown getting lost around him as your legs hooks around his waist and his mouth is on your collarbone, sucking on the skin.

“You are so damn gorgeous,” he mumbles along your skin, his mouth nipping at your neck. “Do you know that? Do you know that you’ve been driving me fucking insane in this dress” his hands trail up your gown, his hot fingers clashing with your cool thighs and his mouth has found yours. “Drove me insane the moment I picked you up and you were wearing this.” His hands ghost over your center and you give a small yelp, as he pulls back to look you in the eye.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” he bites his lips as he glides his fingers up your wet folds and you shiver as you stumble out,

“I always run out of clean underwear and you came so early to pick me up I couldn’t go and buy a pair.”

His hands slowly traces up and down your pussy and he watches your face twist in pleasure.

“How many times have you worked with me without any panties on?”

“Honestly?” you bite down on your lip as his thumb slowly starts to tease against your clit and your hips rock against his finger. “Like most of the time. You don’t give me enough time to do my laundry.”

Your words are soft, barely coming in a whisper and he growls, sticking a finger into you as he begins his slow assault into your tight walls.

“You are so fucking wet,” he whispers as he looks at you, a wicked grin on his face. “Are you always this wet for me princess?”

You give a weak nod as he inserts another finger and you buck against him, your hands digging into his shoulders.

“I thought I smelled you the other week when we were at dinner.” You knew what he was referencing. He had taken you out for dinner after a long day at the office at a trendy sushi spot. He had been talking to you as his nimble fingers gracefully picked up one sushi after the other, the raw fish placed carefully in his mouth. You don’t know why it turned you on but it did. You wanted to know what those fingers would feel like in you, his mouth over yours.

Now you knew.

“Did I smell you princess?” he whispers a grin gracing his face and you give another weak nod and he growls, inserting a third finger in you. You arch your back against him, hands stuck in his hair as his mouth attacks your neck again.

“Tell me what had you so turned on so much?”

You give a weak mewl in silence and he pulls his fingers out, causing you to whine. He looks up at you with hooded eyes shaking his head.

“You have to use your words princess.”

“I was thinking about you finger fucking me.” you manage out, biting your lip as your cheeks flush over. He smiles as he sticks his fingers back in you, watching your face contort in pleasure again. His fingers curls up and hits you in that sweet spot and you feel your body tensing, clawing for release.

“Were you?”

You give a quick nod and he chuckles, his mouth getting close to your ear. His fingers are merciless know, pumping into you faster as his thumb brushes against your clit and you can feel that tension in your stomach build up.

“Wanna hear a secret princess?” he whispers against the shell of your ear and you hum, your body starting to give in to the pleasure he was delighting you to. “I’ve jacked off to you every night since I’ve met you, cumming all over my body from the thought of my dick being filled to the rim in you.”

That was all you needed. Between his fingers and the image of him jacking off to you your screaming his name, your fingers tangled in his hair as your walls flutter around his fingers. He groans, coaxing you through your climax as he watches you before he pulls from you, inserting all three of his fingers in his mouth. He gives a low moan as he sucks your essence off and pulls his fingers out with a pop before your leaning into him for a kiss.

He shifts, carrying you to the bathroom counter and slamming placing you down. He yanks at his suit, pulling down his pants and boxers as his cock springs free.

“Tonight I’ll make love to you the way you deserve,” he promises as he lines himself up at your entrance. “I’ll have you begging my name by the time I’m done with you but right now I just need you.”

His cock is teasing your folds as you look up at him, your eyes darkening as you thrust your hips forward. He stops you, something dark flickering in his eyes.

“What do you want princess?” he whispers and you moan as your hands pull at his shoulders.

“I want you.”

“You want me to what?” a satisfied smirk sits on his face and you rub your folds against his twitching cock.

“Want you to fuck me with your big fucking cock.”

He groans as he slowly thrusts into you, grabbing your hands and intertwining them with yours as he raises them above your head. His head falls in the crook of your neck as he bottoms out in you, his hair tickling your shoulders and you both give a satisfied moan. You rock your hips against him, enjoying the way he fills you to the brim and he moans as he pulls from you, his hips rocking out of you before slamming back in.

“Goddamn you are tight..” he whispers as he lifts himself enough to look at you, then his mouth is hot on yours as his body claims you.

His hips snap into you, desperately chasing after your orgasm before he lifts your leg and you’re getting hit in that special spot that has you screaming out his name.

“That’s right princess. Want you to cum all over my big cock.” he whispers, his hips in a frenzy as he watches you unwind underneath him. His finger finds your clit and flicks the sensitive area and you’re screaming his name again, your body shaking as you find sweet release. His hips are sloppily slapping against your as your walls tighten around before there milking him his body shaking uncontrollably as your arms find your way around his body.

You wait a beat before saying,

“Soooo…I’m guessing I have to quit. This is the highest level of conflicted interest if I’ve ever known one.”

He chuckles, his face tucked in your shoulder before pulling away and kissing you.

“I don’t want you to quit.”

“Wouldn’t that be -”

“Unless you want to. You’re free to work in any of our departments. You’re way too good to be an assistant.” he’s rambling, something he does when he’s nervous and you chuckle, leaning up and kissing him. He relaxes as you pull away, his lips tugged between your teeth before you whisper.

“Let’s worry about it tomorrow. I should at least get a year under your belt before we talk about commitment.”

He chuckles, wiggling against you and there’s a soft knock on the door and you both freeze before you hear Scott’s voice.

“…….so uhhh, I don’t mean to interrupt you two but ummmm,” he clears his throat though you can hear the humour in his voice. “Your dad is looking for you Mitch. For a photo.”

Mitch groans and you laugh, giving a lock of his hair a tug.

“Give us a minute Scott. We need to….make ourselves decent.”

“Uh huh.” You know he’s smiling as he walks away and Mitch’s eyes are glinting at you mischievously.

“How long do you think he’s been standing out there hearing you scream out my name?”

“Mitch! That’s your best friend!” you say in mock surprise and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Scott’s always had a thing for you.” he nuzzles his face in your neck before muttering. “Besides I have another round in me.”

His shimmies his hips against yours and you gasp at his dick hardening in you.

You both make it out of the bathroom thirty minutes later.

#mitch rapp #mitch rapp smut #mitch-tober #mitch month #american assassin #dylan o'brien smut #dylan o brien #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brian imagine #dylan obrien imagine #dylan obrien #mitch rapp imagine #mitchober

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masterthespianduchovny · 3 years ago

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Let’s chat:

When I say that loss is mostly on Ted, it’s because it is.

Although there were three other coaches involved, the issue with the game was systemic and not simply a poor showing. And that is a reflection of the head coach.

None of the coaches are on the same level, ranking wise, nor do they have the same experience and responsibilities. As a result, when certain things happen, you have to look at it from a micro to macro level.

Is what happened a one time thing or a reflection of a greater issue?

Depending on the severity of the issue, that falls directly on the head coach even if they weren’t directly involved.

Because how Richmond loss isn’t an isolated event, it’s either poor coaching OR Ted not being as involved or as aware of the team. Ironically, Ted was more involved last season when they were losing. As a result, because Ted is distracted, he is missing vital things that showed itself way before the match. He missed red flags because he wasn’t emotionally present enough to see them.

If Ted wasn’t so distracted this season, which is understandable poor mental health is a bitch, he would’ve checked Nate’s behavior and corrected the problem. He could’ve been a better mentor to both Nate and Roy. Despite them both being coaches now and Roy being a former player, they are both new coaches and need guidance.

This also falls on beard because he should know better. Nate is smart and knows the game, but that doesn’t immediately translate to knowing what you’re doing right away. An inexperienced coach was leading training for a big match without the support or presence of the other coaches???

This only flies as acceptable if they’ve been working together for a year or two (honestly, more). And that’s if Ted was actively involved in developing Nate. But because the coaching staff is a mess since they get along and they had no idea they’re a mess, that’s what led to being routed by Man City.

Now some may think, it’s Man City, of course this was going to happen. And this reminds me of Roy during “Lavendar” and talking about his former team Chelsea.

Roy: No. I think they played like shit.

Analyst: Would you care to elaborate, Roy?

Roy: All right. Chelsea was shit today. They were shocking. Watching them, you’d never know they were playing at home. They were too timid. They were too respectful of United. They were lucky they didn’t lose by three or four or ten.

Analyst 2: That’s harsh, Roy. United’s been on a good run recently.

Roy: Who gives a shit, Chris? That’s no excuse to play like you’re afraid of them. You could see it in their faces: abject terror. Like children waiting in line for the handsy Father Christmas. Have some fucking pride in your shirt or don’t fucking wear it.

Do you think that if Roy was still an analyst and watching this match, he say, “it’s Man City and they were at home.” No, he’s tear them a new asshole.

Richmond aren’t amateurs.

These are professional players. Roy wasn’t upset because his former team lost, he was upset because they played like shit, it showed, and they didn’t play up to the level they were capable of nor were they as competitive/aggressive as they should’ve been.

There is a difference between losing and not coming to play at all mentally.

A team being better than you doesn’t give you an excuse to play poorly. Either you come to play the game or don’t come at all.

We constantly talk about how the writers introduce small things that seem like they’re nothing. In retrospect, does Roy’s speech just seem like cutting remarks that shows he enjoy commentating (he didn’t) or does it also foreshadow what eventually happened with AFC Richmond in some respects?

The only sports I’ve truly watched extensively is basketball and, maybe this is different for football, but no matter how much another team outmatches their competition, esp in the playoffs, most games are competitive. All of these players are still pro athletes at the end of the day.

When one team gets routed 1. Either the losing team played like absolute shit 2. Or the winning team was on fucking fire.

However, even when a team is far outmatched, giving up during a game is almost always seen as unacceptable in basketball. Playing poorly is constantly criticized. In the 07 finals, I believe (basketball), lebron’s team was clearly outmatched and, in real time, people saw him give up during a game (this is actually a common occurrence for him) and he was torn apart.

It’s easy to say that Man City was just that good, but like Roy said, timid teams gets routed. Unlike Chelsea, Richmond wasn’t lucky enough to only lose by a handful of points, meaning 1-2.

They played poorly. This was an atrocious showing by them.

I don’t even see how anyone can say, “Man City is just that good” when 1. A Richmond player kicked the ball into the leg of another Richmond player. 2. They scored on their own goal. 3. Zoreaux looked an absolute mess out there, like he wasn’t a professional goalie.

And that’s on fucking ted.

Like I said, I get why, but that doesn’t make him any less responsible.

Which means, this loss is also on Rebecca. We don’t need to do over her hiring ted in the first place. Despite his ignorance, he is a good coach. However, Rebecca knows that ted has panic attacks and knew he had one that day. And rather than forcing him to deal with his problems, she let him blow her off. And she did that for personal reasons not professional ones. When it involves an owner, coaches cannot do whatever the fuck they want.

If Rebecca held ted accountable, there would’ve been transparency sooner, maybe, and ted perhaps assessing his locker room closer. And this includes the coaching staff.

What happened at Man City is largely on Ted and Rebecca.

#ted lasso #Rebecca welton

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kindahoping4forever · 4 years ago

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Under The Christmas Lights // Ashton Irwin

Cass and I are having a blast so we hope everyone has been enjoying Hoe For The Hoe-lidays as much as we are. Her Cal blurb for the day, Baby Please Come Home, is up at @cal-puddies and it is one of my favorites from her, so you should definitely check it out if you haven’t already. (And as always, links to all of this week’s blurbs are in the event masterlist below!) Stay tuned tomorrow for our last set of blurbs and our grand finale on Monday: a galaxybrain co-write I guarantee you do not want to miss.

Extra thanks to Cass for helping me figure out what this story wanted to be. The overall concept remained but the structure, character details and tone of it took on a life of its own and morphed drastically as I was writing it.

Warnings: Established slow burn with Neighbor!Ash, mentions of quarantine, a healthy helping of thirst and sexual tension, implied consensual voyeurism and exhibitionism, mutual masturbation

Word Count: 4048

Hoe For The Hoe-lidays Masterlist

Masterlist // Taglist and Ko-Fi linked above

Let me know what you think!

"Quite the festive display you have there."

He stops at the end of his driveway, popping an earbud out as he turns towards your voice. Your next door neighbor, Ashton, stands in his yard, looking at you expectantly as you sit on your front porch, gesturing towards the freshly hung Christmas decorations all along his house.

"Oh thanks! I'm actually not even done. Waiting on a few more pieces to be delivered, really trying to merry things up, you know?" He answers, turning to collect today’s mail.

"Oh really? Everything's already so bright and eye-catching… up so early too," you punctuate your evaluation with a sip of coffee.

He smiles at you and you’re almost embarrassed to say you feel your heart skip a beat. You admit you had a bit of a crush on him when you moved in last year and for a while it seemed plausible you could’ve ended up more than just friendly neighbors. But that hope was yet another thing 2020 took from you.

Even though you were home more because of quarantine, you understandably had to interact with him less and less; gone were the days of “accidentally” baking too many cookies and walking over to offer him a plate or hoping your mail gets misdelivered so he’ll have an excuse to come visit you. These days, your visits were relegated to socially distanced greetings over the backyard fence and happenstance meetings like this.

“Yeah… I know it’s early in the season but I thought after the year we’ve all had, a little extra Christmas cheer couldn’t hurt,” he shrugs. He looks like he’s about to elaborate but then he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket; he apologetically but sincerely says, “Have a good night” and then scurries back to his house before you can get another word in.

It’s another couple of weeks before your next encounter, one night when you’re bringing the garbage can back up the drive and you hear Ash’s voice greeting you from his side of the fence.

“Those decorations certainly escalated, didn’t they?” You ask, amusedly peering up at his colorful house; the flickering icicle lights on the trim were a new addition, along with a big glowing snowflake and star sitting on his balcony.

“Does that mean you like it?” He laughs delightedly, walking up his own driveway. Your brain involuntarily appreciates how he looks with the lights reflecting off the dark wool trench coat he’s wearing; his hair is a lot longer than the last time you saw him, beard much darker and fuller. He looks good. You try not to think about it.

“Very pretty… not anything I would put up, but it suits you,” you comment, hoping your tone landed on the right side of the line between flirty and rude; you’re so out of practice at this, you’re not quite sure.

He takes it in stride. “That’s fair,” he chuckles. “No decorations for you this year?”

“Oh, I’ve got a wreath on my door,” you gesture. “May or may not get a tree. Little touches like that, things just for me; that feels appropriate but full on decorating this year… it just doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel true to what we’re all experiencing.”

He furrows his brow. “Do you think my decorations are dishonest?” He asks, looking interested in your perspective.

“Not yours specifically, lots of people in the neighborhood are doing the same thing, some started even earlier than you did,” you carefully try to explain. “It just feels like surrounding ourselves with these crazy festive decorations… it’s like we’re working very hard to convince each other, maybe even ourselves, that this year isn’t any different when that couldn’t be farther from the truth… it is different and it feels weird not to acknowledge that.”

You look up, hoping you haven’t offended him, that you don’t see like too much of a grinch; you find yourself surprised at how relieved you feel when he nods thoughtfully as he considers your point of view.

“I actually agree, people are definitely using the decorations as a bit of a coping mechanism,” Ashton states, leaning on the fence as he ponders. “But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I know for me, after spending so much time being upset that I was trapped in my house this year, I figured I should do what I can to make my house feel happy for once. Especially if I’m gonna spend Christmas alone in it.”

You marvel at how despite the heavy turn the conversation has taken, his face never darkens, his warm and cheerful aura never falters. “Oh. I actually hadn’t thought of it like that,” you admit, playing with the drawstring of your hoodie, wondering why you care that you’re feeling vulnerable around him. “I’ll be alone this year too. I guess it just doesn’t feel like Christmas to me so I don’t like reminding myself that it is that time of year. If that makes sense.’

He gives you a sad but empathetic look. “I totally get it. I felt like that for most of the year… birthdays, seasons changing… I didn’t want to admit any of it was happening,” he shares. “But I don’t know… not to seem like I have it all figured out, but if we can’t change how we react to the environment we’re in, I think there’s something to be said for changing the environment itself. It’s important to acknowledge what you feel but also letting in even a little positivity can do wonders.”

You offer him a soft smile, letting him know you appreciate his encouragement. “Even just seeing the wreath on my door every morning is a nice moment,” you confess.

Ash smiles back and you feel warmer than if you’d gone inside and cozied up in front of your fireplace. “See? A couple strings of lights, a little tree. Maybe break out with that big yellow Minion you put out on your lawn when you moved in last Christmas,” he teases, lightening the mood.

“OK, first of all, it’s not a Minion, it’s Woodstock from the Peanuts, thank you,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Well, it was quite the first impression,” he shrugs and you can’t help but notice how broad his shoulders look in that coat.

You lay in bed that night, the night’s events on a loop in your mind; you ended up standing outside and chatting over the fence for more than an hour. It was nice and stirred a sense of normalcy in you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It stirred other feelings in you as well but you knew there wasn’t any sense in dwelling on that since it’d be a long time before either of you would be able to do anything about that.

A few days later, you hear a muffled murmur that sounds a lot like your name while you’re washing dishes; you look out the kitchen window to see Ashton waving at you from his patio. He’s shirtless and sweaty, having clearly just finished his afternoon yoga session. Not that you had taken to timing your kitchen chores to coincide with his workouts.

You signal to him to give you a minute and then you head out the backdoor to chat. “What’s up?” You say as casually as possible, willing yourself to keep your eyes trained on his face and not the sweat dripping over his defined muscles or how low his athletic shorts are hanging.

“Your house is looking nice,” he gestures at the colored lights you recently hung around your window frames. “Little touches, just for you, like you said. I like it.”

You beam at him, impressed that he remembered your words from the other night. “You were right, I do feel a bit brighter having put those up,” you share, stuffing your hands in your hoodie pocket to keep from fidgeting, thinking about how much you’d like to brush the curls out of his eyes.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies jovially. “I actually have something for you.” He gestures for you to back up as he ducks inside his backdoor, retrieving the package off his kitchen table; he walks back out and smiles when he sees you’ve also turned around so he can surprise you. He sets the box over the fence and returns to his patio; he waits a beat longer than necessary to give you the all clear, he had to give himself a second to appreciate your ass in those leggings.

You spin around and see a box containing an inflatable light up Minion wearing a Santa hat. “Are you kidding me?!” You burst out laughing, picking up the gift to inspect.

“Figured Woodstock could use a buddy,” he laughs, shrugging. “Ordered it when I came inside after our talk the other night, just in case you changed your mind about decorating.”

You feel yourself blush. “Wish I could offer you more than a smile and a thank you,” you blurt, before realizing how forward that sounded. “I mean, like a hug or dinner or something…” You laugh nervously and look to see him trying and failing to hold back a devilish smirk.

“Well. When the time is right, I’d love to take you up on that offer… for the hug or the something,” he flirts.

The next day, you make Christmas cookies and leave some in his mailbox when he goes for his morning run. When he comes to tape a thank you note to your front door, he catches a glimpse of you through the window, decorating the tabletop Christmas tree you bought for yourself and you share a nice moment.

You gave him your phone number that time pre-lockdown when he went out of town and you watered his lemon tree; he finally starts using it, texting you on and off throughout the day and it’s nice to feel like you finally have someone to share with.

It’s when you’re in bed at night, texting away, that you always wish you could share even more with him. Your phone says he’s typing a response and you turn over to stare across the room at your bedroom window, the one facing his bedroom window. His curtains are drawn but you can see the soft glow of a bedside table lamp illuminating the room; you wonder what color the lamp is. Wonder if he sleeps on the left or right side of his bed. Wonder what he’s wearing while he’s typing his messages to you. If he’s wearing anything at all. Wonder if he wants to ask you the same thing. You lay there, wondering, until your phone buzzes again and the cycle continues.

You carry on like this for the next couple of weeks, collecting feelings and building tension. A few days before Christmas, you hurry outside to collect the packages that were just delivered by the mailbox, rushing to bring them in before the holiday Zoom party you have planned with friends.

You stop to text your pals you’ll be a few minutes late when you hear a sharp gasp behind you. You turn and see Ashton at the end of his driveway, eyes poring over you in the fitted green velvet wrap dress you’re wearing.

“You sure cleaned up for the mail delivery?” He jokes, trying to recover how clearly affected he is by the sight in front of him. You realize it’s the first time in months he’s seen you in anything besides hoodies and lounge pants.

You laugh, walking to the fence. “I have a Zoom party to attend but I didn’t want these boxes sitting out here all night,” you explain, instinctively starting to touch your face out of nervousness before stopping yourself for the sake of the dark red lipstick you have on; you’re not used to wearing makeup these days.

“Well… you look fuckin’ incredible,” he breathes, making no attempt to disguise the way his gaze is travelling up and down your body. He runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat, willing himself to move on. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to ask you something.”

You lock eyes with him and feel your heart speed up; usually you’d have a quippy reply to shoot back to him but today, all you can think of is the heat you feel between the two of you. Instead, you nod attentively, trying your best to act like your mind isn’t distracting you with daydreams of walking around to his side of the fence and leaping into his arms.

“I know we’re both alone for the holidays… wish I’d thought of this sooner, so we could’ve done something about Christmas, actually… but say if we were to properly quarantine - you know, like, no outside contact at all quarantine - would you want to spend New Year’s together?” He’s speaking quickly, rushing it out as if he’s afraid he’ll lose his nerve and yet he presents his proposal with an assurance that almost hypnotizes you.

You can’t keep from grinning ear to ear but you still try to play it cool. “That could be fun,” you answer, grateful. You joke, “God, I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t at a party for New Year’s, what do people even do to celebrate at home?”

Without missing a beat, he suggestively replies, “I’m sure we can think of something.”

You have fun with your friends on Zoom but in the back of your mind you can’t stop thinking about the way that Ash looked at you, the honest hunger in his eyes. You keep your curtains open much later than usual, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, wondering if the lights around the window will catch his eye and he’ll stop to try and catch a glimpse of you.

New Year’s can’t get here fast enough as far as you’re concerned but time feels like it’s moving slower than ever. Christmas finally arrives and you wake up bright and early to Zoom your family to open the presents they sent you. Afterwards, you decide to give yourself the gift of going back to sleep; when you wake up a few hours later, you tidy up the living room, gathering the trash bags of torn wrapping paper and ribbons to take out to the garbage.

You step outside and note Ashton isn’t on his patio like he is most mornings; you’re just about to head back inside when you hear a warm “Merry Christmas” from over the fence.

You turn to see him wearing a smile brighter than his extravagant Christmas lights display and yours combined. “How’s your morning?” He asks earnestly.

You smile back. “It’s good! Slept in a little, Zoomed with the fam. Lowkey but nice.”

“Ohhh. That’s why you weren’t at the window this morning,” he muses. You look at him quizzically and a sheepish look washes over his face. “I’ve maybe noticed that you seem to like tidying up the kitchen around the same time every morning… maybe sometimes when I’m ready to start my stretches, I’ll check to see if you’re at the window yet. Maybe sometimes if you aren’t there yet, I’ll wait.”

You feel yourself flush, flattered. “Here I thought I was being voyeuristic when all along you’re just an exhibitionist,” you smirk.

He chuckles knowingly. "And you're leaving your curtains open all hours of the night for aesthetic reasons?"

You're surprised you don't feel embarrassment, just a sense of pride and overwhelming desire. "You're welcome," you say coyly.

Completely devoid of self-consciousness or hesitation, Ash says seriously, "I'd give anything to come over there and kiss you right now. Touch you. Just feel you."

Your breath catches but you manage to get out, "Six days. Just gotta get through this week. Somehow."

The interaction plays over and over in your mind throughout the course of the day: the confident way he told you he wanted you, the way his gaze seemed to devour you entirely, the simultaneous relief and ache you felt knowing that the yearning that’s been threatening to overtake you has him floundering too.

Six days is a long time, especially when you’ve not so much as grazed another person since the beginning of the year, not to mention you’ve been waiting to get to this place with Ash for over a year.

The idea enters your mind while you’re cleaning up your dinner dishes, peering out the kitchen window he’d freely admitted to using to perform for you. You slip out to the garage, finding the box with your usual Christmas decorations much more easily than you expected. You glance at his living room window, ensuring he’s occupied before heading up to your bedroom to set your plan in motion.

You add as many strings of lights to your bedroom window as you can fit: colored ones, white ones, blinking ones, the ones that get slowly brighter and then dim back down. You stand back and nod to yourself, pleased with your work. You’d certainly call this eye-catching.

You feel more excited than nervous when you see it’s already around the time that Ashton usually heads upstairs for the night. You see the light in his room go on and you wait impatiently, just long enough for you to wonder if you didn’t go far enough with your display. You jump as your phone buzzes on your nightstand with a text message.

“Feeling extra festive tonight?”

You chew your lip, weighing how to play this. “Wanted to be sure I had your attention.”

He types for what feels like a lifetime but all he ends up responding with is: “Oh?”

You push yourself off your bed and go stand in front of your window, responding, “I think I’ve figured out how we get through the next week.”

You see him through his window, shirtless and in his boxers, laying on the bed with his phone. He reads your message and runs his hand over his beard, lost in thought; his head turns towards the direction of your house, pondering, when he notices your illuminated figure. You see him sit straight up and stare in disbelief as it dawns on him that you’re standing at the window, dressed in a lace lingerie set that has him almost feeling dizzy from how fast the blood is rushing to his cock.

He walks over to his own window, needing a closer look; he groans as he takes in every detail: how the red color of the bra and panties contrasts against your skin, how the black lace trim accentuates your curves, how the strappy detailing of the underwear present you as a Christmas gift meant just for him to unwrap. The lights around your window cast a glow around you, making you look like even more of a holiday fever dream come to life.

His eyes meet yours and you hold his gaze as you run your hands slowly down your body; you start by trailing down your neck to the straps of your bra, tracing along the lace outline with your fingers. You give your breasts a firm squeeze as you run your palms over the cups, stopping to use your thumbnail to tease your nipples until they poke through the thin material. Your fingers dance down your torso, swirling around the lines of your belly, pulling at the waistband of your bottoms. You tauntingly skip over your hips entirely, moving to caress your thighs.

Your phone buzzes again and you pause your show to reach for it. “Wish it were me,” Ash’s confession reads.

“In my mind, it is,” you reply, sitting your phone aside to dip into your panties. You lick your lips, in awe of how aroused you are, how aroused you’ve been since you decided to create this situation.

Ashton gulps and if he wasn’t so blinded by lust, he would’ve laughed at how audible the sound was in his ears. He wants to text you back, wants you to know how he’s dying for this week to pass so he can ravish you with the attention you deserve, the attention he should’ve given you a long time ago. But he also doesn’t want your hand to stop moving inside your underwear, so he waits.

You spread your wetness around, teasing yourself slowly. You considered bringing your bullet vibe to the window with you but you figured you were going to be overwhelmed enough and you weren’t going to need any help getting off. You close your eyes as you trace around your clit, not allowing yourself to put much pressure on it just yet, not willing to risk having this be over too soon.

He sees you throw your head back in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut, lips swollen from sucking them between your teeth and he can’t take it anymore. He pulls his cock out through the hole in his boxers and starts stroking, exhaling in relief at how instantly good it feels; he spits in his hand to ease the friction at first but it only takes a few tugs for precum to start trickling from his tip. He groans and pumps faster, knowing this won’t take long.

You press a fingertip inside yourself and moan a lot louder than you expected; you open your eyes and notice his stare remains unwaveringly focused on you, only now his hand is working his cock. He moves rapidly up and down his shaft, seemingly unconcerned with taking it slow. Part of you wishes his movements would slow down so you could get a better look at his dick but you also love that he’s seemingly so turned on by the thought of having you that he needs immediate gratification.

He tries to keep up with you, matching you stroke for stroke as you continue working yourself up, hand speeding up inside your panties, hand pawing at your clothed breast. His rough grip catches on one of the veins running down his cock and he chokes out a strained curse; he notices your mouth keeps forming a perfect O shape as you react to your self pleasure and he lets out his own whimper as he imagines how heavenly your sounds must be.

“I can’t wait to hear you when I make you cum for me.” You softly whine as you read his latest text. You’re nearly there and your head is spinning at the deliberate nature of his words: “When” he makes you cum “for him.” You rub hard at your clit and feel that familiar burning ache building in your core. You swear your wetness increases tenfold as you feel the pulsing begin.

Ashton’s cock leaps in his hand as he witnesses your body tense and shake as your orgasm washes over you; he notices your lips murmuring something and the thought enters his mind that you could be saying his name. He hopes you are.

You’re still waiting for your heart rate to settle, realizing there’s no way it will as long as you’re watching Ash pull at his cock like that. One hand flies over his length, the other firmly clutching his balls; his hips start to move, fucking into his hand as he nears the edge. You’re captivated watching his abs tense, fluttering with intensity until suddenly they’re being coated with cum. The ropes streak his skin and you decide it’s too soon to text him to share how badly you want a taste.

He hangs his head in exhaustion, briefly ducking away from the window to grab a tissue off the dresser; he cleans himself off, tucks his cock back in his boxers and finally looks back up at you. You smile softly at each other, though you’re not sure of the tone; it’s not exactly shy and it’s not entirely wistful. Whatever it is, it’s nice. Hopeful? Satisfied. For now.

You text him, “It’s after midnight now. 5 days.”

You see him shaking his head, smiling as he types. “Still too far away. Same time tomorrow?”

You grin, shooting off your response before blowing him a kiss goodnight. “Still too far away. Meet you here after yoga tomorrow.”

————-

Taglist issues again so my apologies if you get notif’d more than once (or not at all)

@mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @loveroflrh @ghostofmashton @sexgodashton @feliznavidaddycal

@castaway-cashton @ashtonlftv @cashtonasfuck @megz1985 @ashdork-irwin @angelicfluffs @findingliam-o @youngbloodchild @irwinsbetch @everyscarisahealingplace

@wiildflower-xxx @metalandboybands @realisticnotes @makeamovehemmings @golden166 @burstintocolor

@mfartzzz @babyoria @petunias-pet @youngblood199456 @notinthesameguey @seanna313 @zhangyixingxing1 @stardust-galaxies @zackoid

@lovelybonesetc @xsongxbirdx @justhereforcalum @ashtonangst

@laura66sos @calumrose @karajaynetoday @pilunb @jazzyangel242 @babylon-corgis @heyheyhaleyd @calmsweetcreature

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@fedorable-killjoys @iamcalumswhore @i-like-5sos @Too-et-moi215

@photochic18 @kouska901 @Indermeow @dantord

#5sos smut #5 seconds of summer smut #Ashton irwin smut #Ashton irwin fic #holiday smut #Ashton smut #smut #kh4f fic #Under The Christmas Lights #Kindahoping4forever #cass and crystal present: hoe hours #cass and crystal present: hoe for the hoelidays #i literally just finished writing this and read it for the first time while formatting #hahahahaha what the fuck this fine #i have been EXHAUSTED the past couple days so i legit do not remember writing the last third of this and I am shocked maybe even scandalized #so that happened lmao #Feedback is appreciated #see you for more hoe-ing tomorrow clowns!

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

Text

Come play with me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, home invasion, allusion to stalking and non-con.

Words: 1987.

Summary: Having to deal with Bucky Barnes, a talented head engineer who you have to convince cooperating with your boss, you suddenly discover his psychopathic tendencies. Worse, he has taken an eerie interest in you.

_______________________

“Listen, dear, I know what he asks for seems like something very inappropriate, but, in fact, the guy just likes you and-”

“No, Mr. Simons, he doesn’t just like me.” You snapped, bringing the cellphone closer your face. “This madman asked me to be at his disposal any time he wants. Please, don’t try to convince me it’s okay because this is madness.”

“I know, I know, he sounds like a psycho, but he’s not. Mr. Barnes is just... difficult. He needs to work on his communicational skills, he admitted it himself during our meeting today.” Your boss - or rather your ex-boss - was almost pleading you to listen to him, but you had enough of this nonsense. Nothing could change your mind after yesterday’s humiliating encounter with James Buchanan Barnes, the head engineer of HYDRA Corp.

“Sir, I have already submitted the resignation form. I perfectly understand the position you are in, but I’m not going to become a toy of this psychopatic man-child.” You answered firmly, looking at your lovely blue clock on the wall and knowing it was too late for any work calls. “Goodbye, Mr. Simons. Have a nice evening.”

Before he tried saying anything else to make you change your decision, you had turned your phone off and put it on your desk, sighing. You could never imagined one day you would face a situation like that.

Yes, when your boss got a promotion, you were truly happy for him. It also meant that you, his secretary, would now get a different type of tasks since you worked more like his personal assistant rather than someone who simply answered the phone calls and built his schedule. A raise was also quite nice. What you didn’t expect was having issues with Bucky, the genius the whole corporation knew about. He was that very same man HYDRA owed its success to as his innovative approach made the company widely known in the whole world for its - his - active protection systems. Barnes was now working on the brand new weapon system control, but he had never submitted sufficient reports, and, apparently, the previous executive left exactly because of Bucky and his wild temperament.

Despite the fact that he was a legendary figure, you had never met him or dealt with him directly. And since now Barnes became your boss’ pain, he became yours, too.

First, it was impossible to set a meeting with him directly. Mr. Simons wanted to take care of this issue himself and emailed Bucky multiple times, but always got the same dry answer that Barnes is too busy. Of course, he never answered any calls - until it was you calling him. Oddly, he was eager to talk to you. It took you just two calls to organize an online meeting for your boss, and, finally, yesterday you got to see the mysterious genius with your own eyes.

He was nothing like you expected. He wasn’t some skinny geek wearing glasses on his long nose, but a beefy man, his shoulders twice wider than your boss’. Barnes had dirty disheveled hair and a three-days beard, but, aside from that, he looked more like a star athlete rather than a nerdy engineer. He dressed in a pretty weird fashion, wearing tight t-shirts, leather pants, chains and heavy studded boots, but criticizing his style wasn’t a part of your job. You needed the reports he refused to submit and get him to attend the meetings.

Of course, he blamed everything on too many bureaucratic procedures and lack of time for anything but his new project. Even while speaking to the two of you he was pacing back and force in his laboratory, fetching this and that, fiddling with something that looked like a futuristic gun from one of Scott Ridley’s movies, his table full of screws and nails, markers, dirty papers, and metal parts of something you couldn’t recognize. Now you could see the true technological genius everyone was talking about.

However, you weren’t satisfied with the lack of information he was willing to give about his project. Barnes had a ridiculous amount of privileges, able to order whatever supplies he needed without anyone’s approval and working in a total secrecy, but HYDRA’s board of directors was growing tired of his reticence and temper tantrums Barnes was throwing every time someone tried to uncover his secrets. The career of your boss was at stake, and you needed Bucky to cooperate. You doubted the company would be willing to get rid of its most valuable employee, but the board of directors could easily limit his access to many of his beloved projects and make his life much more difficult.

Discussing the endless possibilities of what could happen if Barnes still refused to cooperate, you realized he wasn’t worried even the slightest bit. But he agreed to submit the reports if 1) he would get the team of engineers he picked by himself to help him with his project, regardless of whether they are involved with other things 2) he would get you “at his disposal any time he wanted”. Of course, at first you thought it was some kind of weird joke. Who in a right state of mind would ask for anything like this? You tried to laugh it off along with your boss, who was as shocked as you.

Then you figured out Barnes was dead serious. He wanted you.

Of course, you weren’t having it. Maybe your boss career was at stake, but it was his business, not yours. If the only thing he could offer you was being Barnes’ toy for the sake of the corporation, you would prefer to leave your place and find a position somewhere else.

How could he even suggest submitting to that psycho? Who did he think you were? A doll? A disposable Barbie or something? Even thinking of that was making you furious.

Sighing, you dropped your phone on the table and went to the kitchen to have a glass of wine. Despite the fact that you had already submitted the resignation form, you still needed to keep working before Mr. Simons would find a new secretary. It meant you would hear him pleading you to stay every day, and it wasn’t going to be nice. This damn Barnes made your life insufferable with just a couple of sentences.

Of course, you weren’t going to keep calling Bucky or trying to talk to some sense into him. Fuck that. Barnes was totally mad, and you weren’t having more of his bullshit.

Suddenly, the lights went out, and you stilled, growing in frustration. What the hell? You had to carefully put an empty glass back on the counter and move to your room again to take the phone. Glancing out of the window, you saw that it was just your apartment while others had light in them. Oh, perfect.

“Why do I pay for all this new technology that never works?” You growled in frustration, rooting around to find your phone.

“That’s a good question. To be honest, I wouldn’t.”

You froze. Somebody was in your room. Turning around quickly, you had finally found your phone and touched the screen - the subtle blue glowing lit Barnes’ gloomy face, and for a few seconds he narrowed his eyes as your phone blinded him.

Fuck.

“What are you doing here?” You whispered in terror, stepping away from him and visibly shaking. God, how did he get through the security system? You had just installed a pretty expensive one, made by...

By HYDRA Corp.

“You see, your security system has so many drawbacks I hacked it even without a proper preparation. You have to consider switching to something more solid.” He said calmly as he made a step towards you. In the darkness of the room he looked even more intimidating with his long dark hair hanging on his eyes, his huge figure looming over you as you ended up being pressed to the wall. “You know, since you were so enthusiastic in the beginning, I expected you to act... more professional.”

You didn’t know what to say. You were trapped between the wall and Barnes’ body as you stared into his face, terrified to the core. What was he doing here? Did he break into your home just because you refused him? Was he damn insane?

Oh yes. Yes, Barnes was.

“You know, we can have so much fun together if you just leave your pathetic boss and come play with me.” He tilted his head to the side, letting his disheveled hair fall on his broad shoulder and taking away the phone from your hand. “You’re a smart girl, aren’t you? I know how much you’re doing while Simons pretends it’s all him. Aren’t you tired of it?”

Well, it was true. Your boss had finally offered you a promotion after you would take care of Barnes issue, so you didn’t complain, waiting for your chance. It was all over now.

“And what do you suggest?” You asked, knowing you needed to somehow get away from this psycho and run to the door.

“Take care of me instead of him.”

You clenched your teeth as Barnes got closer, almost touching the tip of your nose with his, his icy blue eyes fixated on you. You felt the strong smell of cigarettes coming from him and winced from this unwanted intimacy. Barnes was too close to let you get away.

“What do you mean? I don’t think you need a secretary.” You played innocent, not looking him into eyes and staring at something on your right. Now your eyes almost adjusted to the darkness surrounding you.

“I can get you a better position, baby. A project manager, huh? You will ensure me and my team do things right.” His hot breath was burning your skin as Bucky nuzzled against your cheek, making you squirm. “You’ll be the one overseeing the development of a new system, and I get to have you close all the time. Besides, your paycheck gonna be way bigger. Isn’t it nice?”

“I don’t think I have sufficient skills for this job.” You mumbled meekly, squeezing your eyes shut when he put his hand on your shoulder gently. “The Corporation won’t allow me to take this position.”

There was a smug grin on his face. “Oh dear, you’re perfect for the job, I know it. And don’t you worry about the Board of Directors, I can be quite... persuasive.” As he smiled at you, you were ready to cry in front of him, so frightened and almost hysterical.

“What do you want from me, Barnes?” You pleaded in distress, tired and scared of the game he was playing with you.

He took your arm in his and made you move to the bed, forcing you to sit down while he hovered over you, brushing his long hair out of his face and tucking one of his locks behind the ear. Then Barnes cupped your chin with his hand, making you look directly at him.

“Come play with me, baby.” He cooed gently at you, wiping away a tear running down your cheek. “I want you close. Come to me. Talk to me. Have fun with me. I’m not asking much, am I?”

“We’ve only met yesterday. Why-”

You heard him chuckling and got silent immediately. You didn’t like that creepy smile on his face. Why did he look like you were wrong? You knew for sure you didn’t meet him before - who could possibly forget someone like Bucky Barnes - but his smile was telling you that he knew you from somewhere before your yesterday’s encounter. Where else could he meet you? You had no idea.

“It’s alright, dear. You’ll have enough time to know me better.” Barnes whispered, rubbing your chin with his thumb and closing the distance between the two of you. “We’re gonna have lots of fun together.”

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @iheartsebastianstan @soleil-dor @iheartsebastianstan

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes #winter soldier #yandere

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kirah69 · 4 years ago

Text

Like a Porn

This was supposed to be for @petopher-events Petopher Week, but I had some bad days, and besides this was a request from @andygods so I wanted it to be good.

(Andy said the prompt sounded like a porn so that's where the title comes from.)

Like a Porn

[AO3 link]

Day 4: “Do you think you could just go one day without pissing me off?” (I didn't use it literally)

Summary: Peter (17) is Victoria's younger brother. She has married Chris and now the three of them live together. The two brothers-in-law don't get along very well... in appearance.

Tags: Human AU, anal sex, rimming, infidelity, younger top/older bottom, masturbation.

When their parents died, with no other family left, Victoria had to take care of her twelve-years-old brother, Peter. They had been left a good inheritance, and Victoria was already working, so taking care of her little brother was not a big problem, beyond the trouble he used to get into in high school. Although the teachers and the principal used to turn a blind eye due to his situation. After all, he wasn't a bad kid either, he didn't mess with drugs or robbery or other major crimes. He was just a sarcastic boy who liked to piss off others. And now, at seventeen, his main target was her husband, Christopher. He and Victoria had only been married for a few months, and every day was a nightmare. Not because she fought with her husband, no, but because Peter kept picking on Chris and, although Chris tried to ignore him most of the time, he sometimes couldn't help but answer back. When they started arguing, Victoria would roll her eyes and leave them to it. She could understand Peter's behavior. The boy must feel overprotective of his older sister, his only family, and she would feel the same if Peter had a girlfriend (a serious girlfriend, not the sporadic flings he used to have).

“Peter! You left the empty milk bottle in the fridge, again,” Chris scolded him as soon as the boy appeared in the kitchen, dressed only in his boxers as usual.

“Me? Nah, I don't think so.” He shouldered past Chris and grabbed the bottle of orange juice from the open fridge.

“Who else would do something like that?” Chris asked, closing the fridge when Peter pulled away.

“A ghost? Or maybe you drank the milk while you sleepwalked, and now you don't remember.” He put two slices of bread in the toaster and took a banana from the fruit bowl.

Victoria sighed and got up to put her breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

“I'll leave you two to it.” She gave her husband a kiss and ruffled Peter's hair.

She took her things and went to work. Peter was on vacation and Chris worked from home, going to the office just for some meetings, but Victoria worked from 9 to 5 at the town hall.

When he heard the front door close, Peter smiled and sat on the counter. He peeled the banana and opened the juice bottle while Chris searched the pantry.

“We're out of milk! Why didn't you add it to the list?” Chris exclaimed, turning around.

He froze for a moment, and his cheeks flushed. It was visible even under the beard. Peter knew what Chris was seeing, him sitting alone in his boxers on the counter, legs spread apart, a banana in hand, and his head thrown back as he drank the juice, a few drops dripping down his chin and neck.

“D-don't drink from the bottle,” Chris scolded without much energy and cleared his throat.

“Sorry, brother,” he said with a smile. Peter knew calling him that made him nervous, mostly because of the way he said it.

“When you finish the milk, add it to the shopping list if you're not going to buy it yourself. And don't leave the empty bottle in the fridge,” Chris told him, trying to sound annoyed like he didn't have a semi in his pants.

“I'll try to remember it.”

Peter opened his mouth in an o-shape and shoved a big part of the banana into it, keeping eye contact with Chris at all times. His brother-in-law was unable to look away, staring at him with his mouth half open. The toaster popped and Chris reacted.

“I-I have to work.” He turned around and almost ran out of there, forgetting about breakfast.

It was sooo funny. From the moment Victoria introduced them, Peter had taken an interest in Chris. Too bad he was his sister's boyfriend and now her husband, but that didn't stop Peter from playing with him from time to time. He had to maintain the facade, of course, of an annoying brother, but he loved knowing that Chris got hard for him. He wondered if Chris ever masturbated or even fucked his sister thinking of him.

Shit. Now he was hard. Well, that had an easy solution. Peter went into his room without bothering to close the door behind him and got naked. He pulled the suction cup dildo out of his little collection and stuck it on the floor in the middle of his room. He grabbed the lube from the same drawer and knelt on a cushion with his ass over the dildo, his face to the full-length mirror of his closet and his back to the open door. Yes, he hoped Chris would catch him, he had been trying since they moved in together after the wedding, but Chris never fell for it.

He lubed his ass until he had a couple of fingers in, which wasn't hard because he was quite active, and he also lubricated the dildo. He went down on it slowly. He couldn't rush, the size was considerable. Peter liked the burning when it opened him, so he never stretched himself too much. He took a deep breath and sighed when the glans of the fake cock passed his entrance, he loved that part. After a moment, he rested his hands on his thighs and continued to lower himself, slowly spreading his legs until he reached the base. He couldn't hold back a moan, nor did he want to.

As soon as he got used to having it inside him, he began to move slowly, trying not to rub his prostate just yet because he wasn't in a hurry. He could see it go in and out on the mirror, his hard cock bouncing up and down and his hole glistening with lube. He had a good body, he was the captain of the basketball team for a reason, and he didn't mind that it was narcissistic to look at himself while he masturbated. Although he would rather be able to look at a certain person.

Then, he saw movement in the corner of the mirror and his heart raced. It was his chance. He went into performance mode, wiggling his body a little more, lifting his ass to give Chris a good look and raising the level of his moans. He sounded almost like a whore, but if it worked he didn't mind.

Chris had gone to his office so quickly after Peter had exposed himself in the kitchen that he hadn't eaten anything, and now his stomach was roaring. When he heard the boy go into his room, Chris waited a few minutes for his semi to drop completely (it was a natural reaction, it had nothing to do with his brother-in-law or with that slim body or with his damn teasing). Thinking the coast was clear, Chris left his office and headed for the kitchen, but then stopped when he reached Peter's bedroom door. For a second he didn't know what those sounds were, but then he recognized them. That damn kid... and he hadn't even closed the door!

He had to turn around and go back to the office. He couldn't give in, couldn't fall for his teasing, he'd been resisting, and now he couldn't... A louder moan made him look unintentionally. Shit! What was he doing on the floor? What was...? Where did he get that thing from? And he seemed to put everything inside so easily even though the size was larger than the average penis. His face was so full of pleasure, his mouth open and his eyes closed with a blush on his cheeks. The muscles in his legs contracted with the effort of going up and down. It was hypnotic to see that athletic body move and his long cock jump up and down, dripping. It would feel so good ins-. No! No, no, no, he couldn't think of that. He turned and hurried back to his office, but before closing the door he could hear Peter come.

Shit, now he really was fully hard, and this time it wasn't going to get down by itself. He unbuttoned his pants and sat in his chair. He didn't want to do that, he knew it was wrong, but his resistance had a limit. At first, Chris thought Peter was just jealous because he felt like Chris was stealing his sister. But he soon came to the conclusion that Peter wanted to drive him crazy, pacing the house almost naked (or sometimes completely naked when he got out of the shower), with deliberately obscene gestures and those... those looks. He wasn't sure if Peter wanted to eat him or be eaten by him.

A growl rumbled in his throat and Chris came with the image of Peter fucking himself in that stupid toy.

“What a waste.”

Chris was startled and almost fell out of his chair when he heard Peter. He hadn't even realized that Peter had opened the door and there he was, leaning against the door frame, completely naked and with some lubricant between his legs.

“W-what are you doing-?”

“All that cum would be so much better inside me,” Peter said, walking toward him.

“Peter, for God's sake, you have to stop this. I'm married to your sister!” He wanted to get up, but Peter was so close. If Chris got up, he would touch the boy, so he could only try to cover his flaccid dick.

“Yeah... But we both know that my sister is quite frigid. And, or my instinct is really fucked, or you lean towards my side more than you let on,” he said with a knowing smile.

Chris opened and closed his mouth not knowing what to say because yes, he was right. Chris had been hiding it all his life because his family was too conservative, but it was as Peter said.

“I-it doesn't matter, now-.”

“You're married, blah blah blah. Are you going to fuck me or not?” Then a gleam passed through his eyes, and Peter leaned over Chris, putting his hands on the arms of the chair. “Or do you prefer to be fucked? It'd be no problem, I'm very versatile.”

Something must have given him away because Peter smirked like the Cheshire cat. He was overwhelmed, he couldn't believe Peter could read him so easily. He had hidden it for so long, terrified that his father would find out (he had been beaten for much less) and somehow this kid had found out. And there he was, in front of him, with that sexy naked body, offering to do whatever Chris wanted. So tempting. But he couldn't do it, he couldn't, he was married, and Peter was his brother-in-law. It was so wrong and he missed it so much. His heart was beating so loud that it was pounding in his ears. He couldn't take it anymore.

He got up, throwing the chair back, and ran out of there.

Peter was a bit stunned. He didn't expect that reaction. He hoped he hadn't scared him off for good. It was obvious that Chris was still in the closet, and perhaps he had been too blunt. Although it was clear that Chris was attracted to him.

When hours passed and Chris still didn't return home, Peter began to worry seriously. Usually they would always have lunch together or at least Chris would make food for both of them. He knew that if he didn't, Peter would only eat takeout, but Chris didn't even show up for lunch. Shit, maybe he had really screwed up this time. What was that feeling? Maybe it was remorse he felt.

Finally, Chris came back just before Victoria did, his face shiny with sweat and his T-shirt wet, as if he had been running all those hours. Peter watched him from the living room, lying on the couch with a book in his hands as if he didn't care. Chris went upstairs, and Peter heard the shower. Shortly after, he came downstairs in clean clothes and started making dinner just as Victoria walked through the door. Peter rolled his eyes when they greeted each other with just a chaste kiss. What a waste.

“Are you starting with dinner now?” Victoria asked.

“Yes, I've been a little busy, but it won't be long,” he said as if it had been an ordinary day.

“And what about you? Have you done something today? Anything?” she asked Peter.

“I'm on vacation, Vic,” he replied without looking away from the book he hadn't been reading.

Victoria sighed and rolled her eyes.

“We'll talk later, I'm going to change.”

As soon as she disappeared upstairs, Peter got up and went to the kitchen. By the way his back tensed, Chris knew he was there, right behind him, but he didn't even turn to look at him.

“Aren't you going to tell her what happened?” Peter asked, moving a little closer.

“What good would it do?” he murmured, still not looking at him.

Peter leaned a little closer and placed his hands on the counter on either side of Chris. He did not move, he just continued cutting vegetables with slightly trembling hands.

“Maybe to make me stop bothering you...” Peter moved his hips and pressed his crotch against Chris ass. He wasn't hard, but Chris could feel his cock anyway. “Unless you like me bothering you,” Peter whispered in his ear.

Chris shuddered and unintentionally moved his hips. Peter could see his knuckles turning white with how hard he was gripping the knife.

“Your sister is upstairs,” Chris warned him with a hiss, making no effort to push him away.

“Is that the problem?” Peter asked with a smile.

Chris didn't answer, didn't say a word or move, even as Peter rubbed his half-hard cock against his ass.

As soon as he heard his sister come down the stairs, Peter turned away from Chris and went to get a soda from the fridge. Victoria came into the kitchen in her usual home clothes (which were not very different from the ones she wore on the street, always so neat). As soon as she saw Peter, she looked away from him.

“God, Peter! Can't you have some decency?” she asked, referring to the obvious erection that his loose shorts did not help at all to hide.

“You've seen worse,” he replied without feeling the slightest bit of shame.

“That doesn't mean I want to see it,” she sighed in exasperation.

He looked at the clock. It was already two in the morning. Chris was lying on his side of the bed, staring at the ceiling, his erection lifting the thin sheet. Peter had behaved relatively well the rest of the night, at least they hadn't argued. It had been even worse. The three of them had sat in the living room to watch a movie, Chris and Victoria on the couch, each in a corner barely touching, and Peter in the armchair next to Victoria. The boy wore only those shorts that highlighted his crotch and climbed up his thighs every time he moved. And of course Peter took advantage of it, with his legs spread apart, one over the arm of the chair, letting him almost see inside his pants. He was sure that Peter was doing it on purpose to tease him, everything he did was to tease him. Chris had that image in his head, and there was no way his erection would go down. Waking Victoria up to have sex wasn't an option, it wasn't Saturday. So when he couldn't take it anymore, he got out of bed and went to the hall bathroom so she wouldn't hear him.

He took off his clothes and got into the shower. Unfortunately the water wasn't cold enough, so it didn't help. He put his hand around the base of his erection, and before he even started to masturbate the door opened. He cursed to himself, he should have locked the door.

“Isn't that a little pathetic? That you're just married and have to resort to jerking off.”

Chris didn't know what to do, there was no way to cover or hide his erection in that transparent shower. And Peter was right, it was a little pathetic. The boy was smiling and did not hesitate to take off his boxers, the only clothes he was wearing, and get into the shower with him.

“God, Peter, Victoria is-.”

“Sound asleep,” Peter continued. He turned off the shower faucet, they didn't need the noise to cover it up. “And with the sleeping pills she takes she won't wake up to an earthquake, so you can be as loud as you want.”

Peter licked his lips and knelt in front of him. Chris had to say no. He didn't want to say no, but he had to. However, when Peter put his cock in his mouth almost to the bottom without the slightest gesture of discomfort, Chris went speechless. He threw his head back, hitting the wall, and Peter started giving him head. Fuck! He tried to stay in control, but it had been ages! And Peter was incredibly good with his tongue. Apparently it was useful for something more than just driving him crazy. Peter grabbed him by the hips and began to move his head up and down, reaching a little deeper each time as he kept moving his tongue along his shaft. He dared to open his eyes, and Peter was looking directly at him. Those intense blue eyes that seemed to see inside you, that had discovered his deepest secret. He couldn't stop looking, he was mesmerized. He didn't even notice the hand moving down his buttock until a finger pressed against his hole. A moan drowned between his lips and he couldn't help but jerk his hips and thrust against Peter's throat. And he couldn't stop, Chris grabbed Peter by the hair and kept thrusting until he came in his mouth.

For a moment he didn't think about anything, he only enjoyed the best orgasm he had had in... too long. Then, when Peter pulled the cock out of his mouth, Chris realized what he had done. He opened his eyes and looked at him in horror. Chris was sure he had pissed him off, but Peter was just licking his lips, stroking his hard cock absently. Peter looked up at him with a smile and stood up, using his hand on Chris' hip to help himself. The boy didn't say anything, just smiled at him, looking into Chris' eyes as he jerked off until he came all over his belly, thick white ropes splashing his skin. Chris was still panting, his heart racing. If he could, Chris would get hard again when Peter spread the cum with his fingers across his abs.

“Sleep well,” Peter said and got out of the shower.

Without even picking up his boxers, Peter left the bathroom. Chris stayed stunned in the shower for a moment, his belly smeared with Peter's semen. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He knew it was going to blow up in his face at any moment, but he hadn't felt this good in years. Maybe just once and that's it. Peter would get what he wanted and find new entertainment. He knew that this was just a game to Peter, like a child infatuated with the toy he could not have. Once they fucked, Peter would get bored, and Chris would be satisfied for several years. Yes, just once.

Breakfast was like any other day. An argument over some nonsense Chris couldn't even remember. Peter in his underwear, teasing and just being inappropriate. A sexual tension so strong that it was impossible to ignore, and Victoria completely oblivious to all of it as always. It felt like foreplay, and Chris had an irrational fear that Peter would just pull down his pants and fuck him right there.

But that didn't happen, of course. Victoria went to work, and Peter went up to his room. Chris stood in the kitchen utterly confused, not knowing what he should do now. Was Peter waiting for him upstairs or had that in the shower been it?

Then Peter came back with a bottle of lube and a black plug in hand that he left on the counter. Chris stared at him somewhat confused. Peter came up behind him and pressed him against the counter.

“I'm going to fill you with my cum and keep it there all day with this,” Peter told him, moving the plug between his fingers. “Sounds good?”

Chris cleared his throat, unable to answer, but he nodded with some enthusiasm. He heard Peter's laugh, but at that moment he didn't care. The boy's hands were already unbuttoning his pants.

“Wait, here?” he asked, a little alarmed.

“Here, in the living room, in the dining room, in the bathroom, in my room, in yours... I plan to fuck you all over the house.”

Peter meant it, and Chris shuddered at the thought. Maybe it wasn't going to be just one time.

His pants fell to the floor, and the boy next to them. Peter pushed the pants aside along with his underwear and patted his legs apart.

“Bend over,” Peter ordered.

“What are you going to-?”

“Bend over, Chris,” he repeated. “Be good for me.”

Peter smiled when those words made him shiver. Chris leaned over the counter and spread his legs as Peter directed. He expected the lube, the preparation before Peter fucked him, but not his tongue directly over his hole.

“Fuck! Peter, what...”

“Hmm...” Peter was a little too busy to answer.

Peter spread his buttocks with both hands and began to lick from his perineum, over his hole and up his crack. A couple more licks, almost like a dog, and Chris was about to ask him to stop because it was a weird feeling. But then Peter focused on his hole and Chris forgot all about it. Peter licked his hole, adding as much saliva as he could, and began to push slowly, just testing at first. When Peter finally pierced him with his tongue, Chris let out an oh followed by a long moan.

“Yes, yes, Peter, don't stop,” he pleaded without thinking.

And Peter didn't stop. He fucked Chris with his tongue, letting out moans of pleasure, almost as if he were feasting. Fuck, someone should give that boy a medal for that tongue, some record or something. He couldn't believe how talented Peter was. How much experience did he have? Definitely more than him because it was the first time someone had done that to him. His gay experiences were nothing more than the odd sordid encounter in a nightclub with some spit as lubricant in a filthy bathroom stall. But this was different, it was dirty, but in another way. It was perverted and forbidden because Peter was his wife's little brother. It was so wrong in so many ways, but it felt so good.

Then Peter pulled his mouth away and Chris almost screamed.

“Shh... Another day I'll make you come with just my tongue, but now I have other plans,” Peter promised, stroking his hard buttocks. Chris had been in the military and was still fit. All those muscles covered by that blond hair. Peter had been in love with them from day one.

He took the lube and poured a good amount over his fingers.

“I'm ready, do it now,” Chris asked, opening the legs a little more.

Peter clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“I like it lubed,” he replied.

He slid a finger in little by little, and Chris was so willing and his hole so relaxed that there was barely resistance. He rubbed inside, searching for the spot, and Chris let out a yelp when he found it.

“There! There, Peter, there!” Chris almost pleaded with his legs shaking.

“I know, let me take care of you,” Peter told him, kissing his thigh.

He kept rubbing his prostate gently, not wanting to arouse Chris more than he already was, while moving his finger to stretch the edge, using the thumb of his other hand too. He knew it must have been years since Chris had last done it. Peter highly doubted Chris even touched himself, so he wanted to make sure it was as pleasant as possible. (And it wasn't easy because his cock was hard, sticking out the edge of his boxers and dripping. All he wanted was to be inside him.)

He slipped a second finger inside him and scissored them inside. Chris lifted his ass even higher as he moaned. If Chris already sounded like that with only a couple of fingers inside him, Peter couldn't even imagine what he would sound like while he was fucking him. Peter pushed a third finger inside him, and now Chris would barely stand up if it weren't for the counter he was leaning on. He felt a little hollow when Peter pulled his fingers out of him, but then Peter got up and pressed the tip of his cock against his entrance. And nothing else. He stayed still there, tempting him but not penetrating him.

“Peter!” he complained in frustration.

“Ask for it,” Peter told him with that damn smirk of his. “Tell me what you want.”

Chris felt the blush spread past his face. That kid had no limits (maybe he shouldn't call him kid when they were in that situation). He was cruel enough to stop if Chris didn't ask him the way he wanted. (Chris wanted to be upset, but he was just embarrassed at how much that turned him on.)

“F-fuck me...”

“Come on, you can do better.” He slid a hand up his back, pulling his shirt up. Mmh... He had good muscles in his broad back too.

Chris bit his lip and felt his hole tighten around the tip of the cock.

“Fuck me, Peter, fill me with your cock, please, please...” he begged with more sincerity than he expected. “I need it inside, please...”

“You beg so nicely,” Peter praised him with a kiss on the back of his neck, and his cock pierced his hole.

Chris moaned and shuddered. He moved his hips almost on instinct to try to get more inside, but Peter stopped him, placing an arm around his waist.

“So eager,” Peter laughed. “Next time I'll let you take control, don't worry. But now it's my turn.”

Peter grabbed him by both hips and thrust, almost bottoming in one go, grazing his prostate. Chris cried, and his mind went blank for a moment. Just seconds later, barely letting him adjust, Peter began to move his hips. He thrust until his balls hit Chris' and barely pulled his cock out before fucking him deep again. He was so tight and so hot that Peter couldn't stop himself, it was almost addictive. Peter had fuck with boys and girls, he was pretty popular in his school, but he had been wanting to do this since Vic had introduced them. A man a little older than him (barely eleven years) with those muscles, that beard and that military look. He had been part of his fantasies from day one. He had tried to replace him with others, but it had been impossible. But at last Chris was his, not in the way he expected but even better. And those moans that escaped him, the way his muscles contracted, the blush that reached his ears. If Peter kept up like this, he was going to come sooner than he wanted.

He grabbed Chris' cock with one hand and began to jerk him off while still fucking him. It was already dripping, and from the way Chris gasped and moaned he wasn't going to last long. Peter wrapped an arm around his waist to keep Chris from hurting himself on the edge of the counter and began to thrust harder, letting himself be led by his desire. But that didn't last long, he couldn't take it any longer when Chris' insides tightened around him as he came over the kitchen cabinets.

“Fuck-... Chris...” Peter growled as he came inside him.

He stood panting, leaning against Chris with his cock still inside him. They were both sweating, but neither seemed to mind. Chris complained when Peter pulled out of him, but then Peter placed the plug in his hole and Chris sighed with some relief. He didn't want his hole empty again.

“Perfect...” Peter sighed with a goofy grin. “I'm going to take a shower. I'll be in the living room. If you want me to fill you up more, come when you feel like it.”

Peter gave him a gentle spank that made him moan with the movement of the plug inside him and left the kitchen. Chris stood still panting, leaning against the counter with a soft smile on his lips. It was definitely not going to be the last time. That had been the best orgasm of his life, and he couldn't wait to repeat it. Later would come the regrets and guilt, but now he felt so relaxed that he could lie on the kitchen floor for the rest of the day if he didn't have to work (he had to clean up that mess first though).

#fanfic #teen wolf #petopher #peter hale #chris argent #fanfiction #english fanfic #petopher events #petopher week #peter hale x chris argent #slash #yaoi #gay #smut

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

Text

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 2

3rd Person POV

By the age of nine, Jean and Tom Granger found that their adopted daughter (Y/n) was quite a peculiar child. It wasn't just the strange hourglass scar on her neck, but she was incredibly smart, picking things up that most kids in high school wouldn't understand.

By Year Five of school, (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger had aced all of her classes on top of taking Year Nine level classes - Geometry and AP Biology.

And by the age of ten, (Y/n) was fluent in Russian, French, and Spanish.

The eldest Grangers also learned that their adopted daughter was extremely athletic. (Y/n) had played football - what Americans called soccer - and was top of her class in her Karate and JiuJitzu classes.

(Y/n) was also an inventor. She could come up with solutions to problems that Jean Granger had told her that most adults couldn't solve. She had built her first circuit board at the age of five and her first engine at the age of eight.

The Grangers' had put a shed in their backyard where their adopted daughter was always tinkering with things she would buy or was gifted from neighbors.

It wasn't to say that Jean and Tom's other daughter wasn't smart, for Hermione Granger was very intelligent. But all three - including Hermione - knew that (Y/n) was on a whole different level of intelligence.

Hermione Jean Granger wakes on July 26th of 1991 to her sister standing over her, a wide smile on her face.

The two sisters - even considering that (Y/n) was adopted - looked nothing alike. Hermione had frizzy brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, whereas (Y/n) had sleek (H/C) hair and brilliant green eyes. There was a strange thing about (Y/n)'s appearance though, she had an hourglass shaped scar on the side of her neck. (Y/n) liked the scar, but it reminded her of black widows, which wasn't great because (Y/n) didn't like spiders.

Hermione sit up in her bed, pushing her covers off her.

After the two use the bathroom - (Y/n) taking a quick shower and leaving her hair damp - they make their way downstairs to find their parents already in the kitchen.

"Morning girls," Mrs. Granger greets her daughters as she places breakfast on the table.

"Morning Mum," (Y/n) and Hermione say in unison.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger were dressed for work - they were dentists at the local dentists' office a few miles away.

After the four finish breakfast, there is a knock on the door.

Looking slightly confused, Mr. Granger stands up from the table and walks towards the door.

He opens it to see a very stern looking woman with black hair and blue eyes.

"Good morning," Mr. Granger greets the woman.

"Good morning, sir," the black haired woman says. "Are your daughters home? I'm here about a scholarship, per say, for a new school."

(Y/n) and Hermione exchange excited looks.

"Yes, they are here," Mr. Granger answers the woman. "Would you like to come in?"

The woman nods and steps inside the neat house.

"Hermione! (Y/n)!" Tom Granger calls and the two girls rise from their chairs simultaneously and walk out into the living room.

(Y/n) waves shyly at the woman, surprising the other Grangers. (Y/n) was never shy.

A small smile spreads across the woman's face at the slight of (Y/n) and catches sight of the hourglass scar on her neck.

"Hermione and (Y/n), was it?" the woman asks and the two nod.

"I'm Professor McGonagall. I'm here about a school for gifted people like yourselves," the woman says.

(Y/n) and Hermione exchange gazes, like a clashing forest, brown on green.

"It might be hard to believe, but the two of you, you're witches," McGonagall says and (Y/n)'s gaze flashes a silver, almost too quickly for McGonagall to see, but the woman does.

This sends a flash of curiosity though McGonagall, but she holds out two letters.

(Y/n) and Hermione step forward and take the letters from the Professor.

Miss (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger 100 Crestent View Ln. The Third Largest Bedroom Hampstead, London

"That's so very incredibly specific," (Y/n) murmurs. Opening the letter, she quickly reads:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

(Y/n) looks suspiciously at the letter for a moment before looking up. "Are you sure?" (Y/n) asks. "I'm not anyone special. I can't be a witch."

At the comment about (Y/n) being no one special, the other three Grangers exchange looks that McGonagall presumed to mean that they though that the statement wasn't true.

"Has nothing ever happened when you were afraid or nervous?" McGonagall asks and a flash of realization flashes behind (Y/n)'s eyes. "If you two have to go to work," McGonagall turns to Jean and Tom, "I can take the girls to find their school things."

(Y/n) looks excitedly over at her mother and father, "Mum, Dad, can we?"

Jean looks at McGonagall and nods.

Hermione and (Y/n) grin at each other.

"Go get dressed and then you can go," McGonagall says, smiling softly at the girls' excitement.

(Y/n) and Hermione run up the stairs.

(Y/n) goes to her bedroom and opens her closet door. She pulls out a black AC DC t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts from her dresser.

Thinking for a moment, she grabs a zip up hoodie and throws it on, placing her wallet inside one of the pockets.

(Y/n) stops at her sister's room and a moment later, Hermione pops out, dressed in a pair of jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt.

"So, what do you think about this?" (Y/n) asks as the two make their way down the stairs.

"I think it's interesting, us being witches and all," Hermione answers as the two enter the living room where they find their mother asking McGonagall to keep her daughters safe.

McGonagall, (Y/n), and Hermione walk outside and McGonagall tells the two girls to take her hand.

They do, and they're suddenly somewhere else. (Y/n) and Hermione look up to see a sign, which reads, The Leaky Cauldron.

They walk inside.

It was a small, tiny, grubby-looking pub. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. All of a sudden, the low buzz of chatter stopped when two people walked in. One of them was a very tall man, he almost looked to big to be allowed. He had long black hair and a black beard. The other was a small boy with jet-black hair, bottle green eyes, and light skin. The bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," said the man who must have Hagrid, clapping his great hand on boy's shoulder and making his knees buckle.

"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at the black haired boy, "is this — can this be — ?"

The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. "Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter ... what an honor."

(Y/n) studies the boy for a moment, then he looks over at her, as though sensing her eyes on him.

The old bartender hurries out from behind the bar, rushes towards Harry and seizes his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back." The boy didn't seem know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with the pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was beaming.

Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry was shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter."

"Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle.

(Y/n)'s POV

I look up at Professor McGonagall who looks at me with a question evident in her eyes, though I couldn't tell what it was.

McGonagall follows Harry and Hagrid out of the pub, Hermione and I following.

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin' ter meet yeh — mind you, he's usually tremblin'." Hagrid was saying.

"Is he always that nervous?" Harry asks.

"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience. ... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where's me umbrella?" Hagrid responds. "Three up ... two across ..." he muttered. "Right, stand back, Harry." He taps the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight. Hagrid and Harry proceed to walk through the archway.

McGonagall follows the two and Hermione and I follow close behind.

"The first stop for us is the wizarding bank, Gringotts," McGonagall says leading Hermione and I towards a large, grand, white building that looked over the rest of Diagon Alley.

The doors open and we walk in, the doors closing behind us. We walk over to what looks like a Santa Clause elf - pointy ears and relatively short.

"Good morning," McGonagall says, pulling out a golden key, "we need to visit Miss (L/n)'s vault."

"And does Miss (L/n) have her key?" the goblin asks.

McGonagall hands the goblin the key in her hand. "Very well," he says, handing the key back to McGonagall, who, in turn, hands it to me.

"I'll have someone take you down to the vault. Griphook!"

Griphook was yet another goblin. Hermione, Professor McGonagall, and I follow Griphook towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

Griphook holds the door open for us.

We walk into a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It slopes steeply downwards and there are little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart comes hurtling up the tracks towards us. We climb in and are then off.

When the cart finally stops, the four of us get out stopped in front vault 714.

"Key please," Griphook says and I hand him my key.

I was confused though, because Vault 714 had no keyhole.

Griphook simply examines the key closely, and then hands it back to me. I guessed that they key must just be confidential.

"Stand back," says Griphook importantly. He strokes the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melts away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," says Griphook.

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Hermione asks curiously.

"About once every ten years," Griphook answers with a rather nasty grin.

3rd Person POV

Griphook steps aside and (Y/n) and Hermione's eyes go wide at the sheer amount of gold, silver, and bronze coins inside.

"This is mine?" (Y/n) asks Professor McGonagall, who smiles softly, holding out a drawstring bag.

"Your mother was very addiment on leaving most of her gold to you," McGonagall says and (Y/n) nods dumbly as she takes the bag.

Hermione helps (Y/n) scoop some of the coins into the bag. Though they had taken quite a bit of coins, it didn't even seem to make a dent in the large piles.

"The gold ones are Galleons," Professor McGonagall explains as (Y/n) studies a wooden box in front of the truckloads of gold coins. "There are seventeen silver Sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle."

(Y/n) nods absently as she opens the box, Hermione next to her.

Inside, she sees a stack of letters and a few pictures.

Hermione holds out her bag, and (Y/n) closes the box, placing it inside the bag.

(Y/n) smiles gratefully at her sister as Hermione pulls her backpack back onto her back.

One wild cart ride later, the three stand blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts.

Hermione pulls out her letter, and (Y/n) reads over her sister's shoulder:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Uniform

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

Course books:

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)by Miranda Goshawk A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungiby Phyllida Spore Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them by Newt Scamander The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment:

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) I set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Where do we even start?" Hermione asks in amazement.

"If we get are cauldrons first, we can put our other supplies in it," (Y/n) thinks quickly.

Hermione nods and then both look up to Professor McGonagall, who smiles softly and leads the two to the Apothecary where they pick up two cauldrons and two supplies of basic potions ingredients for Hermione and (Y/n).

"Books now, 'Mione?" (Y/n) asks with a grin as they are about to pass a large bookshop.

Hermione shoots her sister a grin and the two girls walk into the bookshop, McGonagall waiting outside with their cauldrons and potions ingredients.

(Y/n)'s POV

Hermione grabs two of each of our course books while I look around at some of the other books. I grab: Hogwarts: A History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Modern Magical History, Great Wizarding Events of teh Twentieth Century, and a book that looked like it was for kids titled, The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

The next place we went was called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. Inside were two boys one was the Raven haired boy from the Leaky Cauldron; the other was a short boy with blond hair that was greased back; he had a mean attitude about him.

Harry's POV (A couple minutes before)

Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so I entered Madam Malkin's shop.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when I started to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood me a on stool slipped a long robe over my head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yeah," I said, not really liking him very much.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No," I say.

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"Nope," I respond.

"I do – Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," I say. I really don't like this boy, I thought.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," I say, wishing I could say something a bit more interesting.

"I say, look at that man!" says the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at me and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," I tell him, pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," says the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"He's the gamekeeper," I say. I was liking this boy less and less every second.

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

"I think he's brilliant," I say coldly.

"Do you?" says the boy, with a slight sneer. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," I say shorty. He seemed not to want to talk to this boy any more than he needed to.

"Oh, sorry," says the other boy, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and wizard, if that's what you mean." I respond.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways."

A tinkling of a bell interrupts the boy. I look over to see two girls walk in.

"Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before I could answer, Madam Malkin says, "That's you done, my dear," and I, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, hop down from the footstool.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," says the drawling boy.

3rd Person POV

A few minutes later, (Y/n) and Hermione walk into the bright sunlit alley, their robes folded neatly in a bag.

(Y/n) smiles at Professor McGonagall and places her robes into the cauldron, then (Y/n) lifts up the heavy cauldron, Hermione doing the same with her own.

"What next?" Hermione asks Professor McGonagall.

"You two still need wands," answers McGonagall, pointing towards a store.

As we walk closer, I read the sign, Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

The three of walk inside. A tinkling bell ring somewhere in the depths of the shop as they step inside, and an old man walks to the desk from teh deep recesses of the shop.

"Hello, good afternoon," the man says. "I am Mr. Ollivander. You two are here for wands I presume?" he asks and Hermione and (Y/n) nod.

"(Y/n) (L/n)," Mr. Ollivander says, "I was wondering if I was going to be seeing you soon." he pauses, looking carefully into (Y/n)'s eyes. "Your mother's eyes." At the statement, (Y/n)'s eyes seem to light up with curiosity. "It seems that only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Twelve inches, ash wood with a unicorn hair core. Good for stubborn and courageous witches and wizards."

Even at this small amount of information, (Y/n) had perked up. Hermione glances over at her adopted sister and feels a rush of pity for her. She can't imagine not knowing who her parents were.

It wasn't that (Y/n) didn't remember, because she did have very vivid nighmares about a car slamming on the brakes, a flash of green light, then red, then everything would go dark. It always ended the same way however, with Mrs. Granger carrying a two year old (Y/n), who was clutching her black and white stuffed cat, back to her home.

(Y/n) wrenches herself out of her thoughts as Ollivander approaches her. He had come so close that he and (Y/n) were almost nose to nose.

"And that's where . . ."

Mr. Ollivander touches the hourglass shaped car on the side of (Y/n)'s neck with a long white finger.

"I'm sorry to say that I sold the wand that did it," he says softly and (Y/n) looks back up into the wand maker's misty silver eyes. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands . . . well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do . . ."

He stops, and (Y/n) continues to watch the wand maker, her green eyes flashing silver for the second time that day.

Ollivander, as though sensing (Y/n)'s desire to know more, moves onto Hermione, and she quickly revives her "Vine wood, Dragon heart-string, 10 1/4 inches, unyielding" wand.

(Y/n)'s POV

Again, the same process commences with me, but I end up trying more wands then Hermione. Finally, I get my wand, and strangely my, "Alder wood with a Phoenix Feather core, 12 1/4 inches. Alder is an unyielding wood, yet I have discovered that its ideal owner is not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable. Whereas most wand woods seek similarity in the characters of those they will best serve, alder is unusual in that it seems to desire a nature that is, if not precisely opposite to its own, then certainly of a markedly different type. When an alder wand is happily placed, it becomes a magnificent, loyal helpmate. Alder is also excellent for protection against outside forces, and, when combined with phoenix feather, is a suitable match for a wizard who will "make their mark on this world.'" Mr. Ollivander says, and I look up at him in shock. Hermione hadn't gotten such a lengthy explanation of her wand.

Mr. Ollivander fixes me with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Miss (L/n). Every single wand. It so happens that that phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave two other feathers - just two. It is curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, one of it's brothers gave you that scar."

I swallow thickly.

"Your other wand's brother, however, I sold just a mere thirty minutes ago," Ollivander continues, "to a young Harry Potter. Curious how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember . . . I think that we must expect great things from you, Miss (L/n) . . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible yes, but great."

Hermione and I return home a few hours later with Professor McGonagall, me clutching a woven basket that housed my new black and white cat Marvel inside.

3rd Person POV

Before they enter the house McGonagall stops (Y/n) before she can enter.

(Y/n) turns to looks quizzically at the professor.

"Good luck," the Professor says simply, then holds out to train tickets. "These are you and your sister's ticket's for Hogwarts." (Y/n) nods, taking the tickets. "I'll see you on September 1st," McGonagall says. Then the Professor turns around and walks away.

Word Count: 4,100 words

So yeah, here's Chapter 2.

I wonder if any of you know who (Y/n)'s dad is yet. I tried dropping some hints at the very beginning.

So yeah

I'll see y'all soon!

Love y'all!

Kaitlynn 😍❤️

#hermione granger #harry potter #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter various x reader #fem reader

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oddlyhale · 3 years ago

Note

Ironwood for the Ask game? (If somebody already asked you that, then... Watts?) :)

What are my top four favorite non-romantic relationship dynamics for them?

Glynda, Clover, Winter, and Weiss.

They all have the same reasons, that being that they've all seemed to be more aware of James' mental state and how it's affecting him. Clover and Glynda, however, do the most of supporting James and being the ones that finish his sentences when he can't. Winter and Weiss are there to analyze and understand, but truthfully they hadn't done much to put themselves into being supportive, other than from afar.

What season were they at their best and why?

Season 7, if I had to choose.

I would've said Season 2, but Season 7 is truly James' volume. While I enjoyed him in previous volumes and how it set up how firm he is with his rules, V7 really showed just how kind he can be when he's given the chance to shine. Stern but supportive of those he is the toughest on - dad energy at its finest. Not to mention, James has one of the best fights in RWBY, followed by showing us how planned and particular he is with his tactics and Due Process, even if all of it was off the cuff. He gave a lot of himself to others, and sadly they didn't want to return the favor.

What season were they at their worst and why?

Ahaha... Season 8, the worst volume that is a big fat second to Season 5.

To put it short - the writing worked against James to make him a poorly written villain (for no reason,) make him suddenly murderous (for no reason,) and made him irredeemable with actions that nobody could morally stand behind (for no reason.) I always assumed that the writers were very hurt in the ego when they realized they accidentally made a well-made hero that wasn't Team RWBY, and so they had to kneecap him to make their little heroes look good.

Here's the problem - the more worthless you write your villains, the more worthless their defeat with be because the heroes look pathetic in comparison. If the heroes can only fight against pathetic villains that make them look good in a cheap way, then imagine a very impressive villain they'd have to face. They'd be dead. (Tangent done.)

How would I rank their outfits from worst to best?

James' V4 outfit is the worst, hands down.

Listen, these wack ass writers took time to make James wear such an ugly uniform, but they still left Sun in his V1 outfit? They may as well of just left James in his first outfit to spare us the weird outfit malfunction.

James V7 outfit is the best.

While I enjoy his first outfit for being so simple, I think V7 really works to show his authority. It even gives more of an aura of respect when you see him in his greatcoat. Not to mention, how his new beard just boosted it. Ah, hamsum burded JimJom, my leov.

Which Hogwarts House would I sort them into (optional; what would their wand be?)

So, I'm stuck between Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. While I can definitely see James being in Gryffindor for his courage and strength, I can also see him being in Ravenclaw for being quick and methodical. Plus Jason said that he could see a young James being athletic but also very nerdy, so I'm torn.

What do I think this character would be like if they were on the opposite side (good characters are bad, bad characters are good)

This is a tough one for me to answer properly.

From how James was written throughout the beginning and end of RWBY, he's always been morally grey. While people could be intimidated by how assertive he is with his own ideas, you can understand why it would be a good idea than the other person's idea. You may not like how tight his rules are, but you get that he's only doing it to protect others. Being firm doesn't mean he's mean, it just means he takes many things more seriously than others.

I would actually hate it if he was 100% a good guy because that means he's always agreeing and working within the hivemind of others and having no authority of his own. What makes James unique is because he always fought against the norm - making him agreeable constantly just kills me.

Him being 100% evil, however, would be just as bad. I really hate it when writers need to make the villain so obvious - as if we just can't tell they're evil. James has no evil bone in his body, so him suddenly acting wacky baddie from the get-go would disservice his character. That means there's NO interesting character in RWBY.

So, I guess the real answer would be to keep him the way he is.

If I suddenly had control of RWBY, what would I want to do with this character after the events of Volume 8?

*/rubs hands together like a pepsi mafia mobster overlord/*

So obviously, James does not die in the fall of Atlas, and he somehow survives any drowning. As he surfaces and sees that he is alone, James realizes that he's lost everything, even himself. Metaphorically, the fall of Atlas took what was left of him with it. Now he finds shore and feels like a shell of his former self. He still has spite towards the kids that destroyed two cities, but there's nothing he could do about it now. James decides that he would have to rebuild, as in he would just leave it to them to figure out the rest while he ventures away from what was once Mantle and Atlas, to do what he wants. I had an idea before that James becomes a lone-ranger that works as a vigilante for some small towns in Vacuo, where he lives pretty much peacefully and as a wicked gunslinging masked man.

#rwby #james ironwood #general james ironwood

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talvin-muircastle · 4 years ago

Text

Am I Queer? It’s Controversial.

This is going to be long, and it’s going to cover a lot of ground, so please bear with me.

Recently, this article came to my attention:

https://www.healthline.com/health/gender-nonconforming

I have spent a fair amount of time questioning my own sexuality/identity, and having it questioned by others. Now approaching five full decades of life, I feel comfortable saying:

I identify as Male, and Straight.

I am Gender Non-Conforming by the standards of the culture I come from.

But I am not comfortable saying this qualifies me as “Queer” or otherwise under LGBTQIA+.

That article (which is by no means the Last Word on the subject) identifies several areas where I do not conform to my AMAB status as culturally defined:

I have long hair. But I also have a thick beard and moustache, and I like that combination. Still, I grew up in a place where long hair on a guy meant you were A) Queer or B) into Heavy Metal. Even though my teen years saw me sporting a military-style buzzcut more often than not, I tended to hang out with the Metalheads. My long hair continues to be a point of contention with my conservative relatives and in-laws. Some of them think I am a Hippie, which is funny because I am allergic to Cannabis. Wanna watch me fight for breath and puke? Blow weed smoke in my face.

I am a Stay-At-Home Dad and Homemaker. I have been the breadwinner for this family, but that is not part of my identity. I am quite content to let my wife handle that part of things, and so is she. I have been a Dad longer than I have been a father, in fact: for most of my life I have been mentoring teenagers that find their way to me seeking advice, comfort, acceptance, and guidance. I spent a lot of time worrying about what career should I follow, and it took me far too long to understand and accept that Dad was what I was after. A woman seeking motherhood as a career is validated, a man seeking fatherhood in the same context is not conforming.

When I was younger, I got hit with one hell of a double-standard: while wanting to be a Dad as a goal is not acceptable, I was supposed to go out there and sow my wild oats. OK, I wasn’t really supposed to get girls pregnant, but I was supposed to try. Wait, what? Try that again? OK, if you were a teenaged boy in the 80s and 90s and I am pretty sure before that (not sure after, AIDS changed a lot of thinking all around), you were not supposed to get a girl pregnant, but you were supposed to make an attempt as often as possible, in fact you were supposed to score but fail. If you are confused, don’t feel bad: I was living steeped in this paradox 24/7/365 and came out of it real confused.

Meanwhile, I was looking for a long-term, meaningful relationship with a woman who could be a partner in my life, and avoiding the one-night stands I was supposed to be after according to the standards of my culture, and so many of the people around me—parents, teachers, peers—decided that I must be Queer. And that was Not A Good Classification To Find Yourself In in Rural Tennessee of the 80’s and 90’s. Lacking real support, I entered adulthood like a trainwreck still skidding down the tracks, confused as hell and desperately trying to please people whose opinions mattered to me far more than they should. I did finally find that relationship, and we celebrate 21 years of marriage this month. Meanwhile I can’t keep track of who has gotten divorced and remarried from that crowd anymore.

I am not a fan of American Football. (I am not a fan of soccer, which is football to the rest of the world, but that’s not going to get you labeled Queer in the USA as yet.) Even so, I got recruited to be the Football Manager for my high school football team, and then I spent several years studying to be an Athletic Trainer in college as an add-on to my English and Education degree. The fact that I spent 7 years of my life on the sidelines of football games (and basketball, and baseball) and still do not really understand the rules of those sports should have been a clear sign to me that I was trying to conform and failing badly. An American Male of my generation is supposed to like these things, he is supposed to scream at the television or scream from the stands when watching a game, he is supposed to have a Favorite Team and Wear Their Stuff.

Yeah, that’s not me. I don’t like combative sports. I like things that involve grace, beauty, and art. Figure skating (either gender, singles, but especially pairs) is fun to watch. The more artistic of gymnastics events are nice (uneven bars and vault are kinda boring, but I love watching floor exercise.) Watching someone do tricks on a skateboard is more interesting to me than an MMA bout. I enjoy the art of it. I used to watch WWF Wrestling as a kid, but I found I enjoyed the “story” more than the violence. Martial arts practice that is done like a dance is more interesting than watching two people try to kick each other in the face for real.

I’m told I am supposed to like these things. I am told that not liking them makes me less masculine.

This extends into online gaming as well. Oh, I like some combat games. We aren’t going to talk about how many hours I have played the XCOM series. But…I don’t like PVP or multiplayer. I like the story arc, and accomplishing things. Minecraft? I like building, and killing mobs is very secondary to that. In single-player I usually just go peaceful mode and explore the world, build grand railways and tunnels, create comfortable houses or make a home under a lake with a glass roof under the water. In World of Warcraft I spent more time exploring the world and getting cool screenshots than worrying about getting Phat Loot and XP. I would take a whole afternoon just to escort a couple of new players through dangerous territory so they could find their friends.

I have gotten a lot of grief over that. I am supposed to go out and kill kill kill stab stab stab get the loot!

And I am supposed to get more than the other person. It’s competition. Men are supposed to compete. And if you can’t get more than the other guy you go dump buckets of lava on his house and laugh at the noob.

I hate that.

By the standards I was raised with, I am gender nonconforming. I most definitely do not conform to the expectations that were laid upon me from my youth.

Does that make me Queer? I am not comfortable claiming that.

The standards I was held to can also be considered Toxic Masculinity. They hold that Queer==Less Of A Man. “Queer” is not “Less.” I was raised to think it is, but I have learned, and grown, and I know that it is not. I also do not accept that I, myself, am Less. The very premise of me being labeled Queer by those people is wrong on all counts. I am different. I have always known that. I believe that “Man” and “Male” can encompass more than violence, bullying, and competition. I also know full well that many who identify as “Woman” and “Female” embrace those as ideals as well.

I am no stranger to violence. My life has often been violent. I have fought off muggers who were armed with knives, I have stared down the barrel of a gun, I have been beaten because someone else wanted to establish himself as the dominant male in our school just after he moved there. I am not a pacifist: the only reason I have not killed another human being in self-defense is because I was outnumbered. I just don’t feel that defines my gender, and I have been told it should. I fight to survive and to protect others, not to prove that I can.

Others who look like me are guarding statues of Columbus with their Assault Rifles because they feel their masculinity is threatened. This is another area where I do not conform to my expected gender roles. Not only do I not feel my masculinity is threatened by BLM, or Pride, or the existence of Trans folks, I no longer feel my masculinity can be threatened. I spent so many years under attack from “my” side, and gotten so much support from “their” side, that I now understand that my gender is not about what THEY think. It is MY identity. I OWN it. I am who I am regardless of their perception of me. Nothing someone else does can take that from me.

And if anything about me is Queer, it is that: the understanding that my identity belongs to me and not to those who seek to mislabel me.

I have been told by some in the Queer community that I am welcome among them, and I am grateful for that. So, so many of my stories can be prefaced with, “There I was, the only Straight Guy in the room, when:” I am proud to be an Ally.

But calling myself Queer? I’m not comfortable doing that. I could, and I know some who would accept it. But I feel it is more important to me to break the toxic definition of Masculinity and show that things like nurturing, caring, creating, dancing, loving, uplifting, and oh yes parenting, these ARE Male Qualities, always have been, and should always be. No criticism of GNC folks who take the Queer label intended or implied: they are not Less, they own their own identity, they are valid. They are themselves, and have a right to be.

I am me.

I am a Man.

I will never be the Man they wanted me to be, and I am PROUD of that.

Happy Pride Month.

Don’t let the bastards get you down.

#lgbt #lgbtq #pride month

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thecrazyworldbuilder · 4 years ago

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Raclis

(Rah-ck-lee-s): a list of intelligent species that are made up by me, both alien and fantasy. This is Episode One, where we gonna see some of the races from the A litera.

(PS: I have a list of 203 fantasy/alien races and most of them are my own creation, while the others are the classical elves, centaurs, orcs and et cetera. The list is arranged in alphabetical order and for now has only the shortest descriptions: these posts will be something like a description paper for every single race. I would love questions asked and will answer them with pleasure.)

Abyss Elves

Once technically normal elves, a large group of them was sent into the Abyss (also called Aumenel) for crimes they didn’t commit. Locked here for eternity, they slowly forgot most of the information about their past. They praise the myths about the sun, the sky, a world where there is no pain and darkness. They started calling each other Foariar (Those who are without sunlight). And slowly evolved into their modern looks. Dark skin, tints of green and purple, turquoise glowing eyes, whitish pink hair. Their blood is dark purple and has an odd scent of mashed tulips.

Fast facts:

- Super good climbers and parkourists due to the terrain of the Abyss.

- Are mostly always ripped athletes.

- When cut off, their hair will glow a pretty bright light for nearly five hours.

- In sunlight they go into an euphoric state which they hardly resist.

- Are incredible hunters and gatherers: farming in the Abyss is almost impossible.

- Abyss Elves have migrated to many other realms, especially the Spring World.

- They name their realm, Aumenel, means “without sky” in quenya.

Onomasticon:

(for Spring World Abyss Elves)

Gender-reversed modern european and ancient greek names. (Aurorus, Eugenia, Xenis, Anastasius, Agath)

Anagrams from spanish. (Roucos, Roeherr, Cadoraz, Jerichoter, Viona)

(for Abyss inhabitants)

Quenya and latin hybridisation (Hravai, Ilmarinorum, Incatrix, Terrandil, Indos)

Ada’klo

One of the species from the realm of Emiare, which is bound to the very fabric of time. Ada’klo - as all the other races from the klo family - have something called a cycle: a period of time when they exist. Their cycle is ten years long. Thus, they live for ten years, and afterwards disappear only to appear again after the same ten years without aging anyhow.

Fast facts:

- Due to their cycle length they gather at the great Adakloan Temples, where their place of disappearance is kept safe.

- Ada’klo look pretty much like humans, but are slightly different on the inside, anatomically and chemically.

Onomasticon:

Use old english and european names. (Alcott, Demelza, Borden, Terrel, Sacrifice)

Ain’klo

One of the species from the Emiare realm, these members of the klo species family have a one thousand years long cycle.

Fast facts:

- Have an incredible ancient culture which has many customs, like forced marriage (from both sides), child labour, extreme xenophobia.

- Are dangerous and non educated, will fight to death only to keep their traditions.

Onomasticon:

Use ancient babylonian names and their imitations. (Akki, Marnabu, Nazarat, Buvalu, Irigibel)

Aliquenar

A race which somehow combined all of the main features of elves, dwarves, orcs, humans and halflings. Slightly greenish skin, pointed ears, not-so-long beards, big hairy feet, no need in sleep and the ability to see over the horizon. Like jack of all trades, they have a wide set of talents and opportunities, but are masters of none. Hated among all of the species they combined in themselves, they try to live peacefully in their cities, not willing to make any conflict.

Fast facts:

- Due to the discrimination directed at them from the other races, they have a trait of being shy, polite and quiet.

- Are able to learn magic on the same level as humans.

- A legend has it that they came from a city trapped in the mountains, where all the five races met and after a long long time merged into one by breeding.

- Some may have more standing out traits of a specific compound race: as, orc tusks, elven lack of facial hair and eyelids, dwarvish height or beards, strange sexual dimorphism and others.

Onomasticon:

Use the languages and names of the humans, elves, dwarves and hobbits (orcish names are way more rare), and then, if wanted, merge them together, imitate them. (Legoli, Aiwenson, Thurwise, Kurumiel, Indis)

Alfers

Species of semiquadruped lizards with telepathic minds, which are able to evolve fast, adapting to the stressful situations. Tall two and half meters in the withers (8’2 feet) and long nearly five (16’4 feet), they are agile, omnivore and strong.

Fast facts:

- Alfers evolve fastly not only biologically, but linguistically. Their language changes so fast no one will never understand what they are saying, except some separate words, taken from other languages.

- Alfers are able to speak telepathically, but only talk: not reading thought but hearing the inner monologue of someone, thus communicating.

- They have a high regeneration factor, and are hard to kill.

Onomasticon:

Any possible names, words, abbreviations and anagrams. (Villaissa, Gerdan, Menttor, Seba, Lmne)

Anciento

Race of stickman-like, three eyed beings with high power and unreachable wisdom and intelligence. Can reproduce by giving any other living thing something they call “open intellect”, and then teach them how to turn into an anciento. Well, traditional reproducing is possible too.

Fast facts:

- While reproducing they, ironically, do not know how to turn back into their original state.

- Know a wide spectrum of using life energy for different purposes.

- Are able to fall into an anabiosis state for a long time.

- Are almost instinct.

Onomasticon:

Names are mostly two syllables, unisex, and have no meaning, because of their proverb “You mean nothing at birth: give your name a meaning by yourself”. (Koni, Jaro, Neho, Mibta, Vere)

Androids of Binarica

Robots made by the techno-magic goddess-planet Binarica. Are unique from other robots by their design: solid parts are slowly merging into soft ones, and they look humane but have slightly object-like heads.

Fast facts:

- Were being enslaved for many centuries by other races of Binarica.

- All of them by custom have light-blue photosensors (eyes).

- Follow directives, which can be changed by hacking.

- Feel emotions and have souls.

Onomasticons:

Leet, deites on abbreviations, scientifical termins, or even all at once. (M45 T4R, G3x2x2, S5Z2, Tetratom, Cleleven Zero)

Anmanibes/Ri’be’li

Species from a far realm of jungles and plains, anmanibes have some unique features. First of all, they have no arms. At all. Down to the shoulderblades - no arms. But thye have a compensation for this flaw: the ability for telekinesis, and many other paranormal abilities. Anmanibes (which means “armless”) call themselves Ri’be’li - “the second born children of the gods”. They are digitigrade and have a pretty long lizard-like tail they use for balance.

Fast facts:

- Ri’be’li are one of my favourite races.

- The paranormal abilities they are known to posess are: channeling (speaking with spirits and other paranormal deities), levitation, telekinesis, telepathy, biolocation, materialisation, atmokinesis, aeromancy, pyromancy, thermokinesis, teleportation, television, precognition, and other.

- Have two pairs of eyelids: one for blinking and one for “television”, or also called telescopic vision.

- Have ears which are suspiciously pointed, like those of elves.

- One myth from their culture says that the ri’be’li were born from the us’ib’tor’tor: a firstborn race in their world. The first ri’be’li was called A’ud’ca, and he was born without arms. His parents abandoned him, but A’ud’ca had the power to bend wills of other people, and slowly he made it so other us’ib’tor’tor could give birth to ri’be’li, and then he somehow, after a long time, made the us’ib’tor’tor race vanish into the sands of history, giving place for ri’be’li to rise.

- Most of them are disgusted by arms and hands in general, calling any creature with arms an a’us’cla (limited).

Onomasticon:

Use latin, then take every syllable and put them in reverse order, placing apostrophy between each syllable. Most names are gender neutral. (Pha’al, Ta’del, Ta’be, O’di’gla, Ra’tet)

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verai-marcel · 5 years ago

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The Light That You Shine (RDR2 Fanfic, John Marston x F!Reader, Chapter 1 of 6, 18+)

Summary: John Marston was proud to be part of the VDL Riders, a biker gang led by Dutch van der Linde, and had been with them since he had run from home at the age of 15. He and his makeshift family lived by three principles: live free, help those who need it, and punish those who deserve it. For five years, his gang was all he cared about and nothing else mattered. But then John meets you, and his priorities start to change.

Author’s Notes: Go check out @veradia’s biker AU RDR2 art for what inspired me to write this. This is a prequel to Before This Dance Is Through, so everyone is 6 years younger; John is about 20 in this story and so are you, my dear reader.

Tags: prequel fic, eventual smut, romance, drama, violence, cheesy 80s vibe even though it's 2012, modern AU, switching POVs

AO3 Link is here, sweetheart.

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Chapter 1 - Start at the End

Word count: 2032

“Dammit Morgan, you could’ve warned me!”

Arthur grinned as he slapped John’s back. “Well, that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?”

The others laughed while John rubbed the back of his head, leaning down to pick up the can of beer. It looked too shaken up to open at this point, so he set it on the table and glared at his brothers. Stalking past them towards the mini-fridge, he pulled out another beer, popped it open and took a long gulp. Dressed in his favorite black leather jacket over a plain white shirt, ripped black jeans, a chain on his belt to keep his wallet from being stolen, and scuffed biker boots, John looked like he bought all of his clothes in the late 80s and never changed.

“So, what’re we doing tonight?” Javier asked, leaning against the mezzanine railing. He had his medium length hair tied up, strands of it falling from the hair tie to frame his angled face. His leather vest and his blue jeans were impeccably clean, and not a single misplaced thread was on his V-neck shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He carried his favorite combat knife in a holster on his hip, hidden under the vest, and he wore black fingerless leather gloves.

Lenny sat on the couch, his freshly polished black boots propped up on the coffee table. He looked like he didn’t quite belong in a motorcycle club, in his black pants and black T-shirt. His white cowboy hat was clean, his white blazer crisp. He had his own knife holster, concealed under his jacket.

Sean was standing behind the couch, leaning against the back of it. He wore a green headband around his shoulder length hair, fancying himself an Irish Rambo, choosing to wear a blue athletic cut T-shirt and olive green khakis. He wore his brown Timberland boots, the same ones he had since he joined the gang. They looked dirty and scuffed to hell, but they still did their job, so he had no reason to buy new ones. His green & red striped flannel was tied around his waist, hiding a knife holster.

Charles was sitting back in one of the arm chairs catty-corner to the couch. He had his long hair braided tight, the sides of his head shaved. His dark blue peacoat was open to show his black turtleneck and blue jeans. Both of his black biker boots had knife holsters with a few throwing knives.

They all looked towards Arthur, who shrugged as he looked at all of them. He had his worn cowboy hat on with his old bomber jacket over a grey shirt, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it with his silver zippo lighter, breathing in and letting out a puff of smoke before he responded.

“Dutch wants us to go run security at some rich feller’s house party.”

“And how are we supposed to manage t’at? I don’t have any fine clothin’ for the occasion,” Sean groused.

“No amount of clothing can save you,” Javier joked.

Sean glared as the others laughed.

“Dutch said we just wear black polos and black jeans so we look like a security company,” Arthur said once the laughter died down.

“So. Is there an alternative motive for this job?” Charles asked.

“Of course there is,” Lenny said confidently. “There’s no way Dutch would deal with those kind of folks without a reason.”

Arthur nodded. “Word is that the rich feller has quite the car collection. We sneak in after the party while everyone’s wasted and drive a few of them outta there. Swap out the plates, get a paint job over at Hosea’s, done deal.”

“And if they have alarms or kill switches?” John asked.

“You know how to hot wire,” Arthur sniped. “You, Javier, and Lenny can deal with it.” He walked past all of them and headed down the stairs. "Meet you all back here by 6pm."

John shrugged. As they split up to prepare for the job, he looked around the small warehouse they called their biker club. Walking down the stairs, he went past their bike shop area underneath the mezzanine and paused for a moment. They had slowly built this place up from scratch, bringing in old furniture for their hang out space and tools to take care of their bikes.

And on the other side of the warehouse were two offices that had been converted into bedrooms. While the others had their own places to live, John and Arthur lived at the club, having both been orphans and taken in by Dutch. Their rooms weren’t anything fancy, just a little bit of room to sleep and store their worldly possessions. John headed to his room to take a nap.

Instead, he lay on his old mattress, staring at the ceiling. He had been with the gang for five years, since he ran away from his foster home. His mother had died six years ago from a drug overdose. When she was lucid, which wasn’t very often, she was kind, even as her eyes bled sadness at the edges; those were the memories he held onto the tightest. He didn’t even know who his father was, or if he was even still alive, but he knew that if he ever met him in person, he'd knock his lights out for leaving his mother such a wreck.

After he had been sent to foster care, his foster parents didn’t try to understand him, they only tried to mold him into what they thought a proper young man should be. So he ran away. When Dutch found him, scrounging for food in a trash can behind the warehouse, he took him in. Gave him shelter.

Then there was Arthur. He was like a big brother, taught him how to fend for himself, taught him what it meant to give more than you received, even if it came with insults and punches to the face at times.

As more outcasts joined the gang, they also became his family, his brothers. Javier, Sean, Lenny, and Charles, one by one, they all joined and quickly became an intrinsic part of his life. He’d never want for more than this.

But lately, Dutch seemed off. For the past year, John had noticed him taking bigger risks, sending them on more violent jobs, and slowly stepping away from the hands-on work, leaving it to “the younger, faster men,” as he called them. There was a tinge of blind desperation in how Dutch led them now, almost as if he wanted to push them towards something greater, but wasn’t sure what that something was.

Rolling over, he stared at the wall covered in Led Zeppelin, Eagles, and other classic rock posters. He looked at the one Metallica poster he had and smiled wryly as he remembered Arthur throwing it at him, snarling “happy fucking birthday”, and slamming his door. He later found out that Arthur had snuck into the concert, stolen a poster, and ran half a mile to get away. And all because John had whined about not being able to go that night because he was sick.

He sighed and got up. He wasn’t going to get any sleep now. Leaving his room, he tinkered with his Honda Shadow Aero, his pride and joy, until it was time to go.

***

“We certainly look dangerous,” Charles said with a hint of humor in his voice as he calmly got out of the gang’s Sprinter van.

“That’s because we are,” Javier said matter-of-factly as he hopped out next.

Everyone bounded out of the van, with John the last out. He pulled the sliding door shut and followed the others into the house, hanging back as he listened to Arthur talk with the party host about the job. He trailed behind them as they were led around the house and made mental notes about where the party goers were allowed to go and where they were forbidden.

Once they were left to their own devices, Arthur turned around. “Alright men, let’s get to work.”

***

The party was wild, the party-goers were disgusting, and at the end, half of them were drunk, and the other half were passed out.

It was almost far too easy to sneak into the garage, pick a couple cars that were not too flashy, and drive them off the premises.

As they took off down some quiet back roads to lose any would-be followers, John sat and stared out the window into the pitch black night as Arthur drove with the window rolled down, his arm hanging out the window. Lenny and Sean had taken a car while Charles and Javier had left the party earlier, driving the van to Hosea’s shop.

“Hey.”

“What.”

John scratched his beard. “Do ya think—”

“I think more than you,” Arthur interrupted.

“Dammit Arthur, I’m tryin’ to be serious here!”

“Calm your balls,” Arthur said gruffly. “Yer so easy to rile up, I can’t help it.”

John let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you think Dutch is… do you think he’s tired of this? Of the club?”

Arthur was silent for a few moments. “Why do you say that?”

“He hasn’t been around much lately. He tells us to go do these jobs that are more and more dangerous. We haven’t done a charity drive or anythin’ nice for the community in the past two years.”

“Yeah, I noticed too. I don’t know, I’m sure somethin’ will come around. Maybe he’s been busy just tryin’ to get us steady work.”

“We used to just get jobs that were just jobs. Now we always have some double crossin’ or thievin’ or some shit that could get us in serious trouble!”

Arthur was silent for a little too long.

“Arthur?”

His sigh was long and tired. “I know. I know.”

The rest of the drive was silent as they drove the two hours back to the city.

***

After they had dropped the cars off at Hosea’s car shop, Charles drove them all back to the club in the van. It was 4AM by the time they all got back, and collectively they decided to call it a night and get back together the next night. As the others took their bikes and headed to their own homes, Arthur glanced over at John, who was still silent, still thinking.

“Yer goin’ to think yerself into the ground there,” Arthur commented.

John shrugged. “I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Let’s talk to Dutch tomorrow.”

As Arthur headed back to his room, John stepped outside and leaned against the brick wall. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with his disposable lighter, and slowly took a drag as he stared up at the twilight sky, the stars barely visible in the city. He had an itch to be out in the open again, to sleep under the river of stars like he did in the desert. Or even to be out of a city, just for a while.

John finished his cigarette and slunk back into the warehouse, crawling into bed and staring at the ceiling until the sun came up before finally passing out when even his churning thoughts could no longer keep him awake.

***

“I swear, if we have to hear one more lecture about not having enough faith…”

Arthur just shook his head as he followed John out of the convenience store, quietly drinking his soda.

“We just asked one damn thing, and he blows up at us like we’re questioning his entire existence!”

“You know how he is,” Arthur mumbled.

“I know how he was. How he is now… he ain’t the same.”

John’s statement was met with silence.

“You know I’m right,” John insisted.

Arthur let out a long sigh. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” John looked away. "All I know is that things ain't the same anymore," he mumbled as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and went silent as they walked back to the warehouse.

"Well," Arthur said after a while, "It weren't us that changed, that's for sure."

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Chapter 2 coming soon!

#john x reader #john marston #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #writing #biker au #lemon fanfic #eventual smut #nsft #modern au

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k7l4d4 · 3 years ago

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Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 2 Part 2

Hello all, here’s another chapter of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

“So Luz, what kind of magic are you gonna use to help deliver these potions?” King, ‘innocently’ asked.

Luz snorted. “Hopefully none. As much as I would love to just bulldoze through everyone who ends up bugging me, causing trouble is just going to lead to trouble. Plus, that potion I took may have gotten me energized, but it’s a quick fix.” She glanced down at King. “It gets me up to a point where I can function normally, but if I exert myself, like using magic, I’ll end up burning through a lot more energy than I should. I really don’t want to end up captured by some creeps because I lost my temper and got too tired to defend myself.” She carefully made sure not to mention the unspoken “again” of that statement.

King huffed, but didn’t try to push it. “Fine. But just to let you know, while Eda’s probably right about people not caring too much about you being human, you should expect some of her stupider customers to try and cheat you.” As magnanimous of a King as he was, King was nothing if not blunt and to the point with his subjects; he wasn’t going to have his latest vassal humiliated by fools stupid enough to underestimate her.

Luz snorted. “Pfft. If these guys are dumb enough to short change me, than they’ll have to answer to Eda. And, to make sure she knows just how much to shake down punks like that for, I’m planning to write up a list of who pays me what amount, so Eda can see for herself.” Luz finished, a satisfied smirk playing across her face.

King giggled mischievously. “Oh, the looks on their faces when Eda comes calling is gonna be priceless!” As Luz herself cracked up at the thought, the two friends laughed all the way into town, the slight gloom that had been hanging around them since leaving the Owl House all but gone.

As they finally approached the town, the two had markedly different reactions. Luz gave a wry grin, a mix of apprehension and eagerness crossing her face. King, on the other hand, just gave a tired grunt at the sight before him; in the end, the town was no different than any other day.

King turned a side-long glance at Luz. “You sure this’ll go alright? I wasn’t kidding about people here being willing to take advantage of you.”

Luz just grinned back. “Eh, nothing I haven’t had to deal with before.” King wanted to ask, but was prevented by the pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his torso, lifting him off the ground.

“OH MY TITAN YOU ARE SO ADORABLE!!!!” The Witchling who was responsible for King’s predicament squealed. The echoing squeals revealed that the Witchling in question was just one of a group. The lead Witchling, a girl with a pink tone to her skin, purple-fuchsia hair, and a third eye, was currently cooing over King, who was vigorously struggling to escape.

“And enough of that.” Having realized what was happening, Luz easily yanked King from the girl’s grip, plopping him on the ground.

“Hey!” The girl shouted, her group pulling up behind her. “Who do you think you are?!?”

Luz cocked an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the almost stereotypical display. “I think I’m late for my deliveries,” she gestured to King, “and he’s the one guiding me around. Later.” Her piece said, Luz turned on her heel, swiftly walking away from the annoyance.

Said annoyance rapidly grew red in the face at the blatant dismissal. She reached out for the human, expecting to stop her. “Do you have any clue who I am?” Just as her hand touched Luz’s arm, her wrist was caught, painfully twisted to the side, all while Luz’s eyes stayed fixed to the map King was holding up to her, effortlessly dragging the witch along.

Luz idly responded to the girl, clearly not paying attention. “I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care. I’ve got a lot more important things than dealing with a kid on an ego trip.” As the girl started struggling against her grip, Luz released her, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

“My name is Boscha, remember it!” The girl, Boscha apparently, shouted. “And I’m not going to take that kind of disrespect from a human of all things!” With her declaration made, Boscha quickly cast a fireball, holding it aloft for a second before chucking it.

“Light-Make: Shield.” Not even turning to the oncoming threat, and utterly heedless to the rapidly growing muttering of the bystanders, Luz effortlessly blocked the, by her standards, mediocre fire spell launched her way.

Finally bothering to turn to the Witch, Luz gave her an unimpressed stare. “Cute. Try that again, and I’ll send you to your parents in a full body cast.” Still holding the shield in place, Luz dismissed it, and headed on her way.

Boscha couldn’t breathe. What just happened, it should’ve been impossible. That was one of her best fireballs, and a human of all things blocked it with magic! Light magic, the most basic magic of all times! How was that even a thing!? Humans can’t use magic, everyone knew that, so how did a weakling human block her flames? She didn’t understand. As her mind started to spin, Boscha’s legs grew weak, buckling under her as she fell to her knees. What just happened, it couldn’t be.

Even as her followers (friends, her brain whispered), shook her shoulder, she wouldn’t respond. Eventually, Skara decided enough was enough, and hoisted the other Witch over her shoulders, visibly exerting over the strain of lifting Boscha’s more athletic body. Boscha didn’t respond. What just happened, she needed to understand.

Utterly indifferent to the stir she had created, Luz carried on her way, following King’s instructions to navigate to the letter. As they worked their way down the list, Luz couldn’t help but feel progressively more and more annoyed. Every time the customer opened the door, she either got screamed at, an attempt to eat her, or both. And to add injury to insult, over eighty percent of the customers had short-changed her!!! Needless to say, Luz was in a pretty bad mood after a few hours of dealing with that.

Luz groaned aloud, utterly exhausted from the ordeal. “Ugh, this is so annoying!! Everyone, absolutely EVERYONE, on the list acted like I was diseased or a wild animal!! I get it, humans aren’t normal here, but did they have to act like I was some half-trained pet!?” She growled.

King hummed, hiding his own frustration. Any insult to his court was an insult against him, so of course he wouldn’t stand for it. “As much as I hate to say it, that probably isn’t that far off. When me and Eda said that humans aren’t thought too highly of here, we meant it. They treated you like a pet because, to a lot of people, you might as well be one. Humans aren’t just seen as weak, they’re also seen as pretty dumb too. Sorry you had to find out like that, though.” And he meant it; Luz was one of the few people who consistently treated him with respect (so far at least), so seeing her disrespected was seriously frustrating.

Luz shot him a crooked grin. “Eh, it’s no big deal. I’ll just have to put more effort into changing their minds than I thought. That’s all.” She hummed to herself, idly tuning out the memories of the last time she had been treated as a “pet.”

King gave his best shot at a grin. He didn’t really get Luz all that much, but if she was gonna try, the least her King could do was offer his support of a worthy goal, and the respect of the masses is always a worthy goal. “Still, we got one last person to check off the list before we head home; some guy called Adegast.”

Luz groaned. “Ugh! If this turns out like all the rest, I swear I am going to burn his house to the ground. Seriously, if this had been one of my novels, we’d have already been recruited by some kind of quest granting Wizard and drafted into a mission against the forces of evil. If this guy doesn’t at least treat us with some basic decency, I am going to lose it.” Luz was seriously done. Today just seemed to keep getting worse, and she was almost at her wits end.

As they arrived at the destination, King and Luz both pulled up short. Standing before them was, to put it bluntly, a fantasy-style castle you’d see in a fairy tale. Luz sent a sideways glance at King. “I’m guessing castles in Bonesburough are new to you too?” She tried to play it off, but her battle instinct was itching.

King gave a wary nod. “Yeah, that’s definitely new.”

Before they could continue, however, the doors of the castle opened on their own, a mystical-looking fog spilling out. Striding forth was, by all accounts, a stereotypical wizard, beard, staff, robes and all. Luz was instantly suspicious. “Hello travelers! Are you the ones sent to deliver to me my potions order?” His voice was deep, one could even call it wise sounding, but to Luz and King, it just sounded like trouble. A familiar bitterness built up in Luz’s throat.

Shaking her head, Luz brushed off her personal feelings, putting on her most pleasant expression, no reason to needlessly antagonize a customer, after all. “Hello sir, we’ve got the potions you ordered right here!” She held up the sack of potions, now heavily depleted compared to how it started, and tried hard to hold in her dislike of the situation. Her suspicions increased when the “wizard” closed in.

“Nonsense! Please, come inside, come inside! You two must have worked yourselves to the bone handling such dreadful deliveries.” Before they could protest, he hurriedly ushered them inside, revealing an opulent interior. “Please, make yourselves at home, I insist!”

“As nice as this all seems,” Luz began, hesitantly rubbing her arm, “We really do have to get going soon.”

“Adegast’s” eyes widened in apparent distress. “But young lady, you’ve only just arrived! Please, you and your companion simply must join me for some tea!” He gestured to his table, tea and scones already set out and ready. The alarm bells were ringing even LOUDER in Luz’s already wary mind.

“Luz, let’s go, this guy’s seriously creepy!” King fervently whispered.

“Trust me, I know.” Luz murmured back. “But if we offend him, Eda might permanently lose a customer.” And like hell was Luz going to sabotage her Land-lady’s business just because one of her clients gave her the willies.

As the two reluctantly sat down, Luz did her best to keep a pleasant look on her face. King allowed his concerns to ease as he dug into the scones, focusing on them over the eeriness of the situation. “Adegast” leaned forward. “I dare say, I never thought I’d see a true human before mine eyes. Pray tell, how did thou find thyself upon our fair Isles?”

While Luz was sure this guy was hamming it up way too much, she felt caution was better than full-blown paranoia, and decided to answer. “To be honest, an animal stole my book, and I followed it to here.” Her eyes caught sight of something; a small cart loaded with potions. “Do you run a potions business yourself?” The sinking feeling was getting stronger.

“Adegast” nodded, a pleased gleam in his eyes. “Indeed, I run a small stand of procurements for those in need.” The admission did nothing for Luz’s nerves; if anything, the pit in her gut grew deeper. “But enough about me, what about you, dear one?” It took a lot for Luz not to snap at the overly-familiar title. “I see something special in you…”

Luz recoiled. “Me!? Special!? Oh no, nonononono, you’ve definitely got the wrong girl.” She wasn’t bluffing, as experience had amply taught Luz that, personality aside, she was utterly ordinary as a person in terms of abilities, nothing exceptional about her beyond her own determination and stubbornness.

“Adegast’s” eyes shone with sparkles; Luz found it creepy. “But you are!! I believe you to be the one to complete the great quest!”

Luz pulled up short at that. “A quest?”

“Indeed!” The self-seeming wizard stated. “You are the one who can retrieve the Celestial Staff, and vanquish the great evil plaguing these lands!! Look, I even have a map!” He revealed the map, and while it certainly looked old, all of Luz’s instincts were on edge. Still, she put on a cheerful face, hiding the bitterness building inside.

“I-I thank you for this quest, sir.” She stated as politely as she could. “As soon as I return to my master, I will inform her of this development.” With her piece said, she stood up, bowed, and dragged King out the door, “Adegast” waving them off behind her.

“Pfft. Chosen one. What a load, eh Luz?” King joked, clearly in disbelief of what the “wizard” was trying to pull. King froze at the look on Luz’s face; cold-blooded hate was etched across her face, almost stone-like in how still it was. “Luz?”

Luz’s face cleared, a look of tired despondency on her face. “Sorry King. I just… I just want to get home.” With that said, she and the demon made their way back to the Owl House, neither saying a world over what they had experienced.

As they crossed into the house, the two pulled up short. Before them, sprawled across the couch, utterly coated in trash and feathers, was a completely exhausted Eda, the snoring form of Hooty laid across her torso.

Luz’s face fell into a deadpan. “He got into the potion, didn’t he?”

Eda turned a weak glare her way. “No duh kid. This menace was ripping his way around the house for HOURS!!! I couldn’t even stop him, all I managed was to minimize and repair the damage, and wait for him to tire out. Say, why are you all looking so glum?”

King glanced at Luz, before speaking up. “One of the customers said she was some kind of chosen one, or something.”

Eda blinked, before cracking up in tired laughter. “A Chosen One!?!? Pleeeassseee don’t tell me you believe that kind of malarkey!?”

Her laughter stilled at the baleful glare Luz leveled at her. It cut deep, just how much pain was in it. Luz gave a grin, one filled with the kind of bitterness Eda usually only saw on herself after a run-in with Lily. “We’ve got a saying in the Human Realm: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” With her piece said, Luz marched up the stairs, heedless of the concerned calls from behind her.

#the owl house #fairy tail #owl house au #fairy tail au #owl house crossover #fairy tail crossover #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #king the owl house #boscha the owl house #skara the owl house #adegast #magic

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