#fast burn

[pascalsbby]

CARNAL / 6: DEVOUR

Chapter 5 / Masterlist

Summary: 4.5k, f!reader, dark!joel, dbf!joel, brattamer!joel

It didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, cum eating, car sex, anal play, dominate & aggressive joel, slight stalker!joel, pet names, praise kink, he talks you through it, tells you what to do- the usual pure filth + WAY MORE. This is filthy. Gotta feed you after being gone for so long.

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter. Maybe. I kinda went feral. Love you <3 Let me know what you think & what’s gonna happen to these two.

"I need your teeth in me, slow and vicious, to tell me my armor is just skin, bones, only bones. Try to be gentle when you rip me apart.”

- Jamaal May

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

You woke up that morning (the second time), around 10AM on Joel Miller’s couch. He was standing at the counter, back to you. His shoulder blades flexing under his thin shirt. His hair was getting long, kissing the nape of his neck. It was curly at the ends, too. Ruffled, reminiscent of hands being flushed through it. Yours. You wonder now if he’d let it grow or would let it meet its end.

Was this your end?

Turn around Joel.

Please.

You started to open your mouth but he spoke up. “Didn’t want her t’see you in my bed.”

He still hadn’t turned, his voice silently echoing against the tiled back wall of his kitchen. It was soft, still commanding in its baritone. He wasn’t angry anymore… couldn't have been. He had already accepted the invitation and stored it away for later, too. He sat a cup of coffee in front of you and sat across from you at his table. He bent down beside you and whispered, “She hasn’t come out yet. I swear to God f’she heard you fucking screaming last night I—“

Sarah’s bedroom door shook closed. She was walking down the stairs now, fake yawning as if she had only opened her eyes seconds before. She looked tired, as if someone had been keeping her up all night. The chair creaked beneath Joel’s thighs as he settled backwards into it, tearing himself away from your reprimand.

Of course he was mad. Delusional. That’s what this was. Sneaking around your best friends house, fucking her dad? And the thing was, it didn’t even feel like fucking anymore. Yes, it was filthy and harrowing, but it was beckoning more than lust, desire. Love? Fuck. You can’t do this love again. You couldn’t shell out your body and not find the pieces to put yourself back together because they've been taken and devoured by him.

He had made a permanent indentation in his bed with your body, fucking you into it, and then he carried you down the stairs and to the couch like it was nothing, right past her door. Like you hadn’t been dripping on the dark hardwood the entire time he carried you here. Like your muffled screams fell silent to other ears.

Fuck.

He would, too— devour you. And you would sit at his feet and watch as he chewed the love from your ribs. “Thank you, Joel. Thank you. Please, more. Take more of me.”

His snarl when he realized it was you. How angry he was that you were making him do something like this; taking his daughter's best friend and filling her womb with himself, in the most selfish way he could think to tie himself to you. But if that didn’t give, then the raised skin of his initials would do. How dare you open that door and guide him to temptation, as if he wasn’t completely releasing himself into it already? Into you. Onto you.

She hit the bottom step and looked around the living room. “You’re up early.” It was directed at you, but she turned to Joel and spoke in his direction, mirroring him a million times before as her chin tilted slightly down— eyes settling upwards. Big, brown eyes beckoning. And then seconds later her face softens and she gives you both the “I’m not fucking oblivious to this” look.

You laid there and listened to them go about their morning, in his safe space. He smiled real big when he realized she was still happy to see him, of course. Why wouldn’t she be? This has been a man who stood between her and anything that could ever possibly hurt her. He was her shield. And it hurt, still. That he couldn’t really be yours. He was undressing you, instead. Taking off the metal plating and throwing it to the ground. And it was hard to remember that this man was years your senior, your dad’s best friend. He was someone who had been following you for months, paying you to defile your frail body for him. He had hunted you down and sunk his teeth into your skin, bone, marrow. His fingers into your mouth and through the desperation of your thigh.

He scratched his way into your life and you let him, because he feels so good. It was so hard to remember that he was not a good man. Despite his reverence to Sarah’s being. Despite the hole he’s dug through your chest.

Joel Miller was a murderer in his own regard. He hunts you out and down, gets what he wants and then serves you a slow, painful, death. You were sure of it.

Why can’t you be a good man?

Why can’t I have a good man?

You ate breakfast together, the three of you sitting at their two-person table. You were in the middle, one knee touching him and the other, Sarah. He felt of fire, every inch of his denim that touched your naked knees. It rubbed against the rawness of last night, where you were looking up at him, mouth stuffed, praying to him. His cock, as it slid languidly down and up your throat. “Birdie,” he whispered into your hair over and over. Fists full of you. A prayer, a question, a deep rumbling.

Birdie Birdie Birdie.

“Birdie.”

You returned to yourself and realized he was trying to get your attention. It dawned on them that he had just called you the girlish nickname in front of his daughter. It was a moment too late, already it passed his lips and christened the air around him. The melody in his voice changed.

Sarah dropped her fork and it rang through the plate, sending fissures through the porcelain as it echoed the quiet room.

“Who?”

“I’ve called people that before. C’mon. Jus’ like I used to call… fuck what’s her name? Hanna. Just like I used to call Hanna, Ladybug? Remember? Jus’a nickname Sar.”

Excuse me?

“You know exactly why I’m upset. It wasn’t just a nickname for her Dad. You know that.”

“Just a fucking nickname, Jesus.” He was angry that he was being questioned. Outed.

Caught.

It made sense they held secrets for each other. Ones that only swim to the surface during fights. You sat at the two-person table, three people deep. You, sitting outside of your body while the real you is turning your head towards Joel, now. Eyes eating into his own, gnawing on the beauty of them. You try to figure out who the fuck Hanna is. If she’s played this same game before, too. How far did she get? How far was Joel’s cock inside of her? How did he find her?

How old was she?

Sarah was quiet during breakfast. Everyone was. You cleaned the dishes and she rubbed them dry, silently beside you. Joel left as soon as the last bit of ketchup and hashbrowns left his plate. He walked out of the doorway and sat in his chair in front of the TV. He turned the volume out and pretended like he wasn’t leaving his girls to figure it out. He would let you do the hard part.

He always does.

“Sarah, I—“

“Do you know who Ladybug is? He didn’t tell you, did he? He didn’t fucking tell you. I knew it. I knew it,” your name passed out of her chest violently. “He got you too, he got you. I to—He promised me he wouldn’t do it again I-I—“

Suddenly she was too worked up for it to stay between the two of you. Joel’s voice carried from the living room as you hurried after her trying to meet him in the middle. Her fingers already pointing in his direction as he walked towards her with his arms out.

“Joel Miller, you fucking perv—“ calling him by his name.

“Sarah. He hasn’t done anything bad to me. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to but I feel held with him. ‘Member the conversation we had? About how you somehow understood that he and I are similar in a way I haven’t been able to find with anyone else. He— he takes care of me.”

She winced, visibly hit.

“I’ll bet he does.” She spat.

“Hey, s’not like that baby girl.” He was begging.

“Get out of my fucking house, Birdie.” She mocked, completely ignoring anything falling out of your mouth.

So you sat down the dish silently and walked towards the door.

You. You were the first casualty of war. Not even him. Never him. He gazed into you, seeing you. Like he usually did, but never said.

“She was my babysitter and she was his little Ladybug, Birdie,” she spit. You were still in a locked gaze with Joel, body halfway out of their front door.

He turned and looked away.

You walked out of the door.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

It had been two months and 26 days since he carved his initials into your begging flesh. A scrappy ‘JM’ slightly sideways, now slightly raised on your inner thigh. You found yourself tracing it sometimes, wondering if you left any invisible marks on him. Probably not. Your skin is pink and soft, new. It has spent its days tucked away against your heat, hidden from the light. From the man who put them there. Whenever you were sleeping that night, he must have invisibly carved himself into you a thousand more times, because your skin is festering in his absence. His fingertips, name, gripping hands, all falling into the creases of him, left upon you. Long ago bruised and now just scabbed over in refusal to let you return to that night.

That’s what I felt like every single time you texted Sarah, “Can we talk? Please?” or, “I am sorry, please let me explain. Miss you.” She never reads them, infact, they never get to her. She blocked you. And that hurt so much more than just leaving you on read.

Suddenly your skin is ripped open again, by the teeth of your own guilt. Of another lie added to the bracket. But alas, you return home, lock the door, and let him free again in the only way you can— by stripping yourself naked and opening your thighs to the light.

It’s easier to hold a funeral when it's your own. Here lies yet another person who didn't save you— who didn’t stick around to see it through. Whatever it was.

You've been discarded before, it wasn’t a new phenomenon. Rather it was one your chest is familiar with— knows the aching well. Although oftentimes you weren’t even left, just sat to the side, unnoticed and quiet. No one had really done you the favor of actually leaving, never really departing; all still loosely lingering around, almost like they were orbiting you. A distant star in the night sky. Then, like a meteorite, Joel. He became your refuge, a far-off celestial body that crashed into yours. Free from the chaos, cradling you in his arms.

He wasn't just a mosaic of broken mass and matter forcibly reassembled; thrown and kneeled like dough. He embodied the resilience of stardust, a reminder that matter never truly vanishes but transforms into something or someone new. Filtered through fingers above to loosen their ties to who they were before, or what. Joel was something before, to you. Maybe on another plane, he was bending you over his knees right now. His hand kissing your skin— Good morning, Birdie. His touch a gentle caress against your skin, with a warmth that felt like the first rays of dawn. Warmth that would completely devour the incessant nightmares. And the truth of him.

Wake up.

Another nightmare.

They never really ended, the fucked up silver screen tucked tightly against your hippocampus, played on and on. They seethed and sang their screamed pain to the night. Bursting out in missing, of emptiness and holiness (not of the Godly kind).

There was a hole, burrowing itself into your breastplate, spreading and grasping for whatever it can grab hold of, inching ever closer to your heart. You screamed his name like it came directly from him, like he planted it there, kissed it on its forehead goodnight, a silent promise, and then walked out the door and never returned. It was kind of like that— his leaving, the absence of him. So your brain held close whatever it still could and replayed it to you every night. It felt like dying. Like wanting to rip-the-wall-open-and-set-yourself-in-there-too, dying. Plaster over yourself and have some professional match the paint color perfectly, so that it's as if you were never gone from him or his room, dying. His ruined sheets on behalf of your body. Rotting.

Joel told you that he wouldn’t clip your wings, not just yet. What had set off the ‘yet’? He was haunting you, now, the whispers of his voice fading more each day. You thought about that morning so much that you haven’t been present in your own, in weeks.

You haven’t painted in weeks, either. They were sitting against your wall in your childhood room, not even able to face the outside world. Just the canvas beside it. A mirror.

You had been writing more though, filling pages of a journal you didn’t even know you had. The cover was foiled, gold and glistening. Water Serpents l, Gustav Klimt, 1907. You’d always preferred Water Serpents II. Where the fuck did this come from?

Sarah probably left it here in the beginning of summer. She came over daily, helped you unpack. Laughed with you. Held you in that way. Took pictures of you amongst your things.

“You’re like… a big girl now.” She said.

You’d always had a poster of Der Kuss hanging above your bed. It moved with you, from your room to a dorm room, apartment, and back. On her knees for him, engulfed in him. Her feet hanging over the edge, facing some other reality. He held her head in his large hands and kissed her Goodbye. Goodnight. Drift softly into the night.

I imagine he stayed on his knees and watched the flowers shrivel. First, the ones upon her dress and hair, then he picked every single flower in the field they graced and watched them shrink and gasp for life, too. But he stayed.

You remember Dr. Andrews, walking to center stage of the auditorium on a foggy Wednesday morning, four semesters ago. It was 45 minutes into a 3 hour chapter titled: Byzantine Frescoes: Life In Gold. “Each work aids final comprehension of the allegory, which represents the mystical union of spiritual and erotic love and the merging of the individual with the eternal cosmos.” That of Der Kuss. Eternal cosmos.

You felt as if you were meant to be with him. Regardless of the rage you felt towards him. How he had just magically been there at every intersection of your life, thus far. How your parents loved him. Sarah. Meeting her again, or the first time even. All synchronicities pointing to the both of you. Joel and Birdie, sittin’ in a tree.

Whenever you felt control slipping, you would write down the words of someone else. Sometimes it was too hard to find your own in the strung-together way you wanted them. But people have been talking, crying, wailing into the night, since forever ago. You found something that stuck a key into your heart and opened it. This fell out:

“I hated him because I could not remain detached, could not remain standing at the top of the stairs watching him depart. I felt myself going down with him, within him, because his pain and flight were so familiar to me. I descended with him, and lost myself, passed into him, became one with him like his shadow.”

- Anaïs Nin, Winter of Artifice

Your pen gave out, stopping its bleeding before you even reached the end of shadow.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

You had been at home a lot more the past couple of weeks, in a perpetual state of ‘no-call-backs’ from jobs and The Miller’s. You hid from arguing like you’d never left. Like you weren’t nearly 25 years old. You listened to wildfire over and over.

“Been home longer than expected. Looking for a job or just gonna stay here forever?”

“Yeah, Dad. No one is calling back. I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He always says it under his breath, not even looking you in your fucking eyes.

Yeah. Not hard enough.

“How ‘bout you ask Joel if you can work for them as some assistant or something?”

You try not to outwardly scoff. “I’m not talking to Sarah right now. Please don’t invite the Miller’s to anything, just for a while.” You knew exactly what was coming up. But you turned to him and looked in his eyes— something you shied away from him most days, thinking that sudden reveal would get your point across. He spoke before you could, again.

“What’d you do this time?” He looked away.

*₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

It didn’t surprise you one bit when Joel fucking Miller, in the biting flesh, walks past you in your own backyard, three months and 28 days later. Eyes tearing into where another man’s hand rested upon the small of your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin. John caught his eye, his fingers releasing from your skin upon Joel’s wandering scowl.

Looks like he wasn’t expecting him either.

John was standing at your side. You decided you’d meet him first, as to not have a reply of the last time you met one of your customers. He actually lived a few houses down, your other too-old-for-you neighbor. How funny. He walked up to you one day when you were getting the mail.

“N’ what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here barefoot? Gonna hurt those soles.”

You decided that you haven’t felt full in a while. You wanted to feel it again, the tickling stretch of someone sliding into you. Even if the entire time you try not to sing the song of another man.

Eh. He fits the bill.

So now his feet (boots) were slowly sinking into the September grass in your parents backyard. He was five beers deep. You, about three or so. Enough. It was the best you could do under the circumstances.

In reality, he came because he thought he might be able to get you alone in the room he’d seen so many times through the computer screen. Smell your sheets, your room, your pussy.

In reality, you just invited him in hopes that Joel would be here. That he would see you around another man and realize the mistake he’s made by not choosing you, too.

You were mid-sentence, explaining what a BFA is to some other neighbor and you felt as if you could hear him growling from across the yard. You would sway yourself just the way you know he liked- especially when your family was involved. Oh, it angered him. That you should be so bold in front of your own father. In front of this man. But he was ignoring you, so why wouldn’t you try and regain his attention?

“Did I leave my wallet in your truck?” John put on his thinking face. “Don’t think so, but here, go look.” He handed you the keys. Coulda came with you at least. You lead yourself back inside and out of the front door. His car is about 4 back. You see Joel’s navy truck a few more back and you catch yourself staring for too long.

As you attempt at unlocking John’s truck, your knees are suddenly pressed onto the footstep, arms spread against the leather seat. And then Joel’s smell is all around. His nose is poking your ear and his gray stubble is poking into your face.

“How fucking dare you? I give you space and this is how you spend it? Stuffing another man’s dirty cock into my cunt?” His back is lowered, attempting to match your height, pointing and spitting about. “If you wanted to be fully stuffed you should have just asked, Birdie. But I get whatever hole I want and he can have whatever’s open. I didn’t know you wanted me to share you, baby.”

You felt full of his voice, even at its melting whisper. You missed bulging full of him.

“I woulda at least ask you not to choose one of my coworkers. Actin’ like a fucking slut.” He whispered the last part, but not quietly enough. “Gonna take care of him later, been wanting to since I saw that you followed hi—“

He was so angry he was giving away his secrets, the way he had still been keeping up with you. You were pulsing.

But… he was looking at you, was paying attention to you. And you hadn’t looked into his soul in so long. You fought against his palm, as it filled the expanse of the back of your head, hair and all. Your cheeks pushed against the seat of John’s truck.

You hear Joel sigh in impatience, then he drops his belt.

He pulls his hands away so he can pull up your dress and he moans as his thumb pushes your thong away from your holes, tickling them. He hooks his thumb in front of you, against the hood of your clit and holds it in place. A constant rush of pressure originating from where his wet finger is pushing. You rut your hips against it and he moans as you breathlessly look up and around at him, eyes widening and eyebrows raising at the feeling of his presence on your body.

“Look into my eyes.”

How could you? How could you possibly focus on the lifting of his lips and his tongue meeting his teeth when his arms were gracing himself, wrestling heavily against his chest, stomach, fully. His cock, long and full. Slightly less straight. A little off. Just like him. Just like you liked it.

He turns you over on your back, lifting you up so that your naked ass meets leather, fully in another man’s truck. He sets you further inside and then looks at you. His cock jumps to meet your gaze and he lets you take it in.

“Been thinking about this.” You try to reach out and touch the veiny girth of it. The heaviness.

“Mm, nuh uh. Not being a very good girl, are you? Told y’ to shut up didn’t I?”

No. And you know he would never. Likes hearing you whimper for him too much.

You scoff and he dips into you in fever, his nose is kissing your clit, unable to get out of the way as his tongue pokes into your slobbering hole. You are every one of his senses. His fingers in your cunt, stretching the soft tissue between your legs. The taste of your warmth on his tongue, pooling. The wetness that got into his nose.

If anyone were to be looking, from most angles it looks like he’s lost something in his floorboard. Until someone moves too closely and sees Joel Miller with his face buried in someone’s daughter's pussy.

He hears something and removes his dripping mustache from your cunt. He then spits on it and lets it talk to him as his veined and heavy cock slips through the cream he’s making of his precum, collecting it with his pretty pink, angry, tip before he slides it back down your slit, covering every inch with himself.

It felt good to sing for him again.

“Oh Birdie, just like that, sounds so good whipping up your pussy’s excitement with my cock, don’t you? Filthy lil’ thing. Gonna make it wetter n’ cover it in my cum, too, okay?”

He reaches down and fingers at your pussy, pushing himself deeper into you and thumbs where you are gripping his cock. He spits down on it. “She missed me.”

“Need you t’ fill me up.”

“Already begging? Don’t wanna get caught in his truck, do you?” He was mocking you now. “Baby girl, that’s just not good enough.”

“Need-need daddy to fill me to the brim with his fucking cum. Let me have it, sir, please. Plea-“

“Show me who you belong to.”

You widen your legs further and let the orange streetlights filling the car shine on his initials.

“There you go baby.” He growls as he fucks his thick length inside of you, letting go as deep as he can as your pussy clenches around his sputtering cock.

He stops looking at your hole clenching onto him as hard as possible and is instead watching his initials in the jiggling fat of your inner thigh. He grabs it, rubs his fingers over the skin.

His thighs are even thicker from this angle. He moans towards the sky but forces himself to look back down, just as his cum falls from his slit and falls down to your open mouth. He lets go of his cock and lets it throb independently, shooting more of himself into his plump stomach. He’s dripping down himself, coating his own skin.

“Uh uh uh.” His voice catching in his throat every single time the skin between his heavy balls and asshole contract and expand, throbbing.

He admires as the cum chokes back out of your tight pussy as he pushes himself in and out, then removes himself. He watches it slide down and kiss your puckering asshole and decides to finger it back into your cunt, tsk-ing at you.

“Gonna let it drip down to your pretty asshole and not even fuck it back in baby? After all that work? Let me do it for you. Relax n’ let me fuck you here, too.” He slides his thick finger into your ass and lets out a low groan as it swallows him.

He pops himself back out, gently cooing praises at you.

“Whose Hanna?”

“That’s none of your fucking business, Birdie.”

“Is that so? Shouldn’t I have a right to know? Am I just another victim of you and your inability to show the fuck up?”

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Daddy showing up to your little party and making a mess in your little hole?”

“Joel.”

“I never fucked her.”

You stared at him.

“Get down there and clean up your fucking mess.” You deserved this. You weren’t being good for him, asking questions.

You pulled your dress down as he tucked himself away. He held your hair back and grabbed your jaw, aligning it with his cum on the black leather seats.

“Now lick.”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.•

I know I’m missing some of you on the taglist, I’m sorry!! I need to come up with a better way of doing it.

Taglist: @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @rubyfruitjungle @leeeesahhh @blackvelveteen1339 @huffle-punk @xxmr-potato-headxx @ssssc0m @paleidiot @sarap-77 @silkiers @gracevn @scarletsloveletter @livingdeadmaria @morallyinept @kittenprincess710 @jubilee82 @cool-iguana @vickywallace @capitulo3-celos @taeslarityy @moonlightdreamingworld @worhols @milla-frenchy @sheepdogchick3 @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @bratty-lxndry444

[eris-eveningstar]

I love slow burns really I do but sometimes fast burns just hit yk? Like, I'm reading Before the Storm (it's complete but orphaned) and it's not like super slow. They're getting together so quick compared to other fics I've read. And I love love love it. I love my fast burns. So many writers don't understand that actually getting into the relationship doesn't mean the end of a story, there are so many other issues and things in the plot that could happen and writers who can do a great fast burn have my heart and soul.

[cease-your-release]

They're Lucky to Have You

While on your lunch break, you see a familiar face. Mark Hoffman is the detective responsible for solving the murders that, unbeknownst to him, you're the one doing. (810)

Hello! This is the first chapter in a series, but since I'm horrible at slow burn, we'll have a bit of buildup and then pretty much blast right into a relationship, then have more buildup to the next steps. I may go back and add more stuff in between chapters when it's done, but hopefully y'all are okay with a fast burn instead! Also, for future chapter reference, the reader is mostly gender neutral, but is described as having wider hips, wears a dress at one point, and there are a handful of mentions of dysphoria. I'll be honest and say this series is rather self-indulgent, so may not be for everyone.

Part 1 of "Conundrum of Carnage" Part 2

Also on A03!

You find yourself sitting on a short cement ledge outside of your usual coffee shop on break, halfway between full consciousness and spacing out while looking off into the distance. In your partially-aware state, you swear you notice an oddly familiar face standing just a few feet away, though you can’t place why. After a few seconds, you still haven’t realized that you’re staring at him.

The man looks at you through the corner of his eye a few times, and eventually turns to you with a raised eyebrow. His long black coat sways a little in the subtle breeze of New Jersey’s Autumnal streets. “... Did you need something?” 

You blink a few times in response to the sudden call out, then quickly avert your gaze back to whatever’s in front of you. “Nothing.” You say with a slight shrug, furrowing your brows. “I thought I might’ve seen you somewhere before, is all.”

He stares at you with some suspicion on his face for a few seconds, his eyes analyzing you before he speaks again.  “I don’t think we’ve met." He says as he steps closer, his gaze narrowed. You also seem familiar to him, some part of his mind far back getting a sense of déjà vu from the sight of your face, the sound of your voice.

“Obviously not..” You mutter, glancing at how he’s getting closer through the corner of your eye. There’s something about his walk, the sound of leather shoes on pavement…. Then, you turn to him.  “You’re with the police, aren’t you? You must’ve been at my work when all those cops showed up to ask about those… um, murders.”

“Oh, was that you? I think I remember now.” he says, stopping his approach just about a foot away from you. “You work at that vet clinic, right?” he says, his tone lowering slightly as he speaks the last few words.

You nod, the day flooding back at the confirmation. His name is Hoffman, if your memory serves you correctly. Mark Hoffman, right?  “I’m a tech there, yeah.” you answer, eyes then falling to look him up and down. “Still sorry we couldn’t be of any help. It’s a shame, all those poor animals left without an owner.." You say, which to any regular person would be a bit odd, to mention the pets but not the people.

Mark raises an eyebrow at the comment about the pets, his expression remaining stoic as he processes what you have just said. “Yeah, really is,” he says, with his usual blank expression and tone, “Say, how long have you worked there?”

“Oh, god, it must’ve been.. five years now?” You say thoughtfully, lifting your hand to rest on your cheek as you consider it. “And then those incidents started happening only earlier this year.. I damn near quit out of fear, I’ll tell you what.” You remark with a slight laugh at the end.

He listens intently to your reply, thinking over the information you’ve just given him.  “Why didn’t you?” His voice lowers as he speaks his next line, his stance shifting slightly, tilting his head while he eyes you.

“Well, you know how the job market is right now.” You relent with a sigh, shaking your head. “Besides, they gave everyone a pay raise when the news broke. I guess it was to try and stop people from leaving, and it worked for the most part.”

“So you stuck around for a raise? Sounds like you think the risk is worth the reward.” Hoffman lets out a dry laugh as he leans back on his heels, his eyes continuing to study you, like they’re searching for something. “Then again, why are you guys even still open at all?” he says, “I mean I would’ve never stepped foot in there again after something like that happened.”

You turn your gaze back up to him, your expression as genuine as your voice when you speak. “We’re the only veterinary office for miles, we can’t just close.” You respond, furrowing your brows a bit. “People, and their animals, need us. You of all people should know what that’s like. Right, detective?”

“Yes, I do.”  He nods, and the tense atmosphere that was filling the air dissipates slightly.  “You’re right. People need their vets, and if you are one who has devoted themselves to saving their pets then they’re lucky to have you.”  He replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well.. thank you.” You say in response, almost hesitant or unsure as you speak.  Just then, you get a text from your phone. He watches your expression change. “Ah, I have to get going. It was, um… nice talking to you?”

He shifts his weight, putting his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, you too,” Mark says, nodding once and giving a small, slightly forced smile, “Drive safe.”

[f1daydreamer]

Hello, my amazing readers! 🌟 If you love stories filled with drama, romance, and unexpected twists, make sure to follow me on Wattpad for more captivating content. My new Lando Norris book, "Love at Full Speed," is now out! 🏎️✨

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[Lili]

[sylkiddsey]

D.

After spending three hours at a café, her trying every donut flavor and him drinking coffee, they’re eventually kicked out. The place is closing and the teenage barista isn’t impressed with their behavior.

He drops her off at her apartment like a true gentleman. They stand in front of her locked door as she (secretly) takes her sweet time fishing her keys out of her purse.

It isn’t clear who leans in first. Somehow, it feels like they meet right in the middle.

This isn’t normal for her. She rarely makes a move on the first date, but then again, she already made a move the night they met.

Somehow, allowing him into her place, shedding clothes and laughing about bumping into furniture, feels natural. He finds her bedroom right away, hooks a hand around her thigh and lifts.

He carries her to the bed, falling onto her soft comforter, Matt on top of her. He tastes like roasted hazelnuts and sugar. She tells him that when he pulls his shirt off and wow…

Wow, the firefighting physique is so damn impressive. She’s convinced she’s drooling.

Maybe she’s dreaming? Maybe she never found the courage to track Matt down at Molly’s.

She hadn’t planned on showing up there. When she turned Casey down, she meant it. Yes, he’s great, but she’s cursed. Everything she touches turns to dust when it comes to romance. Destroying him isn’t an option.

Or so she thought.

The truth is, she wanted to say yes, but felt like it wouldn’t make her look good. She’s new to the paramedic game and dating (or whatever) a well respected lieutenant might make her look desperate. Worse, all her future accomplishments will be diminished since she’s with Matt.

Her plan goes to shit because her co-worker's suck. They’re bad humans who don’t respect her and here she is, not going after Matt Casey for them. They don’t deserve that.

She was so sick of men treating her like scum. Casey never did that. He’s so good so she decides screw it, she wants to surround herself in something positive and good.

Now, admiring the ridiculously good view, she thinks Rosales and his crew of pervs are obsolete.

“Are we moving too fast?” He asks.

Not fast enough.

She sheds his belt, grabbing his hips and pulling his whole weight down on her.

She’s pretty certain she blacks out from ecstasy because next thing she knows, she’s waking up in her bedroom, tangled in sheets and still damp from last nights activities.

She stretches her arms out, hands landing on her rumpled comforter and not Matt.

Wait.

Sylvie lifts her head from the pillow and sure enough, Matt’s not snoring next to her.

Oh my god. Did he ditch her? He didn’t seem like the type to do that, but who knows. Maybe she misread the whole situation to begin with and he was under the impression this was a one-night thing.

She combs her frizzy hair away from her face, frowning. She didn’t just want a one-night stand. Hell, she was contemplating moving to New York over a kiss.

Now, that kiss seems innocent compared to last nights events.

Dang it.

She collapses into her pillow, groaning a little into the fabric. How is she supposed to forget last night?

She’s drifting somewhere between almost asleep and awake when she hears her coffee maker ding.

She lives alone.

“Good morning.”

She lifts her head, rubbing her eyes. Matt’s sitting on the edge of her bed, two coffee mugs in hand. He’s fully clothed and looks like he’s been up awhile.

She blinks, hard. “You’re still here?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies. He sets both full mugs on her nightstand. “Did you think I snuck out?”

She really really did. Thank god she was wrong. She pushes herself up right, leaning against her velvet headboard. “Well, you weren’t next to me so…”

“I made coffee,” he explains. “I hope that’s okay.”

Like that wouldn’t be okay? He made her morning coffee in bed. That’s heavenly. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

He places her drink in her hands. “Based on the amount of coffee creamers and sugars you had…I took a gamble on how you like it. If it sucks, I can make a new cup.”

She brings the mug to her lips, sipping the warm drink. Holy cow. She’s never made her coffee this good before. She adds secret coffee wizard to the many appealing qualities Matt has.

“This is so good,” she hums, eyes closed. “Thank you.”

“Glad you like it,” he replies. His hand brushes against her under eye with a feather like touch. “You have some mascara on your face.”

Of course she does. It’s not like she had time to wipe her make up.

“I have a construction job in an hour so I have to go soon.”

Right, they can’t live in this magical bubble forever. They both have lives.

“Okay.”

What does that mean for them? Is he leaving and that’s it? Does he want to see her again? Was last night a onetime thing?

Sylvie plays with the tag on one of her pillows. “So, not to be that annoying girl who immediately wants assurance, but…is this a regular thing?”

He thinks about her question for a second. The waiting makes her nervous, but she doesn’t want to push him.

“Yeah, I’d like it to be,” he finally says. “I had a lot of fun and I don’t do that often. I was hoping you did too.”

She nods a little too eagerly, nearly spilling coffee in her lap. “Yeah, I did too. A lot of fun.”

“Good, so we should do it again,” He winces, shaking his head. “Not the sex. I mean, we can, but I’m not saying I just want the sex. A date. I want to keep going on dates. Jesus…”

She laughs, closing the distance between them and kissing the corner of his mouth. “Another date sounds wonderful.”

“Okay, good.” His hands curls around the small of her back, rubbing his hand up her spine. “You free tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah…is that too soon?”

No, not at all. She’s just kind of baffled by all of this. It’s sweet he’s so eager to see her and the feeling is very very mutual.

“Not at all. I’m free,” she explains. “I have to help my friend Olivia move out of her exes apartment, but I should be done by four.”

“Great. My job should wrap up by three. How about I pick you up at five and take you to dinner? There’s a great pizza place not far.”

She’s been craving a deep dish so his suggestion is perfect. “Ooh, yes to pizza. Also, maybe we could stop by Molly’s after?”

He laughs, squeezing her hip. “You just want to hang out with Stella, huh?”

Guilty.

“So so much,” she grins, batting her eyelashes. “I’m in desperate need of girl friends in the CFD.”

“Okay, we’ll go to Molly’s,” he agrees. “But only if you swear not to abandon me for Kidd. I met you first.”

She grabs the collar of his jacket and kisses him, this time deep and slow. She wants him to know she does really like him and no badass firefighter chick will ruin that.

“I promise,” she whispers, examining every one of his features. His eyes look more blue this morning. They almost looked grey-ish in Molly’s dark lighting, but with the sun peeking through her windows, they’re blue. His hairs longer in the front, not combed back in any capacity.

He’s so very cute.

“I really did have a lot of fun, Sylvie,” he says, eyeing her with that same look that led them into her apartment. “And I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight.” She repeats.

They both don’t make any move to leave the bed. She has a feeling he doesn’t want to go.

She doesn’t want him to either.

“Okay, I really have to go now.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

He gives her a look. “Oh, but you are.”

She moves her hands off him. “Well, I’m not trying to.”

“That’s the problem.”

Honestly, she has to get up too and get ready to meet Olivia for breakfast before they start moving to her new place.

[underthestarlight1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Joyce Byers, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Argyle (Stranger Things), Jim "Chief" Hopper, Steve Harrington's Parents, Wayne Munson Additional Tags: Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Mutual Pining, Steve's Pov, Stylist/ Personal Shopper Steve Harrington, the party, Christmas, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, upside-down, no one dies, Fluff and Angst Series: Part 1 of The Personal Shopper and the Rockstar Summary:

Most of the time Steve Harrington loves his job as stylist and personal shopper for the rich and famous. This isn't one of those times. Eddie Munson, the lead singer of Corroded Coffin, one of his best friends and his oldest client, just contacted him to buy Christmas gifts for his new boyfriend. Only problem is that Steve has been in love with him for years. How is he going to handle buying lovely gifts for the love of his life to give to another man?

[univvrse]

the coven

reader x bakugou x shinsou x kaminari x kirishima

Coven- a formation of at least three or more vampires He told you they were dangerous- why didn't you believe him?

on my ao3 if you'd prefer

1.6k words

Your whole life had been ordinary, perfectly normal to the extent it had almost been boring; something was missing. You had just moved out of your parents house and in fact the whole country- you had just moved to Japan from America, desperately longing for independence, something new. Something exciting. And most certainly, if something exciting was what you were looking for- you had picked the right town:

Tonight was one of the nights where you just couldn't get to sleep. They weren't uncommon. You had already flipped your pillow over multiple times and so both sides were feverishly warm. You quickly checked your alarm clock that sat on your bedside table; it read 03:46. Even though, you had left your hometown in the hunt for something fresh- you missed your old home- the sun, the people and most importantly the life that you had left behind.

Maybe a walk would help you use up enough energy to help you get to sleep. As quietly as you could manage (not wanting to wake your new neighbours) you sat up and heaved your legs over the side of the bed.

You walked across your room, grabbing a jacket from the bedroom floor as you went. You pulled on your jacket and quickly stopped to pull on a pair of jeans that were lying haphazardly on the floor. You grabbed your phone from where you earlier had put it on the side of your bed and put it into the pocket of your jeans.

Swiftly, you walked down the stairs, grabbed keys as you walked and stuck them into the keyhole of your front door. You shivered at the unexpected draft as stepped outside. You quickly shaking of the original shock and began to walk.

Once you had closed and locked the door behind you, you stepped out into the darkness. You shoved your key into your jean pocket. You began to walk across the paved, concrete streets of your new neighbourhood. The cold air stung and bit at your face as you walked. It was dark, lit only by a few dim street lights and the moon. You walked for what felt around 10 minutes until you reached the gathering of trees near your new home.

You were surrounded by tall pine trees. With only a path stretching out deeper and deeper into the unlit wood. It was creepy to say the least.

Trying to ignore the cold, you walked along the concrete path that stretched along as far as you could see. The silence was deafening, with only your quiet footsteps and the slight wind rustling through the trees. You eventually sat down on an old bench, the structural integrity was questionable as the wet wood seemed to be rotting at the base of the legs

You pulled your feet onto the wood and your legs against your chest before looking up at the night sky. It was a clear night, probably why it was so cold, and you could see all the bright stars above you. The moon was nearly full, bright and you found the light strangely comforting.

You decided that you would only sit there for a few minutes before you would head back home to try and get some rest.

However, you were sat there for who knows how long before a purple haired boy who seemed about your age approached where you were sitting. He was . "This seat taken?" he asked, motioning to the empty seat next to you. "Uh well no but-”

“What are you doing out so late?" the boy asked interrupting you and sitting next to you.

"Couldn't sleep." you mumbled, just loud enough for him to be able to hear you "I assume you're the same?"

He chuckled slightly "Well you could say that. You should be careful; you never know who could be lurking in the dark”. He smiled, flashing his teeth. They seemed oddly sharp; you frowned. “What’s your name,” you asked desperately trying to change the subject. “Hitoshi”. It was odd, that sounds like his first name, something reserved for those close to you in Japan. “You?”, he asked the question with intent. You swallowed, “Y/N”. You gave him your first name, hoping to match his energy.

“So, why didn't your parents try and stop you coming out so late tonight?" he asked staring at the sky. "I live alone actually," you laughed awkwardly, surprised at your openness to tell a stranger of this fact; "I just wanted to burn off some energy." “Interesting”, he smirked, showing his sharp canines to you again.

“Your parents don’t care you're gone?" you asked "No, they died a long, long time ago actually.” He let slip. “Oh, fuck I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be it was a long time ago," he paused, clearly thinking of how to change the subject, you could almost here the cogs turning in his head. "I've never seen you round here before."

"Oh I just moved here, I live up in apartments on 8- I just moved from America ." you gave the stranger almost your exact address without a second thought

"Ah, I see," he paused "well sorry but I have to go meet my", he paused for a moment, deciding what word to use; "friends." You sighed, you had been hoping to make a friend in this strange, new town. "You can come; if you want to that is?"

"Oh: yeah that would be great”, you replied not caring that you had barely met him. You were intrigued by him, drawn to him almost.

He stood quickly and offered his hand to help you up. You took it, his hand was ice cold. The coldest thing you had probably ever felt. You shuddered, as he helped you stand. He realised his error. “Oh, shit sorry, I get really cold at night”. He said without even the slightest hesitation, yet something inside you told you it was a lie. Still, you followed him through the winding, seemingly endless streets off the forest. While you walked, he told you about his friends.

“Okay so there’s: Katsuki, you have to be careful around him, okay? He’s like freakishly strong and has the shortest temper, Eijiro’s really nice actually just don’t be a total dick and you’ll be fine. Denki’s cool but kinda creepy, I guess- that's probably not the right word- he's not so bad actually”. You listened intently until he went silent again.

"So Hitoshi, there was other benches in the park, why'd you want to sit next to me” "You can see the stars the best there," the purple haired boy said quickly, almost maliciously but yet you didn’t see it as such. "You're pretty too", he added with a glance in your direction.

"Oh thanks", you replied, not sure of what to say. Eventually, you reached a small clearing in the forest- there sat three boys. All incredibly attractive- to say the least.

“Yo fresh meat!” a red spikey haired boy called as you approached; his skin was pale, almost as pale as Hitoshi's and his read eyes shimmered in the light of the moon. From where you stood, his skin looked perfectly smooth without a blemish or imperfection. Thinking of it, all of their skin was. Fair and undeniably perfect. Hitoshi grabbed your hand, interlocking your warm hand with his cold skin. All of them stared at you with something that almost seemed like hunger for a moment until Hitoshi spoke up. “This is Y/N she’ll be hanging out with us tonight. Be nice.”

“Can we-” one of the blondes said. “Not a chance” Hitoshi growled. You had no idea what the blonde haired boy had been asking but you were now anxious to know. They all looked at you as if you were something to eat.

“Why bring her then?” The other blonde said. He had piercing red eyes that glinted in the light of the moon. “I think you’ll like her.” the purple haired boy said.

They realised that they had been staring and quickly averted their attention towards each other as you sat down with them. Hitoshi looked at you and stared into your eyes for a few moments as if he were about to say something. Before he could the red haired boy spoke up.

“So, Y/N you afraid yet.” “No, should I be?” you asked a forced smile forming on your lips.

"Aren’t you afraid what a group of guys like us are going to do to you all alone in the night when no one else can hear you scream.” “No.” you replied swallowing down your anxiety, you hadn't at all thought about that possibility until you brought it up. “Brave.” The red eyed blonde said, inviting himself into your conversation.

“I’m Denki.” The other blonde said, it rolled off his tongue as if he had done this a thousand times before. “Eijiro,” the red haired boy introduced himself, leaning over Denki to offer you his hand to shake

You took it, his hand was as cold as Hitoshi’s had been. “That’s Katsuki.” He said nodding at the red eye boy who had yet to introduce himself. “Don’t bother talking to him he doesn’t like talking to,” he looked you up and down “people who he says ‘suffer from the disease of mortality’. “What do you mean, like you guys aren’t human or something,” you sniggered. They all burst into laughter. The red haired boy raised a single eyebrow.

“What did Hitoshi not tell you”, Eijiro said to you, you shook your head. Hitoshi sighed; "well then let’s just say we’re- oh what do humans call us.” He paused for a moment.

“Vampires."

[raccoonfallsharder]

nemotia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ preview [est feb 29] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 1/?? | wip | word count: pending.

She sits with them and presses the heels of her hands deeper into her eyes, and she tries to imagine the scent of the flowers, the feel of the grass between her fingers and toes. She traces the letters and the tops of the stones, smooth and sharp-edged.  And then, on the back of one bare shoulder, she feels that burn again: hot, scalding. Before she can even look around, the escaped wisps of curls at the nape of her neck suddenly shift. Her head snaps up and she whirls on one hip, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. “Who’s there?” Maybe no-one, she reasons — but if that’s the case, there’s also no-one to mock her for her fear. She knows she looks afraid: eyes big in her face, lips parted. She should hide it. She should. Instead, she holds her breath, and waits, but only the thunder answers in the dark. Then the light shifts on the floor, and she realizes the rain sounds different. She tears her eyes from the dark corners. The window is open. How? She’d traced every edge, looking for a crack or crevice, a lock, a lever — but now it’s open, swinging lightly on its hinges. Fear unfurls in her chest, and it’s so warm that she presses her icy fingers to her sternum automatically. “Who’s there?” she repeats, and her voice trembles. Thunder again, rumbling — but this time, when it fades, another sound remains behind: a chuckle, dark and low. Dark and low, and very, very close. Her head snaps toward the sound, and she catches the flash of something out of the corner of her eye. “Were you watching me earlier?” she asks, and that fear licks out from her sternum to the edges of her ribs, down to her shoulders and hips. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t—” It isn’t safe, she had been about to say — but then something grazes between her shoulderblades, like a paintbrush on her skin. Her head whips to follow it and she twists, eyes wide, lungs desperately trying to haul in air like stones up a mountainside. “You can’t — don’t touch me. It’s—” Dangerous. Another flick of the terrifyingly-soft thing again, on the back of her hand this time.  Something is moving around her in the dark. Something is stalking her. What to do? The door is locked. The closet is an open mouth of blackness in one wall, but she can’t barricade a sliding door. The open window had been a nice fantasy and she’s not ruling it out, but her curiosity is at war with her fear and she wants, more than anything, to make sure this creature or person gets out.  She knots her fist in the draping silk, gaze sifting through the shadows. Another flash of something her eyes can’t follow. She rises slowly to her feet, and reaches for the candle, and lifts it high. For a moment, there’s nothing. And then, in the dark shadows at the corner of the room, two perfect points of brilliant red gleam in the darkness: flat glowing coins, clouded with crimson. Twin blood-moons. Eyes.

chapter one [est 2/29] ✩

꧁･:☁︎ ⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth in time to prepare for her wedding. an unexpected guest arrives. warnings: discussion of non-sexual child abuse and grooming. brief mentions of suicidal ideations. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs. 

enemies-to-lovers (as per frickin’ usual, only one of these idiots think they’re enemies, and tbh the enemy part is pretty short-lived.) while the beginning of this fic is dark (please check warnings for each chapter), we always get happy endings here. most chapters will contain super-smutty commentary at the very least. this fic is a longform expansion on wyndham; or, the galactic prometheus (day 31) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023.

much like Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ , this fic is pure wish-fulfillment. i'd like a sexy space raccoon to rail me and then let me be stupid-sweet to him.

WARNING for dubcon/hate-sex (at the beginning), mentions of childhood grooming & abuse (no CSA), and brief suicidal ideations. please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter.

if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

some explicit statements or references ✩ abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

[erotica-by-lilla-bell]

This is a sample of a short story created for a subscriber. This story is complete and available on my 18+ Patreon page, Erotica by Lilla Bell.  Join today to unlock the rest of the story and dive into more exclusive content!

Working Late by Lilla Bell

This story is dedicated to my subscriber, Barefooter. Thank you for inspiring this idea and for all your support—you’re the best! I couldn’t get this one out of my head after your suggestion. Hope it hits the spot.

XOXO,

Lilla

The office is eerily silent at this hour, with nothing but the hum of the air conditioning to fill the void. I’m still in my boss’s chair, the sleek leather sticking slightly to the back of my thighs where my skirt rides up.

My heels are off and tucked beneath his desk as I finish up the final edits on his presentation. He asked me to polish it up before tomorrow morning’s meeting—trusting me to make it perfect, as he always does. 

There’s no one left on the floor, not even the cleaning crew. It’s just me, the faint glow of the computer screen, and the steady ache building between my thighs to keep me company.

All I can think about is my boss, Mr. Carrington. The way his gaze feels like it lingers on my body for just a moment too long sometimes. 

I know he’s married—happily, as far as I can tell—and his wife seems sweet. But it’s not like I want to keep him. Just borrow him a little. 

This is a sample of a short story created for a subscriber. This story is complete and available on my 18+ Patreon page, Erotica by Lilla Bell.  Join today to unlock the rest of the story and dive into more exclusive content!

Explore Every Collection On Erotica By Lilla Bell More Than Friends (Ongoing): (Erotica/FF/WIP) The Professor’s Seduction: (Erotica/FF/Complete) Kelly's Education: (Erotica/MFF/MF/FF/Complete) Cream Dream: (Erotica/Lactation/Hucow/MF/Complete) Relax: (Erotica/FF/Complete) Tabitha: (Erotica/FF/WIP) Miranda: (Erotica/MF/WIP) Stories From The Vault: Short Stories and Custom Content Created for subscribers in The Inner Circle Ebooks: PDF copies of stories and WIP Chapters for The Collector's Vault, The Inner Circle, and The Secret Circle. Audio Collection: Short stories, completed serialized stories, and exclusive WIP chapters in audio form.

[musestick]

Scientific Fusion [Chapter 1]

"In Love And War"

Science, magic, and the human race... Was the only thing they should've cared for.

It was what they were made for.

Birthed for...

Their parents were the two greatest minds of the human race

The Royal Scientist and the greatest magician known to man.

But all of this matters not. This human who was supposed to be the saving grace of humanity is here, on the battlefield, slaughtering anything in its path. May it be monster, man, or children in stripes. It has since grown bored with its repetitive life. Forgoing its sanity to satisfy its boredom and quell its thirst for excitement in comparison to its perfect and repetitive life.

While the once prominent scientist was busy slaughtering monsters and humankind a fellow scientist took an interest in the ordeal.

“☟︎⚐︎🕈︎ 👍︎🕆︎☼︎✋︎⚐︎🕆︎💧︎…”

(How curious…)

The red eyelighted skeleton uttered curiously.

–??? POV–

While I was looking around the torn battlefield for any interesting anomalies that could quell my boredom I spotted a peculiar sight.

A human with a psychopathic grin as they slaughtered my kind. While this scene is not uncommon during the war what was interesting was the fact they were also killing their kind as well.

“This will be quite intriguing”

I said to myself as I prepared a new experimental magic I developed.

-No POV-

A skull of a dragon appeared suddenly next to the genocidal human. Its bones were a pearly white, with two horns that protruded downwards and curled upon themselves near the end while its eye sockets held two glowing red lights within them.

It opened its skull wide showing a blinding white light fueled with powerful magic. But before the skull could set off the human dodged it quickly with inhuman speed.

“☟︎⚐︎🕈︎ ✋︎☠︎❄︎☜︎☼︎☜︎💧︎❄︎✋︎☠︎☝︎”

(How interesting)

A skeleton appeared wearing a gold-outlined lab coat with skeletal hands surrounding him that made various hand gestures as he spoke indecipherable words.

“✋︎❄︎ 💧︎☜︎☜︎💣︎💧︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎☼︎ ☹︎⚐︎✞︎☜︎ ✋︎💧︎ ✌︎☹︎☼︎☜︎✌︎👎︎✡︎ ✈︎🕆︎✋︎❄︎☜︎ ☟︎✋︎☝︎☟︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👌︎☜︎ ✌︎👌︎☹︎☜︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👎︎⚐︎ 💧︎🕆︎👍︎☟︎ ✌︎ ❄︎☟︎✋︎☠︎☝︎⑤︎ ⚐︎☼︎ ✡︎⚐︎🕆︎ ✌︎☼︎☜︎ ☺︎🕆︎💧︎❄︎ ✌︎ 💣︎✌︎☝︎☜︎ ❄︎☟︎✌︎❄︎ ☟︎✌︎💧︎ ✌︎ ☞︎✌︎💧︎👍︎✋︎☠︎✌︎❄︎✋︎⚐︎☠︎ 🕈︎✋︎❄︎☟︎ 💧︎👍︎✋︎☜︎☠︎👍︎☜︎.”

(It seems your LOVE is already quite high to be able to do such things… or you are just a mage that has a fascination with science.)

While the unknown monster was speaking he waved his hand. The world blinked between this world and a colorless one then finally into the colorless successfully starting the encounter.

–Unknown skeleton’s POV–

As I start the encounter with a random megalomaniac, four bright yellow buttons appear before me. From left to right, FIGHT, ACT, ITEM, and the frequently unused MERCY. I clicked the ACT button and then pushed“check”

‘Genocidal Human’

ATK 65 DEF 40 LV 9

“It looks at you unimpressed”

“Your LV is more than I expected and your stats… are abnormally high”

I say despite knowing that this human can not understand me due to their lack of magic to translate what I am saying.

“Why did it describe you as an “it” ho-”

While I was speaking the human charged at me with a blinding speed that I could not dodge.

CRACK

Sounds the side of my skull that the human hit, leaving me with a crack down the right side of my skull.

–1705 [CRITICAL]

“Damnit!”

–No POV–

The once-cocky scientist says as magic begins to leak out of the deep gash in his cranium.

Gaster looks at his stats.

Wingdings Gaster Serif

LV 6

1795/3500 HP

ATK 75

DEF 20

“✡︎⚐︎🕆︎⑤︎ 👌︎✌︎💧︎❄︎✌︎☼︎👎︎✏︎”

(You… BASTARD!)

Gaster then slams his hand on the FIGHT option.

The human’s purple soul abruptly gets pulled out of their chest. At the very next second a barge of bones of varied colors attacks them.

–73

77/150 HP

The human grunts in pain.

The human then hits Gaster in the gut with the gauntlet’s sharp claws and then his face once again.

-135

-600

1015/3500 HP

“...hah…☜︎✠︎🏱︎☜︎👍︎❄︎☜︎👎︎ ❄︎🕈︎⚐︎ 💧︎👍︎✋︎☜︎☠︎❄︎✋︎💧︎❄︎💧︎ ❄︎⚐︎ 👌︎☜︎ ☝︎⚐︎⚐︎👎︎ ✌︎❄︎ ☞︎✋︎☝︎☟︎❄︎✋︎☠︎☝︎”

( … who expected two scientists to be good at fighting…)

Gaster then summoned 50 of his experimental blasters and fired them at the human.

.

.

.

.

12/150 HP

.

.

.

17/3500 HP

The human lay on the ground without an arm while Gaster lay up against a truck of a tree missing a leg.

“Damn…monster…” The human croaks out.

“So you finally talk after an hour of fighting, human” Gaster speaks in “a manner of fact” tone

“And you are no longer speaking in gibberish it seems”

The human and monster duo sit in silence before Gaster speaks up

“Do you remember the reason why this war started?”

“of course, I do, my “Majesty” whined about continuously,” the human said the word Majesty with a mix of venom and mockery

“It was due to most of your race being ‘naturally’ prone to violence…and the fact you can absorb our souls while we can not do the same to you.”

Gaster hums “That's correct”

“Why are–” the human began to speak but then sputtered

“I'm not giving you my soul you damned skeleton!” the human says in a harsh tone

“I'm not going to ask a question that I already know the answer to, you megalomaniac!” Gaster defends himself vehemently

“You just did that, you numbskull!” the human yells back

“Well, I-hmgh” Gaster grunts as he blushes a similar color to his eyes

“Childish…” the human says tiredly

Silence prevails the conversation once again

“So skeleton, what were you going on about?”

“First my name is Gaster”

The human rolls its eyes at that comment

Gaster glares at the human

“As I was going to say, I'm about to enter a “falling down” state in which I will start to melt, unlike other monsters who would start to dust, due to the abnormal amount of determination I have,” Gaster explains

“Why does this matter” the human asks bluntly

“Because due to my determination and your magic-” Gaster began to rapidly explained

“how do you know I have magic, I haven't used it once during our fight,” the human asks with gritted teeth

“I have been watching you since you slaughtered that human and monster safe house- also don't interrupt me again.”

The human attempts to dust the narcissistic skeleton with his mind

Gaster after a short pause begins to speak again “You could be able to create an entirely new being”

“... And stop staring at me like that,” He says with a flushed face

The human ignores the skeleton comment

“What happens if this fails?” the human asks suspiciously

“You will die… but that gonna happen anyways so, get to writing human.

“Fuck off… wait writing, why?”

“This is an entirely new being, so they won't have any memories of anything.”

“They will at most keep our most prominent traits and our souls.”

“Whatever… how much time do you have left before you start falling?”

“An hour, how long until you start to rot?” Gaster smirks

“hour thirty minutes .”

More silence…

The human then brings out a small note and starts writing. A second later Gaster brings out a slightly larger notebook and begins writing as well

-15 minutes later-

“Human”

“What”

“What's your name?”

“No”

“No, what does that mean?!” Gaster asks offended

“No, as in ‘I'm not telling’ ” the nameless human states bluntly

-5 minutes later-

“Gaster”

“hmgh” the mentioned skeleton is currently pouting like a child

“stop being immature”

“...”

“Fine, it's…”

-2 minutes later-

“Wingdings…” Gaster says with a blush

“What?” the named human asked amused

“Gaster is my middle name… Wingdings is my first name” Gaster says while looking away

“pfft- I'm sorry- I” The human then began to laugh

“ugh- I shouldn't have said anything” He huffs angrily

-3 minutes later-

The two scientists continued to talk while writing everything the potential being could use to their advantage.

“So… what did you do before” The human gestures around the battlefield “This.”

“I was the Royal Scientist” Gaster ponders his next words carefully “I was also once the Royal Judge as well but King Asgore put the role out of commission after the war began” Gaster then sighs “If still had access to KR damage I would of probably of won,” Gaster says with his head up high

“huh hu, sure you would have” the human side-eyed Gaster while smirking “Anyway I was also the Royal Scientist of my kingdom,” the human said with a bored face “Didn't expect monsters have a Judge as well,” the human said parking up slightly “pretty impressive for a man named Wingdings” the human says teasingly

“Shut Up!” Gaster screams his red eyelights flaring

-5 minutes later-

“So… why do you hate your King?” Gaster asks hesitantly like he walking in a minefield (if they existed at the time)

The human's mood immediately takes a 180 “The King is selfish, greedy, whiny, and the third most annoying person I ever meet”

Gaster laughs silently “He sounds as bad as Asgore”

-25 minutes later-

During the last 25 minutes, the two men of science chatted about whatever came to their minds

.

.

.

“My parents are actually the ex-Royal Scientist and some “Great Sage”

“Talk about large expectations,” Gaster says jokingly “If one of your parents is some legendary mage why don't you use much magic beyond green magic?” He asks curiously

“What's the point of using something that is merely going to disappear in 3 years from now?” The human says bluntly

Gaster stares in shock “WHAT” Gaster screams in fright

“Yeah, due to the overuse of magic is been slowly going away but due to the war magic drain has been set in overdrive… stupid king” The human looks exhausted “Actually that's the real reason for this war, the king thought if he got rid of the opposing race magic will stay around longer” the human shrugs

Gaster looks at the human dumbfounded

.

.

.

“How did you find out magic was slowly disappearing” Gaster asks after a few minutes of silence

The human pulls a strange metal device out of his coat “Magic Geiger counter”

“huh” Gaster studies the device with interest

.

.

.

.

.

“Well, I'm done writing, Wingdings?”

“Al-Almost” Gaster says weakly while the pencil he was holding was nearly slipping out of hand

-Gaster POV-

While I was hunched over attempting to write the human I was trying to kill just nearly an hour ago leaned against my back and took the pencil I was writing with.

“Just relax you have only 5 minutes left,” they say boredly with a stoic face

I blushed madly “You bastard human I'll-”

“Shut up”

.

.

.

“Whatever…” I grunted out

We then spent our last minutes in sweet silence

.

.

.

And then soon we started our experiment.

As I started to dust, or well melt, the human then used their to grab mine and their soul out of our chest and then began to use their magic, my now melted body, and began to fuse them together.

.

.

.

.

.

.

-??? POV-

“Where I'm I?” I thought to myself as I looked around this strange place

“What's that” I thought to myself once again as I looked at an unidentifiable corpse in front of me holding to hold to leather-bound notebooks

“How do I know these words?” I asked myself like I was expecting an answer to suddenly appear.

.

.

.

“Who am I?” I ask in a daze

[darsynia]

Nearer, My God, To Thee | Stony | Ch. 1

STORY MASTERLIST | TONY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST NEXT

Written for ZaraMelMercury as a part of @tonysbirthdaygala

Summary: Steve Rogers appreciated his unexpected promotion to Fourth Officer-- until it became clear that it was more about being a novelty American-born officer of the White Star Line than it was about his skill at the job. After another frustrating shift attending to First Class, he was rescued by the devilishly handsome Tony Stark, a notoriously brilliant troublemaker annoyed by his own role as the most tempting eligible bachelor on the ship.

Stark suggested a mutually beneficial agreement-- Steve would stand as a duty-borne chaperone to Tony's worst tendencies, thus saving Steve from endless hours of small talk in First Class. As soon as they shook on it, however, both realized their partnership carried much more potential. Length/Warnings: 3,603 words // light D/s themes For @the-slumberparty prompt: "I'm the reason you're still alive"

Note: After years of being captivated by the wreck itself and the stories therein, I couldn't resist choosing a Titanic AU after seeing my giftee's request involving hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, and historical AU! Please note that this is not based on Jack & Rose from the film-- a Stony retelling of that already exists.

This is a fast burn, passionate romance between two people who happen to have met at one of the worst possible times. It's been pure joy to write, and I am so delighted to share it with you now!

Tags: @chickensarentcheap @linnadhiell @sobeautifullyobsessed

Excerpt:

“You look like you could bend metal, with a grip like that,” an amused voice said from behind him.

Steve released the rail, noting the stiffness in his hands. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said as he turned toward the speaker. The man was impeccably dressed, with facial hair that brought to mind a mythological satyr, but the most compelling thing about him was his eyes. Where every other inch of him spoke of elegance, class, and condescension, this gentleman’s eyes were warm and kind.

The man’s eyebrows lifted, and Steve realized he was staring. He stammered an apology using the only thing he could think of. In the handsome stranger’s breast pocket sat an elaborately embroidered handkerchief, the perfectly-even blue stitches standing out proudly in swirls and knots on the white cloth.

“Forgive me, your handkerchief has caught my--”

“Oh, this old thing?” The man’s accent was American, but he affected a British one for his interruption, patting at the distinctive object. “It’s my signature. I’m never without it. Tony Stark, prince of industry, at your visual service,” he said, dipping his head in a small bow. His lips were twisted in a clearly amused smile that suited his devilish look perfectly.

Chapter One: There let the way appear, steps unto heaven

Being a Fourth Officer on the Titanic was a point of pride for Steve Rogers, even though in practice he spent more time in First Class keeping the rich passengers happy than fulfilling his maritime duties. Lightoller had already pulled him aside to ‘freshen’ his serious expressions into friendlier ones. He’d been reminded that there were no other American-born officers at his level, and that he was doing the White Star Line a service by offering their wealthy American guests ‘the sound of home.’

Steve knew better than to object that his accent had nothing to do with his skill at his job, and neither did the small talk with the Rothschilds or Astors. He kept his uneasiness at bay by stepping out onto the First Class deck space, hoping the brisk air would help calm his mood.

As always, his excitement to see his childhood friend once he arrived in New York kept Steve going; saying goodbye to Bucky Barnes was one of the hardest things about moving to London from America. Their letters to each other came few and far between, particularly now, with Buck in the Army, and Steve at sea. 

For a man of limited means, working his way up at White Star was one of the only ways he could get to see his friend again. The promotion to Fourth Officer had been a last-minute surprise, but as much as he hated being cynical, it seemed that it was driven more by a hope to placate passengers than anything useful.

Once a half hour had passed, he was still frustrated. As they had the day before, the passengers outdoors had been delighted to call him over to stand quietly in his uniform as they chatted to each other. It seemed that his duty time on the bridge every day was to be his only respite from the upper classes.

“You look like you could bend metal, with a grip like that,” an amused voice said from behind him.

Steve released the rail, noting the stiffness in his hands. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said as he turned toward the speaker. The man was impeccably dressed, with facial hair that brought to mind a mythological satyr, but the most compelling thing about him was his eyes. Where every other inch of him spoke of elegance, class, and condescension, this gentleman’s eyes were warm and kind.

The man’s eyebrows lifted, and Steve realized he was staring. He stammered an apology using the only thing he could think of. In the handsome stranger’s breast pocket sat an elaborately embroidered handkerchief, the perfectly-even blue stitches standing out proudly in swirls and knots on the white cloth.

“Forgive me, your handkerchief has caught my--”

“Oh, this old thing?” The man’s accent was American, but he affected a British one for his interruption, patting at the distinctive object. “It’s my signature. I’m never without it. Tony Stark, prince of industry, at your visual service,” he said, dipping his head in a small bow. His lips were twisted in a clearly amused smile that suited his devilish look perfectly.

“Sub-Lieutenant Steve Rogers, sir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Too late, Steve realized he used the convention of a regular introduction, not the more deferential one for men who were not equals. Before he could apologize, Stark waved him off.

“They’ve got you parading through here at every opportunity, it’s only natural you slip into a more familiar greeting. I won’t reveal your mistake if you don’t reveal mine.”

Steve was out of his element; Stark embodied a certain First Class playfulness without somehow grating on Steve’s nerves. Most of the others just gave Steve barely a glance, maybe a nod of recognition of his rank and then moved on, but not Stark.

The man in question lifted his head and sniffed in a full breath of the crisp sea air. He seemed disappointed. “You aren’t going to ask me what the mistake is, are you?”

“With respect, no sir. I am not.”

Stark’s sudden grin hit Steve in the gut in a way he hadn’t felt in years. “Good. I haven’t done it yet. I’ll let you know.”

A young woman walked over to Stark to engage him in conversation. She fully ignored Steve, which was more familiar ground. He stood politely with one hand on the railing, but to his shock, Stark reached back as though bracing himself-- except, he not quite. His hand, undoubtedly precisely placed, was now pinning Steve’s uniform cuff to the railing.

The move was so unhurried, so casually dismissive, that Steve would have been convinced it was exactly as it appeared, if it hadn’t been for Stark’s behavior in the following conversation.

The young woman was dreadfully dull, and his witting captor seemed to offload his annoyance in being stuck listening to her by feigning fascination. Every few minutes, the clever man’s hand slid further in Steve’s direction, taking Steve’s with it by necessity-- and every few minutes, the expression on Stark’s face grew more like a caricature of interest than it had before. 

Tony Stark was practically embracing him by the time the young lady said something cutting and flounced off.

“That,” Stark sighed, “--was almost worth it.”

Without explaining what he meant, he stepped back and looked at Steve with a narrow-eyed speculation that made something tighten in Steve’s chest. The ache in his arm was gone in an instant.

“Am I right in assuming you’re tired of playing the toy soldier?”

The right thing to do would be to school his face to impassivity and espouse his duty, but the words died in Steve’s throat. He didn’t want to lie to Stark. Still, his loyalty was to his superiors, and--

Stark clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t choke on the platitudes, man! I understand you perfectly.” 

“My apologies,” Steve tried, but the other man shushed him.

“You’re here for my amusement second, and the pride of the Line first, I know. Speaking of the former-- did you know my father is an inveterate womanizer?”

All Steve could do was work to prevent his face from showing shock. This seemed enough for Stark, however.

“I am, of course, following in his esteemed footsteps, but for some reason, my dear papa finds that irritating. He deals with it by lobbing marriageable young women in my direction at every opportunity.” Stark turned to rest his forearms on the railing. “Perhaps we can be of assistance to each other.”

Steve thought about being asked to step into a conversation with any of the young, unmarried women of First Class. The resulting nausea prompted him to turn and face the sea as well, once again gripping the metal tightly.

“Precisely!” Stark said, nudging his elbow with his own. “That was unkind of me. My intention is to ask my father to intercede, state that I’m volatile--” He stopped, pulling out a pipe to absently shift between his fingers. “I am, of course --and ask for an escort, a goodwill gesture to protect the reputations of both passengers and ship. A respectable Sub-Lieutenant such as yourself would be a fine choice, even if you weren’t begging for death with every successive minute you spend in First Class.”

A whistle sounded before Steve could formulate his response. Stark slapped his empty hand on the railing decisively, tucking away the pipe.

“The womenfolk will spruce themselves up before luncheon, meaning I am free to speak with Major Butt about getting the President’s ear for our business. I have no intention of drawing you into my scheme if you’re unwilling, so what do you say?”

Steve took a moment to contemplate, and Stark’s patience during those seconds did a lot to recommend him. The man was certainly engaging, and the respite he was offering was too enticing to give up. “If by ‘scheme,’ you mean your intention to request myself as a personal escort, sir, I am willing.”

“Good man! I’ll speak with my father, then. Do us both a favor and appear exceedingly boring and unruffled by anything I say and do, eh? In public, I mean. In private, I’d expect you to treat me as an equal.” 

Stark’s warm eyes and smile of approval sparked something in Steve’s chest, something not entirely made of pride. The ‘out of his element’ feeling returned, for a different reason, now-- but this he could do. Protect this fascinating man from the very things Steve himself was intimidated by? Absolutely. Spend more time together? Please. The chance to escape the strictures of toy soldierdom was a side benefit.

“I can, sir.”

Stark almost ruined things for both of them by reaching out and grasping Steve’s hand for a second. The facade of politeness on Stark’s face faded as quickly as the veneer of cold duty did on Steve’s. There was coalfire in that grip, enough to warm his entire body.

It was sheer luck that most of the passengers had already sought to move inside, and didn’t see them.

Steve was summoned by his superiors an hour before dinner.

“You’re to have priority for laundry, Rogers, as I’m certain you have but one dress uniform, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Howard Stark has requested to speak with you, something about his son and wanting a companion among the officers to keep him in line,” Murdock said. “Tell me now if you have any objections to get out of the way before I send you down to accept?”

That was loud and clear. “No objections, sir.”

“Good. Run and change into your best, then.” The First Officer made a face as he looked him head to toe. “I’ll do my best to find you some pieces to supplement with. If you’re to spend every waking moment with that upstart son of his, you’ll need them.”

The words ‘every waking moment’ fumbled Steve’s fingers on his buttons as he changed clothing in his cramped compartment. Thanks to his efforts in keeping quiet, his sleeping crewmates barely stirred, which was the most kindness he could offer given the lamplight he’d flooded the room with. He wondered if he’d be similarly able to filter out Tony Stark’s light in the days to come. The other man had been perceptive, and his provocative questions had sent Steve’s mind reeling even before he’d realized he was physically attracted.

He’d thought those feelings were behind him, in truth. Years working his way up in maritime commerce meant years surrounded by other men, and nothing had stirred. In a few brief moments, Tony Stark had brushed away the cobwebs, shining his bright smile into the darkest corners of Steve’s mind.

Steve looked down at himself, realizing he’d paused for contemplation at the very worst of times. Well, Stark had implied he would be a bad influence.

Once finished, Steve was painfully conscious of both his need to hurry and the desire to appear calm and unruffled. After all, a hurrying seaman on a ship such as this was liable to concern the passengers, and that was not at all appropriate. 

He got to the designated suite of cabins and checked his pocket watch. He was right on time, which was a relief. Steve thumbed the empty place where the picture of his mother used to reside. It fell out in Southampton, and he wouldn’t be able to replace it until he was safely back in England.

Howard Stark turned out to be the back-slapping, gregarious sort. His son was nowhere to be seen, and Steve soon understood why-- Stark Sr. wanted to give him the third degree, asking about his childhood (he dearly missed Brooklyn), his hobbies (Steve kept his sketchbook double bagged at sea), even his love life (nonexistent and not looking). As the time passed, Steve’s legs hurt from holding himself so stiffly, and the thought occurred that Stark couldn’t possibly ask such invasive questions of the young women he sent after his son.

Then again, perhaps the younger Stark was right about his father’s view of women, and he wasn’t sending them over to share Tony’s mind, just his--

An internal door burst open, revealing Tony himself, a long metal tool of some sort in his hand. “Damned thing was locked! Imagine if I had to evacuate! You might have needed to look sideways at my mother to perpetuate the dynasty.”

Howard Stark’s demeanor closed off immediately, and his eyes rolled skyward at Tony’s impudence. “The dynasty is just fine, I’m planning to entrust it to this young man’s capable hands.”

The words may have been spoken with a clear intent to chastise, but with Howard’s back turned to his son, Steve was treated to the full glory of Tony’s reaction. His eyes widened in obvious delight, and one side of his mouth turned up, emphasizing his unique goatee in a way that felt decidedly naughty.

“I hope that means I’ve met with your approval, sir?” Steve said, his heart racing in his chest at the possible double meaning.

“Did you ask him about his hopes and dreams when he was a lad?” Tony asked, coming over to look Steve over as if he were a piece of merchandise. He was carrying the handkerchief that had caught Steve’s eye, and made sure to flick it in his direction a few times, much to his father’s annoyance.

“It’s for your own good, not that you know anything about such things,” Howard griped. “Well, young man, I see that you’re in your dress uniform. Since a different officer shared our table at dinner yesterday, it will be no unusual thing for you to appear there tonight.”

“Am I appropriately dressed? I haven’t shined my shoes since we disembarked, and I--”

Tony’s hand came down on his shoulder from behind as a brusque embrace. “Oh, you shouldn’t have! He’s worried about decorum. This will be fun.” The words were dismissive, but the reassuring squeeze at his shoulder before Tony moved away hinted that it was an act.

Dinner was simultaneously boring and exciting, depending on where Steve allowed his gaze. The scattered nature of seating at the table meant that Steve was across from Tony, who was only a seat away from his father. That left Tony able to make subtle faces behind his fork which Steve was obligated to remain composed in the face of. There was something so captivating about his impropriety, the kind of freedom that Steve could only dream of having.

He ignored the number of nightmares he'd had over the years that involved breaking protocol and reaping the consequences.

Howard’s interrogation made more sense now. An impressionable, fashionable young woman with the need to make a wealthy match would find it near-impossible to resist Tony Stark’s specific charms. The question was, did Howard have other concerns? Was Steve one of a long line of ‘reputation minders?’

“Sub-Lieutenant?”

Steve started in surprise, looking up to see the entire table’s faces arrayed toward him. He’d been staring down at his bowl for so long the shape was burned in for a few seconds. Tony’s expression was smug, as though he knew he was the cause of the woolgathering.

“My apologies,” Steve said, covering his discomfort by touching his lips with his napkin. 

“Not at all!” one of the women at the table said kindly. “I confess I forget the question. Someone called out your name in concern you were fatigued, I believe?”

Thinking quickly, Steve decided to go for a kind of flattery. “I’m embarrassed to say I am not. I was caught up in memories of other lively conversations, which made me think of friends I haven’t seen for a long while.”

“I hadn’t considered that!” Mrs. Astor exclaimed. “It’s much harder to see them as often, when you’re away aboard ship, isn’t it?” 

The unspoken sentiment that finances were the real impediment hung uncomfortably in the air for a few seconds, and Steve didn’t dare look over at Tony as he nodded.

“The prestige of this voyage should set you up nicely for years, I imagine,” Howard remarked, and the conversation passed to other things. Steve didn’t dare look over at Tony for the rest of the meal, but after a good ten minutes of this, he did notice more noises coming from the table across from him.

The impish man seemed to be baiting him. Steve’s instincts told him he’d be most rewarded by remaining stoic, just as Tony had instructed on the deck earlier that day. It was the first time he’d chosen to be cool and professional because it was exciting, rather than out of duty.

He only slipped up once, but the image of Tony Stark slouching petulantly in his chair, a golden fork in his fingers mid-strike against his plate for the fifth time in a row was well worth the split-second glance.

Unfortunately for the man in question, he was busy speaking to his father and missed it.

When the ladies and gentlemen broke to spend time in their respective after-dinner areas, Steve made his way over to the Stark men for instructions. Tony was already agitated when he got there.

“--tedious, and you know it. It’ll be better for business if I’m not there.”

“I don’t know how you could come to that conclusion,” Howard said drily.

“Just--” Tony broke off, dropping his gesturing hand to jitter at his side. Then he caught sight of Steve. “Just send me onto the deck to ‘think about’ my behavior at dinner and let Sub-Lieutenant Rogers explain all the maritime terms until my eyelids fall off. He’ll do it, look at him! He’s a statue carved by duty.”

The sharp look Tony shot his way certainly sliced through him, but it wasn’t duty that held the knife.

“Go on, then,” Howard said, lighting his pipe. “Keep him distracted from the ladies, would you, Rogers?” he added before turning to follow the group of esteemed men heading for the smoking room.

“I’m still not looking over at you,” Steve whispered to Tony. The act of even saying that sent his heart racing, and the two of them hadn’t even defined what it was that he was avoiding.

“You’re more nervous than a skittish thoroughbred!” Tony whispered at his back, as Steve led him out onto the promenade deck. There were few others out there, but he kept walking until they were standing at a railing the farthest from the door.

He turned around and anchored himself with one hand on the metal, just as before. His heart sank to see the way his companion couldn’t stand still, his eyes darting about. Was he drunk? 

“Forgive me, Mr. Stark, but were you serious about the equals thing?”

Stark clenched his jaw. “It’s Tony, and yes.”

Using his first name seemed like acknowledging that there was something unspoken, and Steve was ashamed to admit he wasn’t brave enough. He sidestepped the issue by not using any form of address at all. What he wanted to do was confront Tony about his behavior, which seemed the height of reckless disobedience, exactly the thing Howard wanted Steve to curtail. Was this some sort of game?

It wasn’t like him to risk his employer’s reputation with that kind of confrontation. “You didn’t have to do that.” Tony’s furrowed brow and possible inebriation led him to elaborate. “Compli-- Speak of me on such high terms.”

“Oh, it wasn’t just for you. I was starting to worry about whether your smile joints work. Angering my father was gravy.”

“I noticed,” Steve allowed, somewhat mollified. He looked down at his shoes. “You told me to remain impassive.”

He could hear Tony’s grin in his response. “So I did! You were magnificent.”

Did the railing just give under his hand? Because he felt he could only say something this outrageous after a clear moment of goodwill between them, Steve said, “Was that all to get a rise out of me, or your father? With respect, I don’t think I’m a good target for such things.”

Tony stepped closer, his expression sobering. After a few seconds of scrutiny, he nodded thoughtfully. “I appreciate your candor. Both, I’ll admit. I see now why you might have found it uncomfortable, rather than the game it could have been.” He set his hand next to Steve’s on the railing, without touching. “Can I guess at something?”

Steve nodded.

“The situation made you feel responsible for me, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe that I was misusing my power over you? In creating culpability?”

The reluctance in Steve’s tone turned it gravelly. “Yes.”

“What if I told you I preferred it the other way? That I find it exhausting to always hold the power?”

Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest on hearing that. In fear, yes, but also some other motivator, one that hid in the shadows of his mind, sometimes warring with his sense of what was right, what was just.

“Rogers?” 

His instincts told him what to say, but did he have the strength?

“I don’t mean to talk past you, do not trouble yourself. Just a gripe on the imbalance of--”

“My name is Steve,” he interrupted Tony. “Please use it.”

He shouldn’t, couldn’t demand, even though there was every indication that Tony wanted him to. The way Tony's whole body froze still for a second made Steve question himself, but then he turned around. The look of joy and relief on his face hit Steve as hard as their first physical touch had.

Next chapter...

Note: I couldn't resist having Tony reference Major Archibald Butt, a first-class passenger and confidante of President Taft. It was the loss of his friend that had Taft so infuriated at the conflicting reports and machinations by the Marconi company regarding the messages of rescued survivors directly after the sinking. I mention it here because not everyone might know of his existence, and that's quite a last name!

[priceinjection]

I want to like slow burn, i really do. i have tried very hard to like slow burn

but i am IMPATIENT and NEEDY and need things to go FAST or i’ll cry

[panzyqueen]

My three favourite tropes:

-Fake dating

-Fast burn

-middle-aged gay pirates falling in love for the first time

[tinilaufeyson]

Hey guys :))

This is the first chapter of a Dean Winchester fanfic I’m working on and possibly publishing to wattpad so this is a test run on it to see if it does well!

~Sweetheart~(Dean WinchesterxFem!Reader).

1|Bait

You woke up as the light gently cascaded over your face with warmth

Slowly blinking you opened your eyes to the sound of Bobby in the kitchen

You sat up stretching your arms out to either side of your torso

Throwing the blanket off of your body you drug yourself from the bed trying to wake yourself up after your night of tossing and turning

You slowly trudged to the bathroom to splash water on yourself to aid your tired eyes

Once you were done in the bathroom you walked back to your room to put on halfway decent clothes before making an appearance downstairs

10 minutes later…

You made your way down the stairs to head to the kitchen

Once there you saw Bobby standing by the stove

“Morning”

You say as you open the fridge pulling out a water bottle

“Morning”

He says back as he takes the pan he has to the two plates on the counter

“What’s on the menu today chef”

You say as you stare at the apron around his waist

“Oh, ha ha”

He says rolling his eyes

Taking off the apron and picking up the two plates he carries them to where you sat

He sets the plate in front of you and takes his own seat

“Ooo”

You say as you stare at the food

“Looks almost as good as me”

You say picking up your fork and taking a bite with a smile

He sighs as he lets out a small laugh

“You’re something special”

He says taking a bite of his own food

“I can’t help it that i'm just awesome”

You say looking out the window as he shook his head with a smile

“What’s on the agenda for today?”

You say looking back at him

“The winchester boys are on their way with questions”

He says with a grumble

“Why the grumble grandpa?”

You say finishing your food

“Nothing”

He says under his breath

“Oh come on you are such a sucky liar”

You say taking his empty plate to the kitchen sink

He sighs at your statement

“Well if you must know”

He starts as he glares at you

“I’m not fond of those boys being around you.”

He says as he gets up from the table

You turn to look at him from the sink

“What? Are you worried I'm gonna end up a baby momma to one of them?”

you say sarcastically as you shake your head

He narrows his eyes at you

“I wouldn’t be surprised considering how much they get around”

He says walking out of the kitchen

You turn and follow after him

“Bobby, I don't even like people around me. I’m not gonna go sleep with anyone anytime soon”

You say as you both walk into his study

“Besides, Dean hates me”

You say shrugging

You were kinda sad knowing how much he despised you

Him and his brother had been to the house before and for some reason Dean just hated you

Sam liked you being around as a voice of reason but maybe you having previously sided with his brother is what made his blood boil having you around

“I don’t care, I still don’t like it”

You smile at his concern as you both go through a couple books searching for the answers the boys were looking for as you waited for them to finally arrive

2 hours later…

You lay on your back in the middle of the study floor reading a book as bobby read at his desk

You turned your head when you heard Dean’s car outside

You heard the door open as you continued reading

“No, Sam don’t be stupid the monopoly man never had a monocle”

You hear Dean say as their voices approach the room you’re in

The boys walk in as both of their eyes fix on you laying on the floor

Dean smiles at the sight as he looks at Bobby and back at you

“What is this an open invitation?”

He says as he looks you up and down

Sam reaches his hand up and slaps the back of his head

“Hey, Y\n”

Sam says as he flashes a smile and walks toward Bobby who is glaring daggers into Dean

“So, did you figure out what this thing is?”

Sam says as Dean lingers on your frame a little too long

“Dude, I’m gonna need you to pay me if you want to see more”

You say forcing him to avert his gaze

You smile at yourself as you close your book and sit up

“I did my best and I think this is it”

Bobby says turning the book towards the boys

They all conversed about the monster and what not while you listened intently

“So, we need bait?”

Sam said looking to Dean

“Well obviously we aren't up to its standards”

Dean says with a scoff

“True”

Sam said as he sunk deep into thought

“I’ll do it”

You said as they all turned around

You see Bobby open his mouth to protest

“Are you crazy?”

Dean says before Bobby even says a word

“No”

He says shaking his head looking to Sam for reassurance

“Okay, first of all stop talking”

You say to Dean as he puts his hands on his hips

“Second of all, it’s a good idea. I’m its “type” or whatever”

You say raising both eyebrows

“Absolutely not”

Bobby says shaking his head

You step between the boys and face Bobby

“Come on, I’ll be fine and besides I need to get out of the house”

You said pleading with your father figure

“No, I don’t want a repeat of that night”

He says through gritted teeth as he starts to walk away

Sam and Dean look at eachother confused

“They would never do that and besides you can kill them if I get hurt”

“Excuse me?”

Dean says looking at Sam once more

Bobby turned to face you

“Please”

You said looking into his eyes

He sighed as he looked to the floor contemplating the suggestion

“Fine”

He said

You let out a shaky breath

“Wait a second”

Dean says as Bobby looked over at him

“Don’t we get a say in this?”

He says looking to Sam who looks to be on board

“I’m going with you, Dean, you’ll live”

You said as he grumbled under his breath

“I mean, it’s not a bad idea, and it’s our best bet so”

Said Sam as he shrugged

“Whatever”

Dean said heading towards the door

As soon as it slammed you turned to Sam smiling

“Let’s get it”

10 minutes later

Walking over to hug Bobby you told him bye and you would be back

“Love you”

You said happily as you walked out the door with a bag

As you stepped out of earshot Bobby pulled Sam back

“You watch her and you Watch her close, if she gets hurt it’s on you”

He says as Sam looks around nervously

Sam nodded and turned to walk out the door

“And don’t let your horny brother touch her or i’ll kill him”

He said with a stoic expression

Sam nodded again but more nervous than before

“Will do”

Sam said as he walked out the door and climbed into the passenger seat of the impala

“This is gonna be a long ride”

Dean said, shaking his head.

[papallonadaurada]

Ishmael and Queequeg’s fast burn romance’s speed is so fast it made me dizzy

Like, they share a bed before they even know each other and the next day they get married 😂😂😂

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

hiii, can yall rec any fast burn like med length fics (4-8 ish chapters)

Hello - by mid length I'm going with fics up to about 75,000 words, and as chapter length can vary, here are some I've picked in that length. Check out our under 75k tag, and the other tag lengths on our library blog. #Jen

The Hating game by orphan_account (10 chapters, 48,000 words)

Blaine can count on one hand the amount of people he has hated in his life. But Kurt Hummel is definitely The Worst.

Or: That co-workers AU where they hate each other (until they don't)

~~~~~ Sleepless in Brooklyn by @heartsmadeofbooks (8 chapters, 67,000 words)

What if someone you never met, someone you never saw, someone you never knew was the only someone for you? After his husband passes away, Blaine Anderson and his son relocate to Brooklyn to escape the overwhelming grief, but two years later, Blaine finds he still can't move on. That is, until his son calls a radio show and tells the host his dad needs a new husband.

~~~~

Make this place your home by controlofwhatido, luckie_dee (7 chapters, 23,000 words)

Loosely based on the TV show, The Property Brothers. The Anderson brothers host a local TV show that helps clients buy fixer-uppers and turn them into dream homes. Blaine can’t help but take a special interest in working with their next client, Kurt Hummel. Unfortunately for Blaine, it seems like Kurt is pretty obviously into Cooper.

~~~~~

The Ghost-Kitchen By @hkvoyage (8 chapters, 26,000 words)

At the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, Kurt lived in Lima with his father. Two years later, he returned to New York City. As he needed money to pay for rent and food, he got a job in a booming industry: food delivery. His first delivery order was a pick-up from Warbler Food Enterprises. Little did he know he would meet a cute chef there that would turn his world upside down.

~~~~~