#finally got a flat iron so now i can curl my hair and actually put my hairspray to good use muehehehehe 😈

[getosugurusbangs]

you only have enough hairspray on when clouds of it are choking you out

[lilly-onthevalley]

Tips for my girlies in university and early work

I decided to make this post based on what has made my life easier these past few years. Every woman wants to cultivate beauty; make themselves put together, be taken seriously, and find a partner who is equally yoked if you're into that. As an old tumblr girl shifting in and out of the scene, I wanted to make another tip post like the old times that's accurate to what helped me.

A lot of the older/retired girlie's where amazing advisors, however one thing that created a barrier was that they were were endowed with large wealth and their society paved a path for them, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that, I love to see it actually. I wanted to make a post looking back to what has helped me make my own steps to now be able to utilise the old girl's advice as it was supposed to.

Hair

Learning a basic blow out is necessary. If you're starting out, you don't need all of the fancy brands, and you'll notice that technique is what differentiates the quality of a blowout. Get a good round brush that conducts heat well, mid range but reliable (Babyliss) blow driers, flat irons, and curling rod. Invest in a heat protectant too. Sweet talk the hair dressers and ask where they get their stock from. Get yours hands on some pro hair sheers to get your own trims and layers going.

Silk scrunchies and pillow cases are an underrated and feminine must-have. I'm a lazy girl who always has a silk press if my hair is out and I can get away with collapsing onto a silk pillowcase with no head wrap and still manage to have a lovely style in the morning. I would say order these from a small business. Many girls have businesses dealing with small textile projects like scrunchie packs and average size pillow cases, support them! :)

Learn to do your own cornrows and invest in a half wig especially if you're busy with classes and don't have time for the whole round brush ordeal.

Don't be scared of wigs, and don't be ashamed of not having enough time to pull off a dazzling natural masterpiece. There's a reason why wigs are in high demand from women of all races. People are all over busy. You can start with a natural synthetic and move on to better hair.

I learnt the art of hair when I was 15, so I've been doing it for a while. However, because of this, I can tell you the importance of having a lovely crown on your head. I have received hundreds (not joking) of compliments from years, whether my hair was real or fake, and that shows how important it is for a first impression.

Nails/Feet

Don't forget to take care of them. Walking all the miles, wearing the mandated courts, sitting in one place. You will indeed develop calluses, perhaps even athletes' foot and hyperpigmentation from a lack of circulation.

Get yourself a basic pumice stone or a scrubber and use them when need. Massage yourself as well to maintain mobility and flexibility.

If you can, get yourself an affordable gel set. It might seem a bit expensive, but it'll save you the time and money of the upwardly costly nail appointments. You'll find out when you get up and socialise more that what tops the cake of classy is a glossy basic nail. Natural nudes and whites are always a go to.

Scent

Scent connoisseurs are going to absolutely hate me for this, but girlie's, if you can't get that Jean Paul Gaultier or Baccarat Rouge, get the damn arabic fragrance. Back in high-school when me and my girls were starting up, setting ourselves apart and getting invited to important places, Lattafa was our favourite. Social media is currently finally going crazy for them. (The African/Arab girls got them first 🤭.) I loved my floral Haayati with a mix of Zakra (other brand, heavy masculine oud tones for my peace of mind), and my best girl loved her gourmand Yara and her vanilla oils.

I love to talk about fragrance because it talks first for you. Nothing is better than a delicious light smell accompanying your presence. It shows you hold yourself to some esteem.

Skin

Face Essentials - gua sha stone, gentle cleanser, exfoliating cleanser or serum, sunscreen, thick moisturising butter, anti fungal or bacterial essential oil, lip moisturiser, clean cloth.

These will help you start out on a basic level to having healthy looking skin. Exfoliating is very important towards a glow. When you're stuck working with a bright light in your face, soaking up the harsh morning air full of car exhaust, sweating as the hours go by - what will make the difference is making sure that you get rid of that excess dead skin every 3-7 days.

Gua sha is amazing for getting rid of the stress if you clench your jaw during moments of stress. Say you have to present an assignment or address and debate a crowd, that takes a tole on the jaw and the facial muscles. Using a gua sha is great for ironing those knots and that tension out.

On the topic of massage, spas can be unaffordable at times, time is could also be a problem. Get into a habit of using every minute you have. That 5 minutes that you sit and doom scroll on tik tok, take out a wood tool, grab a moisturiser, and press those muscles to release built-up tension. Taking care of the vehicle you have is so important. Your body and mind are separate but complimentary. Take care of her, and she will take care of you. Don't forget that every second, she's pumping the blood that facilitates your social meetings and work hours.

When it comes to body, get yourself exfoliating mits or an abrasive rag. Once again, exfoliation, exfoliation, exfoliating. It's great for blood flow and circulation as well as moving your muscles and tissues that may be constantly seditary from a desk.

Dry brushing is something I also swear by. Once again, absolutely wonderful for circulation and waking the skin up.

Get yourself a foam roller... I press such an emphasis on these tools that stimulate the muscles because we often forget how much our bodies are taking multiple hits from working. Joint issues are something that's prevalent when you're a working girl, coming straight out of high-school and going into the world outside the home of your care taker. Roll those legs out, release that back into the grooves. It makes a world of difference!

Clothing

I loved to dress like a blank canvas back in my early days when I decided I want to make something of myself. Nothing beats good denim pants and a white t-shirt. Especially when you're starting out and want to begin establishing outfits for everyday, you'll notice the blank canvas approach will prevent you from looking crazy on crazy days. Stock up on 3 white tees, white and blue jeans, yoga pants, well fitting good quality skin tone lingerie, a belt, a watch, some fake pearls, black or white dress, a ring and a necklace and my all time favourite, a pair of shades.

Ugh, I can't get enough of combinations like this. I grew up and was educated by women who followed this but fancied it up with a bold Goyard St Louis, a 3 stone engagement ring with a gold band, a local pure and heavy polished silver bracelet and some Loro Pianas. Absolutely gorgeous women, who knew how to constantly present themselves as nothing less than reliable, stylish and beautiful.

You might say that, 'Omg Lilly, that's so boring', that's not the point here 😂. As a green girl with a good head on your shoulders, you're going to get a lot of new opportunities. Whether it's internships, parties, socials with the girls or the guys, dates, fund raisers, club representative workshops, you're going to be expected to show up well and put together. Say you have a social evening at a club house, in the morning you have an internship and the next day you have to manage and represent your society. Those 3 white shirts paired with a rotation of basic bottoms and versatile shoes will make things a lot easier for you especially if you're starting out in a foreign country where you don't know what is to be worn exactly.

Makeup

Those who have known me are well aware that I'm a retired goth girl and was killing it with the cut crease and James Charles tutorials back in the day. Makeup is something that has seamlessly became part of my life. Unfortunately or fortunately, I grew out of that creative phase and started wondering what actually makes my natural features and face pop. What presents me as healthy, bright, and hyper-feminine (in contrast to the basic clothing)

I came up with the recipe of 'Biology' makeup. Blush because it signifies healthy blood flow and interest in the person you're interacting with. Healthy full eyebrows, non-matte evenly toned skin with naturally bronzed dimensions. A healthy hydrated pink lip. Some extras are a little liner to enhance the eye, flirty lashes from carefully applied mascara and/or lashes and some depth and glitter to draw attention at the eyes.

Very basic, very safe, very attractive, very reliable. This is a routine that can be executed within 8 minutes.

Moisturiser -> sunscreen base -> full coverage foundation or concealer watered down with sunscreen to make it more glowy and allow the natural dimensions of the face to peer through->bronzer/darker powder-> semi heavy blush combined with some loose banana powder to calm down the concelar-> light wing-> lashes-> wipe the lips and eyebrows-> fill both in and end with a natural colour applied to both.

Inspo below

E.T.C

Other important notes:

Yoga, cardio and pilates to maintain mobility, lubricate those joints, crack those bones back into place. Sweat is amazing to get those toxins, lose a bit of unnecessary weight, blow off steam, improve skin health, get your blood pumping and much more.

Save your money, all these things are meant to make life simpler for you so you are in a place where you are investing into things that are truly important like rent, food, tuition, remittances, dental work, medical aid, insurance, etc till you have someone who could assist with that :)

Remember to keep a balanced diet. Oh lord, when I went out to a new country, thank god I was young, but I became close friends with the local McDonald's and knew all of the door dash delivery men by name. Please, for the love of God, buy your fresh food and meal prep. The temptation is so real after a long night, to drop a bunch of pounds or euros on a quarter pounder and some zinger wings but it will not nourish you to survive another active day with decent cognition and drive. Especially if you were living alone and stressing out about making your own path, don't feed the delivery demon. You'll lose useful money, and mess your hormones up.

Instead to reward yourself, buy your place some flowers. If you want to eat go to a restaurant which serves whole food. Buy some new fancy stationery, party, get a spa or cosmetic treatment that you've been wanting, travel or take a train to somewhere scenic! Perhaps I'm too harsh but addiction to quick fixes is real when you first drop into a state of independence whether it's financially or physically. Don't abuse it by splurging. Understand moderation through strict monitoring then after a while, go get that Wingstop or whatever after knowing how to access real food and that it's an affordable and doable option first! (me and my guy friends literally never ate any real food for a month straight while gallivanting in Europe because we were so codependent on Taco Bell and used our lack of knowledge of the city as an excuse to take the easy way out 🤣.)

If you can do something really well, make a mini business out of it.

Network, network, network. Ask questions, ask for opportunities, get numbers and business cards.

Self defense starter kit (Google it according to the laws of your nation)

Lastly, make friends, call family, volunteer at an animal shelter every now and then to remind you of what love is 😂 because in the fast paced assimilation into new environments, you do forget and only notice when suddenly you're sadder than usual, and have anxiety during basic interactions.

⭐️

[wiypt-writes]

Soft Landing

One Shot

Summary: Vacation get-aways don’t always let you escape the past, but maybe you can help bring Andy back to the present. Just be careful not to pick up too many bumps and bruises along the way… Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Angst, language!

A/N: So this is another entry for @imanuglywombat​ ‘s  ��Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “Louise”. See here for more information. This is my first time writing for Andy, and it appears I can’t even do a single smutty one shot for Lawyer daddy without inserting a fuck tonne of angst so…sorry!!!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this story bar the reader and other mentioned OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Masterlist

*****

 You stirred in your bed, turning over and reaching out for your husband only to be met empty space, your fingers grasping at the cool sheets. Blinking, you propped yourself up on your forearms, squinting as your eyes grew accustomed to the low light in the hotel bedroom before you sat up, stretched a little and swung your legs out of bed.

You made your way out of the bedroom, poking your head into the next room down and, satisfied everything in there was as it should be, you made your way through to the living area of the suite and glanced around, spotting that the curtains covering the door leading to the balcony were blowing a little in the soft breeze.

You padded over to the door, pulled back the curtains a little more and you could just make out Andy’s frame, his broad, bare shoulders silhouetted against the early morning sun. Shoulders which carried a much heavier burden than when you had met almost six years previously.

You had been fresh out of law school back then, and he was not-so-fresh out of a break up with his wife. Neither of you had been looking for anything, but as is always the case, you always find the best things when you’re not searching.

Simply put, Andy Barber had swept you off your feet.

At almost 10 years his junior, the comments at first had been unkind but not unexpected. You’d been labelled “the rebound”, his “early midlife crisis”, a “convenient way to keep his dick warm whilst he got over Laurie.” But talk is cheap, as you had both proven when three years to the date you’d met he got down on one knee and you became relabelled his fiancée.

A year post that you relabelled again as his wife. And some twenty one months ago you’d relabelled once more as the mother of his child. A daughter he claimed looked just like you.

Ironically, you’d actually fallen pregnant on the last vacation you had taken. A family getaway to Mexico following Jacob’s acquittal when you’d all wrongly assumed the horrific dream was over, and you could finally wake up and get on with your lives.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

In some sick twist of fate, you’d discovered you were pregnant the day of the accident that had claimed Jacob’s life, and later that of Laurie’s. The elation you and Andy had felt at the fact you were going to be parents together had been wrenched away from you in a single phone call from the police, and once more that shroud of dark despair had descended on your life turning the dream into a nightmare once more.

And for Andy the nightmares still continued, some two years post Jacob’s death and you knew without even seeing his face that was what had woken him and why he was now sat on the balcony of your stunning ocean view hotel suite in Cascais, Portugal instead of being in bed besides you.

“Hey.” You spoke softly as you slid the door open and he turned to look at you, his eyes carrying the familiar warmth that they always held for you, as you stepped into the balcony, taking care to leave the door open a crack just in case your daughter woke.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He gave you a smile as you approached the sun-lounger he was perched on, facing out over the Atlantic, the first glimmer of the mid-June sun peeking over the horizon. “I didn’t wake you or Lia did I?”

Lia, or Halia to use her full name. Chosen by you and Andy for its meaning. A Hawaiian name for remembrance of a loved one. In this case the brother she would never meet.

“No, I checked in on her. She’s flat out.” You assured him, as he moved his legs, dropping them either side of the lounger allowing you to sit in between them, cross legged as you faced him. You studied him for a moment, cocking your head to one side as he gave you a gentle smile. “Get out of there, Bubs.” You gently reached up, tapping the side of his temple and he took a deep breath, his hand curling round yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Sorry, just got caught in a memory.” He offered as explanation. And to be fair, you didn’t need him to clarify any further. You knew, you always knew.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” He swallowed, so you didn’t press further. You respected his wishes, just like he did to yours.

“Do you want a hug?” You offered instead, and he gave a soft smile, opening his arms. You shifted onto your knees, scooting forwards a little, wrapping your arms around him as he pressed his face into your neck, taking a deep breath as your hand ran through his soft hair and down his neck in gentle, sweeping arcs. You sat in silence for a moment, the lapping of the waves against the shore the only noise you could hear as you held him close, feeling him nuzzle further into you.

“Thank you.” He mumbled against your skin and you pulled back a little, sitting back on your heels as you looked at him

“What for?”

“Everything.” He shrugged, his hand reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes soft as he studied your face for a moment, his gaze flicking to your lips before it went further down and he arched an eyebrow. “And for wearing that.”

You chuckled a little as you glanced down at the pale blue silk slip, one of the thin straps had slipped down your shoulder slightly, your nipples pebbled against the thin fabric. “Well, someone bought it for me.” You looked back at him, smiling as you tugged your bottom lip in between your teeth.

“Yeah?” Andy’s eyes moved back to yours. “Anyone I know?”

“No, just someone very special to me.” You leaned forwards to press your lips to his.

“He’s a lucky man.” Andy whispered against your mouth

“I’m the lucky one.” You mumbled back. “And, whilst we’re on the subject, I would also like to thank you for what you’re wearing.” You grinned, your hands flat on his chest, smoothing down a little before they trailed back upwards, curling over his strong shoulders.

“I’m not.”

“Exactly.” You smirked, kissing him softly again.

Eventually the teasing pecks flowed into something much stronger, Andy’s arms curling round you, pulling you closer, domineering swipes of his tongue against yours set every single nerve in your body on edge. Your hand moved back down his chest, tracing his soft abs before you palmed his growing bulge through the sleep pants he was wearing, causing him to grunt a little.

Without a word, one of his hands trailed up the outside of your thigh, the other making its way along the inside of your opposite knee and you shifted a little, parting your legs, as his fingers delicately danced upwards to where you wanted him the most. When they softly parted your intimate lips he gave a little groan as he realised you were wearing no panties, and you swallowed as his fingers swirled in your slick, the pad of his thumb grazing your nub ever so gently.

“Always so ready for me.” He hummed.

“Yeah, it’s a curse.” You whispered back, as his spare hand slid the other strap of your slip down, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder as he pulled the front of the garment down, freeing your breasts. As he kissed his way along the swell of your cleavage, his tongue softly teased each taught nipple and your whimper caught in your throat, emerging as nothing but a soft squeak of delight. You felt his mouth curl up into a smile against your skin and you gently wrapped your hand around his wrist, halting his teasing fingers.

“Andy, I want you.” You whispered, your head falling back as you rocked your hips forwards against his hand as you held it in place. “Please.”

Andy didn’t reply, but with a grace unbefitting a man of his stature, he moved, kneeling up as he pulled his sleep pants down, his gorgeous cock springing free and slapping gently against the thin strip of hair that led down from his belly button. He drew his knees apart slightly as his hands grabbed your hips and he hauled you towards him, his lips pressing back to yours.

You positioned yourself over him, your knees hugging his torso as you lowered yourself down, both of you giving a groan as you took him in. Your feet remained by his knees, one hand sliding round his neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other gripping at his forearm.

Andy rolled his hips upwards as you pressed your forehead to his, noses bumping together as he moved you gently, his rhythm slow and needy from the off. Large hands slid along your thighs, gently palming your ass before they slid up the back of your silk slip, coming to rest tenderly on your spine, holding you close. As he rocked upwards, you let your head fall back slowly and let out a soft sigh of delight as his lips caressed your throat, barely there kisses moved down your neck, that beard you loved so much scratching your skin as he went. Your grip on his arm and neck tightened a little, your nails softly grazing the nape of his neck as he once more lavished affection on your chest, and this time it was his turn to let out a soft groan into your skin. He loved when you touched him there, you’d often made a joke about how if he was a cat it would make him purr.

His mouth moved upwards again, tongue dipping into the hollow of your throat, tracing a path up to your jaw before his lips caught yours again, the kiss deep and needy, like he was at that moment. Your tongues danced lazily together, matching the slow, steady roll and rocking motion your hips were making. With a low grunt, Andy broke away, pulling back a little, his nose nudging your chin as he placed a soft kiss once more to your neck, his rhythm never changing as his hands pulled you even closer, pressing your chest into his.

“Baby, look at me.” His voice was a whisper, and it was a request not a demand, but a request you were more than happy to meet. Your eyes locked onto those deep, ocean blues which were blown with love and lust and you simply held his gaze as he continued to rock up into you, stroking that spot inside that drove you wild.

You could feel the burning, deep in the pit of your stomach, and your hips started to move a little more as you ground down against him, desperate for the friction against your clit and you let out a little cry as you found it, Andy bucking up a little deeper and faster, reading your body language perfectly, just like he always could.

Moving your hands, you cupped his face, the pads of your fingers tangling in his beard as he closed his eyes, those ridiculously long eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks and you pushed down again, rotating your hips, watching with satisfaction as he tipped his head back, a groan flowing freely from his lips, the softly whispered “don’t stop” barely audible, his voice was that deep.

Seeing him so suppliant was something you would never get tired of, because you loved this beautiful, wonderful man with everything you had. You’d both been through so much, yet still made it through the other side as strong as ever, the ultimate sign of your love sleeping in the room inside as you gave yourselves to one another whilst the dawn continued to break over the ocean, tendrils of light purples, oranges and yellow snaring around the pair of you, enveloping you in their warmth, heating the very depth of your souls.

“I love you.” You pulled his face back to yours, kissing him once more, your lips resting against his as you told him again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, so fahkin’ much.” His Boston twang grew more pronounced as did the movements of his hips, his rolls turning into thrusts as you met him movement for movement, pushing down, rocking yourself against him. The burn you had been feeling was now boiling hot as it bubbled to the surface, and you knew that any moment now you were going to erupt into flames.

“Fuck, Andy, I need…”

“Take it, Honey, it’s all yours…” He surged upwards, his hands flat against your back, pulling you to him as you kissed him deeply, before you’re head tipped back as the world around you tilted on its axis, your stomach tightening as you clenched down around him, your release crashing over you like the waves on the shore below. Your entire body went rigid, his name on your lips became nothing but a choked, strangled moan as he continued to rut up into you, his face pressing into your neck as he chased his own bliss.

"Fuck, Sweetheart..." Andy growled as with one final thrust upwards, his body stiffened and he spilled himself inside you, his cock twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm kept your walls clamping down on him. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut and his jaw clenched before he relaxed a little, chest sagging as his arms clutched you to him, as if he never wanted to let you go.

Which, if he didn't, that was perfectly fine by you.

You leaned forward gently, sliding your nose along his, your lips brushing together as he gave a soft smile. With a satisfied sigh he leaned back, taking you with him as he made to settle you down against the back of the lounger you were laying on. Only he didn't stop, he kept going, his eyes flying open with surprise as the back of the lounger collapsed and you were suddenly pitched forward as the other end tipped up sending Andy crashing backwards onto the balcony with a loud bang as the metal frame of the lounger hit the sandstone tiled surface, you still clutched securely to his chest.

There was a pause as the pair of you looked at each other in surprise before Andy's head fell back and he gave a huge bellow of laughter and you hastily clamped your hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise, trying to supress your own giggles. One of Andy's hand's moved from your back as you sat up a little, legs still straddling his waist, his softening cock still stuffed deep inside you. He curled his fingers around the wrist of the hand you had pressed over his mouth and he pulled it away, pressing a kiss to your palm,  his beard twitching as he continued to chuckle softly, his eyes crinkled at the corner.

"You okay?" He asked, his lips curling up into a smile and you nodded, running your hands through his hair as his fell to your hips.

“Yeah, I had a soft landing.” You teased, causing him to snort out another laugh. "All these years and you can still make the Earth move for me, Barber."

"Well, I aim to please." he quipped as you leaned down to press your lips to his.

"Is everything alright?" You head a voice say which stopped you mid kiss. Your eyes flew open, as did Andy's and the pair of you looked at one another, as Andy started to laugh again.

"Yeah, fine, just a little...mishap with the sun lounger." You called over to where the voice had come from, the next room down to yours.

"But thank you for asking." Andy added, polite as always.

"No problem!" The male voice shot back, before you heard the sliding of a door and the click of a lock as it shut.

"Reminds me of that time at my parents when we broke my old bed." You giggled and Andy snorted, his hands smoothing over your thighs.

"In my defence, that thing was almost as old as me.”

"Well that's a load of shit." You grinned, looking down at him, your hands sliding through his rumpled, fluffy hair. "I only got it when I was eighteen, and given that you're ten years older than me that would mean-"

"Yeah, okay, shut up." He mumbled as his hand reached round the back of your neck, pulling you back down to him.

[fumingspice]

andante

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Prompt: oK so how about like?? Delia x reader and they're both in love af but they think the other has no feelings for them so they're both tripping over themselves to make the other love them and then madison comes in and she's just like 'stop being dumb' and they finally realise how much the other loves them.

I’m sorry but my ed crept back in and im not horny enough to put more thought into writing so just ignore the massive time skip at “---”. enjoy, you strange people xo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*(*❦ω❦)*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it, the idea of the fall. And it goes back to extremely fundamental things. That there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble...

Between Cordelia Goode's ears were pretty brown eyes and a mind full of thoughts. Brown eyes were never really your favourite until you saw them on her. You knew yourself that somehow, over the years you got to know Cordelia; working with her, befriending her, carrying her home from the bar one night when she got far too drunk, letting her cry into your shoulder when her job became too real and she could feel her mother's words hanging over her head.

When you started falling for the woman with those beautiful brown eyes.

Somehow, her eyes were now your favourite colour.

Not brown- brown wasn't simply the word for the colour. Cordelia's eyes were the colour of aged whiskey. Sometimes they were the only two safe shots of tequila that you could see. Sometimes they were a beautiful milk chocolate dotted with exposed honeycomb. Once when she had asked you to help her decorate the garden for the Summer Equinox- she had given Zoe enough money to take the girls on a field trip for the day so she could give the girls a little party. You stood watching her in her denim shorts and her white button up. When she had stepped back and put her arm around you to admire both of your handy work you could have sworn her eyes were glowing like fresh magma.

Her hand lay on your waist a split second too long.

You had fallen in love with the Supreme.

"Yo, bitch!" Madison Montgomery's usual entrance phrase disturbed you from your imagination. You raised your brow and smirked.

"Yes, Madison?"

The blonde took her sunglasses off her face and closed them with a slight snap. "The girls want to know if you wanna come to play Pysch! with us," she said. Her lips were curled in what could almost be described as a friendly smile. You were one of the few honoured to know that under Madison's bitchy white girl facade there was actually a very sweet someone lurking under there.

You thought for a moment and put your pen down. "I won't be long- I just have to log these last few names and I'll be there," you tell her. Madison rolled her eyes and waved her hand, the pen lifted itself and wrote the last thirteen names within seconds. "You're done. Let's go, Y/N."

Madison didn't even give you a minute to say anything before she walked out of the room. "Come on, bitch. Don't make me use my powers!" she called from the hallway, finally motivating you to move.

The girls sat in a circle in Zoe's bedroom. Lights off. Candles lit.

Zoe, Queenie, Mallory, and Coco were indulged in their phones for the game. Madison turned to you and held up her phone to show you the question. "What is Zoe's deepest, darkest secret?" she read. "You gotta answer it and the person with the most votes wins. It lasts for ten rounds and it can be fucking hilarious."

Zoe's face was red with laughter at the answers. "She's not actually a witch- that's not even funny," she gasped through cackles. She then sobered slightly. "She likes to watch Danny Devito movies while masturbating and screaming 'I am a dirty man'."

Madison was the only one who chortled at that.

You joined the game and got your best answers ready in your head. "If Madison got arrested tomorrow what would it be for?"

Madison rolled her eyes and muttered something about knowing exactly what everyone was about to answer. You smirked slightly, sensing her slight apprehension.

Prostitution.

Murder. Third-degree.

Fucking up the brakes on a bus full of frat boys.

Public Nudity.

"Gosh, you're so original," she muttered, glaring right at Zoe, who just shrugged.

"It's the rules of the game, bitch. Go all in, don't get offended," she replied.

The game pinged for the next question.

"What is on Y/N's mind right now?"

Coco gave a loud "Ha!" and typed quickly, along with the other girls who were all typing as quickly as possible to get their answers in first.

A quiet knock came from the other side of the door and Cordelia poked her head around. "Sorry to interrupt, girls. Y/N, could I borrow you for a moment?" she asked, voice sweet and angelic. You bounced up as soon as she finished the sentence and obliged straight away. You were met with a sweet smile.

Madison flicked her brows. "Speak of the devil," she muttered, winking at Delia's slightly confused face. As you left, your phone pinged to announce the results just before you left the game.

Cordelia 🥵🥵🥵

Delia. I ship it <3

Getting knuckle deep finger fucked by the HWIC

French fries

You quickly shut off your phone screen before Cordelia could see.

"What's the matter, Delia?" You asked, practically skipping alongside her. There was a vibrant air of satisfaction between you.

Cordelia shook her head, her blonde hair bobbing with her movements. “I just wanted to know if you’d like to go out.”

You felt your heart stop. “Go out?”

Cordelia looked hurt by the confusion on your face.

“Yes. Would you like to join me in the garden?”

“Oh,” you realised, slightly disappointed. “I would love to.”

---

"For the love of Hades. Right, I don’t mean to sound rude or anything because I have some understanding that lesbians are fucking useless because of the fear of appearing to be predatory because the media is an asshole,” Madison continued. “But I don’t really think any of us can eat at this table anymore without choking on the fucking sexual tension between the both of you.”

Cordelia looked shocked. “It’s not that-”

“I’m a fucking mindreader! You do get that I can fucking hear the things that you say in your head about what you want to do to Y/N? I’m one gutter minded bitch and not even I’m creative enough to come up with that shit while I’m eating my fucking apple turnover!”

You blushed hard and chuckled.

Madison’s neck snapped towards you. “Oh, and don’t getting me fucking started on you! Do you know how fucking unsanitary it would be to carry out your little fantasies of fucking Cordy on the kitchen counter? Not even for us but the amount of fucking crumbs that would work into your nooks and crannies would be like trying to spring clean Myrtle's fucking hair! "

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cordelia chuckled nervously. Her face turning a shade of red. “I’m sure Y/N’s got plenty of better options.”

Madison dropped her face in her hands and rubbed her temples. “God, you bitches are going to put fucking years on my skin.”

“Oh, give me a break, Madison.”

Cordelia stumbled foward slightly, having been tripped up by some unseeable force and sending her tumbling into you. Her hands lay against your chest for that split second too long once more.

Your lips parted for a moment and your breath hitched as you both watched Madison smirk and leave the room. It felt like your heart was beating at a thousand miles an hour. You surroundings were unnoticable to you now; replaced by unidentifiable whirls of colour and light. Your hand rested flat on Cordelia’s cheek. It was different this time. Not the spark, that had been there every time you touched. It was the fact that you were both too slow to ignore the ignition that started in your chests. 

You saw her eyebrows falter from their previously confident expression, like all of her preparation and barriers and walls had fallen down and she was too slow to replace them. Cordelia pursed her lips, presumably trying to figure out what she should say to you. Again, she was too slow as you inhaled sharply and thrust yourself forward to catch her lips.

Delia was quick to mould herself to the curves of your front, hands falling to the small of your back on a collision course as she backed you into the dining room table. You smoothed your hands over the contours of her jaw, her collar bones, breasts, hips like you were a master pianist playing a brilliant concerto. Her body was the only instrument you longed to play; her moans the only melody that you longed to draw from her.

As her lips glided across your own, everything came together like pieces into place. You thought back one of those late nights in the kitchen. The way Delia’s fingers had so enthusiastically laced through yours during the late night in the kitchen when you had both stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking about life. How the witch had turned the radio on and taken your hand while you danced to some song by REO Speedwagon. Twirling you through the night. “Can’t fight this feeling” was the song. Ironic, now that you thought about it. It seemed as though fighting her feelings was what she had been doing the entire time.

She twirled you around in the light of the dim television and the refrigerator when the songs were upbeat, even going as far as dipping you and pulling you up again. Bare thighs against your own in her shorts and oversized shirt. When the songs that were played were slower, she was more gentle. Until eventually you swayed in a slow two-step, your head against her chest, and hers against yours. The air was thick with something pure. Something untouched. 

You had no idea why you ever just thought this was something two best friends did. More so, you had no idea why you didn’t lean back and dip into her lips and allow your souls to dance the waltz that they were so clearly destined for. 

Cordelia’s thumb and finger lay on either side of your jaw as she continued to kiss you as if her soul depended on it. Her fingers interlocked with yours against the table.

She broke away, tears had fallen down her cheeks and made your heart melt. “Oh-ho,” you chuckled, mouth agape at her sight. “Why the tears, my love?”

Cordelia laughed, wiping away her tears. “I’ve longed to do that for so long,” she replied. “So, so long.”

You chuckled at her sweetness and the display of pure love that you were so unaccustomed to.

“I fell in love with you, Y/N. I don’t think I will ever stop falling in love with you. You’ve created this storm of beautiful chaos in me,” she continued. “Do you remember that night where I was really sleepy, so you let me just stay in your room? How I had fallen asleep on top of you by accident and you wrapped your arms around me and hummed a lullaby?”

You nodded, remember the feeling of waking up with the Supreme in your arms.

“I was wide awake,” she told you. A delicate smile arose.

You chuckled into her touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you replied, drawing her closer, her blonde hair twirled in your fingers. “I know you were.”

[donutloverxo]

Nude

Run through - Steve wants to try new things so he takes a painting class with a nude painting subject. Only the woman he has to paint are you, Peppers assistant and his crush.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x reader

Word count - 2k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

Steve Rogers was many things. He was an artist, an amateur cook (who really does try), a loyal friend, a good citizen, a soldier. Yet when people looked at him, they only ever saw the captain. His friends called him cap. He'd go weeks without hearing his own name. Sometimes he felt the lines were blurred. When did Steve Rogers end and Captain America begin?

He had a big wake up call when he confronted Tony, saying he wasn’t iron man, it was an alter ego. To which Tony said that Steve was basically captain America. And Steve couldn’t argue or disagree, because it was true. He didn’t want to lose himself in his work anymore than he already had. His therapist told him to make healthy boundaries, which is what he’s going to do.

So he ordered some colors and pencils online and got to work on his art, for the first time in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing. He could lose himself in it, go on for hours without thinking and seeing anything but the colors and his canvas. Which was extremely rare for him. He could rarely ever shut his brain off or run from his traumatic memories.

Everyone could see the visible change in him. How he seemed happier. Clint even joked about it saying

“Cap must be getting some”

To which Steve only snorted. There was no room for anything as complicated as a relationship or sex in his life, not right now.

But wouldn’t it be nice? To have a woman to hold and to paint. To love and care for. He didn’t let himself delve too much into that fantasy. Because even if it was a nice escape once in a while, he knew that while Steve Rogers might make a good partner, Captain America would certainly not. He would never subject any woman to deal with either of them.

With some encouragement from Sam and his old friends he started attending painting classes at his alma mater, the Brooklyn College, every Saturday evening. It helped him make some friends. He didn’t know if he could call them friends. Most of them were too different from him. They seemed like different types of 'tortured artists'

When he heard that there would be a nude subject to paint the next class, he was a little bit hesitant. Such a thing would’ve been scandalous in the 40s. But he was trying to open himself up and that meant pushing his comfort zone, even just a little bit.

When he set up his canvas, oil colors and brushes that Saturday he expected male subject. He didn’t however expect to hear a woman’s voice. He was too focused on his set up to look up, whatever. He didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. There wouldn't be anything erotic about it. This was strictly professional and educational.

He looked up to take a good look at his subject, when he felt as if his soul was knocked out of him. There you stood, his crush, Pepper Potts' assistant, and the woman who turned him down.

“You know back in my day they used to play elevator music” He said to drown out the awkward silence. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know how to talk to women. He had had a crush on you since the moment he laid eyes on you. You were always so funny and sweet. Asking him and everyone about their day, if they were doing well. Always willing to help others.

When he let it slip that he likes banana bread, you baked him a whole loaf of it, which chocolate chips so ‘so you think of me when you have them. They’re my signature of sorts' you had said proudly. Of course he’d be thinking of you when he ate it. Overthinking actually. Wondering If you like him as he likes you, or if you’re just being your sweet self.

“Oh we still have that!” You chirped “but not in um professional or business buildings like these”

He just nodded. Tapping his foot impatiently. You would get off in just six floors it was now or never. “Hey uh – what are you doing this Friday?” he asked shyly.

“Oh just watching some Gordon Ramsay with my dog probably. I have no life” you laughed at your own self depreciating joke “Why?” you tilted your head.

“I was thinking, maybe we could get dinner? Only if you uh – you wanted to, you're free to say no” he promised. Maybe he should’ve asked you to ‘hang out' or 'for a coffee' like most people these days. But he felt that was no way to treat a lady, especially one like you.

“Oh Steve” he was already disappointed upon hearing your tone “I would’ve loved to. But even though we don’t work together, it wouldn’t look good you know? I mean I don’t care much for 'my image'” You said making air quotes “But I don’t, it’ll be complicated” You looked completely defeated. As if it hurt you to say no more than it hurt him to hear it.

“I completely understand” He nodded “no hard feelings” he gave you a smile as he watched you walk away. It did break his heart a bit, but he’d respect your feelings.

He looked at you taking off your satin robe revealing your bare body to the class of twenty or so artists. His breathe hitched. Your hair flowing down your back and covering a bit of your left breast, your soft stomach and thighs, the patch of soft curls at your core, your nipples hard against the chilly air, and how your stomach rolled a bit as you sat uncomfortably on the stool. You were beautiful. A work of art even. There was absolutely no way he could do you justice. He started drawing an outline on his canvas. You would very well be his best subject.

You looked around a bit, your fingers holding onto the stool for dear life so you could stave off the anxiety and feeling of being so exposed. Then your eyes landed on him. You thought you were dreaming, maybe you didn’t see properly, so you did a double take. Then you were frozen on the spot. There he was, Captain Rogers, the first Avenger, the man you often dreamt about, sitting right in front of you while you were naked as the day you were born.

You had no idea what you should do. This was literally like a nightmare come true. If you flee it would look bad, if you didn’t it might look worse. You decided you’d follow his lead. So you peeked a glance at him from the corner of your eyes and saw him, sketching you? Holy shit Steve Rogers was drawing a nude portrait of you. What has your life become?

You had always been insecure about your body. You knew magazines, porn and movies were meant to feed people lies to get them to buy more things. That didn’t make you feel any less bad about not looking anything like the women in them. You tried to remind yourself that you have many things going for you. Like your supporting family, your loving friends, your cute labrador, your amazing job.

Speaking of your job, exactly why you turned Steve freaking Rogers down! A man that looks like him asking you out and you say no. Your friends flat out laughed in your face at your unfortunate predicament, where the cake is right there but you can't eat it. Now that you thought about it, it was funny.

Your co-workers weren’t kind to you. Even on your best day you didn’t look anything like the women you worked with, who would stab you in the back the first chance the get. You were kind to everyone, but you knew by now not to expect the same treatment back. Which was why you had to say no to the beefy blonde. You didn’t want to be branded as the ‘office slut’.

Which now you were sure you would be. You didn’t know Steve enough to know he’d be willing to keep this a secret. He didn’t seem like someone who would do that to you. But you still couldn’t help but think the worst.

You squirmed and shivered in the chair for a good part of the next two hours. By the end your back was sore and you did everything you could to avoid looking at Steve, only sneaking glances here and there, while he seemed too engrossed in his work.

You had done this a couple of times before, to accept your body for what it is and get comfortable with it. If you weren’t going to love it no one would do it for you. Finally the time was up and the artists were asked to pack up for the day.

You quickly got up from your stool putting the robe back on. You turned your back to Steve, stretching your muscles. You couldn’t wait to lay down on your comfy bed and just get out of here. But you knew you needed to have that inevitable conversation. You probably would never be able to look Steve in the eye after this.

You walked towards him as he was cleaning up his work station. “Fancy seeing you here” You cringed at your embarrassing attempt at a British accent.

“Hey there” He gave you a bashful smile scratching the back of his head “I didn’t expect to see you here”

“Right back at ya” you returned his smile, no longer feeling on edge. It was strange how his presence served to comfort you.

“You do this often” he asked casually. You couldn’t really hear any judgement in his tone, not what you would expect from a hundred year old.

“No not really. It just uh – I’m trying to love myself. Which I already do! Of course” you let out a nervous chuckle “just trying new things and stepping out of my comfort zone”

“That makes two of us” he said as he was done packing his bag, which he was deliberately doing at a slow pace. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Can I... Look at your painting?” You asked nervously. You didn’t know if you wanted to see his interpretation of your naked body, what if it was bad? But what if it was good? What if he was impressed by you...

“Uh it’s not done yet. And frankly I’m not that good”

“I seriously doubt that. I’ve seen the sketches in your office” You caught your slip of tongue. You couldn’t let him know about your borderline unhealthy obsession with him.

“Well, have a look then” he relented showing you his canvas.

You let out a breathe you didn’t even know you were holding at the painting. It was breath-taking. The woman looked like you, but why was she so beautiful and graceful? In the painting she was sitting on a stool, like you, in front of a tree admiring a rose in her hand. She was naked as well. It reminded you of classic Greek paintings where women weren’t perfect, but were celebrated for their imperfections.

“It’s amazing Steve. I – do I look like that?” You stammered not being able to tear your eyes off the painting.

He shook his head at your shock “On the contrary you look much better I’m glad you like it”

“You’re a great artist” you gushed

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen much better” he said humbly.

You would argue with him. But you knew it would be of no use. Looking at the beautiful woman in the painting gave you the surge of confidence you needed “Steve, does the offer for that dinner still stand?” You straightened your back looking up to lock eyes with him.

“Yes” He blurted without even thinking “how about tomorrow evening?” He asked.

“Yes that will be awesome! You can pick me up at seven. I’ll text you the address“ you said making an mental note to do so.

You could hardly wait for your date. You didn’t really care about what your co-workers would think of you. As long as you were happy their opinions didn’t matter.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist click the link in the bio or send me an ask!

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are welcome.

This was actually a request. But I can't fir the life of me find the person who requested it. I hope you see it babes❤

[twokinkybeans]

Four Times Peter’s Radioactivity Worked Against Him and the One Time It Worked In His Favor [STARKER]

Summary: Now that Peter is radioactive, his surroundings start responding to him. And he starts to respond to his surroundings differently as well. His newfound infatuation with bananas are a difficult thing for Tony to deal with. Note: there is a snippet of science-y truth in what I wrote, but I also took major creative liberty with what happens. Warnings/tags: Food kink, Praise kink, Dom/Sub undertones, Subspace, Under-negotiated kink, Teasing, Dirty Talk, “For science” sure Tones, Implied Blowjob, BANANAS! (also Peter is an adult when the sexy things happen). Read it on AO3!

Four Times Peter’s Radioactivity Worked Against Him 1. Tick Tock It’s been three days since Peter Parker got his spider powers. He’s still trying to get a hang of everything, but at least he’s got his stickiness under control. Everything is just so loud and so intense. Constantly. The sensory overload has made him cranky to say the least, but it’s not like he can just skip school. With the sweaty, yelling students, screeching chalkboards and itchy PE uniforms. Not to mention the school bell. The anticipation practically hurts as much as the shrill ringing in his ears does. Another sound that has shivers run up and down Peter’s spine is Flash’s voice. “Check out my new watch!” He announces to the class as he saunters in, wrist raised to the ceiling. He grins, showing off the expensive piece of technology. Peter doesn’t know why but the device has his eye twitch. He stands up confused and walks over to Flash, drawn by the watch, somehow. “What brand is it?“ He asks innocently. “Wow, didn’t think it’d catch your attention, Penis,” Flash scoffs. “Gucci. Nothing you could ever afford.” “Huh…” Peter frowns, unable to look away from Flash’s wrist. His eyes go wide when he notices the arms are shaking slightly. Are they supposed to do that? “I know, it’s pretty rad. Even glows in the dark!” Flash turns to Ned, who just walked into the classroom. “Ned, turn off the lights!” Ned pulls a face but moves to turn off the light anyways, but when it’s dark in the classroom, no light comes from Flash’s wrist. “It- It works, I swear!” Flash taps the glass three times. “Stupid fucking watch.” With Flash’s limited patience, it doesn’t take long for him to rip it off and toss it away from him. Peter’s newfound reflexes cause him to catch it mid-air, but the second his skin makes contact with the watch, a bright flash of light makes everyone in the room cover their eyes and scream. ... 2. Emergency Exit Peter has no idea when he started eating bananas so much. There’s just something about them that tastes absolutely amazing. How did he never realize this earlier? The fruit is now part of his daily diet now. They give him enough energy to run around school and as Spider-Man, so he’s not complaining. At least he’s not addicted to sugar or hamburgers, right? Peter munches on his second banana of the day when the fire alarm stirs the school. All the lights go out. Peter looks up at the ceiling, but he doesn’t feel any alarm. He’s learned he can rely on his gut way better now, with his spider powers, so this must be a test. He quickly stands up, though, not wanting to seem disinterested in the fact that there was an evacuation going on. The emergency exit sign lights the way to safety for all the students. Peter runs towards the fire escape and stops, wanting to make sure everyone else gets to run out first. Above him, the escape sign starts flickering. He looks up at it and frowns, wondering why now of all times it decided to give out. Maybe that’s why this test was happening? To see which emergency lights still worked? Once all of the students are out of the cafeteria, Peter leaves too. When there’s a bit of distance between him and the door, he looks back and notices the light works properly again. ... 3. Thrifted TV It’s been over half a year since Peter has last gone to the thrift store. He’s very excited to get some new-old stuff to tinker with. Ben’s death and him becoming Spider-Man put a damper on his hobbies. He was able to make his goggles and web shooters with the scrap he still had lying around, but now he’s in desperate need of some new-old stuff. The thrift store is creaky and dusty. Exactly the way Peter used to like it. Now everything just tickles his nose. Still, he can’t help the feeling of nostalgia curling around him like a weighted blanket on a cold winter’s day. Peter snakes through the clutter filled paths, keeping an eye out for hidden gems. “Peter Parker!” “Hi, Mister Cheung!” Peter smiles politely at the thrift store owner. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you moved on to another shop.” The old man shuffles away from behind the counter and folds his hands together. “Wouldn’t dare, sir! You’re my go-to for old tech.” Peter glances around a table and picks up a few items to study them up close. “That’s good to hear, boy. What’s your latest project? Anything you need? Maybe I can hook you up with the right stuff!” Mister Cheung grins and excitedly bops his head side to side. “My latest project is- eh…” Peter glances down at his hands, hiding his web shooters a little more in the sleeves of his sweater. “Something for school, actually. Nothing too interesting, to be honest. Do you happen to have an old TV lying around?” “Just one, but yes! Follow me, follow me!” Mister Cheung excitedly makes his way to the back corner of his store. “This ol’ Philips still works!” He pats it proudly, with his flat palm. “Though, I don’t think you need it to work, do you?” “Nah, there’s just one part that I really need, honestly. If you’d rather sell it to someone who-“ Peter takes a step closer and the TV suddenly starts to tick loudly. Mister Cheung takes a startled step away from it and Peter gasps. His yet-to-be-named sixth sense buzzes every part of him, so he quickly jumps towards Mister Cheung, and closer to the TV. It ticks louder and louder, as a warning of something that’s about to happen. Peter shields the shop owner with his body at exactly the right moment. A loud bang thrashes through the store and something hits Peter’s back. When everything seems to be over, Peter steps away from Mister Cheung. “Sir, are you okay?” The corners of the man’s mouth curl down, but he nods. “Are you?” “Something big tapped my back, but I’m fine,” Peter says with an encouraging smile. He turns around to see a large chunk of the TV on the floor behind him. Any regular person would’ve gotten floored by that. He decides not to mention that to Mister Cheung, hoping he doesn’t notice. He looks back at the wreckage again and frowns. He squats next to it and wonders what’s drawing him towards it. Peter rummages around it for a bit and pulls out a specific piece. The CRT. “That what you need?” Mister Cheung asks quietly as he looks around the corner of the store. More items got destroyed in the process. Peter feels bad for him- for what happened. Especially once it finally clicks. CRTs emit low levels of radiation. “Not exactly, but…” He looks back again at the mess that was caused by the explosion. “Let me help you clean up.” ... 4. Wet shoes Peter never dared to dream of being in the Avengers Tower. More specifically, he never dared to dream of being allowed in Tony Stark’s lab. To work with him. On whatever project. Peter didn’t really care what they were going to work on, the invitation in and of itself already had Peter nearly puking with excited anxiety. Right now, he was being guided through the hallways by the hero he looked up to ever since he could remember. “Right, so-“ Tony explain as he carelessly points around the space as he talks. “You’re still too much of a young sprite so we’re not letting you up to the penthouse just yet. You’ve got clearance to most of the labs, though. I trust you know your way around them.” Peter somehow manages to listen both super intently and not at all. He stares straight at the back of Tony’s perfect hair with wide, wonder-filled eyes. “-if that’s alright with you. And then this…” Tony stops walking and gestures at a closed door. “…is where all the magic happens.” If Peter’s grin could grow any wider, it would have. He bounces from his left to his right foot and with an encouraging nod from his mentor, Peter moves to open the door. In Peter’s mind, a bright, inviting light shines upon him and an angel choir sings. This is everything Peter imagined it would be and more. Slowly, he sets one foot in the room, taking in the space and its contents. The desks and holo-table. The little kitchen area in the corner and the robots. Oh, the robots! And the cars on display! And the older Iron Man suits in the other corner! Peter is about ready to throw up for real. He takes another step into the room and then… There’s a loud, insistent alarm blaring through Tony Stark’s workshop and before Peter can turn around to rush out, the door shuts on him. “Woah!” Tony exclaims from the other side. “Kid, that’s the fire alarm! Barn door protocol! Everything’s fine, just don’t be startled when-“ The sprinklers turn on. Peter yelps surprised at the amount of water hitting his body and within seconds he is absolutely soaked. After a minute, the sprinklers stop and the door gets unlocked. The blaring of the fire-alarm is still going. Tony walks in, absolutely confused as to what’s going on and he finds a shivering Peter, hugging himself as all the water drips down his body, making the puddle on the floor even larger. Lucky for Tony, all of his stuff in this room is water proof and the cars were separated by glass. “Fri, was there actually a fire?” “No, sir, the smoke detectors were activated. Something is interfering with its signal.” “Is?” “Yes, sir. Is.” Tony glances at Peter and sniffs once, wondering what made the detector tick when Peter walked in. “Can you source it?” “It’s Peter Parker, sir.” The AI replies dryly. Peter scoffs out loud, causing Tony to look at him surprised. “How sensitive are your detectors?” The teen asks. There’s a slight edge to his tone and Tony doesn’t know what to think of it just yet. “Quite. More than regular ones, at least. Fri, please lower the sensitivity of the detectors.” Almost immediately, the incessant beeping stops. “Are you telling me this happened before?” Tony puts his hands on his hips as he walks towards the kitchen to grab Peter a few towels. “I only learned this a little while ago, but…” Peter sighs and turns. “The spider that bit me was radioactive and ever since that happened some devices respond strangely to me.” His eyebrows raise up to his hairline. “Do your smoke detectors happen to be the kind that have americium-241 in them?” “Well, yes, but-“ Tony interrupts himself, scoffing a laugh when he realizes why Peter asked. “That stuff’s radioactive too.” “Slightly, but yeah. Made an old TV explode, emergency exit signs become faulty when I’m near them, it’s annoying. Did you know ceramics are slightly radioactive? I’ve had old plates snap the second I touched them!” “Fri, give Peter a scan, please.” --- The One Time It Worked In His Favor Bananaddiction It’s been about eight years now and Peter practically lived in Tony’s workshop at this point. They are so in tune they barely have to talk anymore. When they do talk, nobody else can keep up with them Bruce could if he put in the effort, but then, it also takes a lot of effort. So he doesn’t usually join conversations unless the topic genuinely interests him. Peter is now completely comfortable in the workshop and around Tony. His teenage crush on his mentor might be gone, but that doesn’t mean there are no feelings left. They are now more deeply rooted inside him. More solid. Real. It’s no longer as fleeting as the puppy love he felt when he was younger. He was glad his younger self was never stupid enough to act upon his obsession with the older man, but now they are so in sync that if you told a stranger the two tinkerers are married, they would believe you. Unfortunately, Peter is painfully aware the older man would never want him in the way Peter wants Tony. He still calls Peter kid, even though Peter’s well in his twenties now. Everything about Tony’s behaviour screams at Peter that he really is just Tony’s mentee. Nothing more. And that hurts. There’s one obsession Peter still has. His extreme and undeniable love and craving for bananas. Something about it made Peter feel a little self-conscious. So, he only ever eats one in the labs. The others that he eats during the day are incorporated in his breakfast and during late night patrols. Peter never really cared to figure out why bananas are so absolutely, insanely delicious and he doesn’t want any of his now-colleagues to think he’s weird. So, his bananaddiction is a secret. Up until now. “Hey, kid,” Tony says from his seat. He’s bent over some file work as Peter walks into the workshop and tosses his backpack in a corner. “How was uni?” “Boring. Still fourteen classes ahead of everybody else.” “Good for you.” As sarcastic as it may sound, Peter can take it from Tony. He knows Tony is genuinely proud of Peter for performing so well, as it also means Peter gets to spend a lot of time in the workshop that way too. It only takes a split second for Peter’s eye to twitch and his body practically guides him to the fruit bowl in the corner kitchen like a Looney Toons character would float towards a good smelling dish. His lips are pressed together as he stares at the yellow gold in the bowl. Twelve bananas. Twelve wonderful, beautiful, delicious bananas were right there waiting for Peter to devour them. “Noticed you eat bananas literally every day, so I figured I’d indulge. Saves you some money too, since you’re still on a student budget,” Tony huffs, quietly referencing the fact that Peter still doesn’t want to get paid more than necessary for his work. Peter’s eyes are stuck on the bananas as he contemplates how many he should eat with Tony around. Not many. Not three. Maybe not even two. Maybe two? One. Definitely. Peter practically lunges forward as he takes a banana from the bowl and gratefully makes his way to Tony’s desk to have a look at what the older hero is up to. He cocks his head to read the paper. “Still working through the amendments for the Accords?” “World leaders are frustrating people, Parker.” As Tony talks, Peter strips the banana of its peel. He wraps his lips around it instantly and closes his eyes when the familiar taste hits his tongue. His eyes open wide when he realizes he just moaned. Tony’s entire body is tensed up, the ball point pen clenched between his fingers. He doesn’t look at Peter and the young adult silently hopes the man will ignore what just happened. Thankfully, he does. After an hour, the banana bowl already calls to Peter again. Like a siren on the shores or the Dark Side of the Force. The temptation is excruciating and annoyingly distracting. When Peter only had his one banana on him, there were no other bananas left to eat. It was easier to think of other things. Right now, with the other eleven bananas still waiting for Peter to stuff his throat with them, there was no telling when he’d snap. He takes a breath. And another one. He can get through this. He’s strong. He won’t break. He won’t eat another banana. “Pete, this is your fourth banana, are you okay?” Peter’s lips are still wrapped around what’s left of the third banana he didn’t mean to eat. Okay, so maybe he was weak. For bananas, at least. With big eyes, he looks up at Tony, who now stands next to him, from his desk seat. The man’s pupils are dilated and it’s only when Peter realizes what he must look like with his cheeks stuffed with banana and his lips half suckling on the length, that he looks down to see Tony’s very obvious hard-on. Peter scrambles to take the rest of the banana out of his mouth, but unfortunately for him, it makes a wet popping sound, causing Tony to curse under his breath. “I- I weally wike bananas, m-sowwy-“ Tony blinks at Peter. Once. Twice. Something about the shift in his expression makes Peter imagine a little bulb lighting up above Tony’s head. “Potassium.” Peter quickly swallows away the delectable fruit. “Wha-?” “Bananas are radioactive, Pete. You eat them because you- well…” “I vibe with them?” “Yeah, I guess you could put it like that.” Tony takes a step back and scratches his goatee. The man then turns to walk back to his desk. “Just… Just don’t eat too many a day, alright?” Peter swallows again and then nods. “I’ll try,” he replies sheepishly, a lopsided smile plastered on his face. It’s nearing 2AM and Peter is trying really hard not to grab his sixth banana. He already informed Tony that the fifth one would be his last. He can’t go back on that now. He curses his high metabolism, because he is actually hungry. There are a ton of other things in the kitchen to munch on, but his mind and his cravings still gravitate towards the yummy bananas. “Do you want me to get the stuff out of here?” Tony snorts. “You’re obviously not focussed because of them.” Peter sighs and drops himself back against his chair. “Mister Stark, it’s just so good. I can’t explain it.” A sly grin grows on Tony’s face. “Try me. For scientific purposes, of course.” Peter stares at the ceiling. When he opens his mouth to speak, Tony immediately interrupts him again. “Wait-“ Peter sits up straight to watch Tony walk towards the kitchen area. He takes one banana from the batch and tosses it at Peter who easily catches it. The fruit seems to vibrate in Peter’s hand, but that might just be his imagination. Tony grabs a chair and pulls it closer towards Peter, until he sits down right across from him, leaning his elbows on his knees. “I’m really curious how it is for you,” Tony admits. “To me it’s just a banana.” Peter faux gasps. “Just a banana?” He then smirks. “Oh, you wound me.” “Go on, kid, tell me.” Both of them laugh as Peter starts peeling the banana, already infatuated with it again. It’s a long one this time, at least nine inches. “Do you… Do you know that feeling that you get when you haven’t eaten something in a while and then you put something in that taste absolutely divine?” Peter’s mouth salivates as his eyes are still glued to the yellow fruit. “The little orgasm-in-your-mouth kinda feel?” Peter barely notices how Tony’s voice is a little lower. Darker. As a reply, Peter only nods slightly. “Every bite.” “Sounds intense.” “It is.” Peter’s lips part as he brings the length closer to his mouth. He sniffs once. “The smell tickles my nose. And… And the way it sits in my hand, the… The stiffness and the girth of it.” Peter wets his lips, breathing coming out in shorter pants. He can feel Tony’s eyes on him. Studying him intently. The man is slowly inching closer and closer, as if there is only a little bit of oxygen left in the room and it’s right between the two of them. “And then, when I put it in my mouth- when it hits my tongue, I just-“ “You ride a high,” Tony whispers. Peter still stares at the banana, half surprised with his self-control. He would’ve stuffed his face way earlier if he didn’t have Tony’s eyes on him like this. “Feels so good,” Peter mumbles. “Tastes so good.” “What do you do then?” Tony’s voice is so close to him, right next to him. Peter didn’t know when Tony had pulled the chair close enough for him to practically graze his lips past the shell of Peter’s ear. He gasps quietly when Tony’s warm hand finds its resting place on Peter’s thigh. “Like to wrap my lips around it,” Peter answers breathlessly. “Suckle on it.” “Suckle on it.” Tony’s reply doesn’t even sound like a repetition of what Peter said. It sounds like an order. Peter does as told and immediately moans when the fruit hits his tongue again. “That’s it, kid.” A shiver runs down Peter’s spine. Peter can hear Tony’s heartbeat and how it quickens. Can feel how the blood is racing downstairs for the both of them. Was this actually happening? Maybe Tony did want him? Everything that’s happening right now, sure points in that direction. “Keep going further down, Pete…” Tony encourages softly. His other hand makes its way to Peter’s back, gently massaging through his shirt. “Show me how far you can take it.” Peter sucks on the banana, letting his tongue run circles and stripes over the length. His eyes are shut and he pushes further and further until he feels it hit the back of his throat. “Oh,” Tony groans. “Perfect.” The hand on Peter’s back creeps up into his hair and clutches it tight. It starts guiding Peter to bob his head around the fruit and Peter can’t help but grin. Tony wants this. Him. Definitely. Thank you, bananaddiction. “You got a hand left, Pete.” Tony’s soft voice rumbles through Peter’s entire being, making the experience of the banana even better. “Why don’t you have a feel for how hard your nipples are, huh? I can see them through your shirt…” Peter complies, pushing his free hand under his shirt and crawling up until- OH! He moans and rolls his hips in tune with how he rolls the sensitive bud between his fingers. His eyes roll back and he doubles his efforts to feel even better. Peter sighs around the banana as it slowly falls apart on his tongue. It’s even more sublime now that Tony is helping him, steering him, forcing him. “Good boy,” Tony whispers, placing a gentle kiss behind Peter’s ear. The young man’s hips buck involuntarily in their chair but Tony’s hand that’s still on his thigh squeezes to keep him in place. Peter gasps at the pull at his hair and the hand moves to cup his balls through his jeans. Every part of Peter is on fire right now. “Nearly there…” Tony is right. Peter’s cock pulses with the need to release. He nearly has all of the banana in his mouth now and it’s not long before his right hand drops the empty peel to the floor. “Now…” Tony whispers. “Swallow.” Peter whimpers and does as told, automatically opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue when all of the banana has disappeared into his stomach. “Oh,” Tony coos, taking his hand out of Peter’s hair to push his thumb down on Peter’s tongue. “So beautiful…” Peter has already forgotten how to talk. His mind is swimming with lust. Want. Need. Tony takes back his hand, but Peter doesn’t see it. He still has his eyes closed, after all, relishing in the aftertaste of the banana. A soft whine escapes his lips when the hand that was gently massaging his clothed cock also disappears. However, when Peter half-opens his eyes, his smile immediately returns. In front of him, hard and aching, dripping precum, swaying and twitching, is Tony Stark’s cock. Something he had only imagined up until now as he jerked himself off in bed. Tony’s fingers curl around the shaft and stroke a few times. His other hand finds its way back into Peter’s hair. The man playfully guides Peter to follow his cock left and right. Absentmindedly, Peter opens his mouth, letting his tongue roll out in an attempt to lap at Tony’s dick. Every time just a little too far away to be successful. “Want it, Peter? You want it, don’t you?” Peter nods in Tony’s tight grip. “So hungry for cock, yet you probably don’t even realize…” Peter frowns slightly, unsure of what Tony is aiming for. “When you get off, Petey, do you eat your own cum?” The question takes Peter off guard, but he’s taken back to every single time he was in his bed, mindlessly lapping at his fingers during the afterglow. “Do you?” Peter nods again, smiling dreamily. His half open eyes still follow Tony’s hard cock in front of him. “Every time,” he manages to moan out. “So good…” “Not just addicted to bananas then?” Tony chuckles. “Bet you’re also infatuated with cum. With the taste- the feel of it when it hits your tongue.” Peter gasps, his own cock twitching and leaking in his now way-too-tight pants. “Such a slut for it, aren’t you? I know why…” Peter lets his head be pulled back until he looks Tony straight in the eye. The man grins and licks his lips, inching closer until the tip of his dick rests on Peter’s cheek as a promise that Peter will get what he wants soon enough. Tony grins wickedly. “There’s also potassium in cum, you know?”

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XIV]

Word count: 6,791

Warnings: vulgar language, angst (everyone saw it coming)

Pairing: Dracula x female reader

AO3 link

__________________________________________________________________________

“Y/N, are you awake?” Mallory asked.

I closed the book and peeked my head up from beneath the covers to look at her. Light attacked my eyes and I squinted for a brief moment, gathering the covers under my chin.

“Did you really need to switch on that light?” I sat up on the bed and blinked. “This one was doing its job just fine.” I pointed at the reading light next to me.

“You’ll grow wings and turn into a bat any day now.” She laughed, and I glowered. Turning into a bat could very well be a possibility. I hadn’t asked Dracula about that. There was a lot I hadn’t asked, and a lot that he probably wouldn’t tell me now. “A joke, Y/N. You still remember those?”

“Not sure I do,” I scoffed. “You look great. Are you going out with Sean?”

Mallory’s blonde locks laid in large curls around her shoulders – an hour of carefully applied curling iron, I’d say – and her makeup was soft in such a way that her eyes looked more almond shaped than round and innocent like they usually did. A beige trench coat covered her outfit but her legs were on display. Mallory favoured mini dresses so I presumed that was what she had on underneath.

“No, he’s being annoying, it’s just me and the girls. And don’t you change the subject. I don’t feel good about leaving you here.” She sighed. “You’re my guest and I’ll leave you here to go party? That’s not right, but if you come with… It’ll be fun, come on. I’ll wait for you if you go get ready. We’ll drink and dance, and maybe you’ll find someone else.”

Someone else to end up bitten by Count Dracula. Another lesson, like Mallory was, to remind me that I was his.

“No rebounds,” I muttered. “I’ll be fine. I don’t feel like dancing.” She frowned. “Mal, I’m incredibly thankful that you’re letting me stay here but you don’t have to feel like you need to cater to me. We lived together during uni. Don’t think of me as a guest, more like a flatmate, a very brief one. I’ll go back home in two days time”

Staying with Mallory was more her decision than mine. Days ago, she’d bought a last minute train ticket from Gloucester and returned with me to London when the Sun was still up in the sky. When the taxi dropped me off at my house, Mal asked the cabbie to wait and strolled up my stairs on weak knees and packed my bags for me, saying that I needed her. I simply watched as she threw my outfits and shoes inside a large suitcase. While I waited, listening to her go on about broken hearts and that’s what friends do, I’d noticed that my bedroom’s window was open; I didn’t remember leaving it like that. Maybe I was being paranoid but being paranoid was a better choice than being stupid and I’d afforded enough stupidity for a lifetime, so I let Mallory harbour me. Dracula had unlimited access to my house since I had invited him in and closed doors and windows were no hindrance to him, as he had proved. Mallory was my best bet of avoiding him and staying safe, for now, and I could keep an eye on her to make sure she would be truly okay.

Mallory acted like usual, her ramblings, her chipper attitude, her easy laughter at the silliest things. Mallory, as before. Mallory, my best friend from college. Mallory, who had a scar on the side of her neck just like mine and, therefore, wasn’t at all like before. All she’d asked me on the following day after the wedding was how we got all the way from Berkeley Castle to Gloucester and how much she had had to drink. As a test I’d asked how she’d gotten hurt and she looked at me, bewildered, and said “I got hurt?”. When Dracula told me she wouldn’t remember anything, I didn’t expect her to not remember a single thing. I’d prepared a lengthy explanation but threw it away in favour of Mal’s bite-induced amnesia. Even when I went to change the bandage on her neck, she barely acknowledged me and simply stared ahead with empty eyes. She didn’t seem to notice the bite when she looked in the mirror, but every day before leaving the house, without a fault, she wrapped a scarf around her neck as if covering it was instinctive. A useful little trick in Dracula’s sleeve, I presumed.

“Tomorrow marks ten days, right?” She asked and I nodded. She motioned for me to scoot over and flopped down on the bed. “Can I just say that it’s weird that he gave you an ultimatum?”

“I was the one who asked for time.”

“Still weird. I mean, it must have been a huge fight. You said he was massively pissed.” She trained her large eyes on me, like one of Diana’s cats did when it wanted food. “And I’ve never seen you like this, Y/N. I thought you’d open up if you stayed with me. You cried the whole trip back from Gloucester and now you won’t shed a tear. You won’t talk about him. You’re sulking, and you never sulk. For a day maybe, yeah, you’ll sulk and throw a pity party like you did when you broke up with Paul a few years back, but then you’ll make yourself busy.”

Back in Gloucester, during breakfast at my rented flat, Mal, with a wound on her throat and face as pale as her hair, insisted for me to tell her what had happened and why I couldn’t stop crying. I’d told her what I could: that I’d lied to him about something, he found out and did something terrible and wanted me to explain myself in 10 days.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Mal.”

“No, you never want to talk but that’s how you’ll heal. You’re on a rinse and repeat cycle of going to work, picking at your food, and then holing up in my guestroom with that poetry book. Where is it, by the way? Did you finally throw it away?”

I retrieved it from under the covers and set it on her lap. The book was warm to the touch. It slept with me, under the pillow or over my chest. Two days after the wedding, Mallory and I went to grab something to eat at a book cafe near our office. The cover, a large red rose overflowing from a jar as moths and butterflies decorated the edges, caught my eye and when I read the title announcing it to be a collection of Russian poetry, I instantly knew I had to have it. To find in those pages the tranquility I found inside Gloucester Cathedral; a moment in which I was wholly unreserved and Dracula had put his relentless pursuit of me on pause. A perfect memory in which I could have lived in forever.

“I thought you liked French poetry better,” Mallory said as she picked it up and opened it at random. “Why are you so obsessed with this book, anyway? Let’s see.” She took a deep breath and spit out the words on the page so fast that they barely sound like verses. “ I love you, I love you and as I rage at myself for this obsession, and as I make my shamed confession, despairing at your feet I lie, blah blah blah, my one reward for a day’s anguish comes when your, pale hand, love, I kiss. Okay, that part was nice.” She nodded in approval as her eyes skimmed down. “I dare not ask for love with all my many sins, both great and small, I am perhaps of love unworthy. God, that’s a bit depressing, isn’t it?”

“You found it!” The pages ruffled when I snatched the book from her hands.

“Found what?”

“But if feigned love, if you would pretend, you’d easily deceive me. For happily would I, believe me, deceive myself if but I could!” I completed as I read through the last lines. “You found it, Mal, you’re brilliant.”

“I just opened the book.” She shrugged. “Were you looking for this poem in particular?”

I nodded as I tried to read it from the start but my brain was foggy from sleep and the words weren’t making much sense.

“Oh my god,” Mal said and I looked up at her. “This has to do with Dracula, doesn’t it?”

“He recited it to me once. He told me it was Pushkin–”

“So you bought the book.” Mallory drew her eyebrows together.

“Well, I couldn’t remember the exact words to google them and I was curious– stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“The face you make when you watch Pride and Prejudice.”

She giggled.

“Your ten days are up tomorrow. What are you going to tell him?”

I closed the book and let it rest near my knee. “I don’t know what I’ll say,” I finally said in a shaky voice. “I really don’t.”

“Maybe if you tell me what happened, I can help.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

The bond wouldn’t let me utter a word about the true issue surrounding the Count to her; I suspected the loophole I’d found with Renfield and Zoe was because they already had previous knowledge of Dracula’s nature.

Mallory took my hand.

“I wish you’d cry, at least I would know what to do.”

I squeezed her hand as my eyes fell on her neck. A crystal choker covered the bite. She should be the one crying because she didn’t remember, because she had a gash at her throat that she didn’t recognise and because a monster of a man had attacked her. I should be the one taking care of her, not the way around. That’s why I’d bargained with Count Dracula in the first place.

“I do cry but only when I wake up,” I confessed. “The tears just come out of nowhere as soon as I open my eyes and then dry up when I realise I’m awake.” My voice wobbled at the last word and I slapped the pillow next to me. “Oh, now they come. Shit.”

Mallory laughed at my frustration and made me lay my head on her lap. Tears fell in soft thuds to the duvet, running over my nose and eyes as Mallory smoothed my hair.

“It’ll be okay, lovey. He’ll understand if he likes you, whatever you did he’ll forgive–”

“He won’t, Mal.”

“He will, he’s gotta. I saw the way he looked at you.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. He was horrible. I don’t know how to begin to forgive him or if I can forgive him. He was nice to me and now I know that’s what mattered, that he was nice to me and only to me–” But he wasn’t nice just to me, he was also nice to Lucy. My chest constricted. “I don’t know if any of it was real or that he actually cares that he hurt yo– me,” I corrected. “He wants me as one wants precious jewels but that’s all it is. He wants to possess me.” The words were strung together between sobs. I barely understood myself so I knew Mal didn’t either but she still rubbed my shoulder to soothe me. “Why am I crying now? I’m done with crying and I don’t want to.”

I slammed a hand on the bed again but instead of the soft duvet, I found the book’s hard surface, and it hit me why I was crying.

From the moment I bought the book, I held onto it as if my life depended on it, skimming through pages during work breaks, sneaking glances at it during lunch, reading it faithfully yet slowly so it wouldn’t end too fast in search of that Pushkin stanza. I’d buried myself in Russian poetry, those biting words that hung on the edge of everyone’s lips, unsaid but that rang true, so I wouldn’t have to dwell on what to say. Perhaps those words would become mine and I wouldn’t have to say anything, not now or ever, and by some magic Dracula would understand. Then Mallory found the verses and I realised I still didn’t have the words. What did I have left to hold onto now that I didn’t need to search for Pushkin’s poem? The sweetness I searched for amidst the sting of my bitterness was gone and that moment in the cathedral wasn’t worth anything if Dracula killed me tomorrow.

Ten days wasted on poetry and in a moment that I would never have again. I wasn’t even sure if my voice would work when I tried explaining it to him. All I had planned was that I would tell him somewhere public in the hope that he still had enough scruples left to not kill me in front of witnesses.

“Diana called your phone when you were sleeping,” Mallory informed me as my sobs subsided. “Taking naps all afternoon and sleeping early won’t help you come up with an answer, you know.”

“It’s the only time when I don’t have to think about him.”

“You don’t dream about him?” She stopped playing with my hair for a second when I nodded and I felt a tug on a lock of hair. The slight resistance told me she was braiding my hair.  

“Just once since the wedding. I dreamt that he was driving and we were holding hands but then–” my hand was nearly crushed in his grip as he raised it to his mouth and tore my wrist open. Blood trickled down to his lap and a scarlet jet stained the windows. I smiled the whole time as he consumed me. “It wasn’t a good dream. Did you get Diana’s call?”

“Yeah. She’s worried about you, told me you only answered one of her calls since you came to stay with me. You have over 10 calls from your cousin, too.”

“My cousin?”

“Yeah, don’t you have a cousin in Manchester named Zoe?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” I hadn’t spoken with my cousin for over two years and her number was saved only as ‘Zee’. “Did Zoe call when I was asleep?” I asked in a neutral tone. I ignored every call from Dr. Van Helsing and if Mallory had answered the phone thinking she was talking to my cousin–

“No, but she must be worried about you. Give her a call back,” she said.

“I will,” I breathed, relieved. Eventually, I would talk to Zoe and tell her that I was done with her – that is, if I survived Count Dracula. With that, rose the question of why Zoe was still alive. Wouldn’t Dracula have killed her?

“Diana said she’s going up to Glasgow for work in a couple of days and that she wants to see you before that. I told her we could all grab lunch Thursday.”

“All right.” I sniffled and started getting up slowly so Mallory wouldn’t accidentally pull my hair. “I’m getting in the way of your night out, Mal.”

“Did you actually think I was going out?” She looked at me in disbelief. “It’s Monday, Y/N, we have work tomorrow. More importantly, I would never leave you here and go drinking.” I frowned as I gestured at her made up face. “I’m wearing PJ’s under my coat. I got ready in the hopes that you would suddenly change your mind when you saw me leaving the house and decide to actually move your arse out of bed,” she explained. I snorted. “A-ha, that was a near laugh!”

“That was a shit strategy. And you knew it wouldn’t work since you didn’t bother to change clothes.”

“Well, I tried everything else.” She jumped out of bed and peeled off the trench coat, revealing butterfly print pyjamas. “Come to the living room. We’ll order hamburgers and watch something.”

She was already leaving the room as I slipped out from under the covers.

“No rom-coms!”

“I wouldn’t torture you like that!” She yelled back from the living room. ���Is Harry Potter good enough for you?”

“Great.”

It was familiar enough for me to repeat the lines in sync with the character and keep me distracted. Tomorrow I would figure out how to tell Count Dracula. As I made the bed, I grabbed the book from under the pillow and fingered through the pages. Pushkin’s words didn’t jump out at me and I hadn’t memorised the page number when Mallory found it. For the best, probably.

I set the book aside and went to the living room when Mal called my name.

__________________________________________________________

“L/N, can I see you before you go?”

Talbot’s voice made Mallory and I stop on the way to the lift; my mobile chimed inside my purse and my fingers tightened around the purse’s strap. Another chime reached my ears as I turned back to meet Talbot with Mal on my heels. Whether she had followed me because a partner was summoning me and it was a good opportunity for her to be noticed or because she was fairly acquainted with my phone’s chimes and particularly what they meant today, I didn’t know, but I was glad to have her at my side anyway.

Golden orange sunlight refracting through a window hit my face when I stopped before Talbot and I forced myself to breathe properly. I still had a couple more minutes, an hour if I was being optimistic, before the sun went down and I had to meet Dracula, who didn’t seem to pay much attention to it; he had been texting me since four in the afternoon.

“Yes?” The word was strangled.

Talbot’s severe face didn’t seem to notice my anxious tone and simply nodded at Mallory before settling his cataract ridden eyes on me.

“Do you have anything on your schedule tomorrow at 3pm?”

“No, I don’t think I do, sir. Why?”

“I need you in court.” He handed me a thick manila folder he had hidden behind his back.

“A new case?” I took the file automatically. “But sir, I’m already flooded with them. And court tomorrow? I won’t have the time to prepare–”

“Of course you’ll have time to prepare. You’ll have the rest of the day and night, and tomorrow until three. Pulling all-nighters is part of every good attorney’s job.”

I smothered an offended huff.

“I’m aware, sir.” I paused, and my phone chimed again. I could feel my pulse on my throat. “Unfortunately, I have a commitment tonight and I can’t take this case. Mallory will gladly take it in my pla–”

“I’m sure Miss Nowak would do a wonderful job,” he considered her briefly “but this case can only be taken care of by you. It was originally Miss Grisham’s, your colleague, but she had to go under an emergency surgery yesterday – wicked things, spleens, don’t you think? – and the Judge on this case refused to reschedule a court date.” He scoffed. “Apparently, Grisham had already been granted several reschedules and Judge Llewellyn won’t have it again, which is precisely why this case must be yours. As I understand you have a win inside Llewellyn’s courtroom, which might bode well for you– for us at the firm. Llewellyn is notoriously a difficult man and I hear he’s been mouthing good things about you. No one in this office has ever won before him, except for you and Renfield.”

My phone started ringing loudly and I gave my purse a thwack as if that would shut it up. Talbot eyed my purse.

“Sir, like I said, I have a personal engagement that I can’t dismiss. It’s best that I don’t take a new case. Give it to Mallory, she’ll do as good a job as I would and then this firm will have three lawyers with wins before Llewellyn.”

A new case meant I would have to prepare an opening statement, not to say I would have to spend countless hours studying every small detail to not be stomped to the ground by the prosecutor. The remaining sunlight only gave me a few more minutes to work out my own closing statement – the very last closing statement I would do in my life, perhaps, considering it was entirely dependent on Count Dracula’s verdict – if I took that case I would have to neglect it in favour of my own troubles.

“You’ll take it.”

“Sir, I can’t–”

“Don’t be ridiculous, L/N,” argued Talbot. “If your engagement has anything to do with your phone’s incessant noise–” as if by command, the tune stopped “–then turn it off. Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. This case cannot.”

Rage built up my chest; I could swallow it down before it reached my throat but the lump there wouldn’t let it pass as easily as it would allow it to burst out. And I didn’t want to swallow it down so more rage could merge with heartache. I’d had enough with rage and I wouldn’t let Talbot bully me into something that I couldn’t do in the benefit of his own interests.

“Any lawyer here would be happy to do it. I can’t,” I said as I offered him the file back. He opened his mouth to protest and didn’t accept the manila folder. “You don’t understand, you absolute c–”

“She’ll take it,” Mallory intervened, squeezing my arm and interrupting whatever name I was about to call him. One of Talbot’s eyes twitched as he evaluated me and he rose his chin, nodding at Mal for the interruption.

“I see Nowak has managed to keep her sense. I hope she’ll teach you some.” He gestured towards the lift. “You may go. Do not disappoint me, L/N.” He turned on his heel and disappeared inside his office.

I started stalking after him, picturing his outraged face when I threw the file on his desk, but Mal jerked me back.

“Are you crazy?” She shook me. “You almost called a partner the c-word–”

“You can say he’s a cunt, it’s not like it’s a lie.”

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, looking around us as if to check if anyone had heard that. “Being angry won’t solve your crap, and you can’t just shrug off work because of a relationship. Focus. Dracula is just a guy but this is your job. If he’s right for you he’ll understand.  It’s not like he’ll die if he waits one more day so you two can talk.”

I stared out the window. My phone chimed, and then started ringing. The sun was still up and I wagered it would stay that way until I went home. As soon as it was dark, Dracula would be there. I could propose a meeting spot but I’d made enough demands – he had said so himself. He was done making concessions for me, and if I said one thing, one thing that didn’t please him, that sounded off to his ears, he would probably tear open my neck and leave me to die by myself on the quietness of my home. There were plenty of things in my speech that needed adjustments to prevent that, several things, actually, that I wasn’t sure I had worded properly. And I hadn’t rehearsed anything, either.

“You know you’re not mad at Talbot,” Mallory said, as though she knew I was pondering the situation. “Dracula will understand.”

My phone stopped ringing and then started shortly after.

“He won’t stop calling until I answer him,” I said. But I’d already made my decision. I’d made it the moment Mallory said I would take the case.

“Then turn off your phone. You’ll concentrate better. I’ll even help you,” she offered. I glanced at her. “I can see in your face that you’re dreading going home. You can stay at my house one more night, or how many more you want, and I’ll help you study your case. You’ll worry about Dracula tomorrow after the court session with Llewellyn , okay?”

Working this case was a perfectly reasonable excuse not to answer his calls and texts. It was good enough for me but I knew it wouldn’t be good enough for Dracula. It would give me more time to work on what to say, although I had the feeling that nothing I said would ever be good enough for him.

What did matter if he had to wait one more day? I was dead anyway.

“Okay,” I finally said. Mal smiled at me. I didn’t have the strength to retribute it.

“Text him and say you’ll see him tomorrow.”

I fished my phone out of my purse. The name ‘Count Dracula’ blinking on the screen made me frown. I pressed the button next to the screen until it went fully black.

“My phone battery is dead for all he cares.” I dumped the phone back in my purse. “Let’s go, Mal. Quickly. He’ll come here looking for me when he realises I’m not picking up.”

______________________________________________________________

Count Dracula tilted his head as he watched the man crawl between tables, shoulders clumsily bumping into a table leg as he tried to hide. Sobs escaped his mouth. Dracula pushed one of the bodies at his feet with the heel of his shoe as the man shrunk into the darkness beneath the table. The man’s ragged breathing made the Count’s bloodstained lips twitch. He made a show of looking around the blackened interior of the pub, putting weight into his strides so the floorboards would creak as he stepped over another body, pretending that he couldn’t see him in his hiding place.

This game of hide-and-seek never failed to amuse the Count but it wasn’t as fun in an enclosed space such as this. It made him miss his castle. If it was his castle, he would throw the man into one of the dungeon’s cells to play with him another moment. But here, in a London pub where he had already engorged himself until his cheeks were ruddy, he only had so much time before sunrise. He wasn’t thirsty anymore and he would have to go home soon to rest his head again, only to be assailed by dreams of Y/N.

“I won’t hurt you,” Dracula declared, throwing his head back. The low ceiling had beer stains. The cleaning staff, the one dead at his feet, must not do a very good job of cleaning the place. “You can come out.”

A whimper came from under the table but the man made no attempt to reveal himself. Dracula waited for a few seconds to give him a chance and then crossed the distance between them and lifted the table. Wide brown eyes filled with mindless fear stared up at Count Dracula in a skinny face.

“Get up,” the Count demanded and discarded the table to the side, leaving the man without his illusion of protection. “Come sit with me.” He took a seat at a table at the centre of the pub and snatched a napkin from it. Red gloves of blood left stains on every white napkin he touched. The man – boy, from the looks of him – just watched and Dracula flicked dark eyes toward him. “Now.”

Slowly, so very slowly, the boy stood up and took small steps toward the table. He threatened to snap in half like a twig from all his shaking. Count Dracula motioned for him to take a seat as he wiped his face and hands with napkins. The boy sat.

“I think…” Dracula began. “No. What would you do in my place?”

“W-what?”

“I gave her ten days. Today is Tuesday, the tenth day, and she wasn’t at her house. She won’t answer my calls and my texts. She was at her office today but left early according to–” what was the woman’s name? Caroline? Christine? Camille? Ah, Chelsea. She’d slipped him her number before he left the office at Canary Wharf. He would have considered keeping it, if only to feed from her, but Y/N wouldn’t like that. Ten days could stretch into twenty or a month if he fed from Chelsea. “She’s avoiding me. What would you do?”

The boy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times as he tried to formulate an answer. He glanced at the parade of dead bodies around them and then back at Count Dracula.

“Um, who is– hm. W-why is she av-voiding you?”

Dracula nodded, smiling lightly. He was impressed that the boy had managed to restrain his fear for a while but he knew very well the boy was merely entertaining him until he started bargaining for his life. They always did.

“I did something,” said Dracula.

“This kind of something?” He gestured with his head toward the body closest to them and then his face turned red and shuddered.

“No.” He frowned. “Worse, I think. I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. What matters is that she’s avoiding me. I gave her ten days and she said we would talk. She said she knew not to flee. I can hunt for her but–” He threw the used napkins on the table, giving up on making himself presentable. There wasn’t any point to it with six bodies strewn metres away from him. “I don’t want to hunt what’s mine. She should come willingly.”

“Yeah,” the boy drew out. “But maybe she needs more time? I don’t know what you did, man, but if it was worse than this–”

“I bit her friend,” Dracula admitted.

The boy gaped.

“I– I’m sure you had a good reason to.”

“Are you?”

“I only mean–” he said, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I… I don’t know?”

Count Dracula tipped in his chair and balanced himself so he could lever his feet on the table and cross them. Black leather shoes with small rounded dents at the tips shone at him. He hadn’t worn another pair since the wedding, when Y/N’s heels left those prints there. He didn’t know what that meant. He only knew that he couldn’t remember Y/N’s smile with the same clarity that he could remember her face stricken with black tears.

“Did she cheat on you?” The boy tried.

Dracula laughed mirthlessly.

“In a manner, but she assured me that she had stopped.”

“So, uh, why did you kill her friend?”

“I didn’t kill Mallory. I bit her, that’s all.” He’d bitten her without Y/N’s explanation, which he still didn’t have. “Do you think I exaggerated?”

“Um– uh, no?”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry.” The boy rubbed his nose. “My name is Trent.” Dracula’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand the relevance of that. “I’m only 19. I live in Whitechapel with my parents and sisters. I’ve got three cats–”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dracula glared at him. And then chuckled. “Oh, are you attempting to sensitize me about who you are so I won’t kill you? I’ve seen that on TV. People have been using that trick for centuries, too. It’s never worked on me. In fact, I think it’s kind of fun. First name basis is important, isn’t it? Makes things more intimate when I kill you.” He bared his teeth at the boy in a grin. “I asked you a question, Trent.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

The words echoed. Y/N had said the same. Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose.

“I changed my mind. Maybe it’ll change again if you answer me.”

Trent shook violently again and started rocking back and forth in his seat.

“I forgot what you asked me.”

“Do you think I exaggerated?” Dracula repeated. The boy looked around them. “Not about this. I know you might believe this is a bit much but it helps me not to think. However, I’m in need of a good talk now. So amuse me, Trent. Do you think I shouldn’t have bitten Mallory?”

“Uh. This other girl you've been talking about… Do you fancy her?” Trent’s thin eyebrows arched, trying to summon a serious expression. Dracula merely bobbed his head. “And you said she’s, huh, yours.” He looked at Dracula and he nodded again. “From what you’re telling me, you want her back. If she’s avoiding you, maybe she’s scared?” His eyes widened as if he realised he’d said something wrong. “Or, or, or! Or maybe she’s waiting for an apology?” He shrugged. “Did you try talking to her, eh, before you bit this Mallory bird?”

The Count ignored the last question.

“She owes me an apology.”

“Yeah, sure she does,” the boy agreed. “But don’t you think you oughta apologise, too? I mean… uh. I don’t know. I’ve never been cheated on but I don’t think biting someone is the right way to go about it.”

Maybe not.

Maybe if he had asked Y/N about it, he wouldn’t have to wait ten days to speak to her. If he had, she wouldn’t have cried. It could have been a terribly simple explanation and she would have kissed him again. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone on a murder rampage for the last days to keep memories of Y/N from permeating his every dream and thought.

Or, and it was just as likely, it wasn’t simple at all. She had learnt how to lie to him. He was certain that she could have lied about everything. It could all have been an act to fool him – the sudden interest in the taste of blood, her questions about his life before a vampire and after, her rare ability to see through him sometimes, the gleam in her eyes at the cathedral… The kiss. But the utter betrayal in her face, the acrid smell of fear, how her voice trembled as she wept, those weren’t false. When she said yes to him, covered in her friend’s blood with her dress ruined and hair in shambles, he knew she had spoken the truth. She had no other reason to lie after what he had done. And now, he found himself doubting if everything else was not all lies.

It didn’t matter.

He had destroyed it. And he knew that if he could go back in time to fix it, he would have done it all the same. She confused him. She had made a fool out of him like no one else had in half a millennia, and she would make a fool out of him for the next millennia as well. Despite what she had done, she was his, whether she liked it or not. He was willing to wait a few more days for her to come to him.

Count Dracula massaged the bridge of his nose again.

“Thank you, Trent.”

The boy’s heart drummed, his blood streaming inside of him in rapid currents. Dracula could hear the noise it made, like a wind howl against a window.

“Are you gonna let me go?”  

“Yes, I will.” He flashed the boy a quick smile. “Although you haven’t been much help, I’m feeling merciful right now.” Trent exhaled a shaky breath and started getting up. “One last thing” – the boy looked up at that, watery brown eyes filled with alarm again – “you didn’t say… what would you do in my place?”

“Uhh–” he paused, panic flaring up and making the drumming in Dracula’s ears become louder. “Show that you care? Apologise if you want her back. She’ll apologise, too.” Dracula just stared. “Or do something nice for her. Especially nice.” Trent sniffled. “That’s what my dad does when my mum is mad at him, and it works.”

Trent waited as Dracula nodded, and then started shuffling across the pub in a slow pace as if he was doing his best not to draw attention.

He eyed the dents on his shoes and felt Y/N’s lips on his. He couldn’t wait five or ten years to feel them again and in order to have that, he would have to make amends. But then he thought of all the lies again and the taste of Mallory’s blood pouring down his throat and all the memories that came with it. A pungent reminder of how unreasonable he had become since meeting Y/N.

Trent was almost at the exit door.

“On second thought!” He called, planting both feet on the slippery red floor. The boy turned around to look at him and Count Dracula bared sharp teeth as he stood up from his seat. “I feel like having dessert.”

The boy ran.

His fingers brushed the doorknob but didn’t manage to grip it. Dracula blocked the way. Trent squealed and his entire body trembled in such force that the Count thought he could hear his bones rattling. He smiled at that and grabbed the boy’s shoulder to stop him from scuttling away.

Trent was as pale as a sheet, so much so that it was difficult to make out defining features on his face, but the shapeless, quivering thing on his face was most definitely a bottom lip moving as his teeth chattered.

“Ah, don’t be like that. I’ll make it quick, as a thanks.” Dracula stroked the boy’s cheek, pointed nails grazing the skin, and he shuddered. “Truly, you gave me quite the idea. But you see, it’s almost dawn, and I need a last bedtime snack to clear my head. You just so happen to be nearby.”

“Please, I–”

“No, no, no, no. Begging won’t get you anywhere and I’ve heard enough of ‘please’ tonight. I’ll make it quick and you won’t beg. Are we agreed?” He cocked an eyebrow. Trent shut his eyes and nodded. Dracula patted his face. “Good boy.”

Dracula turned Trent’s face to the side. He was met with no resistance as he lowered his head to tear through the soft flesh on the boy’s neck. Trent stopped trembling as Dracula’s teeth slashed deep and blood flowed inside his mouth. Memories started materialising but he ignored it and allowed himself to be swept away until nothing else invaded his mind except the taste of blood, its warmth cascading over his body and leaving him no choice but to be inundated with unrestrained elation.

He swallowed hurriedly and, in no time, the flow became sluggish and he began taking it less urgently. If he drank too fast, he would miss it. He waited for it to come as one waits for the first rain to pour, waits for it to wash remains, and to bring restoration. Ecstasy flitted across his deepest thoughts only to be replaced with perfect numbness. Sublime anesthesia and a brief glimpse into the true death he would never feel.

The emptiness he sought, the complete erasure of all thoughts, was the one thing that brought him relief and wiped the image of Y/N’s face. Her rancour and her grief that turned those eyes cruel to cut through him when she saw him with Mallory but, worst of all, the resignation that made her voice docile, almost cowed when she begged him for time. It touched something in him. Something that made him desperate to get rid of it, so abnormal was this sensation, that his only solution was to engorge himself with blood.

Only she had this effect on him. Usually he was picky with his food, choosing when should each dish be savoured and in which order. All it took for that to change was for Y/N to look him in the eye at the Victoria and Albert Museum and say that taking her there was the nicest thing someone had ever done for her. And he simply couldn’t understand that, couldn’t understand he had enjoyed knowing that, that he had enjoyed making her happy, and that he was possibly growing infatuated by her. Not in the way he had grown attached to Agatha or Johnny. It was entirely different; a foreign feeling. It had driven him to feast on a board of directors in an attempt to obliterate the memory. And it had worked for a little while but each time she managed to pull at his control until he wasn’t sure if he had any control whatsoever.

Dracula dropped Trent’s lifeless body.

The anesthesia had faded and here he was, thinking of Y/N again.

He groaned in frustration, wiped his chin and left the darkened pub with its new decor of blood carpets and artfully painted walls.

.

.

.

Taglist: @festering-queen​ @feralstare​ @rheabalaur​ @a-dorky-book-keeper​ @thorin-smokin-shield​ @dreamer2381​ @illbegoinhome​ @girlonfireice​ @deborahlazaroff​ @saint-hardy​ @mr-kisskiss-bangbang​ @iwasjustablur​ @princessayveke​ @vampirescurse​ @crossoverqueen89​ @blue-serendipity​ @sunscreenfeverdream​ @25ocurer​ @daydreaming136​ @hello-itsbarbie​

[wormtoxin]

Carrion Flowers

Prologue

(yes, under the cut is some long-form original fiction, and yes, i am embarrassed about it, but it’s fine)

When he hears it was through the eye, he remembers that day on the lake.

It’d been cloudy for a week, but the skinny black kid in the dark suit wouldn’t have known the difference. The curtains had been replaced, and the windows and mirrors shrouded in heavy, black cloth. Pictures of his father in his cap and uniform were everywhere, each adorned with a black satin ribbon.

He hated it. The air was getting stale and hot in his lungs, and the black wool suit was suffocating. He didn’t understand back then why he and his mother had to set out white lillies and wear these awful clothes and shut out all the light. The two of them weren’t dead yet.

His mother wasn’t really meant to travel yet- especially not to a friend’s- but she hadn’t been meant to go the cemetery either. Regardless, she had followed the hearse with the men through all of Paris weeks ago, and she would help her son load his black wools and silk into a suitcase now. They both caught an early train out of the city, then a cab, and he was thankful for the sharp, cold smell of green earth and ozone.

When he arrived at the cabin, a woman he didn’t recognize threw open the door. She wore another black dress, like his mother’s, and they kissed each other on each cheek.

“Madame Stein, my love, je suis désolé,” she said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Since the funeral, he had seen many of his mother’s friends, but each carried the cold pity of a mourner, veiled beneath formality. With this woman, whoever she was, there was an instant connection. He saw his mother light up with warmth and comfort, and felt himself warmed along with her. His mother pulled him from behind her skirts and introduced him.

“Madame Hyde, c’est Jacque”, she said, and the other woman bent down to hold him tight.

“You’re so grown,” she said, “I haven’t seen you since you were in your cradle”. She stood, and a young boy, about Jacque’s age, emerged from the cabin behind her. He held a hand out for Jacque.

“Je m’appelle Cyrus!” He grinned broadly.

Jacque took his hand and shook it, “One of your teeth is gone”. Cyrus took his other hand out of his pocket, and placed the milk-white baby tooth in Jacque’s open palm.

“I was gonna leave it for the tooth fairy, but I want you to have it!” Mme. Hyde rolled her eyes, and Jacque’s mother stifled a laugh.

“Thanks,” Jacque said, and pocketed it.

“Shall we?” Mme. Hyde said, and stepped into the cabin. The hearth was roaring, and something must’ve been cooking in the heavy iron pot, because the smell was incredible. Jacque and his mother unpacked, and the first night, the two women made apple pie together. Jacque’s mother was rolling the pastry and the butter together when she started to cry, and she cried for a long time while Mme. Hyde held onto her. The butter melted out of the pastry, but they all ate the sweet, buttered, cinnamon apples out of a great wooden bowl, and his mother slept through the whole night for the first time since they’d gotten the news.

It was still raining the next day, so the two Madames sat by the hearth and stitched old clothes while the boys ate porridge.

“Mom, I want to show Jack the lake”.

“Alright dear, but take an umbrella, and lend Jacque your boots. It’s still muddy out”.

Cyrus took Jacque by the arm, and they set out together in the rain. Jacque held the umbrella while Cyrus talked excitedly about the games he’d play at the schoolyard, or facts he’d read about in books.

“Did you know? Sometimes a dragon isn’t actually a dragon, so instead they’re called wyverns,” Cyrus said “Weye-verrns” with the distinctive lull of an English accent, and Jacque wondered how long it’d been since he came to Paris. “They’re only called Dragons if they can breathe fire, and then they’re called ‘True’ Dragons, which I guess makes all the other ones ‘Liar-liar-pants-on-fire’ Dragons”.

“It’s not fire,” Jacque said beneath the hood of his black cloak, “Papa said it’s called ‘radiation’. They call it Wildfire because it spreads”.

Cyrus was dumbstruck. “Wow!! Really?? You must be so smart, Jacque!” Jacque had been praised a lot in the last few weeks by the mourners, but always because he was So brave or So strong or The man of the house now in a way that felt like You poor thing. It was nice to hear smart for a change.

When they got to the lake, it looked so high from the rain that Jacque thought it might spill over. Thick trees blanketed the banks from the rain, allowing only a few heavy drops to spill over onto the moss or the water, each creating a soft plonk.

“It’s pretty,” Jacque said.

“Have you ever skipped a stone before?”

“Um, no”.

Cyrus sorted through the mud for a while before finding a smooth flat stone, and tossed it into the clear water. Instead of sinking, it touched the water and flew, hopping three or four times before finally dropping down into the lake.

“Amazing!” Jacque picked one up and threw it, but it only made a splash. Without a word, Cyrus found another skipping stone, and put it in Jacque’s hand. He held Jacque’s wrist and moved the rock between his forefinger and thumb. Even at his school, Jacque didn’t often touch hands with the other students. They’d throw balls or play hopskotch. And of course, Jacque’s mother held his hand often, to cross the railway or walk to the store, or just to comfort him. But Cyrus’ hands were small like his own, warm, and rough from years of scrabbling up trees or over brambles.

“You have to throw it like this”.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Jacque asked, “You just feel bad for me like everyone else”. Jacque pulled his hand away, and threw another rock straight beneath the surface.

Cyrus picked up another for him. “Am not,” he said, “Momma said you need some cheering up, s’all”.

“You do feel bad for me!” Jacque threw it, and again it failed to soar like the first one did.

“Do not!” Again, Cyrus put a flat, muddy rock in Jacque’s light palm. “And I know you’re sad. What’s wrong with feeling bad for you, anyways?”.

“Am not!” Jacque threw it, hard, but it missed the water altogether, clacking against a big rock on the shore, and ricocheting out towards the boys.

Jacque found himself crying. Hot, wet tears spilled down his cheeks, and he found his breath coming out in little hitching gasps before he knew why. Jacque wasn’t sad. He missed his dad, of course, and he wished his mom wouldn’t cry. But he wasn’t sad. So what was he feeling now?

Cyrus sat next to him in the mud. When Jacque looked up, he realized the rock had hit Cyrus, cutting his eyebrow. Blood streaked down his cheekbone, and his eye had already purpled and swollen shut. Even still, he smiled. Cyrus’ grin was so wide, it showed his gap tooth and curled his other eye up in delight.

“What?” Jacque muttered.

“When my papa died,” Cyrus said, “everybody told me I had to be big and strong for my momma. It took me a long time to cry. I thought I was dead too, because he was. But I felt better when I cried.”

Jacque laughed a little, sniffling. “You wanted to make me cry?”

Cyrus took the sleeve of his coat, and wiped one of Jacque’s tears. As they sat together, and Jacque finished crying, a cloud finally broke. Sunlight reflected from the shimmering surface of the lake. Cyrus’ hair and eye were dark, but in the light, Jacque saw their fiery warmth, each eyelash shining gold. Jacque felt the sun move over him, heating him to the bones.

That was when he first fell in love, Jacque thinks.

Years later, when a dragon had flown too close to Paris, the military police shot it down over the lake. The water was ruined, along with the rest of the countryside, and a few years after that, Cyrus joined the Dragon Corps. Jacque went to University, but they still saw each other often. Cyrus would sneak out of the barracks to visit, and to tell Jacque stories about the latest thing he had seen, or the place he had just been. Cyrus would tell him about being stationed in Italy. Verona had huge open-air cemeteries, he would say. You’re studying cemeteries, aren’t you, Cyrus would ask. I’ll take you someday, he’d promise. Now, this morning, his picture was in the newspaper.

It was through the eye, the newspaper said. That same eye Jacque had hit with his skipping stone, and that bore a mark on its brow from that day at the lake. That eye that shone gold in the sunlight, and that peeked out at Jacque, only Jacque, with a wry delight from beneath the military cap, making his chest ache.

It went through that eye, and lodged itself somewhere in the back of his skull. Jacque keeps rereading it, looking back at that picture. He must be reading it wrong. He feels dizzy, keeps expecting the words to change as they spin, but each time they stubbornly refuse. Pronounced dead at 4:32 this morning. Jacque doesn’t know what to do. Then, all at once, he does.

[nelllraiser]

cat burglar | sasha & nell

LOCATION: a warehouse in the bend. PARTIES: @sasha-r-blog​ & @nelllraiser.  SUMMARY: sasha takes it upon herself to stop a break in, and nell is on the wrong end of the matters.  CONTAINS: gun use, gun violence

Another day another dollar was all the witch could think of as Nell lurked outside of an oversized warehouse in The Bend. The human bounties were especially boring to go after seeing as they lacked any upper hand in comparison to magic. At least when she was on the tail of someone supernatural she knew there was an element of surprise- or at least something to keep her on her toes. But money was money, and she still enjoyed bringing in the assholes who skipped out on their bail. Tonight was no different as she peered into one of the windows that paneled the outside of the building, just barely clearing the edge of it so that she might duck down if her quarry glanced her way. Thankfully, he seemed far too busy with counting the pallets that littered the place, scratching his head every now and then while he jotted numbers down in a notebook. All it would take was a simple sleeping spell and he’d be out like a light. But first she needed to get closer, perhaps get a better idea of what exactly it was he was doing in this shitty warehouse. If he were up to no good once again and repeating his criminal past, she wanted to know it about it. Carefully, she pushed her palm against the glass of the window before uttering a quiet spell, and in a moment it had melted away like water, pooling in a puddle on the ground beneath her. While the liquid glass settled, she hooked a leg over the frame of the window as gently as she could, being careful not to make a sound as she made her entrance.

The Bend seemed like the perfect place to look for crime, or at least Sasha assumed it was. In all the movies she’d watched it was usually run down places like where all the criminal stuff happened. So with her makeshift costume on and her change of clothes tucked neatly into her backpack, she made her way there. It didn’t take long to find a good place to perch and keep a lookout. There was a tall, flat roofed brick building at the corner of the block that seemed abandoned. And with a few well placed jumps and some careful footwork she found herself alone at the top, with a good amount of the Bend visible to her. So that was a good start to the night. Unfortunately, it seemed like the promising vantage point wasn’t leading to much. The neighborhood was surprisingly quiet. Sasha did spot a few people, some teenagers meeting up before heading into an alley. But upon closer inspection they were just making out, and Sasha decided to keep her lunch rather than continuing to watch to make sure some murderer didn’t jump out at them. They were probably fine.

It wasn’t until an hour or two later that another bit of movement caught Sasha’s eye. Across the street, next to a large warehouse, was a woman. Sasha moved to the edge of the roof, watching as the woman peaked through the window. Okay, that was suspicious. There were plenty of buildings here that from a quick glance seemed abandoned. But this one, despite seeming run down, at least had intact windows. So probably still in use? Maybe Sasha should have done some research before coming here. But either way, the way the woman was glancing in was clearly suspicious. If it was just some abandoned building to sneak into, why all the weird snooping? Sasha was about to lower herself onto the fire escape for a better view, when she felt a buzzing against her back. Shit. Fumbling with her backpack, Sasha quickly grabbed her phone and turned it to silent. 

Stupid rookie mistake, she should have just left her phone at home. When she turned back toward the woman, the glass in the window was gone, and the suspicious woman was lifting herself into the frame. Cool, good to know that the phone had distracted Sasha so much she completely missed the woman breaking the glass and almost getting inside. That could have been useful info. What if the woman had a crowbar on her to break the glass? Or a gun? Okay, Sasha was pretty sure she would have heard a gun go off even while distracted, but still. She took a deep breath and steadied herself before heading down the fire escape. When she was half way down she took another deep breath, and vaulted over the edge onto the street below, trying her best to land just as she practiced. Classic superhero landing pose, though more Spider Man than Iron Man, she wasn’t about to fist bump the pavement and break her only weapon. 

Despite Sasha’s strangely quiet landing, her clearing throat as she held the pose was likely audible. 

Nell couldn’t help but be paranoid as the hairs of her neck prickled directly before the clearing of a throat sounded behind her. The sound made her jump, though it wasn’t out of fear so much as a gut reaction of defense, head whipping around to look at whatever it was that had disturbed her. In the same movement, she drew a knife from it’s concealed hiding place on her body, brandishing it in front of her and placing it between herself and...what the fuck? Was there some sort of convention in town that she didn’t know about? That was the first thought in the witch’s mind as she took in the rag-tag ensemble before her, eyes not even sure where to land first on the strange mixture of clothing choice. Raking her gaze over the overflow of tiger printed spandex and fake leather, somehow the most confusing thing about the get-up were the razor-sharp teeth that were printed where the person’s mouth should be, stretched over the features that they hid. Where even to begin? “You know if you need some more quality cosplay my dad has an Etsy and worked the professional costume circuit in Vegas for years,” was the only thing she could think to whisper in the direction of this newly appeared enigma. Nevermind that she wasn’t exactly speaking to her father at the moment. 

The rustling of the man moving inside the warehouse was what pulled Nell’s attention away from the knock-off cat-man that had spawned from seemingly nowhere, and she was quickly reminded of why she was here. “Look- can you go play somewhere else?” she hissed under her breath towards the newcomer, not particularly keen on having her bounty disturbed. The words weren’t meant to be demeaning, as Nell truly and simply had no idea what to do with the train wreck that had stuck their nose into her business. What a cosplayer was doing in the middle of the Bend, she hadn’t the faintest idea— but she wasn’t going to let them get in her way. “I’m kinda busy.”

As the woman turned around to look at her Sasha began to rise to her feet and- oh shit, she had a knife! Sasha froze up at the sight of the suddenly brandished weapon. But it was fine, it was cool. Sasha had her own set of knives too. Or rather, The Claw did. 

The woman’s whispering sounded loud and clear in Sasha’s sensitive ears and made her stop right before making her heroic declarations to put down the knife. “I-I’m not a cosplayer and this isn’t some sort of game...”

That sounded cooler in her head, but Sasha continued to stare down the woman. If she was randomly pointing a knife at her that had to mean she was a criminal. Sasha put one of her hands out to the side, fingers curled, ready to summon her claws at any moment. Come on, you can do this.

“I’m The Claw, and I’m here to put a stop to your break in! What’s in there? Money, valuebles, a stockpile of illegal weapons? Whatever it is, you better make your peace with never getting your hands on them.”

Yeah... yeah! I’ve got this! She’s gotta be scared now. 

The somewhat puzzled yet exasperated expression on Nell’s features only grew more scrunched as the mysterious figure spoke. It was a girl. That much she could initially tell from the voice. She’d already parted her lips to ask what exactly the masked interloper was doing here when the knock-off Catwoman spoke again, and the witch’s eyebrows shot skyward in disbelief. “The Claw?” she echoed, a hint of unshared delight entering Nell’s tone. Who the hell ran around in spandex calling them themselves the Claw? She couldn’t stop the quiet chuckle that pressed past her lips as the rest of the girl’s words sank in. “I’m not breaking in. Well- I am breaking in, but I’m not the shitty person here. Make my- make my peace?” Nell sputtered in her continued amusement. “Babe- I hate to be the one to tell you this- actually I don’t really hate it, but-” Her sentence wouldn’t find it’s end as another voice rang out, Nell’s target apparently having overheard enough of their shared noises to finally take notice of the two young woman loitering in his warehouse window.

“Hey!” He called out, already taking angry strides in their direction. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” he demanded, reaching for some unseen weapon that resided in the inner pocket of his jacket.

The woman was...laughing... at The Claw. Sasha's heart sank, but she tried to replace the feeling with annoyance. The Claw wouldn’t get upset, so Sasha wouldn’t either. She would prove this woman wrong. This woman who apparently didn’t know what a superhero was. This woman who also just admitted to breaking in, as matter of fact! So yeah, even if she laughed at her that wasn’t going to stop Sasha from stopping this criminal. 

Sasha opened her mouth to speak, to cut off whatever excuse or taunt the stranger planned to throw at her, only for another voice to cut both of them off. In the window frame appeared a man, mid 30ss, not exactly friendly looking. Okay so that guy didn’t seem super happy but he also probably just didn’t get that Sasha was trying to help.

“Don’t worry!” She said, putting out a hand, her words faltering slightly when she saw him reaching for something in his jacket. “I’m here to stop this robber from breaking in. I’ve got it under control.”

Truly, Nell hadn’t intended to laugh in a malicious manner, but it was simply too bizarre to witness a self-proclaimed ‘hero’ running around White Crest, fighting crime and toting names such as ‘The Claw.’ She supposed in concept it wasn’t too bizarre. After all White Crest was in desperate need of as much help as it could get. But a masked do-gooder was a far cry from those she usually cleaned up the messes around this town. After all it wasn't as if hunters were running around in capes and hoods. Or...herself for that matter. Of course she’d never consider herself a hero in any sense of the word. She was fairly certain the people that Sasha was trying to emulate didn’t go around torturing sacrifices to bring their loved ones back from the dead. 

Nell’s head whipped around as Sasha and the man’s eyes met, and a frown was quick to turn her lips southwards as she saw him reaching for whatever he was concealing beneath his jacket. While Sasha spoke, Nell did her best to stay between the bounty and The Claw, a threatening and far more serious tone coming from her lips. “Don’t,” she commanded, the words meant both for the criminal and the attempted hero. 

“Or you’ll what?” The grungy man replied with a rough tone as he pulled a gun from its hiding place, training it on both the girls- dipping back and forth between them. “What are two little girls gonna do about it?” 

Nell kept her eyes trained on the man before saying, “Or I’ll start with breaking every finger in your hand, and then see if I wanna start on your other one.” As for The Claw… “You’ve got it wrong- he’s the piece of shit. I’m here to collect his bounty.”

Sasha froze at the sight of the gun, and just as quickly as it was pointed at them the woman moved between her and the man. It took too long for her to process, she should be quick on her feet, she knew that. What hero let someone come between them and a bullet?

“Bounty?” Sasha hated the way her voice squeaked up an octave, but to be fair, this was the first time she had seen a gun in real life and they were about two seconds from getting a much closer look if things kept up. “But you-”

Sasha may have misinterpreted things here. Were bounty hunters even legal? She guessed they weren’t any more illegal than a vigilante. She didn’t really have a good concept of them outside of action movies, and things were getting pretty actiony right now. 

She had barely heard the man speak, barely processed what the woman said either. But suddenly the man moved his hand again, a glint of metal catching in Sasha’s eyes. In hindsight, maybe it was just another threatening motion to get them to back off. But in a panic Sasha felt herself rushing past the woman. She wasn’t thinking. Maybe she should have. The next thing she knew one of her clawed hands was digging into the forearm of the man, the jacket sleeve torn and likely the skin under it as well. She didn’t hear the man's reaction, just an ear shattering bang as the gun hit the ground and misfired into the sidewalk. Sasha could only hear high pitched ringing after that, but she could see the man shout in pain and her grip on his arm tightened reflexively, as if he might pick up the gun somehow or draw another. 

“No!” Nell yelled as The Claw darted towards the man, eyes wide as she watched the girl make her attack, certain she was going to hear a gunshot pop off at any moment. And then a matching red would bloom on The Claw’s costume, staining the stripes as they seeped the girl’s life away. But no such thing happened. There was a bang, and Nell flinched as the bullet ricocheted to god knew where, and then it seemed The Claw was firmly latched onto the man’s gunarm. Had the girl brought hidden knives as well? But Nell hadn’t seen her draw them. The speed and high stakes of the situation didn’t allow for a closer look before she too was moving in on the man, fast and controlled in her approach as she kicked the man’s legs out from under him while he was distracted by The Claw. He landed hard on the warehouse floor, a grunt of pain falling from his as Nell planted a firm kick in his side once he was down. “I said, don’t!”

In the next moment, Nell tugged at her magic, using it to bend the man’s fingers into unnatural angles and making good on her promise of breaking them. While his yell filled the concrete walls, she grabbed at his wrists, taking special care to press down on the digits she’d just snapped, drawing a pair of handcuffs from a pocket and clicking them soundly around him. “Alright- okay,” she began, turning towards The Claw with a frown now that the man was no longer a threat. “Do you believe me now?” Gone was any of Nell’s previous amusement. 

Sasha only had her claws dug into the dude’s arm for a moment before the woman kicked his feet out from under him. Sasha didn’t try to keep her grip. She watched him fall and felt the sticky blood coating her hands. Oh god, gross. Her first instinct was to try to wipe the stuff off on her pants, but she really only had one of these costumes. So instead she held her clawed hand away from herself awkwardly as the woman kicked and cuffed the man.

Wait, how had she broken his fingers? Sasha blink, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Maybe like the bang had messed with her ears, the flash of the fallen gun had messed with her vision. It looked like they had just snapped by themselves. But she didn’t have much time to think about it. When the woman turned and spoke it sounded as if her voice was coming through water, but Sasha could still make out the words. 

“I-I didn’t realize there were bounty hunters here. I just saw you trying to break in and I thought...” Sasha's heart was beating hard in her chest, but as the adrenaline faded she started to feel anxiety creeping in, past the normal confidence that she tried to show as The Claw. “I didn’t realize.” 

For a moment Nell simply watched Sasha in vaguely concerned confusion, taking in the way she was holding her hand away from herself, apparently not all that accustomed to the blood she’d drawn. Another look towards the girl, and the witch could see something like shock beginning to grip The Claw’s body. It had been a couple of months since Nell had been reminded that not everyone was as accustomed to spilling blood and facing guns down, but as she looked at the costumed crusader— it was hard to miss the way her voice had changed, and Nell’s frustrated demeanour switched into something more sincere. “Hey- are you...alright? You can sit down or something if you need to. I have some water,” she said before turning to rummage in the bag she’d been carrying on her back, offering a water bottle soon after she located it. “You’re not hurt, right?” She hadn’t seen the man land a mark on the young woman, but what if that stray bullet hadn’t been all that stray, and Nell had missed it? WIth a quick and cursory glance over The Claw, Nell did her best to try and identify if she was bleeding anywhere. 

“Aren’t there bounty hunters everywhere?” Nell wasn’t entirely looking for an actual answer as she glanced once again toward the man they’d downed together. When he tried to open his mouth to speak, she granted him a warning growl before kicking one of his broken hands. Earning another howl of pain from the criminal. “Sorry- hold on,” she sighed at the girl before bending down to tug off the man’s beanie and stick it into his mouth as a makeshift gag. “There- now he won’t bother us, at least.” Taking some pity on the girl, she offered her name, hoping that might help set The Claw a little more at ease. “I’m Nell.” 

“I’m alright. I’m fine.” Sasha was fine. Mostly fine. She wasn’t hurt at least and the real bad guy had been taken down. But staring down a gun was a lot. Sasha took the water bottle, but realized she couldn’t risk taking off her mask to drink. Instead she poured a bit of it over her hand to clean it of blood, retracting her claws once they were no longer covered. 

“I’m not hurt I-” She stopped mid sentence as Nell roughly silenced the man. That was fine, all of this was fine. He was a bad guy after all. “I’m The Claw.” Wait, she had already told her that. “I um, thanks for the help. I’m sorry I thought you were trying the break in. I mean, you were, but you weren’t robbing anyone.”

She glanced down at the dude again. She didn’t exactly feel bad for him, not after threatening her and Nell. But at the same time she worried about how much she may have hurt him. “Do you do this a lot? Bounty hunting? I should probably know so I don’t mistake you for doing something bad when I’m out patrolling.” 

Nell didn’t intend to purse her lips at The Claw’s answer, but couldn’t help it as the other girl maintained that she was fine. The witch had heard that particular phrase more than once when it came to people reacting to the concerning outcomes of questionable experiences. If she were being entirely honest, she herself had used it on numerous occasions when she didn’t want to admit that something may not have been fine. But she wasn’t going to push the girl. “Alright.” At least she wasn’t hurt. Nell couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered on The Claw’s...well...claws as the girl poured water over them and her hand. So that had been how the damage was done? “That’s pretty neat,” she offered in a tone that she hoped was casual, nodding towards the girl’s hand. Was she a werewolf or something? What else had claws, but appeared to be human?

“Yeah, I remember,” Nell said with a tease in her voice, hoping to bring back at least a little levity to the situation. “The Claw. Pretty fitting I guess, isn’t it? Though...if you have more than one claw- shouldn’t you be The Claws?” A shrug later, and Nell was speaking again. “You helped, too. I mean you got the first hit on him.” Even though The Claw had successfully drawn blood and proven herself capable, Nell couldn't help the worry that was pooling in her stomach as she continued to watch the girl and listen to her mention attempted robbery. “You know...it’s pretty dangerous out here in White Crest. Also just in general. So what are you doing out here trying to stop supposed attempted robberies and shit?” Saving people in White Crest was an endless job, and more often than not you got hurt in the process. It was no surprise that Nell wasn’t keen on the thought of a spandexed and starry-eyed crusader making their way through the town’s problems. “But yeah- it’s my main source of income, so I’m generally sneaking around.” The word ‘patrolling’ only made Nell’s frown dip lower, concern continuing to grow in magnitude.

“It’s part of my powers,” Sasha said as she followed Nell’s gaze back towards her hand. “The Claws doesn’t roll off the tongue as much, I think my title is just fine.” Sasha couldn’t tell if Nell was making another jab at her, or just trying to lighten the mood, but at least the woman didn’t seem annoyed anymore. And that fact let Sasha relax slightly. 

“It’s my job. I’m here to protect White Crest.” Had Nell never heard of a superhero before? Even her reaction to seeing Sasha’s claws was weirdly nonchalant. “Not for money, not that there's anything wrong with helping for money. It is just my responsibility. I want to make sure the town is safe and those doing wrong are punished.” 

She tried to stand a bit taller, get back into the headspace of a hero. Like Nell said, she had just helped to take down a criminal. Maybe all the blood and guns was a bit unexpected but she had done it all the same. “I know White Crest is dangerous but I can handle it.” 

“Your powers…” Nell echoed as her gaze lingered on The Claw’s hands once more. It wasn’t exactly the word she would have used as she generally referred to the gifts of the supernatural community as ‘abilities’. Though she supposed it made sense for the girl to think of them as ‘powers’ if she was determined to run around playing superhero. “Are you...a werewolf?” Nell asked point-blank, seeing no other way around the question. She didn’t particularly feel like dancing around the subject, and they were the only humanoid creature she could think of in that moment that might employ their claws in such a way. 

“Your job?” Nell continued to question, not entirely sold on that description. “What do you mean by that? Why’s it your responsibility?” She could sympathize with wanting to make sure people were as safe as possible in White Crest, but she certainly didn’t consider it to be her job. It was just...something she was good at, and something she felt obligated to do. So where was this sense of duty coming from where it concerned The Claw? “Do you know?” Nell challenged, not entirely convinced. She couldn’t help but feel like she was somehow responsible for making sure this girl knew what she was truly getting into— the pain and heartbreak that lay down the line if she decided to take the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I know you wanna help- but it’s not always happy endings or whatever. Things go to shit. A lot.” And then years have passed and you don’t even know how you got here, but it’s too late to stop now. You can’t turn your back on people that need help. If Nell could spare someone the disillusionment she’d experienced over the last few years, and the bone-deep tiredness she felt half the time these days...she’d take that chance.

“I’m...no I’m not a werewolf.” Okay, Nell was clearly making fun of her now. “This isn’t some joke or silly halloween costume. It is my job. My responsibility. I have powers and I have to help people with them.” Sasha felt her face heat up. She wasn’t used to getting angry enough to raise her voice, and already she felt self conscious at it, clearing her throat and glancing back down at the cuffed man to avoid Nell’s questioning gaze.

“I know this town is dangerous. I can handle it. You don’t need to-” Treat me like a child. Act like I don’t know what I’m doing. Sasha clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to argue. Nell had helped, but Sasha wasn’t going to try to explain this to her. 

“Are you taking him to the police?” Sasha motioned to the man. “Or wherever bounties go. I need to get back to my patrol.” It was a lie. Sasha was pretty sure she was going to head directly back to her dorm the moment she left Nell and sleep until she forgot about her annoyance and the gun going off and the feeling of blood between her fingers.

“I didn’t say it was any of that stuff,” Nell defended with a gut reaction, realizing she’d made a wrong step somewhere along the way. Certainly Nell had thought it to be a game at the beginning of their meeting, mistaking the girl for cosplay, but now she knew better. But if The Claw wasn’t a werewolf...what was she? Unless she simply didn’t know she was a werewolf. Maybe that was also a possibility. If that were the case, it would only fan the flames of Nell’s concern. How could the girl hope to save a world she didn’t have all the pieces of, and not get hurt in the process? “But you don’t,” Nell replied simply. “You don’t have to. Not if it gets to be too much or anything like that.” 

Nell recognized a stubbornness in the girl that was most likely mirrored in herself while The Claw defended her choices, and that only worried Nell more. But she also knew there was no sense fighting it if they were, indeed, alike in that trait. Any opposition would only be met with a stronger fight back. So if Nell couldn’t prevent the girl from taking a path that was rife with hardship, maybe she could at least help. “Fine,” was her short answer. “But if you have any questions— how can people contact you, anyway? Is there like a ‘The Claw’ twitter or something that you work off of?” If The Claw wouldn’t listen to her, then she’d simply have to settle for trying to keep an eye on the girl. 

The dismissal was obvious in the girl’s words, and Nell had no interest in overstaying her welcome at the moment. Besides, she did need to get this man back to the bail bonds agency. “I’m taking him,” Nell answered with her arms folded over her chest, not yet moving an inch. She usually utilized magic to get her bounties back to her employers, and though she’d already technically used magic in front of The Claw, she wasn’t about to do so again so openly when it seemed the other girl hadn’t noticed. “Good luck on your patrol.” She’d have to wait for The Claw to leave in order to finish her business here. 

But you were thinking it. You were thinking that I’m a joke. And you think that I can’t handle things either. But Sasha didn’t voice it. She didn’t want to get angrier at Nell, or vice versa, but it was already getting to that point. So she ignored the bounty hunter’s statement about what she knew she had to do or whatever, biting back a retort. Even the question about contacting her made Sasha irritated in the moment. She knew it was dumb, but it hadn’t been something she figured out yet since saving Connor and him asking her the same thing. Being reminded again that she had no easy way to contact someone without revealing who she was only made her worried that it would now come off as unprofessional to the bounty hunter. 

“I’m setting something up. Why don’t you give me your contact info and I’ll reach out to you if I need it.” A burner phone or some side account on something wouldn’t be hard, she just had to make sure it didn’t trace back to her. And behind the current annoyance and Nell, Sasha knew it would be smart to know how to contact her. Not that Sasha would need the help, but she didn’t want some weird bounty mix up to happen again. 

“Thanks.” Sasha said, unsure if Nell meant what she said about her patrol. At least she hadn’t detected any sarcasm in that, even if she seemed to want Sasha to get out of her hair soon.

Nell didn’t offer any more words as The Claw gave her a short answer, knowing that the peace between them was hanging by a thread. Instead she tucked a hand into her jacket pocket, magically summoning a piece of paper and pen from back home into her hand before bringing them back into sight. On the paper she wrote both her phone number, and the name ‘Penelope Vural’ before handing it over to the girl. “You can text me or find me on the town forum. Whatever works for you.” Friendship wasn’t on Nell’s mind as she offered the contact information, and instead she was hoping that she might be able to keep some sort of eye on the strange crusader. “Let me know if you ever need anything or whatever. Or have questions about who I’m after. Sometimes jobs take more than two hands...or claws, and I’m always down for action.” That was the best she felt she could do in making sure The Claw didn’t get herself killed, and without adding flame to the fire the witch had inadvertently built between them. 

Nell turned away from the self-made heroine, unable to bite her tongue any longer when the rock of dread was solidifying in her gut. She didn’t want to watch another person get hurt by White Crest, but she wasn’t about to stand by and let it happen either. When she turned to look over her shoulder, the other girl was already gone, and Nell hadn’t even gotten to give a well wishing of safety before the night air swallowed up The Claw. All she could think was that hopefully the town wouldn’t swallow the girl whole as well. 

[writtenbynath]

End of the Route

@jukeboxemcsa @wellgnawed you guys inspire me. I hope you enjoy this.

Delivering mail in a crappy van was not a dream job, but John was glad he had a job at all these days. He was getting to know 'his' neighborhood, figuring out where to park and turn the van to get through this sleepy suburb in the most efficient way. At the end of the route, on the edge of the forest stood an old mansion with a high fence. He'd seen it before when he'd gone hiking, but he'd never actually delivered any mail there. It made him wonder if the place was perhaps abandoned.

And then one afternoon, when he thought he'd delivered everything in the van, there it was. A package for the mansion on the edge of the woods. He'd gone past it, busy delivering magazines and online shopping to the family homes near the school. But there it was, a small box, about the size of two books or a thick stack of paper, addressed to a Ms A. Stark.

John smiled to himself and laid the package on the passenger seat. He turned the van around and made his way back to that dead-end street that led up to the mansion. When he stopped the van at the iron-wrought gate, he looked around for the mailbox. But he had no intention of leaving the package at the fence, he wanted to see that place. There was a mail slot in the stone pillar of the gate, too small for the package, and next to it was a button and a speaker. 

Feeling a little excited, John got out of the van with the package in his hand. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his ginger curls to make them less flat and more presentable. Peering through the gate, he could see the driveway and a large garage beside the porch where the front door was. The afternoon sun made it hard to see if any lights were on. So he went over to the doorbell and pressed the button.

A tiny red light let him know that somewhere in the house, there was a doorbell sound. As he waited, John held the package in one hand, as if he was a waiter delivering a drink. If there was a camera somewhere, the person in the house would be able to tell from the package and the uniform and the van that he really was the mailman.

The little speaker buzzed and a voice said: "Come on in." With a hum, the gate started to roll open, but it stopped when the opening was about four feet wide. John looked back at the van for a second, before walking through the gate and up to the house.

Tall trees surrounded the house, even inside the fence, providing shade and silence. The mansion looked gorgeous and in good condition, the stonework was neat and clean. The wooden shutters in front of every window were painted deep red, and so was the front door. As he approached the porch, the door opened and a woman stepped out, wearing a silk dressing gown that showed off her curvy body. Long, blonde hair fell down over her shoulders and partially obscured her pale face. Barefoot, she walked to the edge of the porch and stood there, staring at him, one hand stroking her chin.

John smiled at her, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "A package for you, Miss." He stayed on the driveway and extended his arm to offer it to her.

She looked him over, head to toe, and then looked him straight in the eyes. Something in that piercing gaze quickened John's breath.

"Why don't you come inside for a drink?" Her voice was breathy and sultry, and she ran a finger over her lips as she spoke. "You look like you've had a long day." She turned and padded into the house, leaving the front door wide open.

John stood there for a moment, the package still in his extended hand. He swallowed at this unbelievable situation, and then trotted up the steps and through the door. The hall had a gleaming herringbone wooden floor that made him want to wipe his feet, for fear of sullying it. But he was also worried about wandering into the wrong room. She clearly hadn't gone up the large spiral staircase that dominated the hall, but there were several doors and corridors, and the polished wood and thick curtains everywhere dazzled him.

The sound of a cabinet being opened came from an open doorway, and John went through with a sigh of relief. Bookshelves lined the walls of this room and a plush rug decorated the middle of the floor, where three antique sofas stood around the fireplace. The woman stood by a wooden cabinet, pouring what looked like wine into a crystal glass.

"Soda?" She asked as she glanced at him. "I'd offer you something stronger, but you're driving, of course. Or would you like lemonade?"

John took a deep breath. "Miss, you're very kind, but I shouldn't." And he placed the package on a seat. He started to back away to the door, when she turned to face him, and her piercing stare froze him in his tracks.

"Come here. Sit." She patted the padded loveseat in front of her.

With an awkward smile, he nodded and crossed the rug to sit down. The crystal she put down on the side table beside the armrest contained the same red wine as her own glass, which she brought to the other side of the loveseat. She sat down facing him, her knee touching his thigh, and laid her hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. The movement pulled her dressing gown open, revealing the white skin of her thighs and her cleavage.

Feeling his temperature rising, John stared at the rug, his hands folded in his lap.

"Look at me, boy." Her soft fingers touched his stubbly chin, coaxing him to turn his head towards her.

He tried very politely to not let his gaze rest on her exposed skin, and when he looked into her eyes, he suddenly noticed how blue they were, like the colour of a lake deep in the forest, with green all around the edges. The way her fingers stroked his chin made his breath hitch, and the sensuous sound of her voice made him feel sweaty.

"Look at me. That's a good boy. Just listen for a moment, and focus on me. You must be so tired after a long day. Isn't it comfortable to just sit here with me and relax? Isn't it easy to let the whole world fall away and focus completely on me? Can you hear the soothing silence as you listen only to me? Take a deep breath and as you let it out, you can feel yourself fixate completely on me."

As he exhaled, he felt his face go slack and his jaw sag open. His body felt heavy and strangely distant as he sat there, staring into her eyes, unable to move.

Her voice was so soft, drawing him closer. "Doesn't it feel good? Isn't there a feeling of pleasure somewhere inside you? I'm giving you this feeling. Focus on me and this pleasure grows."

Her hand reached down to touch his crotch and he shuddered with arousal.

"Look deep into my eyes, boy, and as that pleasure grows, you understand that it's caused by me. I give you this pleasure as a reward for your compliance. Obey my words and the arousal will grow stronger."

His hips bucked as his erection swelled under her massaging hand. His body felt hot and heavy, he was unable to move or look away, or even close his mouth.

She spoke slowly, drawing out every word. "Feel free to test this. Obey me and feel that it's true. Think only of me and nothing else. Surrender to me. Tell me you obey me."

In a breathy whisper, he said: "I obey you." And immediately, a wave of pleasure rushed through him, overwhelming his senses. His vision blurred and he trembled in his seat.

"Very good." She chuckled.

As the groping in his crotch continued, her other hand stroked from his shoulder to the back of his neck and then up into his hair. She grabbed and tugged his hair, pulling him in to kiss him. He felt faint and hot, his eyes crossing and then finally closing. She kissed him hungrily, her tongue penetrating his mouth and her teeth grazing his lips. It made him dizzy, or perhaps that was because of how her hand massaged the back of his head. 

When the kiss finally ended, he sank back into the seat, his chin sagging down onto his chest, his arms lying limply at his sides.

A moment passed before her sweet voice spoke again. "Open your eyes, boy. Get up and kneel before me."

His eyes popped open. He was a little surprised to see that the room was still the same, all polished wood and faded books. He got up from the sofa and turned to kneel next to her feet. The joy he felt as he obeyed her orders was intoxicating, like a hot, alcoholic drink, warming him from the inside. It was stronger than the uncomfortable feeling of his knees on the floor.

She stroked his cheek and smiled at him, uninhibited by the way her robe fell open, perhaps even unaware of it. "Doesn't it feel good to obey me?"

He leaned into her touch, nodding in agreement.

"Do you need to test it more? You can." She reclined and sipped her wine. "Try to do something that I don't want you to do. You'll feel how uncomfortable it makes you. How unhappy. Go on."

John frowned, suddenly realising that he was on his knees in a strange woman's house. He didn't know why. Or why it felt so good. With a frown, he rose to his feet and backed away from her. He should be going back to the van, but the very thought made him feel cold and unwilling. He looked at her, sitting there with the glass in her hand, her robe half-open, giving him a knowing smile.

"What's wrong?" She asked in a low voice.

His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could find the words. "I shouldn't be here."

She inclined her head at him. "Do you want to leave?"

"No." But he wasn't sure what he did want. He ran his hand thought his hair, hoping it would clear his head.

"Sit with me," she said as she put her glass back down.

As soon as he was in the seat, he felt hot and sweaty again. He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers, no matter how inviting her chest looked as she let out a laugh. The whole situation confused him. Breathlessly, he asked: "What are you doing to me?"

"I'm hypnotising you." She reached out to touch his chest through his shirt. "I'm making you feel so good right now. So aroused."

He shuddered and gasped as if her touch electrified him. It muddled his thoughts. "Hypnosis?" The word conjured up images from shows where people flopped down unconscious at the snap of the hypnotist's finger. Nothing like this. He was awake, wasn't he?

With a chuckle, she said: "Close your eyes."

His eyes fell shut and a sigh escaped his lips as he settled into the seat's plush upholstery.

"Isn't it relaxing to do what I say? Isn't it such a relief to close your eyes and obey me?"

A strange sense of serenity came over him, a contentment at doing nothing but sit here with his eyes closed. It felt unreal, especially because his hardon was swelling in his pants.

"What do you want?" Her voice was very close to his ear.

"I want to obey you." Those were the only words that came to mind. It felt strange to say them out loud, but it also turned him on.

"Open your pants, boy. Take your cock out and stroke it."

His hands moved automatically, and the pleasure made him faint. He moaned involuntarily.

"Does that feel good?"

With a gasp, he said: "Fuck yes."

"Why?"

The pleasure made it hard to speak. "Because I obey you."

Her hand crawled up over the back of his neck into his hair and massaged the back of his head. "I want you to forget. Obey me, stroke yourself and forget."

[theweepingmonk]

Prompt #8 “I’m not doing that again”

Pairing: Pym x The Red Spear

Rating: G

No Warnings Apply

Fandom: Cursed

Tags: Minor Injuries, First Kiss

can also be read here

Pym isn't a fighter, not really. She fancied herself a healer and though she'd been roped into learning sword techniques with Squirrel, the last place she belonged was a battlefield. 

Yet here she was in the thick of it, her friends and allies battling with Pendragon's men all around her.

She deflects the blade of a man charging towards her, but the force of him sends her flying back. He tries to stab her, but Lancelot catches his blade, quickly disarming him and running him through with his sword. 

Pym slumps in relief.

Lancelot offers her his hand, blue eyes piercing as ever. "Remember what I said about planting your feet."

She takes his hand, and allows him to pull her to her feet. "It's not so easy when I've got these big oafs coming after me."

"Perhaps you should stick with the Red Spear," he suggests. "She's thinned out the men in her area."

"Right, which way is she?"

Lancelot nods to his right, expression free of judgment for what many would perceive as cowardice. "Be safe. We'll need all our healers when this is done."

Pym nods, squeezing his hand before letting go. She runs through the grassy field until she finds the Red Spear and her warriors scattered about. 

Pym stops shorts of them to catch her breath and look around properly. Lancelot was right, there were less Pendragon soldiers over here. It's as she's looking around that she spots a large man charging across the battlefield.

He's got a flail in hand and is making a beeline for the Red Spear. 

Pym doesn't think twice, running towards her ally in an instant, yelling out for her to move, but she's too busy fighting to hear her. She reaches her just in time to push her out of the way, but the spiked iron ball whips across her back instead.

The pain is intense and immediate, the flail cutting through her tunic and catching on her skin. Pym cries out and slumps to her knees.

She isn't sure what happens next, but she thinks maybe the Red Spear takes care of him just as she falls forward and passes out.

Maybe if she hadn't leant Dof's necklace to Squirrel that day she would've gotten away unscathed by Sigurd's blessing.  

 ♢♢♢

 "Ah! Ah! Ahhh! Careful!" Pym exclaims as Lancelot finishes cutting off her shirt. He's already put a generous amount of salve on her back for the pain, but any bit of movement didn't feel too nice.

"Sorry," he says lowly, then, "I'll find you a loose tunic."

Pym hums in acknowledgement and he leaves her. The salve would need to sit for awhile and then they would wrap bandages around her. 

She's alone for only a few moments when she hears the tent flaps open. She turns curiously. "Find one already?" She asks, presuming it to be Lancelot. 

Instead, she finds the Red Spear walking in, noticeably confused by the question. 

"Oh," Pym says. "What are you doing here?"

"You saved my life today," she says as if it was obvious. 

"Well, trust me, I’m not doing that again," Pym mutters miserably, back aching with the memory. "I don't think I'd survive it."

She walks in further until she's standing over Pym, eyes raking over the cuts and bruises littering her upper back. 

Despite all she's seen, Pym never would've guessed that one well aimed hit from a flail could do so much damage. 

"You showed real courage today," the Red Spear tells her, finally moving her gaze from Pym's back to her eyes, "And now I am in your debt."

"No debt," Pym says. "I'm just glad you're safe." And she meant it. Though they weren't particularly close, she did admire the other woman. All her skill and beauty.

There's a hint of a smile on her lips as she says, "Honorable, but things are a bit different for Danes. When someone saves your life, they owe you a debt equal to it."

"So, what? I don't get a choice?" Pym asks. 

"Just name something," she urges, though not unkindly. 

Pym considers the debt, unsure what could equate to someone's life.

"Did you have to walk the Monk through this?" the Red Spear questions, gesturing to her back.

"Yes. He's a fast learner." She answers distractedly. It's as she's staring at the other woman that she finally thinks of something. "It can be anything?" She asks. 

"Anything within my power, present or future."

"Tell me your name."

She tilts her head, eyes narrowed. "My name isn't worth a life."

"Isn't it?" Pym challenges. "You won't tell it to anyone."

The Red Spear studies her a moment, eyes lit with amusement. "If I tell you, it must be kept a secret."

Pym nods.

She hesitates briefly, then reluctantly says, "My name is Guinevere."

Pym blinks in surprise. "Not what I was expecting, but it's pretty."

"You think?" 

"Yeah. It's strong too...Queen Guinevere, taker of the Ice King's throne....It demands respect, doesn't it?"

Guinevere looks almost stunned. 

"What? I was on a ship with you for months screaming at me for being a shit healer. I know your plans. You practically tell them to any who will listen."

Guinevere huffs in amusement. "Well, for the record, you're as shit a warrior as you are a healer."

"You're alive aren't you?"

"Yes, but almost at the expense of your life...maybe you should stick to healing after all...You have to get better eventually."

Pym rolls her eyes fondly. 

The tent flaps rustle and a moment later Lancelot steps in carrying a white tunic. He spares a glance to Guinevere, then to Pym says, "I wasn't having much luck finding a spare tunic so I got you one of mine."

"Thank you."

"Is it time for the bandages?" He questions. 

"Yeah," Pym answers as she sits up, the unripped half of her shirt clinging to her front. She grunts, her body protesting the movement, but she powers through and sits herself up. 

"Perhaps I should do the bandages?" Guinevere suggests as Pym starts to remove her shirt. 

Lancelot grabs the bandages from the table and hands them to Guinevere without question. "I'll check in with the other healers," he tells Pym. 

It's kind of a relief actually.  Pym trusted Lancelot and though it would've only been a medical necessity, she was glad not to have to partially expose herself to him. 

Pym pulls off her shirt, face heating because it still felt awkward being half-naked in front of somebody, man or woman. 

Guinevere steps forward, urging Pym to hold her arms up so she can hold one end of the wrap near her armpit, the wrap curling under her arm to go around her back. She starts wrapping the bandages around Pym with relative ease, a silence filling the tent as she works, flitting around Pym as needed. 

Suddenly, she lingers right in front of Pym's face, pulling on the bandage to make it tighter across her chest. Her warm breath ghosting over Pym's cheek.  

Pym blinks, struck by a warm feeling that quickly takes root and makes it hard to breathe. Guinevere's too close. She's beautiful, and warm and way too close.

Pym's heart stutters as she feels Guinevere's fingertips brush against her side while she ties off the bandages. She can't help the way her gaze lingers on Guinevere's face, on the piercings, the curve of her mouth and the focused look in her dark brown eyes. 

Guinevere catches her staring, and pauses, a curious glint in her eyes. "Have you thought of something else you want besides my name?"

Pym blushes, and she isn't sure where all this extra courage is coming from today, but she says, "There is one thing."

"Name it."

"A kiss."

Guinevere smirks at that. "My life for only a name and a kiss...I'm almost insulted."

Pym chuckles, the sound cut short as Guinevere leans in, face inches from hers. 

Guinevere hovers in her space. "One kiss and my debt is clear."

Pym nods dumbly.

Guinevere's smirk grows bigger. She pulls Pym into a rough kiss, that softens as they shift and adjust to the feel of each other. Pym's hand settles on the back of Guinevere's neck, keeping her close, but it's not long before Guinevere pulls away.

"One kiss for the debt," she says, then, "and one because I like your spirit," before kissing her again. 

Pym hums in acknowledgement, her hand curling in the back of Guinevere's hair and pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. It's slow and sweet and everything Pym never knew she wanted. 

Pym makes the mistake of pulling Guinevere half on top of her, and falls flat on her back. She groans unhappily, pain flaring sharply. 

Guinevere grabs her hands and pulls her back into a sitting position. "Perhaps we should continue this another time?" 

Pym nods, face half scrunched in pain. 

Guinevere kisses her nose, causing her to blink in surprise, and unscrunch her face.  "Find me when you need your bandages changed."

Pym smiles. "I will...Guinevere."

Guinevere actually smiles - not smirks, smiles - before leaving Pym to herself. 

Pym's still smiling long after she's gone, fingers pressed to her lips in awe when Lancelot walks in. 

"Pym?"

"Huh?" She asks, meeting his gaze. 

"The tunic," He says with a frown.

Pym looks down and realizes she never put it on. She scrambles to pull it on, and jumps to her feet. It hangs down her body like a dress. 

"How tall are you?" She asks incredulously. 

"...It's all I could find..." 

Pym shakes her head. "Squirrel's right, you are a tree."

Lancelot huffs, and then they spend the rest of the afternoon picking up the slack of the other healers. 

[toosicktoocare]

prompt:  Hiiìì! I heard you're taking prompts 💙💙💙 could you write one where the Avengers are on a mission and like are purely relying on Peter's super senses. So just post mission he gets super overloaded and fluff with Irondad? Thanks ✌✌💙💙💙

So I actually ADORE this prompt because it feels fresh and different. Thank you @spideygirl2003​ for the amazing prompt!

“What do you have, kid?”

The tingle brushing against the back of Peter’s skull feels like a small, electric jolt that shocks his limbs into whatever direction or stance needed to keep him safe. He chases the sharp sense until he’s pointing toward another closed door in the long hallway.

“Three armed men behind that door.” He shakes his hands out as if to rid his limbs of the pulsing urge to act against the threat of danger.

For this mission, he’s been asked to accompany Tony, Steve, and Clint to infiltrate a rather large enemy base that’s keeping a few innocent bystanders who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time hostage. Tony’s logic is that the enemies are expecting some big, showy attack, so to counter their expectations, he pulled together a small team and announced they would solely utilize Peter’s Spider-Sense to quietly but effectively force their way to the hostages.

“Cap, plow in first and shield Clint while he attacks from behind. Keep it quiet.” Tony whispers the orders before he knocks quietly on the door, as he’s been doing with all of the other doors, and steps to the side, jerking Peter back with him away from pending gun fire.

As soon as the door opens, Cap charges in wordlessly, and Clint fires off arrows from behind. The whole attack takes seconds, but it’s still long enough to have Peter’s limbs burning against an urge to fire off webs. He grits his teeth from behind his mask and gives a small shake of his head.

“Nice work, gentlemen,” Tony says as he enters the room, eyes scanning every square inch for any hint of the hostages’ whereabouts.

Peter follows Tony in, and the second he crosses into the room, the tingle at the back of his skull jolts almost painfully, and he spins toward a bookcase leaning against a small section of the wall. His limbs are moving toward it carefully, muscles chasing the electricity that’s sparking hard at the sense of danger. He studies the bookcase with a frown, and when his eyes fall to a barrel of a gun from a small hole in the back of the bookcase, he gasps, muscles pulsing.

“Shit,” is all he manages out before he jumps back and webs the hole, preventing the bullet from entering the room. “They know we’re here,” Peter informs, brows furrowed as all four turn toward the shaking bookcase.

“Well,” Tony says with a shrug. “We made it, what,” he pauses, glancing toward a clock on the wall, “two hours before they realized we were here.”

“Peter, get behind me,” Steve orders, shield raised and ready to defend, and Peter obeys. His muscles are trembling like mad. His Spider-Sense is going haywire, and he can’t fully peg why until gun fire starts raining down on them from the ceiling and all four walls.

Instantly, he’s shooting webs at the walls and ceiling to provide a barrier while Tony, Steve, and Clint work to take down the many men barreling into the room and shooting.

“Peter, fall back! Get the hell out of here!”

Tony’s tone is sharp, demanding, aware that Peter’s ability doesn’t always do as well in super close combat, and Peter spares a hesitant glance before he webs a few men together and flips out of the room. He starts running toward the exit, but then he feels a faint jolt that has him turning around with a frown.

He lets his muscles lead, and he starts sprinting down the hall and up six flights of stairs until he’s standing in front a a single door at the top of the enemies base. The back of his skull is burning, and his muscles are going stiff, as if bracing for battle.

“The hostages,” he mutters, sensing their fear.

“Peter, did I not tell you to get the hell out of this building? Why is Karen patching your location, which is very much still in the damn building, to me?”

Tony’s voice is breathless yet furious in Peter’s ear.

“You said ‘get out of here,’ which isn’t very specific, Mr. Stark.”

“Kid, now is not the time to sass--”

“--I found the hostages,” Peter interrupts. “There’s only two men guarding them. I can get them out.”

“Peter, don’t you--”

Peter cuts the link and knocks on the door.

“Who is it?”

“Um,” Peter starts, “pizza delivery?”

Peter’s already got his hands raised when the door slams open. He kicks the gun out of the hand of the man in front of him while he webs the gun from the man further in the room to a wall. After, his fists are flying, webs are shooting from his wrists, and he’s dodging multiple hits while his muscles follow the Spider-Sense jolting throughout his body.

He takes a few hits, but he’s soon able to knock out both men and web them in separate corners. He turns to the hostages, gently pulling the tape from their mouths. There’s a woman, a young girl, and a young man close to his age. “Are you hurt?” he asks the three, and relief swells in his chest when they shake their heads.

He turns his comm link back on, wincing at the loud shouting and cursing that crackles into his ear.

“Peter, so help me! If I find your dead body, I will resurrect you myself and personally kick your ass for being so unbelievably reckless--”

"The hostages are safe,” Peter interrupts as he helps each one to their feet.

“And you?”

Peter smiles softly at Steve’s concern. “I’m okay, Cap.” He leads the hostages out of the room, and instantly, it feels as if all energy is drained from his body. He ignores his protesting muscles and the dull throb at the back of his skull and stays on guard despite his Spider-Sense being quiet for the first time in almost three hours.

When he meets up with the others, Tony gives him a full once over but says nothing. Peter knows he’s in for a lecture, but he kind of just wants to crawl into bed and sleep the gnawing exhaustion away.

“Hawkeye and I can escort the hostages to a hospital,” Steve starts. “Just in case.”

They part ways. Peter follows Tony toward his car, where Happy’s waiting outside, leaning against the car with his arms crossed.

“I would say good job,” Happy starts as soon as Tony abandons his Iron Man suit and Peter slips off his mask, “but I have a feeling there’s going to be a lecture coming. Damn, kid. What did you do this time?”

“Save the hostages,” Peter mumbles at the same time as Tony barks out “disobey my orders.”

Tony slams the door, and Peter meets Happy’s eyes. They share a silent conversation before Happy claps a large hand on his shoulder.

“Hop in, kid. You look beat.”

Peter slides into the backseat beside Tony, and for the next fifteen minutes, Tony growls out how dangerous and reckless he was and how he could have been killed. Peter’s heard it all before, so he only lays his head against the glass as Tony shouts at him.

His whole body feels sore. He’s not used to utilizing his Spider-Senses for long periods of time. It takes a lot out of him, yet his heart is racing in his chest. He’s bone tired, but his heart and mind are still on edge, as if waiting for another jolt down the back of his neck. He’s familiar with the feeling of his mind and body being at war as he comes down from an adrenaline high, but he’s not used to it being this bad. He sighs and rubs a shaking hand at the back of his neck, unaware that Tony’s stopped yelling and Happy’s stopped the car.

“Peter, look at me.”

The urgency in Tony’s tone has Peter lifting his head with a frown. “Mr. Stark?” He looks past Tony out the window to see Stark Tower. “Oh,” he says softly. “We’re back.”

“Peter, what’s going on with you?” Tony’s taken on a worried tone. “Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Are you hiding being sick again?” Tony fires out sharply as he smooths a palm across Peter’s forehead. He finds the skin cool to the touch, and he slides his hand down to Peter’s neck, two fingers pressing against the indent by Peter’s collar bone as he silently counts heartbeats.

“How is your heat beating like a damn jackhammer, yet you look like you’re about to keel over?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter moves away from Tony’s hand and slides out of the car. He can see Happy watching him, but he ignores it, fingers curling tightly into his mask as he starts toward the steps.

“Peter,” Tony jogs to keep up with him, and he stops in front of the kid, noting how Peter looks pale, worn out, yet his pupils are dilated, and his jaw is clenched.

“Kid, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I’m,” Peter starts, sighing lowly, “I’m just overloaded, Mr. Stark.”

“Overloaded,” Tony repeats slowly, his mind dissecting the word letter by letter. “What do you mean?”

“My Spider-Sense,” Peter starts, shoulders slumping. This isn’t something he’s ever wanted to tell anyone because he doesn’t want everyone to put a handicap on him. “Sometimes when I use it too much, it’s hard to come down from it. It’s like,” he pauses, raking his fingers through his hair, “physically, I’m exhausted because my muscles are acting on whatever the Spider-Sense tells them, but mentally, it’s hard shut everything back off.” Without meaning to, his hand finds the back of his neck. “I can still feel a hint of a tingle, and it just takes a while for my body to even itself out.”

“You’ve never told me--”

“--by choice,” Peter interrupts around his fifth sigh in minutes. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. I just don’t want you, or anyone, to think I’m weak.”

Tony’s expression fills in multiple emotions back to back, but he finally turns on his heel and starts toward the tower. “Go get washed up then meet me in the lounge, okay?”

Frowning, Peter tilts his head in quiet question, but he obliges, and after twenty minutes, he’s shuffling into the lounge, pulling a NASA hoodie over his head as he walks into the room.

“Mr. Stark, what’s--” his words fall flat off his tongue as he takes in the multiple blankets splayed across the couch and the cup of steaming tea on the coffee table. He looks to Tony with a frown. “What’s, um, up, Mr. Stark?”

“I don’t know how to you help you with feeling overloaded,” Tony starts, motioning toward the couch from his spot on the recliner. “But, I can offer you comfort, safety, and,” he pauses, pressing play on the remote, “Star Wars.”

Peter slowly takes a seat on the couch, pulling a blanket around his shoulders before he leans forward and snags his tea. He takes a sip, relishing in the comforting heat, and leans back against the couch cushions as if molding his body to the couch. Already, he can feel his heart rate lowering, and the pain at the back of his skull is starting to subside. He feels safe-- he knows that Tony will ensure that nothing bad ever happens to him.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he says, looking toward the older man with a smile.

Tony meets his eyes, and Peter’s smile falls to a small frown at Tony’s furrowed brows.

“Really, Mr. Stark. This is already starting to work--”

“You know that I don’t know a single person who thinks you’re weak, right? Myself included.”

“I know--”

“Then I don’t ever want you to keep something from me out of fear that you will be perceived as weak. Got it?”

Peter nods slowly, and when Tony relaxes back against the recliner and turns toward the movie, Peter does the same, feeling relief swell around his steady heart.

[january3693]

Black Birthdays

I wrote another little ficlet scene featuring Sirius and Remus in an alternate universe where Sirius got a trial post-POA. I swear my next fic really will be some enormous, super dramatic trial fic. Until then, enjoy this angsty (but kind of hopeful) little scene about Sirius’s first birthday after Azkaban.

In all the years Sirius had been locked away in Azkaban, Remus had never once forgotten his birthday. He’d spent most of them getting drunk and trying to forget, only ever succeeding at the first. It was almost ironic that now, when he knew the truth and had Sirius back in his life, that this should be the year Remus almost forgot the importance of November Third.

He remembered while addressing a letter, and dropped his quill in guilty surprise, splattering ink all over the page. Quickly, he tossed the ruined parchment aside and put off his letter in favor of a quickly scrawled note to Harry, knowing that any reply would come at least a day too late. Remus winced as he tied the letter to their owl’s leg and encouraged the owl to hurry.

Sirius had always loved his birthday. The cakes, the presents, and the general air of celebration, all centered around him. He’d relished the parties they used to throw for him at Hogwarts, and even after they’d graduated and were off fighting a war, Sirius had thrown elaborate parties for himself, inviting the entire Order into his and Remus’s flat for music and dancing and a night of forgetting all the terrible things going on out in the world.

If there was ever a year to celebrate, this would have been it. Sirius’s first birthday as a free man. Remus should have been planning this for weeks, months, since the moment the “not guilty” verdict came down.

There was no time now, not to do things properly. Harry was stuck at school, and, well, most of the friend who used to fill their parties were dead. Maybe he could floo call Andromeda and get her and Ted over for dinner. I she could bring a few bottles of Sirius’s preferred wines, even better.

He hurried out of the study and down the stairs when he stopped so suddenly he nearly tripped and fell down the bottom half of the staircase.

Where was Sirius? It was his birthday and he hadn’t teased Remus once for birthday kisses or spankings. Remus hadn’t actually seen him since breakfast this morning. Taking the steps slowly, Remus replayed the morning in his head.

Sirius had been slow getting out of bed that morning, and at breakfast he’d barely eaten. Remus had been distracted by his own thoughts, and he’d brushed Sirius’s pensiveness off as concern for Harry after the debacle with the Goblet of Fire. They were both worried about the tournament and the looming first task.

Sirius had left the kitchen while Remus was busy with the washing up, and then…Remus hadn’t seen him since.

His first thought was that this sort of behavior wasn’t like Sirius at all. Following closely on that thought’s heels though was another, admonishing him for once again assuming Sirius was still the same as he’d been at twenty-one. Perhaps Azkaban had stolen the memories of his past birthdays as it had with so many of Sirius’s other happy memories.

Azkaban…

Remus froze. “Oh, I’m an idiot,” he said to himself. He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to keep from crying. When the moment had passed, he went looking for Sirius.

He found him curled up on their bed in a nest of blankets, his nose tucked under his tail. Padfoot opened one grey eye as Remus sat down on the bed next to him, but he didn’t move and he didn’t change back.

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” Remus whispered, running his fingers through the dog’s soft fur. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize, I didn’t even think…”

The fur beneath his hand changed to bare skin, though Sirius remained curled up on his side, facing away from Remus. “Did the maths, did you?” Sirius asked, his voice hollow.

“I did,” Remus said quietly. “It was today, wasn’t it? Today of all days…” He hurt just thinking about it. Another thing that had been so cruelly stolen from Sirius.

“I can’t be certain,” Sirius replied. “Time…time got a little hard for me to track then, but yeah…the dates make sense as far as I can tell.”

Sirius was shivering, the phantom cold of Azkaban clawing at him again. Remus lay down and curled himself around Sirius, burying his face in the other man’s hair. He tugged the blankets over both of them before wrapping his arms around Sirius’s waist. Sharing what warmth he had.

Just like Sirius said, the maths sounded right. Lily and James had died on the Thirty-first of October. Sirius had confronted Peter the evening of the First of November. It seemed logical that the Ministry might have taken the rest of that night and the better part of the Second to sort things out and decide what to do with Sirius. Add in the time to get all the way up to that dreadful island, and yes…Sirius had almost certainly been thrown into Azkaban on his twenty-second birthday.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner,” Remus said.

Sirius shrugged, his shoulder almost hitting Remus in the jaw. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t say anything. I’d honestly hoped you’d just forget...”

Remus didn’t mention that he almost had. That wouldn’t help matters.

“We don’t have to celebrate,” Remus promised him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you never want to celebrate again that’s just fine, Sirius. Whatever you want.”

“Just…stay here with me, please,” Sirius mumbled. “You’re warm, and I don’t want to be alone.”

Remus pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Sirius’s neck. “Of course I’ll stay, as long as you need.”

“And if I never stop needing you?” Sirius asked hesitantly.

“Then I’ll be here forever,” Remus promised. “Though I hope you’re speaking metaphorically rather than literally. Bed sores sound very unpleasant.” That startled a thin laugh out of Sirius and he relaxed against Remus’s chest.

“I did tell Harry,” Remus admitted hours later. He’d finally coaxed Sirius out of bed with the promise of hot soup. It was nothing fancy, straight from a can with a few slices of bread he toasted to hide the fact that it had started to go stale. “So, you’ll probably get a letter from him tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Sirius said. He sounded a little uncomfortable and dragged his spoon in circles through his bowl, but he seemed better than he had a few hours ago. Of course, Harry could do little wrong in his godfather’s eyes, so even if Sirius dreaded a letter full of birthday wishes, he would bear it and dutifully reply with thanks and all the cheer he could muster for his godson’s sake. “I suppose it’s best he knows. I mean, he probably would have asked about it at some point, and this way he won’t feel like we intentionally left him out of something.”

Remus smiled and reached across the table to entwine his fingers with those of Sirius’s free hand. “Is it all right if I say it? You can tell me no if it’s not.”

Sirius leaned back and seemed to give the matter some genuine consideration. Finally, he nodded.

Remus smiled and squeezed his hand, using it to pull Sirius closer across the table. He pressed a quick kiss to Sirius’s chapped lips, and when he pulled back he whispered, “Happy birthday, Sirius.”

[matrixaffiliate]

Re-blog Tag

The fabulous @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world tagged me to re-blog a fic I’m proud of. Thank you so much darling <3

If anyone wants to play consider yourself tagged. I’ll tag @gryffindorhealer @thisismegz @petals-to-fish @pansexualsnuffles

Glimpsing Happiness

FFN and AO3

I wrote this wonderful piece with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon and it’s still one of my favorite ones to go back and read. I’ll post just the first two chapters here, but if you follow the links above they’ll take you to the full 34K word story. I hope you enjoy this WWII Blackinnon AU!

Chapter 1

Marlene straightened her veil and smoothed the creases out of her white apron before grabbing her gray woolen coat. She chuckled bitterly at the lies she and Mary had told themselves when the war began. September seemed like a dream not just over half a year ago.

When she'd interviewed for the QAIMNS to be a military nurse she'd been a bit startled at being asked to wait afterward. The officer had returned to the waiting room ten minutes later and handed her a packet. Open only in the event of war was printed across the front. He thanked her and sent her on her way. When Mary had the same packet after her interview, Marlene at least knew it wasn't a ploy. Marlene still remembered the chill she felt when England declared war. She and Mary opened their packets together in Marlene's room. The fact that they'd been assigned to the same place was a miracle within itself. War had a habit of pulling everyone apart. But they thought Netley would be an adventure back then. They thought they would be by the sea and have beautiful scenery to live in and that this was how they'd make a difference. Though if she was honest, Marlene would have preferred being handed a rifle and marching orders. But she had to take what she could get.

“Ready Marls?” Mary came out of the loo and walked to the small bed adjacent to the one Marlene sat upon. Her Majesty's nurses were being put up in qualified dwellings, but Marlene knew the stories from The Great War and she refused to become attached to this small flat as home.

Home was London. Home was the bustling streets where she would run to school with her brother and sister. Home was making fun of her older brother for pinning after the shop girl. Home was her younger sister playing their grandmother's violin because she had the gift. Home was her mum's Sunday dinners and her seamstress work all over the sitting room. Home was the smell of her dad's pipe tobacco wafting through their small house and his hugs that made her feel understood. Home was when everyone thought that the world had seen it's worst war. This, well this was anything but home.

Marlene sighed and grabbed her gloves, “Let's get this wretched walk over with.”

Mary tutted, “Just think of it as a pleasant stroll near the seaside.”

Marlene playfully pulled one of Mary’s black curls from under her veil, “I can always count on you to be a bright ball of sunshine can't I?”

Mary reached up and grabbed one of Marlene's blonde ringlets. Marlene flinched as the lock of hair caught on Mary's wedding band, “Your fault for wearing the sun on your head, Sister.”

The women began their trek up to Netley Hospital. The cold spring air whipped against them and Marlene nearly lost her veil twice. It was biting cold and their fingers and toes ached as they climbed the hill. There's a reason that it took two steam engines for the trains to reach the hospital station, Marlene mused as she braced herself against the wind that threatened to knock her back down the hill.

When they finally made it to the hospital doors, Marlene groaned. The entry to the hospital was most peculiar and if she was being honest, downright disturbing. This grand entry served as some sort of deranged circus. All the skulled momentos of animals that had been collected across the British Empire. Beasts really, she shuddered and practically dragged Mary past it all as quickly as possible. Marlene didn't think she'd ever become accustomed to it.

“They really aren't all that bad, Sister Marlene,” Mary smirked and stopped to admire what was labeled as an elephant skull.

“Sister Mary, we're going to be late if we don't step to it and the Matron won't thank us for it.”

Mary sighed and removed her coat before adjusting her scarlet tippet, “Well then off we go.”

They walked to their Matron’s office, nodding politely and grabbed their assignments off the wall covered in file folders.

“Bollocks,” Marlene muttered as they walked out and she opened her folder.

Mary peered over her shoulder, “Oh dear.”

“I was supposed to be done this week!” Marlene groaned. “Private Fenwick will be cleared and on his way to the station by now and I was supposed to be done with Quarantine because we'd have no more patients. But no! We had to get a typhoid fever patient!”

“But we sent vaccines over to France. He should have been vaccinated, it was mandated, David told me so.” Mary’s husband had been sent over to France with the British Expeditionary Force.

“The vaccine isn't a guarantee, Sister. He's probably one of the lucky ones.” Marlene huffed and snapped her folder shut.

“Yes,” Mary rolled her eyes, “very lucky, indeed.”

“Enjoy surgical recovery,” Marlene tipped her head as they reached Mary's ward.

“Enjoy your walk,” Mary blew her a kiss before walking into the first room of her ward.

Marlene started her near quarter-mile trek to the far side of Netley Hospital. She'd gone home last night looking forward to a new assignment, to being done with the Quarantine patient. Not that Private Fenwick was a bad sort, but Marlene was tired of being sequestered off with the shy little ward maid, Arabella Figg. She was a sweet enough lady, but she always insisted on talking about the cats she bread and Marlene wasn't particularly fond of cats, she was more of a dog person actually, so their conversations fizzled out quickly.

“Sister Marlene,” Arabella smiled kindly at her as she pulled the sheets off of Private Fenwick's cot. “I told them to put your new patient by the window. Not much of a view, but I thought a bit of sun would do the poor officer good.”

“Thank you, Arabella,” Marlene nodded and walked to the far end of the room where a man lay unconscious under his blankets. Opening the chart, Marlene sighed, “Welcome home, Captain Black.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

It started out like just a common cold. Sirius did his best to ignore the blaring headache and aches in his muscles. He was fighting in a bloody war; he had more important things to focus on than the damned sniffles.

But within a few weeks, it was high fevers to the point of full-on delirium. No amount of Iron-will stubbornness could have kept him on the field after that. He was lucky someone had dragged him off to sick bay before his vision gave out.

Losing his sight was quite jarring, even to a mind that was preoccupied with the fact it was boiling. Was he dying? Where was he? What was happening?

He woke up, and by virtue of doing so, he was fairly sure he wasn’t dead. He didn’t quite have a gage on how long he was unconscious, but when he woke he was absolutely sure he’d been moved.

The smell.

This was some sort of infirmary or hospital. It smelled like sickness. Death and dying. Was he next? What sort of soldier dies of the sniffles? Uncle Alphard would be ashamed.

Or he would have been...He was gone now. Sirius winced. The news of his favorite Uncle’s passing was fresh. The letter had only come a week before the nosebleeds began.

Uncle Alphard had been his hero. The only person he could really look up to in that whole god-forsaken family. He was also just about the only blood relation that Sirius had who hadn’t been ashamed of him.

To be fair, the shame went both ways. Having grown up in a house with his 1st cousin, Bellatrix Black, who kissed the ground that Herr Hitler walked on, was not something that Sirius was particularly proud of. Leaving aside the constant rumors that she was intimately close to the Führer and may or may not be pregnant with his horrible Nazi hellspawn. Sirius didn’t even believe that last bit, but he felt sure that Bella wished it were true. She’d had these awful framed photos of him up in her bedroom when they were children. She was living her dream… It disgusted him and he didn’t bring it up if he could help it.

Instead, he attempted to shake off any hints of German in his speech and mannerisms. This was a monumental task for someone who spoke German from the nursery. In truth, he was a quarter British, if that. His mother’s mother was a Granddaughter of Queen Victoria herself. But they’d married Germans, as the British nobility had been wont to do, and consequently, his Mother’s noble house of Black, was about as German as anyone in Europe.

His father was bitter that he never got to wear the crown he had lived his life thinking that he deserved. He’d never fully adjusted. It was a far fall from His Royal Highness Orion, Crown Prince of Saxony, to an untitled exile, taking his wife’s name and live off her relatives' generosity.

Things were always tense at Uncle Cygnus’s generosity and his estate in Berkshire. Sirius and Cygnus’s middle daughter, Andromeda, clung to each other, and their uncle Alphard, in the midst of all these disgruntled Germans. The three of them were all that was left, well before England declared war. The others contended that Herr Hitler had the right idea about the Herrenmenschen. Transparently desperate to be superior to someone after losing their titles, they made their choice.

Sirius felt that he had to make choices of his own, despite being only 15 at the time. He’d opted to stay behind with his best mate from Eton, James Potter, and Uncle Alphard. This decision, and his iron-will refusal to do as he was told, did not go over well.

His mother berated him for his choices, saying he was a traitor to his blood. He said they were traitors to his country. This was the country that had educated him and taught him to be a man more than she ever could. So his parents and younger brother went on their way to support the Fürher and Sirius Black did his damnedest to be an English Gentleman through and through. That was that.

Apparently, being an English Gentleman did nothing to fend off typhoid fever. So he was to convalesce at the rather unpleasant smelling Netley Hospital for the time being.  

Those were amongst the words of the commanding baritone voice, was it a doctor? A medic? How was Sirius supposed to know? He couldn’t bloody see. How did people manage to live like this?

This was going to get old very quickly, if, like the voice informed him, he was going to live through it. Six weeks as a blind invalid?

Bollocks…

“Welcome home, Captain Black” the sound of his name startled him out of his half unconscious state.

“Did you say home? Are you sure about that? I think perhaps I died and went to Hell. Are you Hell’s secretary?”

“I beg your pardon! I’m Sister Marlene McKinnon. I’m charged with taking care of you while you recover here at Netley. So I recommend you be a bit nicer to me. You just asked the woman who’ll handle all your meals and medication for the next… ooooh six weeks is it… if she was Hell’s secretary.”

“And I’m still not convinced that you’re not. Sister Marlene. Are you a nun? I’m afraid I find myself dreadfully blind at the moment. You’ll have to tell me; are you wearing one of those nun head what’s-its?”

“Well, this is going to be an eventful six weeks… No, Captain Black, I’m not a nun. Sister is a rank. Sister is my rank in Queen Alexandra's Imperial Military Nursing Service.”

“Ah yes. Great Aunt Alix. That was the funeral of the season when I was six.” He remarked casually.

“Captain, I don’t care if her Majesty herself was your aunt. You still have to be polite.”

“Do I? Is there a law? ‘Here in Hell, we must be polite’? I must say, that’s unexpected. Here I was thinking the Devil would be lax with the rules. Shows what I know.”

Sirius was pretty sure he heard the woman, Sister Marlene, groan.

“I’ll be back in an hour, Captain Black. Perhaps by then you’ll have reconsidered your attitude.” Her clipped footsteps faded towards what must have been the door.

[serahsanguine]

A Christmas Carol Remastered

Rating; NC-!7

Read It Here on Ao3

Prompt; How the Ghosts Stole Christmas, they exchange gifts and it's what everyone expected the gifts to be, porn and a vibrator. They decide to watch the movie and he tries out the vibrator on her and one thing leads to another...

Tagging @skullsmuldon @today-in-fic @baronessblixen

***********************************************

A Christmas Carol Remastered

They had spent the night running around after ghosts, tricking them, fooling them, making them scared, hurting them. They had both come to realize they had feelings for each other, but neither admitting it just quite yet. They had gone their separate ways until she turned up at his apartment. They were not meant to exchange gifts but that did not stop them from getting each other one anyway. They sat there on the sofa, unwrapping the presents. He got her a vibrator and she got him an X-rated video. They laughed it off, it was a joke after all, wasn’t it?

Or so they thought, until exactly 364 days later. Their new-found relationship had begun. The night was Christmas Eve and on this night there were no ghost to be found. Just two lovers sitting on the sofa snuggling in each other's embrace.

“This time last Christmas you locked me on a house full of Ghosts .”  

Mulder’s back was against the arms of the black leather sofa, his legs stretched out across the length of it. Scully's back was against his stomach, her legs in between his.

“I didn’t lock us in,” he said in a pouty way.

“Hum,” she said rolling her eyes and turning towards him rubbing her face in his shirt.

“Do you remember what you got me?”  

“I do, and I remember how embarrassed I was walking in the store and buying it," she replied sheepishly.

"I’ve still got it,” he said casually.

“But I thought…"

“Oh I did, but that was the only one I could not get rid off.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the one that brought it,” he stated as fact.

She brought her lips to touch his and she placed her body on his lap. He could already feel the erection straining through his jeans. He opened her lips to her tongue dancing the tango against his. The taste of beer and sunflower seeds started invading her taste buds. His masculine aftershave and his musk mixed together to make her smile inside. Beer and cream cheese bagel were dancing on his tongue. Her Paris perfume and strawberry smelling hair wafted up to his nose. She was wiggling her body, rubbing her's against his. She let his lips go and casually asked.

“So you still have it?”

“Yes,” he replied confused.

“Can we watch it together?”

“Yes.”

He removed himself from her embrace and walked over to his cabinet full of memorabilia and music and videos. He pulled out the video from its hidden place and read the title “A Christmas Carol Remastered".

"Are you sure you want to watch it?”

“Yes,” her voice came away sultry and seductive.

“Do you still have the present I gave you?” he asked questionably.  

“Yes,” she replied again and she sat up finding her bag and pulling out the vibrator. His eyes lit up and he turned to place the VHS in the video player and went back to sit next to Scully.

The video started plating and it started out very similar to the Christmas Carol but with one very big twist. Instead of a man in his 60s, the guy was in his 30s and the ghost was a small petite redhead woman of the same age. The Ghost of Christmas past took him and lead him to the living room and proceeded to make the guy erect.

Scully was engrossed in the film and hadn't realised Mulder had moved very close into her personal space. She suddenly realised his hand was brushing the underside of her breast he breathed on her neck, underneath her earlobe. She suddenly realised how turned on she actually was. She reached her hand over to his lap and felt him hot and hard underneath his Levi jeans.

She palmed his erection and he groaned soft and low down her ear which only encouraged her to go on. He moved his hand further up her breast feeling the pebbled nipple poking through her lace bra and t-shirt. He soon lifted the t-shirt over her head and, undoing the clasp on her bra, he let it fall down her shoulders and to the floor. Not soon after, he took off his own t-shirt and placed it in the vicinity of her clothes.

He locked his lips on hers but soon moved to her neck, one hand in her silk hair and the other undoing her jeans button. He quickly slid the zip down and wiggled them out, her panties soon also moving down her smooth legs, and to her ankles, finally throwing them over his shoulder making them both giggle.

Scully's giggle was soon turned into a moan as his lips attached to her rose nipples. Hearing the moans of a guy's pleasure on the tv only heightened what he was doing to her. His touch felt like fire and ice. Her senses were heightened considerably.

He trailed kisses down her iron-flat stomach, feeling her well-toned muscles. He moved his lips down to the lips in between her thighs. Smelling and feeling the arousal with his fingers: she was dripping wet. He smiled sliding his index finger through her folds. She moaned and writhed under his touch. With his face millimetres away from her clit, he blew air on her sex which sent a river of goosebumps across her flesh.

“Fuck, Mulder, please!”

He shook his face and she tried to wiggle under him. Seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled her vibrator out and turned it on. She tried to get her breathing under control by focussing on the film they had put on.

The ghost of the future was dressed in a white teddy bending over what looked like a computer desk. She could only imagine Mulder bending her over the desk at work and fucking her senseless.

The buzzing and vibration got closer and closer to her skin as he brought the soft silicone next to the side of her knee.

“Mulder, please,” she whimpered.

And yet he still shook her head,  she sighed in frustration and went to take the device herself and place it where she most needed it.

Mulder placed the vibrator down on the table next to them.

“Now, who’s being a nought girl? Lucky I have these,” and out of nowhere he pulled out his FBI handcuffs and got one of her hands cuffed and then the other. Her hands now tied together there was nothing she could do.

“Oh, god, Mulder. What are you doing to me?” she said breathlessly.

“What, indeed," he smirked.

He grabbed the vibrator and ran it from her knee to the crease of her thigh, while he kissed her stomach, finally placing a kiss in her red curls before finding her sex. Licking from one side to the other, at the same time moving the vibrator up and down her thigh. She tasted of cinnamon and cream, her smell and taste addictive. Her breath uneven, her body writhing, flinching. He brought the vibrator to her sex and she was gone at once, her body tightening and culvusing.

“Shit, Mulllder! Fuck! ”

Her moans mixed with the women's on the tv. But that did not stop him from continuing. He kissed her neck and trailed kisses on every inch of her upper torso before sliding the vibrator into her entrance and locking his lips on her clit. He started sliding into a rhythm, going agonisingly slow to start but getting faster and faster.

“Ohh,” (pump) “Go—” (lick) “—ddd” (pump) “Mullldderr!” (lick) “I’m sooo close… ” that was all she needed. He did both and at the same time and she was undone again. “Ahh, Christ!”  

 He let her recover, but nice for him she had a quick recovery time and within minutes his clothes were sprawled over the sofa. He sat there in his boxers his erection straining against the boxers.

“Oh my, Agent Mulder, is that a tent between your legs or are you happy to see me?” She grabbed his red hot cock in her hand and pumped, applying a little pressure.

“I’m always happy to see you. ”

Since her hands were still cuffed, she took the edge off his boxers with her teeth and pulled them down his thighs. Once his boxers were somewhere on the floor, she placed herself on his lap her handcuffed hands behind his head. She grabbed a bunch of his hair and impaled herself on him.

“Do you realise how beautiful you are?”

“Not as beautiful as you, Mulder.”

He didn't have time to respond as she lifted her legs up, nearly taking him all the way out and placing herself down on him hard.

He threw his head back resting it on her hands. She placed her lips on his, devouring him. Mind, body and soul entwining till the end of time.

“Scully I’m so close, ” he said, the sweat forming on his brow.

His breathing became erratic and definitely not under control. They both heard the moans of the man getting very close to his orgasm on the tv.

She brought her lips close to his ear.

“Let go my love.”

He couldn't control himself hearing her whisper seductively in his ear. Her touch, her voice, plus the tv, took the last of his resolve. He thrust his hips into her no more than three times and he exploded inside her.

He rolled down so he was now lying naked on his sofa with a very devilishly beautiful Scully on top of him.  She looked up at him and smiled.

“Much better Christmas than last year. ”

“It's not Christmas yet, Scully.”

“You're mistaken, it's 12.30 already. So, merry Christmas, Mulder. ”

[awkward-radar-tech]

Kylo Ren, The Rising Star: Ch. 2

Summary: One day has elapsed in the week of your sort-of boss, Kylo Ren, staying in your run-down apartment. After another night terror wakes him in the middle of the night, you each learn something new about the other.

A/N: IT IS HERE!!! Finally. Sorry it took so long, life is a bitch... This is really fluffy. Mostly. And I have ideas for another part, if anybody wants one. Well, many parts tbh... Word count- 2957

Warning: Kylo/Ben’s night terror is about you getting (probably fatally) injured at your wedding. If you don’t want to read his non-graphic description of it, please skip the section between these emojis:❗❗❗ 

Chapter 1

💕💕💕

Wednesday had come and gone without any issue. It was mainly just Ben sleeping, waking up for food or the restroom, then shuffling back to bed. He didn't have another night terror until the early hours of Thursday morning. You did the same thing as before and went to wake him up.

He wrapped you in his arms and didn't let go, "That one… that one was bad. Really bad."

He had told you in his rare waking moments that the terrors were common, and that they usually had something to do with him or his family getting hurt. By this point he knew they weren't real, but they still bothered him. 

You rubbed his arm, "Ben. I'm here now. Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, "No. Not right now. Still too raw. But stay here, please."

You hummed, "I will. Do you want me to pet your hair again?"

This time he nodded and moved to lay his head on your lap, "Please. Thank you, (y/n)."

You ran your fingers through his hair and untangled any knots you hit. You hummed some of your favorite songs to him and absentmindedly braided parts of his hair. You had thought he had fallen asleep again until he turned so he could look up at you.

He gave you a shy smile, "Can I talk about it now?"

You gave him a kind and inviting smile back, smoothing loose strands off of his face, "Of course, Ben."

❗❗❗

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before starting, "This one… this one was about you. And you got really badly injured."

You nodded and stroked his hair.

He continued, tears welling in his eyes, "Some… somebody attacked you while you were walking down the aisle," the dam broke and he started to cry, "I don't know how they got there. It was such a small wedding and we had security. You were hurt so bad. But you woke me before the ambulance arrived, before we found out if you were okay. But based off of previous experience you wouldn't have been."

❗❗❗

He reached up and wiped his tears just as you were, so you just rubbed his cheek, "Kylo. Ben. It wasn't real. We aren't getting married. We aren't even dating."

"But what if we do? What if it is real?"

You hummed, "Ben. Benny. Then we'll make sure to have so much security. People will have to be on the list, have a ticket scanned, bags checked and metal detectors for everyone, whatever. But for now it is nothing to worry about. Just deep breaths to help calm you down"

He listened to you and took in a few stuttering breaths until he could take a smooth one, "What time is it?"

You turned to the clock on your nightstand, "3:07... AM obviously."

He groaned, "Alright. Well, I've calmed down now, so go back to sleep. You deserve it. Even if I can't go back to sleep because that one was so bad."

You looked down at him, "If you're staying up, I'll stay up. We can just talk about whatever."

He nodded, and sat up, moving to the center of the bed and folding his legs, "Can I vent?"

You nodded, "Of course."

He sighed, "I feel lost. Just so lost. I don't know what to do with my life outside of work anymore. I mean, I can't do the things I used to do, not without being hounded. I miss my old life, being Ben. But at the same time I'm so grateful for my success, I'm not dependent on my parents any longer."

You nodded along, "I can't really imagine. Like I see a bit of it, obviously. But I don't go through it. But you've been Ben since walking out of my car. And until the end of the week." You paused for a moment, "Anytime you need to be Ben, just let me know. I'll let you come over. I'll give you food."

Ben smiled at you, "Thank you. I appreciate it," he looked down sheepishly, "can I get some food now? Just some leftovers, is all."

You got up and offered him your hand, "Sure. Come on. Let's have ourselves a late night snack. There are plenty of leftovers."

He got up and took your hand, "Thank you. I really need to do something nice for you for all of this."

You stopped in your tracks and turned to him, "No. I'm fine. You don't need to do a thing."

He shook his head, "Nope. You are doing so much more than you signed up for. You applied to be an assistant on a movie set, not my personal assistant, flying all over the world with me for promotion things. And now you're housing and feeding me? Just tell me something you want, that you can't or won't get for yourself. Anything at all. I'm sure you want some nice cast iron or something like that to cook on."

You looked away, "Maybe… I'd love a grill pan, flat top combo that covers two burners. And different cast iron pots and pans. A Dutch oven."

He smiled, "I knew there was something. Consider them bought."

You looked to Ben wide eyed, "No, you don't have to. Don't waste your money on me."

He held your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, and gave you a smirk, "It isn't a waste if you make me food with them. And, besides, I have more money than I know what to do with. The least I could do is use it to buy useful things for someone. Especially a good friend."

Your cheeks warmed, and you quickly turned away and continued to the kitchen, "A good friend?"

He followed you again, "Yes. Well, I don't really have friends right now. But you said I could consider us friends. So I do. And you're my best one. Although my bodyguard Max is a close second, he's cool, and spots me when I work out."

You just shook your head and took out all of the leftovers you had and two plates, beginning to serve yourself before speaking again, "Help yourself, Ben."

He took the other plate and assembled an assortment of all the leftovers. A taco, some pasta, meatloaf, chicken and biscuits, definitely more than a snack. Then he sat down and began to eat everything cold.

You microwaved your food and watched him, "You can warm it up you know."

He quickly swallowed his mouthful, "I know. But I don't want to. It is good like this."

You chuckled, "Alright Ben. Do you want something to drink?"

"Just water is fine. Thank you."

You got your food and set it down then got each of you water, "Can I ask you a question?"

He looked at you, taking a sip of water before speaking, "Always. Anything. I'll tell you anything you want to know."

You smiled, "Why do you always eat so fast? And you take such big bites."

He hummed, "Well, I have a big mouth, so the bites you take are tiny to me. And I don't quite know why I eat so fast. I get it from my dad, I think. I just ate like him growing up so I could play with him more."

You chuckled, "Okay… And all of you is big, Benny. Just look how big your hand is compared to mine."

You held out your hand so he could see, and he placed his on yours, "Maybe you're just small?"

You shook your head and moved to hold his hand, "No, you're definitely just big. Huge even. Every part."

He smirked, "Maybe it is both? You're small and I'm gigantic."

"You are not gigantic. Just big."

He chuckled, "Have you seen my feet?"

You looked away, grabbing your water, "I have."

He smiled, "Well, you know what they say about big feet?"

You gave him a surprised look, almost choking on your water, as he took a dramatic pause.

He grinned, "Big shoes. And I have to special order shoes online. So at least my feet are gigantic."

You laughed and went back to eating. 

He stayed silent for a bit then spoke again, "My turn for a question."

You looked up to him, "Of course."

He looked away then turned back, "You didn't completely shoot down the thought of my terror. You even said if. Why?"

It was your turn to look away, face warming quickly, "Because. I, uhh… well. You see."

He cut off your stammering, speaking fast, "I like you. A lot. Like I have a crush on you. It isn't why I asked to stay here though. I just knew I'd actually have a break here." He stood up and walked away before you could respond, "Sorry, shouldn't have brought it up. I'll go back to bed, forget I said anything."

You lept out of your seat and grabbed his arm, "No! I like you too, I think. Well, I knew who Kylo Ren was before I was hired, didn't know he'd be working the same movie I applied for. And I thought he was cute. But as soon as I found out I worked for him I pushed those feelings aside in order to be professional."

He stopped in his tracks and turned to you, "You think I'm cute?"

You nodded, "Yes. And very nice and personable."

He smiled, "So. You like me?"

You returned his smile, "Yes, I said that already."

"Can I kiss your cheek?"

"Yes."

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, right in the center, careful not to be too close to your lips. He went back to his full height, smiling wide.

You just watched him, butterflies rampant inside you, then reached up to cup his cheek. Your voice was soft, "My turn."

He leaned down enough so you could reach, and hummed when you hugged him tight, hugging back.

You rocked side to side while hugging him, "I like you, Ben Solo."

He let out a yawn, "I like you, too, (y/n)."

You pat his arm as you pulled out of the hug, "Go back to bed now, Ben. I'll see you in the morning, and we can talk more."

He nodded and pat the top of your head, "Goodnight."

You smiled and watched him go back, pushing the door closed then opening it back up and waving to you, which you returned, "Goodnight Ben."

He left the door open then went into bed, curling up under the covers. You went back into the kitchen to put everything away, leaving the plates until morning, then went to your nest of blankets on the couch, quickly falling asleep.

In the morning you woke to sounds in the kitchen. You got up, still sleepy, and went to the kitchen. You found Ben reading one of your recipes and trying to find everything he needed. 

Your voice revealed your grogginess, "Ben? What're you doing?"

He whirled around, having not heard you shuffle up, "I'm, I'm uhh. I'm trying to make you pancakes. I found it in your book and decided to do something for you. But I can't find the measuring stuff."

You moved to the drawer he was in front of, "They are here."

You pulled out what he needed and went back to the couch, still tired, not really registering what was happening. You fell back asleep and woke up some time later to nudging.

You lazily swatted at the hand pushing your shoulder, "Five more minutes."

Ben chuckled, "I already gave you that. Your pancakes will get cold if you wait any longer."

You hummed, still nowhere near functioning, "Ooh, I like pancakes."

Ben pulled on your arm to get you to sit up, "Then get up, (y/n). I made breakfast. And don't make me carry you."

You reached out your arms, "Take me away, sir."

He smirked and picked you up bridal style, "Did you drink after I went back to sleep or something?"

You giggled, "No. Just very sleepy. Trying to regain some of my energy, I guess."

He set you in the chair and set a plate with pancakes and fruit in front of you, "Alright. But it is time to fully wake up now. I can give you a caffeine pill if you want."

You took some deep breaths and shook your head, trying to fight your grogginess, "No. I'm good. I'm slowly becoming a normal human again."

He smiled and handed you a cup of orange juice, "Drink this. Maybe the sugar will help."

You took a sip and hummed, "Thank you, Benny."

He blushed at the nickname, despite you having used it before, "You're welcome."

You began to eat, "These are good Ben. You did a good job."

"Thank you. I was following a pretty good recipe."

You got a confused look on your face, "Did I wake up and pull out the measuring cups and spoons for you?"

He hummed, "Yeah. You did. Then you went back to sleep."

"Oh, I thought I was dreaming."

He chuckled, "You were not."

You nodded and ate, slowly becoming more human. 

After breakfast, with casual silence, the two of you went to the couch to watch something.

You looked at him, "Do you like watching tv and movies? Like ones you aren't in."

He nodded, "I do. I prefer more documentary type stuff than pure entertainment. I just know or have seen in person too many people, and I start trying to find ways to emulate other's techniques in my acting."

"That makes sense. What do you tend to gravitate towards? Food, history, science, nature?"

"I like science stuff, and food and cooking. Sometimes I'll do history or nature or animals. I also like home renovation and building shows."

You turned on a cooking competition show and curled up in the corner of the couch under one of your fuzzy blankets. Ben took another blanket and covered himself, curling up in the opposite corner.

Soon the two of you were rooting for different contestants, yelling at them for making risky decisions, pleading for them to hurry up and plate their food already. 

At the end of the episode the two of you just looked at the other and began to laugh.

You grabbed Ben's hand, "Are you sure we haven't been best friends for years?"

He squeezed your hand, "I'm pretty sure. But it feels like we have."

You paused the next episode as the beginning started to play, "I should go down and check the mail. Your clothes should be here, right?"

He checked his phone, "Yeah. It is saying they've actually been delivered now."

You pulled on a sweatshirt and sandals, grabbed your mailbox key, and looked to Ben, "I'll be right back."

He waved and you went down and got the three boxes and one bag. Thankfully all of them had your name on them and nobody was around, so you got back without interacting with anybody else. 

You kicked the door to knock, “Ben, open the door. How much did you order?”

The door opened and he took everything from you, “Sorry. But not everything is for me.”

You walked in and locked the door, “Benjamin. What’s your middle name?”

He looked away, blushing, “The initial is C.”

“Benjamin C. Solo, you did not buy me something.”

“I did. And there are no returns. You are keeping it. Now I just need to figure out which box it is in.”

He began opening boxes, looking for something, and then he found the smaller box in one of the boxes, and held it out to you, “Here. For you.”

You took the box and opened it, to find a nice watch, “Ben. No. I can’t accept this.”

He gave you a pointed look, “You are. I’ve noticed you don’t have one, so I felt you should get one. And I can fix the band size for you. I used to work at a watch shop.”

You took it out of the box and tried it on while he ripped open the bag and tossed something else at you, “Ben!”

He smiled and looked away, “I also got more of your drug of choice. Caffeine pills.”

You sat next to him and he adjusted the band for it to fit your wrist.

He looked to you, kind of bashful, “I hope you don’t mind I got that for you. I was ordering other things from the company and saw it. Like I said, I want to use my money for others. I donate too. A lot. All the food banks and human and animal shelters in the county, here and at home. Also I did order you a grill pan. It will be here on Saturday. But I’ll get that from downstairs.”

You just hugged him, “Thank you Ben. I love it.”

He turned to look at you after you pulled back and you locked eyes. You both smiled at the other, and without thinking you both leaned toward each other. 

Time stopped. 

You smiled and then the lips against yours spread wide too. 

The air filled with mirth. 

Time stopped again. Then again. And another time.

Your hands were in silky hair again, and there were hands in yours. 

Time kept pausing. And you didn’t want it to stop happening. But you needed to breathe.

You pulled back and looked at the culprit of the stoppage of time, smiling like a fool, “I like that.”

The culprit smiled too, “Me too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, “How about a bit more?”

It was your turn to stop time.