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spotaus · 8 days ago

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HEHEHEHEHE! Thank you kindly my friend, Dream is SUCH a brat here! I was really trying my best to channel that awful energy I imagine Tim would've instilled in him. His only counterbalance in the day was Nightmare, so 90% of his brain was just Nim's teachings! People being inconveniences, make them do as you please as they are lower beings, etc!

The aura bit was my favorite to play with too, because normally I write Dream having very little control over his magic, it being more passive than active, but not here!! Here he knows exactly what he's doing and how to do it! It's very very fun!

And I'm so so glad you picked up on that fact! All the normal reasons he'd be worried about Ichor's return aren't there, it's just that the two of them are useful, and if he loses one he loses both and then he's down two guys. Very much looking at them like tools rather than actual people!

(I think a lot of his motivation for keeping emotions happy and easier for himself is that he HATED seeing people cry/scream when he was younger. When he was really young, when Ccino still was the one he'd run to, outbursts of negative emotion made him scared, and his mother's way of punishing people was awful. As he got older he learned to deal with it, but decided it was extremely unpleasant and he'd just manipulate everyone to be happy and compliant instead!)

His mindset is entirely screwed haha! (Also this might be in ur tags, but he's defninitely walking a very very fine line with narccicism. Blue ad Nightmare are the only things keeping him from falling right over the edge like his mom hehe-)

AAA I forgot I added that! Eclipse and Ichor definitely did live through that! Ichor was kinda off-limits (he's kinda like Reaper where he's been around a lot longer than most people would suspect) and Eclipse was old enough that he himself wasn't in danger but, yeah, he totally remembers all of that going on. He'd be lying if he said Dream picking up Copper didn't give him a minor soul-attack after the fact when he got out of Dream's aura- But also! Eclipse is a very clever monster, and he's very very aware of just how Dream treats his spies. A lot of his anxiety and discomfort is because, while he thinks Blue has their best interests at heart, he knows that Dream doesn't. In short, Eclipse is actually immune to Dream's propaganda hehe-

Eclipse was someone Dream relied on a lot when he was the first one in a long line of spies to return from a mission. Eclipse had heard the warnings from others that the other spies had disappeared, so unlike Cross, Eclipse kept his distance and didn't risk his metaphorical skin trying to get at any deep secrets or plans. He knows he's replaceable, he knows Dream sent many before him to his death. Unfortunately, the camp is just the safest place for Ichor and their little boys to live!

Also, Ichor would bow in appreciation, haha! Can confirm with creator-privilege that Ichor is extremely proud of those names and finds it very very practical to name his children after alloys :)

Dream is down bad. Like, so so down bad. In one way, it's definitely because Dream is used to having a co-dependant relationship. Him and Night did everything together, and shared everything, and now Blue is filling that role. Being away from him for too long makes Dream feel icky (separation anxiety he's not addressing, probably-) but also, yeah, Blue is Dream's light in the dark basically. Literally he has a one-track mind that is always heat-seeking towards Blue lol

AND !!!! I need you to know I thought about the concept and CACKLED to myself because- because I went 'what if he made Ink paint him-' and then was struck by the image of a little kidnapped teen Nightmare spotting the painting and giving Dream The Look. Dream thought literally nothing of it, his mother loved getting paintings done, and his was modest and refined in comparison! It isn't until his twin, who 100% clocks him for a crush he has yet to properly acknowledge, sees it that he gets decked with embarrassment lmao---

Oh I love that Idea!! Ink needing to know a person to properly capture them in his art is such a fun detail! I'm just gonna *yoinks that concept and eats it*. but no, fr, descriptions don't do it justice, and Dream doesn't understand the process but Ink gets it perfect and knows exactly why it's screwed up. And! Awe???? Little portraits of his friends so he can properly remember their faces is such a good idea!! Him looking at the Cross one is breaking my heart, ugh!!!!

Yes yes!! I started this Drabble knowing I wanted to have a scene of Blue trying to

figure out Bow and Arrow but I wasn't sure quite how to fit it in because, well, Dream would probably brush it off if Blue just suggested it, not noticing his dedication. Soooo, long-term goals with Blue time! Blue really did want to show Dream he cared, and Dream was really just all warm and fuzzy about it!! And ur exactly right, Dream, for the first time ever without really realizing it, had been voicing a desire for change in himself. He had never wanted to imply that Blue had to change, because since the start Blue had always been perfect just the way he was! Dream may be the sun to his universe, but Blue is his Earth that he wants to keep perfectly in orbit, Nice and comfy and living-

Yes! I wanted to use the ball as a good way for folks to sneak in! I know that any other time, any group of spies would get caught and subsequently released, but during the party, Nightmare wants to let anyone enter, and frankly, arresting guests who might be spies isn't very open arms of him, haha- So, he leaves it be. Especially since Killer is ALWAYS on top of things. Even at his own party he can usually tell who is there to cause trouble and who isn't, Luckily, with my Author Powers (favoritism) I think that even though the party of 'spies' were acknowledged, they seemed to just be enjoying the party, and so they were left go. including Ichor, who has so much charisma that the maids just talked to him like he was one of them. (Plus, at this point Ccino has a decent handle on the servant situation and they don't gossip just infant of any guest. They kinda assumed Ichor was chill since he didn't try to demand their heads over spilled drinks, haha-) And, yeah. I think the lack on information on the knights is solely because folks inside the castle and out prefer to call the knights by nicknames, even though their real names are widely known. Dream + his group are so distant from the capital that they just don't catch the names for ages lol. And Ichor noticing Dust's magic is definitely just a him thing! Eclipse wouldn't have noticed if he were there, and the rest of Ichor's party was unaware. Currently Ichor can't weild his own magic, but he can certainly still recognize powerful magic as though he did still have his own! So, ambient Dust magic!

Lastly! Yep!! Dream is so so worried about his brother. Night is a smart smart monsterr and Dream is really afraid of whatever pushed him to start making (seemingly) rash decisions like this over and over again!

And ofc Dream looks to Blue! In Dream's mind, he wasn't enough to break through to Night. The first time he didn't listen to Nightmare with whatever was worrying him, that was the first crack, and by the time Nightmare actually wrestled the apple away from him? Fought him? ATE IT? It was already too late in his mind. His brother was too far gone and refused to listen to him, Dream believes he no longer holds any sway to Nightmare's behavior or thoughts. But Blue? Well, Dream has deemed Blue important so surely Nightmare will do the same, he always did in the past! Blue would get through to him! He has to!

New Age au (A Day at Dream's)

Hey y'all! This is another pre-story Drabble, this time from Dream's perspective! Exiled prince doing his best to interact with the populous and do his daily tasks! This was mainly just an attempt from me to get back into writing for this au, and ofc, fleshing out Dream! Hope y'all enjoy!

(Who do I normally tag? @ancha-aus @papiliovolens @mutzelputz I believe? Welcome back y'all!)

The morning was warm, something that Dream had to be grateful for. Ever since the incident, it seemed like he was faced with far more cloudy days than sunny ones, even in the midst of summer. The winters froze so harshly that trees would splinter at the branch, limbs cracking like cannon shots in the nights. The spring was full of awful thunder storms that spewed lightning and wrought floods, and the fall was constantly welcoming wind storms that threw around the rotten remains of plants all about. Even Blue had to admit that the weather was much worse here than his home kingdom, after the first year they’d spent at the very border of Orchard.

Summers were hit and miss, either clinging to the traces of those awful storms, making everything sticky and humid, or beginning the dry season. This morning, as far as Dream could tell, might’ve finally been the start of a dry season. The garden didn’t seem to be swamped, it didn’t seem to be wilted either. The plants always seemed to know when rain was coming, because their leaves would downturn. After so many years, Dream made it a habit to glance out one of the back windows to make sure he knew just what to expect from the day.

Buttoning his over-cloak, he found himself lingering at the window for a second. He knew he’d have to talk with a returning scouting party later in the afternoon, their most survived thus far, but beyond that there wasn’t much else. Go about the camp, see if he could boost morale, maybe get in a training session with Blue…

Speaking of Blue, his loyal knight was seemingly nowhere to be found.

Dream took a moment, crossing the quaint living room of their cabin to squint at the sky. Hmm, already past midday. He had been up rather late last night, night terrors plaguing him as they often did nowadays. He must’ve slept in, Blue had always been an early riser. Up just before the sun, back to bed late in the evening. Dream was pretty sure the only days he hadn’t seen Blue out on a morning jog were those that he asked the other to stick around. For safety, for planning, for breakfast… If he knew Blue well enough, which he liked to think he did, Blue was probably out right about now helping the supply carts unload to the outer tents. They always came in on the 2nd of every month, and the calendar marked it as such. Bless Blue for keeping such good track of affairs.

The prince was practiced as he pulled on his remaining accessories. His archery gloves, which carried up to his elbows, and the thick leather boots gifted to him by a cobbler in the closest village. The boots were durable and comfortable, and while they weren’t the morst appealing at first, Blue had suggested that they find someone to embroider them with Dream’s symbol, the sun. They’d done so, asking one of the refugees they’d taken in if she could, and now they felt much more homey. Of course, it’d been several years now and they were looking worse for wear, but he’d grown a bit sentimental.

These things were his, and he could keep them as long as he liked. No one here cared if they were mud-stained and threadbare in a few places, they were always looking at his face, after all.

The moment they were buckled securely, Dream took the chance to stroll towards the door and push outside.

Just as his plants suggested, the air was warm and dry, something which was deeply familiar to him, and admittedly placed him into a much warmer mood. Especially because, with the good weather, folks had gone about and placed their tapestries outside again. Banners and hanging pieces, all adorned with the shapes of the sun, in bright yellows, striking orange, and even some with that familiar pink accent. Usually, when it rained or snowed, they’d place the expensive and valuable symbols inside for safety, but with the warm air it felt only right that he could once again see his colors flying.

It reminded him why he was doing all this. He had to regain power, to usurp his brother. Free him from whoever was whispering lies into his ears. Be crowned and see his sun in place of the moons which had infected every inch of the capital and many cities beyond. Though, for now, this was good enough. His own little paradise.

The walk int the campsite proper was a little ways out from the cabin, a slightly thinner trail through a thin set of trees. Enough that he could see the camp, but the camp wasn’t directly connected to his little house, he needed his privacy every once in a while.

From even the short walk away he could hear that the camp must’ve been bustling. Warm weather tended to make all of his people more active, it was familiar and welcoming, and rife with time to finish tasks like chores, or playing games, or, even better yet, training. Here there was no dedicated guard like back home, but the militia was very involved in wanting to learn combat, and Blue was certainly a good motivator for them. The clashing of steel and grunting of labored movements was one of several clue-ins that he’d have to stop by the little patch of dirt they used as a training arena of sorts. Off to the side of camp, with a few benches, a shed to store practice weapons, and several targets for aiming practice. Nothing fancy, but certainly enough for these people to learn.

The prince could hardly help himself as he stepped into the camp proper and slipped that way.

Each step passed colorful tents, heavy canvas died different colors by whoever most often occupied them. Some tenets were larger, housing the folks who stayed here as their home, run out of whatever village or city drove them off. Others were smaller, filled with supplies or individual tents for guests, dedicated to their returns.

Dream passed Inl’s tent and smiled to himself in the silence. The inside fo the tent was piled high with half-finished paintings and splattered all over with different pigments. Paint was an expensive commodity, but Ink always seemed to know just how to make the brightest pigments out of the most random objects, plants and rocks and leaves he found on the ground, it was magical. The only thing he’d ever finished when he stayed at the camp for that brief while was the painting which Dream had practically begged him for, a royal portrait, or sorts. Dream sat atop a throne, Blue stood beside him at perfect attention, holding the sun-themed banner. It had been perfect, and it was another of Dream’s prized possessions. After that, Ink hadn’t had the focus to do any of the other paintings he started, but many of them were about tails of Dream’s usurpment, tails of tragedy told to him by the people, made in rough color splashes or with a big chunk of white at a corner where he lost his focus and moved on. Dream had gone inside once to make sure Ink hadn’t left anything behind before he left, but decided it felt lifeless and cold without the artist inside.And besides, Ink could never quite draw Nightmare right. Even though he’d drawn Dream perfectly, and they were identical twins, something always felt off about those pieces.

The brief moment thinking about the artist fled. He was surely off killing some corrupt noble right about now for his own corrupt pay, and it was frankly none of Dream’s business so long as Ink wasn’t after his own people.

His boots carried lightly over the soft grass, trodden down by the constant walking about camp. Light green and pretty, his heels sunk into soft soil beneath like some sort of bog, but it didn’t bother him a bit. If he had his way, the sun would stay out all day and dry up the ground a bit, make it more even and solid. Easier to walk over, less likely to slip into.

To just his luck, only a few people spotted him in passing, waving or calling out to him, and a smile and a wave of recognition was all they needed to move on with their days. His aura must’ve been getting stronger, because he could only taste the ambient contentment from the entire camp as he wandered his way towards his destination.

And, soon enough, it was upon him. That little patch of ground where the sounds had been coming from. Where the magic of monsters and the energy of humans were all alight with passion and focus. It was a wonder they all stayed so committed. Though, Dream had learned fairly quickly that people like these, who worked in farms, or crafts, making their money day to day, would work harder than any other person he’d ever met. Plus, it wasn’t nearly as hard for them to train as others. These very people could wrangle a steer with their bare hands, so all they needed was the fine-tuning and weapon training, none of the strenght building which usually took so long.

That was probably why, now, they were as adept as they were with their weapons. Swords and halberds and morning stars and hammers, all of them clashed with another weapon or a practice dummy. Of course, there were only about 10 people out and about at the moment, but a few others sat on the sidelines.

There was a brief moment where he was simply stood there. Something about combat, the thrill of the sounds and the movements and the force behind each swing, it was all mesmerising to him. He’d always been a natural with long-range weapons, and they were the only ones his mother ever approved of him using. Staying out of the direct line of fire, attacking from far away, that was what would protect his physical body, and his image. If he was struck in a fight, then people would look poorly upon him. Of course, if he’d become King he could’ve done anything. Could’ve learned the sword, or even daggers, and gotten up close and personal. Seen the flurry of emotions fly through his opponents eyes even before he tasted them. No mother to tell him no, no babysitter, nothing. Just him and the battle.

Alas, here he is, still using his arrows, and still not using close-combat weaponry, unlike the training warriors before him. In fact, he was pretty positive he was one of the only people who actually used the arrow range, even if he didn’t need to anymore. Shots were engrained into his mind, muscle memory practically as easy as sleeping. Maybe easier, actually.

Regardless, he found himself forcing his eyelights past the forms of the fighting parties, and instead skimmed for Blue. Dream didn’t want to interact with the merchants today, but he knew Blue’s next stop would most likely be here. He couldn’t ever pass up as great a day as this to practice.

“Prince Dream!” The call for him was loud and excited, and a hot rush of child-like wonder burned through his focus as he stood waiting.

His eyelights shot over, catching sight of a monster he knew should be familiar to him. There very very few people who brought their little ones to the camp, for safety reasons mostly, and those who did often had very subdued children, ones who rarely spoke or played or caused trouble. This child was entirely different. Dream always knew they were nearby, because children’s emotions were far more potent. Adult emotions felt like a warm bath, while children’s joy, for example, was like someone had splashed hot tea onto his lap. Not painful, but far more striking.

The tyke who rushed towards him now was giggling in high-pitched squeals and stared at him with two bright orange eyelights, beig and round. He was a little skeleton, maybe four, who had white bones with splotches of a greyish hue splattered across his face and hands. Today he was wearing a little white and yellow tunic which had obviously taken some falls into the grass since he put it on that morning.

“Copper, what did we say about running with the practice blade?” Another voice called out, this one deeper and far more familiar to Dream.

The little one, who Dream now spotted was carrying a dulled wooden dagger in one of his clumsy hands, bolted past Dream’s legs, only to pivot and rush in circles around him with an energy unmatched and giggles that were unrivaled in joy. HE was obviously getting enjoyment out of causing mischief for his guardian.

Dream’s gaze traveled away from Copper with his smile in-tact, not getting a look at the adult whom he knew he knew. Eclipse, one of Copper’s two parents. He was also a skeleton, older than Dream by at least a decade, and much taller with broader shoulders. His bones were a perfect white, his face a bit long, and his eyelights a simple white. He was wearing a tunic not unlike his son, but adorned with all sorts of belts and a heavy fur wrapped around his shoulders despite the heat. It was a dark brown, his partner’s prized pelt.

Of course, he should’ve expected to see Eclipse sometime today. He’d been eagerly awaiting his partner’s return from the mission. They’d be back tonight.

“Eclipse, how have you been?” Dream asked courteously, drawing his eyes back to Copper with a plan rapidly forming.

Eclipse came to a halt beside him, at least an arm’s length away, and sighed a fond sigh. “I am faring well, all considered. Since Ichor went off for this mission, Copper’s been insisting that he has to learn to fight so he can protect us.” Eclipse said. “I apologize for his antics, he’s insisted that he start training right away.”

Eclipse sounded humored, but Dream could feel the tiredness seeping from his shoulders. A tension that was surely weighing on him. For a moment, it had entirely slipped his mind, but a glance confirmed his suspicion. Ichor and Eclipse had been away from camp fro a few weeks, about four months back. They’d had a soulling, and now it sat bundled in Eclipse’s arms, quiet and content, probably sleeping. Something warmed Dream’s heart, knowing that this little skelton was under the impression that he could defend his father and little sibling.

Dream chuckled under his breath and gave a genuine grin, letting a small burst of positivity wave away from his core, pushing back a bit of Eclipse’s worry along with it.

“No need to be sorry, I was eager to train when I was young too.” Dream confided, but before Eclipse could give a response, Dream crouched and shot his arms out, catching Copper under the arms and practically tossing him up into the air. He was obviously taken by surprise, because he shrieked with glee and stared at Dream with his big eyelights and the biggest smile. He looked a lot like his other parent, Dream realized.

Copper giggled and Dream held him aloft. Copper hardly weighed anything, and it was a little cute how he kicked his muddy little boots in the open air as Dream held him aloft. He was entirely unbothered by his capture, and the energy obviously had yet to fade.

“So, you want to be big and strong to protect your father and little sibling?” Dream asked to Copper, making a mock serious face, obviously exaggerated and playful.

Copper gasped and nodded rapidly, excitedly brandishing his little wooden dagger. “Papa gave me dis! I stab any bad guys!” He insisted excitedly, swishing it around wildly in his little hand, arm limited to his side by the way Dream was holding him.

Now this was an excited little fellow. Very cute and lively. Dream wondered if he ad this much energy, rushing ahead of his twin to get out into the courtyard and run around, climb the trees when their babysitter wasn’t looking. Nightmare sometimes wrestled with him, he missed those days.

“Well, I thin you have the makings to be a brave warrior!” Dream encouraged, Copper wriggling happily in his grip, “Just remember, your papa and father want to keep you safe too, so listen to them, alright? That’s how you can get to be just as strong as them.”

This was met by Copper’s nodding yet again, “So, don’t go running with that dangerous blade, alright? You might accidentally stab a not-bad guy.” Dream added, to which Copper gasped.

The little boy pulled one of his hands to cover up his mouth with wide eyes, shaking his head vigorously. “I won’t stab a not-bad guy! Only bad bad guys!” He insisted.

Dream just shook his head and tutted, “I know, I know, but accidents happen! My friend Ink, he fights with knives sometimes, and he tripped and almost stabbed someone right in the eye once!” Dream exclaimed, and closed his right socket dramatically.

This seemed to make Copper hold back a growing smile, and instead his expression was something almost close to a pout. His best attempt at a serious face, Dream had to imagine. Copper nodded one singular, forceful, nod this time. Some sort fo silent pledge not to run with his dagger anymore.

Dream smiled at him, “Good, good! First step to becoming a strong warrior, listen to your parents.” he insisted, before lowering Copper down with a smooth motion.

The kid giggled again as Dream rustled the top of his skull, and Copper made careful steps towards his dad, an obvious attempt at suddenly being responsible with the harmless wooden blade. Dream was a little proud, usually he did much worse with kids, had to resort to his magic. Maybe Blue was rubbing off on him after all.

“You really are a miracle-worker, my Prince.” Eclipse said softly, reaching one of his own hands down to gently caress the top of Copper’s skull. He nuzzled into his father’s leg and hugged it, attention distracted by watching the other fight not far off from them.

Dream didn’t deny it, and instead just slunk a bit closer. He peered down at the babybones wrapped in Eclipse’s arm, held snug in place by a sling. It was pearly white just like its brother, but had a slightly longer face with pronounced cheekbones. Dream couldn’t help but notice the tension return to Eclipse’s emotions.

“What’s their name, have you two decided yet? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to check in with you sooner.” Dream asked.

Eclipse seemed unbothered when Dream lifted a hand and gently brushed it against the babybone’s skull. It didn’t stir, didn’t even seem to register the contact.

“His name is Steel.” Eclipse answered softly, “I told Ichor we wouldn’t be naming any more after metal alloys, but I can never say no to him. Steel’s eyelights are a beautiful shade of metallic silver, it was just too fitting.” Eclipse muttered. “And please, don’t trouble yourself with it. We are well aware of how busy you have been.”

Eclipse gently bounced his arm a bit, and the babybones curled a bit closer to his chest, burying into the fur cloak draped over Eclipse’s shoulders. He seemed a bit more at ease as the little one gave a little smile in his sleep.

“Handsome name, Ichor has good taste I’m afraid.” Dream teased, eliciting a smale laugh from Eclipse.

“Do you think he’ll make it home safe, my prince?” Eclipse suddenly asked.

Dream blinked in surprise, looking up to Eclipse. The other skeleton still had his eyes on the babybones tucked against his chest, but Dream had a feeling he was being watched nonetheless.

“You mean Ichor?” He asked, and to a hum of confirmation, he tilted his head with a grin, “I’m sure he’ll come home safe and sound. Blue’s been sure to send him on non-combat missions, and with plenty of back-up and supplies. We both know that he has a family waiting for him here, we wouldn’t send him anywhere dangerous.”

That was a lie. Dream didn’t have any qualms about it. He just knew it was a lie. Every mission was dangerous, could turn to combat, and might end in death. Every person here, as much as Blue tried to deny, was expendable. They were part of a cause, they had to be. Of course, Dream would never put children in danger, but Ichor, just like every other person here, came willingly looking to help. He volunteered his family for this willingly.

Of course, that isn’t what people like to hear. So, he’ll tell him things he’s heard Blue say. Blue was so kind-hearted, a softie. The moment he heard Ichor and Eclipse were having another soulling he’d re-assigned all their missions and work, and even after they’d both recovered, after Ichor was no longer carrying, he sent the guy on the easier missions. Blue didn’t want to split a family.

Eclipse sighed, almost with relief, at Dream’s words. “Thank you, my Prince. I suppose I’m just worried over nothing. I’ve been known to do such silly things.” Eclipse relented, and smiled. It was tired, but much happier than before. Dream’s aura must’ve finally gotten to him. Broken down those worries.

“Anytime, Eclipse. I suppose I’ll see you at their return tonight?” Dream voiced, though he knew the answer. Of course he’d be there.

Eclipse only took a few more moments, wishing Dream a good rest of the day, before he ushered his son foreward and off elsewhere. Dream waved goodbye to them until they passed a corner, and he internally sighed in relief as he turned back to his original goal.

Dream moved closer by a few paces and plopped himself down onto one of the benches, one side left empty by someone who had just rushed onto the field. He summoned his bow to his hands and fiddled with the string, and ill-disguised attempt at seeming busy as he just watched the proceeding spars.

So many people stopped him daily around camp, often simply wanting to chat and catch up on their lives. Eclipse’s new babybones was, thankfully, the most exciting piece of news in the last few months, but before that was a wedding between a bunny monster and a hare monster, before that was the death of someone’s spouse and a subsequent burial, before that siblings reunited, they all had their own stories and things to keep track of. Dream found it trivial, but unfortunately, everyone expected him to now these things, remember them, keep track and ask when they met outside of business times. If he wanted these people to stay, he needed to know.

His only grace was that Blue was very talented in chatting. Where Dream could rouse crowds and battalions, Blue thrived in a setting of just one or two, and somehow knew just about everything about everyone. They’d talk over dinner, about what they did while split up doing their duties. Dream would tell him about the state of the garden, or the new map he managed to draw up with the cartographer, while blue would tell him all the latest menial news. Crushes, holiday plans, when new people were coming in, all of it. He was always so happy, that Dream simply learned to remember it through him. Shockingly an easy feat.

The clanging of swords and the heat were both a welcome comfort, Dream was soaking in the sun like some sort of lizard on its rock.

Dream just hoped he wouldn’t eat his words later. Blue had sent ichor and a few others on a mission to simply attend the latest ball, and annual celebration for one of his brother’s elite knights. The Criminal, he thought, the one with the tiger mask. Killer. The parties hadn’t had conflict in the four years they’d been running, and Dream was pretty sure ichor wouldn’t go missing. Yet, anyone they sent directly to the capital had a habit of not returning. Blue had forbade him from sending more spies that way, and had only agreed to send a small party because the ball was meant to be open to the public, so they wouldn’t be technically intruding or trespassing. Along with that, Ichor wasn’t directly affiliated with their cause. Eclipse, up until now, was usually the one more familiar with intel-work. Ichor had always been more focused on welfare and support. So, Ichor couldn’t be recognized. ‘

Dream would just have a lot of explaining to do if his promise went awry. Grieving souls were never easy, especially those who had children in tow. They often loved the hardest, and fell shortly after their beloved. Frankly, Dream didn’t want to lose two promising members of the rebellion, or be left with their children in the worst case scenario.

The prince sighed to himself. Blue would scold him for thinking like this. Maybe he should worry less about the return party and more about his own training. He couldn’t risk getting rusty now.

- -

Dream was aware the range was a bit out of his sight from where he’d wandered off to get a drink of water, but when he returned, he hadn’t expected to find an arrow embed itself into the block he was passing beside.

He jumped a bit with the force of the heavy thunk and almost choked on his own breath when he spotted exactly who was actually training with a bow of all things.

Across the range, looking wide-eyed and surprised, was Blue! He had their heavy long-bow clutched in his right hand, an arrow hanging to his side y his left, and a whole slew of arrows leaned against the fence behind him, the kind with thin, piercing points that could tear through armor. Dream had never been more baffled, amused, and amazed all in one. Why was Blue training archery?

“Dream! Hey!” Blue called out, and he sounded a bit awkward.

Dream took a moment to examine the arrow which had pieced the block of hay they were using as a target. It had entirely missed the circle, actually passing itself at an odd angle through he side, the point poking out from the other end haphazardly. That must’ve used a lot of force if nothing else.

Actually, it seemed Blue might’s been making some progress. Dream had been gone for almost half an hour, caught up in talk with one of the new refugees, welcoming them to the camp. That had given his knight plenty of time to try more than enough shots. Dream spotted now the several arrows which had dug themselves into the dirt, all at a downward falling angle as through Blue had been aiming for the dirt. Then, beyond the hay bale, he could see that several trees in the woods beyond had arrows embedded in them. He didn’t know how he’d missed them, honestly.

Dream circled back and gripped one which had dug into a pine tree’s skinny trunk, and tugged with all his might. He nearly stumbled, and the end of the arrow seemed to have sap coating it, like blood of the tree itself.

Dream actually laughed as he finally approached his knight, the arrow in-hand.

“If you wanted syrup so badly, we could’ve asked for some on the resupply.” Dream joked.

He tapped the shaft of the arrow to the top of Blue’s skull, and the knight sheepishly ducked away from the sticky feeling, the arrow moving with him for a moment before springing away. Blue’s eyelights didn’t evade Dream’s, but Dream couldn’t help but notice the embarrassment becoming far more potent from his friend.

“Ah, yes, you see…” Blue started, before pausing, “I had no intention of harming the flora.” Blue said, though it seemed a bit half-hearted.

Blue rubbed at his skull as he lowered the long-bow from his front, down to his side. It was a huge weapon, with a string practically made of metal. Dream didn’t usually bother with the long-bows, sticking to the normal bows, or in desperate situations, crossbows. It took way too much power to shoot a longbow for his liking, limited movement. Usually people on horses used them. Dream couldn’t see the light leave someone’s eye from atop a finicky horse.

“It was a good shot, even if you didn’t mean to hit the poor tree, Blue.” Dream amended. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass Blue, it was obvious the mood was tanking with Dream’s ill-timed jokes. “Can I ask why you’re trying out the long-bow today?”

The feeling of Blue’s pride washing over Dream like a comforting blanket as the other seemed to get a second wind. He puffed his chest and lifted the bow right in front of him again.

“The Magnificent Blue has actually been learning to shoot for some time! The smaller ones that you use are not very cooperative, but this large one does well!” The explained proudly, “It was meant to be a surprise, but I would not lie to you!”

He seemed largely unbothered by the fact that this secret of his had just been broken wide open. Though, Dream had to imagine this had been going on for a while now. The last time Dream had seen Blue attempt to shoot an arrow, it had narrowly avoided breaking their window in the back garden. They still had a notch in the wall on the back porch, because Dream begged Blue not to fill it in. He’d laughed so hard, and back then he’d needed a good-

“Wait, why was it going to be a surprise?” Dream asked curiously, raising a brow to watch Blue.

The knight laughed loudly, “Because! The plan was to get very very good at it, and then join you for a practice one day and show you! I know you are very talented with lond-range weapons, and if I were too, then I could fight beside you without placing you in danger! You mentioned it once, a while back.” Blue explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Dream felt a little something in his chest shift to the left as he processed what Blue was referencing. He had mentioned that. Back when they had to scare off some bandits during their trip here, before they found the cottage. He wished Blue hadn’t had to charge in while Dream sat up in a tree and shot at them. Dream had wanted to be in the fray, but… Blue thought he wanted them both to be long range fighters? So they could stay close?

That was up there with some of the most heartwarming things Blue had ever done for Dream. Trust him, there were a LOT of heartwarming things Blue had done. This was surely, however, in the top 15.

“Oh, that’s kind of you.” Dream said gently,

In his distraction, Blue had knocked another arrow and lifted it up. Lined it. Drew the string back. Released.

The heavy string cut through the air with a vocal slapping noise, and both skeletons watched idly as the arrow arced through the air and just hardly skimmed the top of the hay bail, chunking into the ground somewhere behind it instead. There was a moment of Blue letting out a breath and calmly lowering the bow before he grinned again at Dream. His expression was so concentrated not two moments before.

“You know that I would do anything for you, Dream. Besides, using a bow is rather fun! I was unaware of how careful you have to be while firing, and setting it up, and aiming.” He listed off with a laugh.

Now the bow was back at Blue’s side, and Dream was even a bit impressed with his bow etiquette. It wasn’t pressed to the first at his side, he wasn’t fidgeting and bending it, even his motions before he hadn’t dared to dryfire with it. He wondered if Blue had picked it up from him, or if he’d sought out advice from another bowman somewhere. Either way.

“I never meant to discourage you from using your hammer, Blue. I know you’re the happiest while fighting with it.” Dream said earnestly, “But if you wish to continue working with the long-bow, I’m sure I could give you a few pointers.”

At the enthused expression he received from his knight, Dream grinned, “And then maybe you could teach me to use a hammer. Or, maybe a morning star? They always seemed to have a fitting name.” Dream teased, but Blue seemed even more delighted by the thought.

“That sounds great! We should start now!” Blue agreed, and readied his bow again.

Dream was a bit startled, but couldn’t bring himself to deny the enthusiasm. After all, he’d been hoping to train with Blue today anyways.

He watched again as Blue lined up his shot, but this time, he actually watched carefully. He moved behind Blue, and immediately saw a smidge of problem.

“Here, lift your elbow a bit higher.” He instructed, He stepped forward and set his hand under Blue’d elbow, the one which was pulling his arrow back. He shifted under the touch and stopped right where Dream stopped nudging. Immediately his posture looked a lot better, and his aim seemed more sure.

“Try pointing a bit further to the right, you’re leaning left.” He added on, and saw Blue squint a bit harder at his target, before repositioning his aim, shifting his feet along with it before Dream could say anything.

Then, when Dream gave the commend to release, Blue sent the arrow flying.

This time, it whistled as it shot and struck the bail right at the top ring of the target, almost dead center. Blue whooped an excitement, and Dream hummed. He could’ve sworn that would’ve hit the bullseye…

Without much through, Dream summoned his own bow and took aim from Blue’s side. His night went quiet, watching intently, and Dream let loose his arrow with less than half the preparation time, hardly a thought. Just as he’d expected of Blue’s, the arrow pierced the center of the ring flawlessly, though it didn’t sink in nearly as deep. His brow furrowed as the stared at the target. Why hadn’t Blue’s shot done that?

Sure, the bow was heavier, the arrow too, but the fundamentals should’ve been the same. The golden arrow and landed below the other one, why was that?

“Dream?” Blue’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Dream blinked at Blue, and Blue stared back at him, seeming mildly worried.

“My apologies, could you try hitting my arrow? I’ll spot you again.” Dream requested, and Blue just nodded and prepared himself again.

This time, Blue automatically placed his elbow up and turned himself to the right. Dream didn’t even need to do more than a little nudge to his arm to encourage a slight but more movement to the right. Blue should strike this perfectly.

The arrow flew, beautifully with a bit of a spin, and… Lodged a few inches to the left of the target. He was aiming right! How-

Ohhhhhh.

“That was great, Blue! You had everything but an extra set of eyes to direct you, good work!” Dream praised.

Now Blue celebrated properly, wrapping his arms around Dream’s sides in a heavy hug. A familiar one that Dream returned, as he realized how silly he had been for a moment. His arrows weren’t affected by the wind. Blue’s weren’t magic, so of course the air would throw them off course! For a brief, horrifying, moment he worried he’d somehow stumbled in his directions. It was just the wind.

Blue's hug was tight and affectionate, and very very welcome. Dream savored it, returning it tightly, until Blue released him and raised the bow once more. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to train until the caravan arrived in a few hours.

- -

Poor choices. He didn’t make many, but he wasn’t going to try and claim that training right up until the arrival was a good call. All he was expected to do was welcome them back, and then listen toIchor recount any important information they’d picked up on, but still. He didn’t enjoy being all grimy and sweaty and middy was the best look or the most comfortable. His only solace was that Blue was equally messay, so he didn’t feel too out of place.

Ask they approached the path into camp, they saw that the light of a lantern was glowing just a bit down the way, and there alone the road stood the sentinels for the night, and Eclipse.

Eclipse still wore that same tunic as before, though it had gained a grass stain along the bottom hem, no doubt from Copper breaking off at a full sprint at some point during the day. The skeleton himself was without his children, and when Blue greeted him and asked, it turned out he’d left them with someone named Jodie. One of the humans, he believed, a kind elderly woman here with her adult son. Eclipse looked exhausted, but Dream could tell is must’ve been from building worry. Nim help him and make sure that Ichor returns on that cart in one piece.

They stood there together in the quiet, and when the carriage pulled to a stop before them, Dream counted as each person hopped off and stood at attention before himself and Blue. One, two, three, for, five, six, seven… Eight. Ichor must’ve been looking to give his partner a soul-attack, because he was the last of the party to jump off the back of the cart, a thick bag slung over his back and his grin wide and stupid as ever.

Dream acted like he didn’t notice as Eclipse bowled into Ichor’s side, nearly tripping the both of them over and into the grass. Technically, procedure was that Dream would be the first to hear any of them speak, as they could’ve been keeping secrets. However, he knew better than to get between lover birds. That was more of a headache than it was worth.

Only when the two were done and Eclipse gave Ichor a swift peck on the forehead did Dream usher everyone into the debriefing tent to discuss their findings.

“You’re saying he’s bringing in new knights?” Dream questioned.

Everyone had been explaining their stories, but it seemed that Ichor had managed to get the closest. Hear the most. A servant had tripped over him and spilled a red wine on his suit, so he followed them back to the servants halls to get it cleaned up. Because he was so amicable, the maids weren’t very quiet and told him exciting news. Two more knights being trained.

Ichor had asked more, as much as he dared, but all he could get was that one of them was straight out of the dungeon, and the other one was burly and definitely a foreigner. Some sort of hired body, they swore. It’d be fall when the next party was rumored to be happening.

Dream hated to hear such a thing. The first criminal was enough, but this second one? And then another? Dream couldn’t fathom what sorts of horrible plans were being fed into his twin’s mind, what horrid plans they were going to enact, criminals and thugs running the country by his brother’s side?

He sighed a bit, resting a hand against his chin.

“Did you see my twin at all?” He asked then, to the group.

Ichor was the only one to nod, and Dream gestured to him.

“The guy was just as guarded as ya said. The Tiger kept circling back up to the balcony where he was hanging, but the stairs were all blocked off by guards, and some other folks were sitting up there with him. Magic on one of ‘em was strong.” Ichor explained, and Dream squinted as the torchlight glinted off of the skeleton’s single gold tooth. Now his pelt had been returned to him, and he looked perfectly barbaric, like the first day Dream had seen him.

“Mm, unfortunate. My brother is smart, he wouldn’t spare any detail in his protection, I suppose.” Dream muttered, before simply nodding. “Thank you, all. I’m sure you’ve had a tiring past few nights. Go to your tents and rest up, I’ll call upon you if I need to speak with you again sometime later in the week.”

He didn’t really want to dismiss them, but it was obvious half of them had gotten drunk off their asses within the first five minutes of being at the party. Ichor was really the only one with any good information, and even then, it was extremely limited. Of course, Dream had to be grateful that Nightmare must’ve been slipping with controlling the tittering tongues of his servants, it saved him the trouble of having to wait any longer for information.

Nightmare adding new, dangerous, knights was not ideal,

He watched as the party slowly filtered out, some stumbling, some half-awake, and even Ichor yawning as he ducked out of the tent. The only one who didn’t immediately flee was Blue, who sat for a few minutes longer before popping to his feet, gathering the notes strewn across the table, and helping Dream to his feet.

Together, they left the tent and moved back to the cottage. By now it was far into the night, and Dream could see the stars out. The moon, a thin crescent, seemed to mock him as he took careful steps in the darkness of the path. At least he’d gotten to enjoy the remaining sun the day had gifted him.

When they entered the cottage, Dream groaned and moved immediately for the couch. He could try to sleep, but he knew Blue still had to do his nightly routine, and he wouldn't be able to rest with the new information that had been provided.

“We’ll figure it out.” Blue said unprompted from across the main room.

His friend was organizing the papers from tonight into a nice little box where they kept all the notes for their plans, and when he placed it back on the shelf, he moved over to the dummy in the corner of the room where he always hung his armor. Every night.

“I know we will, it’s just…” Ough, he couldn’t say it! This was so infuriating! Every scout who managed to come back only brought him worse and worse news.

“Do you know, or are you just saying that? Because I know that I know we can figure this out! Two monsters can’t make the difference in a coup!” Blue stated matter-of-factly as he undid the buckles on his chest plate and lifted it up onto its rightful spot. Next followed the boots and Dream watched him. The prince was practically deflated on the cushions of the old couch, a pillow quickly tugged into this arms.

He was right. Dream knew it, he usually was after all. Still. It wasn’t the fighting that worried him. No, he and Blue alone could probably beat up whatever petty criminals were cabhorting with his twin. It was just…

“I do. I just- I- I don’t know how my twin could be so stupid!” He exclaimed, practically burying his skull into the pillow, bringing his knees up to his chest, practically curling into a ball. “He was meant to be my advisor, he was the clever one. How could he resort to killers and hired mercenaries. After all those classes he used to tell me about, all the lessons he had to go to, how could he decide to take this path?” He said, hoping his voice was muffled by the cushion.

Unfortunately, like most items in this cottage, it seemed to be cheap and only decorative. No muffling capabilities in sight. He heard Blue sigh, and for a few minutes, the only noise was Blue removing the rest of his armor.

When it faded, he strained to listen, and caught the floorboards creaking ever so gently under the weight of his friend’s approach. Then there was a pause, and then a weight on Dream’s skull. It trailed heavily down his neck and to his shoulders, before repeating itself. A soothing motion, one that Dream resisted for a moment.

“I never got to meet him, but I do know you! I think we can definitely knock some sense back into him.” Blue reassured him, and this time Dream listened.

Blue was right, after all. Blue had been able to knock sense into Dream. If anyone could bring Nightmare back to his senses, it would be Blue.

He let the skeleton keep doing that comforting motion against his skull for a few more minutes, savoring the contact, before he sighed heavily and shrugged. Blue retracted his hand, and was watching Dream with a soft smile when the prince finally lifted his head. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, before Dream smiled back.

They both really needed to get some rest.

#new age au #bitch era is so much funnier I love it!!!#And yep! He's in the midst of his arc! It doesn't seem like it but Blue is slowly but surely laying down all the groundwork and the #foundation of a redemption arc #He just needs the finishing touches of Teen Nightmare and Unbiased Reaper to cement it in place!!!#And oh thank the gods. I thought I was laying it down thick but sometimes my aro brain fails the romance vibe check when I write haha-#So mayybbeeee I tried a little too hard with it this time hehe- but they're disasters so it works!!!#Night's paranoia arc too! Yes!! I think this is him just starting to really slow down off of it. Working w/ Dust has helped his mindset a #lot too (Dust had to not be a control freak regarding the people working under him so he knows how to sus out actual threats and such)#So he's more willing to let spies wander like you said! At this point his conversations are a bit less sturdy as they end up being in Cross #era but they're pretty solid and get his points across and show he means no harm ultimately!!#Growth for both twins!!!!! Yay!!!!#And ooh #ask??#I'll be patiently awaiting it! :D

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luvhrs · 3 years ago

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❝seeing blue, feeling red❞ | viktor x gn!reader

♪ word count: 537 ♪ now playing: how deep is your love - bee gees, when i’m loving you - yianna ♪ rating & tags: M (fluff, established relationship, naked cuddling, body worship, tiny bit of implied smut near the end) ♪ requested?: yes

☾ ao3 ver. + & masterlist ☽

a/n: the prompts for this were so lovely so i just had to go all out + the chance to use the cuteass endearment i’ve been seeing in other viktor fics hELLO it apparently means little sun? so i felt it was very fitting!! i’m kinda proud of the result ngl so i hope you enjoy even if it took a bit long 🥺💛 thank you for reading, i appreciate you and all your interactions!! my asks are always open for requests and stuff~

The morning sun greets eyes of the same hue, painting the room in golden stripes. The light catches on tools and pens strewn across a desk blanketed in blueprint. It would be a more glaring reminder of the work to be completed for the day, if not for the faint breeze wafting from the window and making the prospect of a lazy summer's day so inviting.

Summer's in full bloom indeed, but it's none of these things that makes Viktor so sure.

No, that honor goes to the body laying beside him in bed, legs entangled and bare skin flush against his.

"How deep is your love, solnyshka?"

Your head rises from its resting place on Viktor's chest, making him pause from running his fingers through your hair. "Are you doubting me, my dear?" you ask—not before gasping dramatically and making a show of it, of course.

"Never!" Your eyebrows raise in challenge at that, but Viktor only chuckles at how cute you look. "I'm a scientist. I simply mean to learn."

"Well, Mr. Scientist," you huff a little, as you prop yourself up on your elbows. "Aren't you familiar with the subject matter already?"

Have I not shown you enough? You don't say it out loud, but Viktor hears it anyway. He recognizes the hint of uncertainty trailing off your tone, catches the extra second you cast your glance down while adjusting your position.

(Not to mention he's no stranger to the thought himself, but that conversation's for another day.)

So in the way he knows best, he reassures you, "Why don't you test me then?"

Viktor watches your stare morph from one of playful disbelief, to experimental excitement (you definitely got that from him), to pure, unadulterated love, and that ball of golden warmth in the sky is all but forgotten—replaced by your lips beginning the softest exploration known to man.

You lean down and spoil him with butterfly kisses on his eyelids, nose, cheeks, lingering when you reach his mouth. "Enough?" you whisper.

With you looking at him like that, Viktor almost forgets to speak, but your test is an easy one. He hums. "Deeper."

You beam.

Hell, you're his sun. The light that pours into the deepest, darkest crevices of his soul—and his neck and collarbones now—is yours and nobody else's. He can't look right at you without it hurting a little, without something hitting hard and bright in his chest until it's hard to breathe—you kiss him there too, naturally—like he can't quite believe why you came to him and never left. It's why he's asked you as much.

Your lips reach his stomach, your fingers dancing along his sides, and his hips rise at the slightest. "Deeper," he blurts out. A kiss to his hipbone and lingering breath, just a little more... "(Y/N), please—"

"See, you didn't even need a test!"

Viktor stifles a groan, while you fail to stifle a bubble of laughter. His eyes shoot open, though he doesn't even remember closing them in the first place, to you coyly crawling back up his body. You shower his face in more apologetic kisses, though he can't even be mad.

He'll just have to ask for a refresher later.

#arcane #league of legends #viktor #arcane x reader #viktor x reader #viktor x you #viktor the machine herald #arcane lol #arcane imagine #arcane fanfiction #katsu.doc

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koolkat9 · 2 years ago

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GerEng Week 2022: Day 5

@gereng-week

Prompt: Flowers || Office AU

Pairing: GerEng + Sealand

Rating: T

Word Count: 1734

A Little bit of Colour

Friday had finally arrived, freeing Ludwig from his seemingly never-ending work week. All he wanted to do was get home, but a garden center had just opened on his street, and he had been wanting to check it out. Of course, work and overtime had made him push that plan back until now.

When he entered, he was greeted by a young boy almost running into him. Luckily, Ludwig slid out of the way just as the boy rushed by him.

“Sorry mister,” the boy called back, not stopping his sprint.

Ludwig frowned at the boy. This was no way to behave, especially in a store. He looked around for a parent, finding a blond-haired man storming after the boy. Eventually, he caught up to him and gripped the boy's shoulder. “Sorry, there mate,” the blond man said, looking towards Ludwig, “He’s been cooped up all day in class and decided to take it out on my flowers.” That last part was directed at the boy. He guided the pouting boy to behind the cash area and told him sternly to stay there.

The man turned back to Ludwig. “Now, what can I help you with?” he asked.

Ludwig stared slack jaw. This man was the last person he expected to be running a flower shop. His spiky green hair, dark eyeliner, multiple piercings, and tattoos wrapping around his exposed forearms were nothing that came to Ludwig’s mind when he thought gardener, but it was definitely something that came to mind when Ludwig thought of his type.

He shook himself out of his daze when he caught himself staring. “Uh…Well…I-I need…Um, I was looking to replace my watering can and spade.”

“No problem, right this way.”

The man–Arthur was his name according to his tag–showed him over to their tool section. He was well informed, pointing out the best brands and also adding his own two cents, explaining the items he used. The entire time, Ludwig kept stealing shy glances, quietly nodding along to Arthur’s words.

Halfway through their discussion, Ludwig felt eyes on him. He turned his head to look at a potted plant. He caught a tuft of dirty blond hair before it disappeared behind the leaves.

“Peter Kirkland,” Arthur snapped, “Stop bugging my customers.” He didn’t even have to turn around to know the boy was there. “Forgive me, he’s a nosy one.”

Ludwig smiled slightly. He may have not had a lot of experience with children, but being curious and nosy seemed normal. “It’s okay,” he assured Arthur.

Peter came out from hiding. “But–”

“No buts,” Arthur stated, “Don’t you have homework?”

Peter smirked. “Nope. It’s the weekend.”

“Shit,” Arthur huffed under his breath. “Just…Just scram, or there won’t be any dessert tonight.”

The boy’s face paled before he dashed off to the cash area.

“Sorry again,” Arthur sighed.

“It’s no trouble. Kids will be kids.”

“Maybe, but they also need proper manners.”

“And I’m sure you’ve got it all under control.”

Arthur flushed slightly.

“Ah! Sorry if I overstepped.”

“Not at all… I actually appreciate it.”

As Ludwig collected his things (he ended up getting more than he originally planned), the two moved into a more personal conversation. Ludwig had learned that Arthur was the owner of the garden center. It had been his dream, and thanks to his job as a tattoo artist and a little help from his mother, he was able to open it. But just as Ludwig was getting comfortable with Arthur, it was time to check out.

“Your son is cute,” Ludwig noted as Arthur scanned him through.

“Thank you, but he’s not my son. He’s my menace of a little brother.”

“Oh.” There was a story there, Ludwig could tell, but he had already felt like he had pried too much. “Well, he’s quite energetic, but all kids have a point like that.”

Arthur nodded. “I suppose. That will be $15.40.”

Ludwig paid and bid Arthur a good day before departing, feeling lighter than he had when he first went in.

- - -

Ludwig began to frequent the garden center, going whenever he had a day off work. He was able to keep up the facade that he was coming for gardening supplies as it was still fairly early in spring. But really, Ludwig didn’t need any more than what he got on his first visit. He prided himself in taking care of his tools, so they lasted years, but he needed an excuse to come and see Arthur without being creepy.

“Hiya Ludwig,” Peter greeted with a toothy grin.

Ludwig gave the boy a small smile. He was quite polite when he wasn’t bouncing off the walls “Hello Peter.”

“Are you here to see my brother?”

Peter blinked at him innocently, but Ludwig knew better. Arthur was right, he was a mischievous boy. Though perhaps, in this case, clever was a more appropriate word.

Ludwig flushed slightly. “Wha–N-No. I want to…get some more…flowers. Yes, flowers. I was looking to expand my garden.

Peter smirked, rocking back and forth on his feet, “I know you like him.”

“What?”

“Your cheeks are red, just like when you first saw him. And nobody needs this much gardening stuff.”

That clever boy. Ludwig tensed and looked away.

“You sure like to pester him, don’t you?” Arthur interjected.

“But Arthur!” Peter whined.

“He’s okay,” Ludwig said.

Arthur quirked a brow, looking Ludwig over. “Your face says otherwise.”

Peter tugged on Arthur’s hand, jumping up and down. “Can I show Ludwig what he’s looking for?”

Arthur turned towards said man, brows knitted.

“That would be lovely,” Ludwig replied, giving Arthur a nod.

Ludwig could see Arthur’s hesitancy, but in the end, he let them go.

“Am I that obvious?” he asked once they were far enough from Arthur.

“Well, not to Arthur. But I think he likes you too.”

“We just met.”

“So, is that a no to me helping you land a date with him?”

Ludwig froze. “Of course, that’s a no,” he replied sternly, “Anyway. Why would you help me when you barely know me?”

Peter’s smile fell. He looked back at his brother who had retreated to behind the cash desk. “You make him smile…He’s always been so grouchy, especially since mum died, but when you’re here, he’s grinning wildly and is always in a good mood. I just…I just want him to be happy.”

There was a softness in Peter’s eyes that Ludwig hadn’t seen before. For all his mischief, poking, and prodding, he really was a good kid.

Ludwig crouched down to his level. “That’s very kind of you. Arthur’s lucky to have a brother like you looking out for him. But I think we need to do this on our own.”

Peter’s face fell. “Do you promise to ask him out soon?”

Ludwig could never stand puppy dog eyes. He blamed his dogs for it. So when Peter looked at him with wide, pleading blue eyes, Ludwig couldn’t say no. “I promise.”

- - -

It was another long day. Ludwig was really starting to consider a sudden career change as the days blurred together, and the only light in his bleak, sterile world was Arthur and his garden center.

Ludwig stared blankly at the coffee maker, trying to come up with a way to confess. He had been brainstorming for a week on how to finally reveal his feelings to Arthur, but he had scraped every single one. Either it was too cheesy, too anxiety-inducing, or both.

With five minutes left to his break, Ludwig returned to his desk to find a lovely bouquet had been left there. Ludwig looked around for any inkling of who had left it, but he was met with a sea of cubicles, everyone focused on their computer screens. He noticed a small card.

‘Love, Arthur,’ it read.

Ludwig was taken aback. Though he was planning on confessing, he wasn’t too hopeful that Arthur returned his feelings (despite Peter claiming otherwise). He didn’t have time to dwell on it however as Arthur came bursting through the doors.

“Arthur–”

“Don’t say anything,” Arthur growled through gritted teeth. He snatched up the bouquet before heading to the door. “Just forget it ever happened.”

Ludwig felt his heart crack. He reached out to Arthur, gripping his wrist. “But what if–”

“I’m sorry Ludwig. They weren’t…I mean…I was teaching Peter about flower arrangements, and he…” Arthur shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake.”

“Mistake?’

“Yes…”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Of course, how could he have actually hoped he had a chance with a man he just met when he was so stiff and could barely carry a conversation? But with Arthur in his grip, he couldn’t hold back. “But what if I don’t want it to be a mistake,” Ludwig blurted out.

Arthur froze, muscles tensing.

“Red roses, jasmine, yellow acacia. They all mean love do they not?”

Arthur nodded before slowly turning around. “What if I told you it wasn’t a mistake? How would you feel?”

Ludwig smiled slightly. “It would make things easier for me.”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Well then…” He thrusted the bouquet towards Ludwig. “Join me for dinner this evening?”

“I’d love to.”

When Ludwig took the bouquet back, applause from the cubicles nearby erupted. Right, they weren’t alone. Ludwig felt his face burn.

Luckily Arthur seemed to catch onto his discomfort and led him out of the office.

Once they were in the safety of the elevator, they relaxed. “Sorry,” they said at the same time.

Arthur snickered, and Ludwig smiled bashfully.

“It really was Peter who set this whole thing up,” Arthur admitted.

“He deserves a reward then.”

“Or a massive grounding for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Ludwig leaned against the railing. “Fair. But don’t be too hard on him. Who knows how long we would have been pinning if it weren’t for him.”

Arthur nodded half-heartedly. “Fine…He’ll get off with a lecture.”

Ludwig walked Arthur to the door. He was sad to see him go after all the excitement. If only they could relish in this moment a bit longer. “I’ll pick you up after work?” Ludwig asked.

“Yes. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“You could never.”

And so, Ludwig returned to work far lighter than he was before. Perhaps that was the colour he had been missing for so long.

#hetalia #hws #gereng week 2022 #gereng week #gereng #engger #geruk #punk england is best england #hws england #hws germany #hws sealand #fluff #office au #garden center au #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #getting together

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merryfortune · 3 years ago

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1 Absence of Singularity

AiYusa Month Week 1

Love or Dance or Return

“I lived my life just fine without you so I don’t need you now!”

Vampire AU or Fairy Tale AU

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Ship: Aiballshipping | Ai/Yusaku

Word Count: 1,916

Tags: Inspired by Japanese Mythology, Science Fiction, Bittersweet Ending, Surrealism

One day, whilst going about his business, high schooler Fujiji Yusaku saw something marvellous on his way home. He was a card carrying member of the going home club and relished his free time alone, spending most of it staring at his shoes or at the graffiti on the cement walls of the city that he called home but one day, one evening that was cold and brusque, he happened to be looking up, far above the skyline, and he saw a shooting star.

It was a beautiful blur of blue against the orange sunset - and he saw it land.

For some reason, a reason he couldn’t describe or explain, the lazy and uninvolved Fujiki Yusaku felt his heart race. He saw where it landed. It wasn’t too far away, actually, just on the beach where the plankton glowed, he wanted to see it and so, he did not go home that evening.

Instead, he went down to the beach and combed it for the star that he had seen fallen. As he walked along the water’s edge, the waves lapped at his heels and splashed the ankles of his pants, he didn’t mind as his eyes pricked on all the debris the waves brought and took and left. The shards of seashells, bits of kelp, and as he walked, he found the star - the object - in the water’s edge, lodged into the sand and struggling. Wriggling. Moving.

Yusaku bent down and he placed his hands on the star. It was cold. It was made of metal. It wasn’t a star at all but he wasn’t sure what it was, just what it wasn’t. It wasn’t a star nor was it a turtle but it did have a reptilian tail. With a heft of its spherical body, Yusaku brought it out of the sand with a cascade of mud.

It looked up at him with blinking, virtual eyes. There was a crack in the visor of its face, Yusaku lamented as he wiped more of the slurry off its carapace. Though, he couldn’t help himself, he found himself trying to work out how to replace the hard, thick glass that had such a chip. It wouldn’t be too hard, he decided but with a ho-hum sigh, he relented to the fact he didn’t have tools or replacement on him. But it looked up at him with an appreciative gaze for what he had done so far for it: freeing it from the tide and even tidying it up. It was cute, Yusaku thought to himself and he patted the top of its head.

“Off you go.” Yusaku told it.

It blinked at him and a hologram was projected from its eyes, “Thank you, human civilian for finding my Link Kuriboh!”

The hologram had an unusual-looking creature inside of it, some sort of mass of dark purple-coloured tentacles and one large eye of glowing yellow. It flailed around, loud and jolly, and yet Yusaku could only look unto it with a mild confusion.

“My poor Link Kuriboh was out having bit of an exploration of the galaxy as it is prone to do but got stuck! On your beach! Thank you for rescuing it, why don’t you come visit us for three days? As a thank you present! Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Yusaku mulled it over. This appeared to be the first contact between aliens and humankind. That sounded like it could be pretty important. But this could also be some kind of elaborate prank but even if it was, some part of him still wanted to stick a screwdriver into this prop to see how it was made. So, he accepted.

“I would like that.” Yusaku replied.

“Excellent, see you soon, byeeee.”

The hologram dissipated upon that cue and the object, the Link Kuriboh as it was being called by the creature in the hologram, hopped and skipped playfully on its stubby little legs and trilled cutely. It then opened a second hologram: one that was of shimmering, clattering blue sparkles and it swallowed Yusaku whole. Digitised him. Shrunk him down and stored him inside of Link Kuriboh and in the blink of an eye, it was time for take off, like a rocket.

Yusaku could see all the worlds, all the stars and moons and galaxies from the inside of this teeny-tiny space-ship. He couldn’t believe it. He stared out the cracked window of Link Kuriboh’s face-plate with awe asunder upon his own. The colours of silver and indigo were infinite. They passed by planets and comets in the blink of an eye, and yet Yusaku savoured every second of it until they arrived at their destination. He had no idea how many seconds, minutes, hours or even days that their trip took but they landed on a small, green planet that swirled with violet-coloured storms.

Through the stream of blue pixels, Yusaku was permitted to leave the craft he had been swallowed up by. He stood, uncertainly and yet with eyes wide, in a meadow of the softest green grass and looked up to an idyllic, blue sky. He could breathe here. Easily. He wondered why but he never got an explanation. His musings cut off by the sound of greetings.

“Hello!”

He turned around and he recognised those yellow eyes. The creature from before, Yusaku thought, but not like before. It had taken on a more human form, save for the vampiric aesthetic to its clothes and the six tentacles that swung out in hefty greeting.

“I am Ai.” he said. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of a visitation, no matter how regrettably brief it must be.”

“My name is Yusaku, it's good to meet you.”

Ai beamed widely. He had sharp teeth and they caught the sunlight’s glint but Yusaku hadn’t noticed a sun for this planet to orbit. It was just lit. For hours upon hours endlessly, without rhyme or reason. And he was drawn into its gravitation through Ai.

The planet had six dominions, each one seemingly stuck in its own timezone and season despite close proximity to one another. There were other inhabitants of this world, too, tentacle creatures like Ai that flitted between various forms depending on task. They seemed more focused on tilling their world unlike Ai who wanted to give Yusaku his undivided attention - and Yusaku didn’t mind one bit.

He was pampered and shown all over this little world of Ai’s that he called the Cyberse World. He was delighted by how peculiar it was in its eternal, beautiful stasis and yet, it felt as though time were running out for he and Ai. They wanted to spend all the time in the world together in the three days or something grave, Ai feared, would happen. And yet Yusaku was totally lost in the whirl of it, he tried to count how time passed but he was just so within the pull of Ai’s attraction, he kept losing count.

But he liked it. He liked the caress of Ai’s face on his cheek as he spoke nigh endlessly about truths of the universe and its darkness that humans alone were nowhere near to coming to understand just yet. He liked how soft it was, his brash bravado and humour.

He was going to miss it. Yusaku didn’t want to miss it but when, seemingly out of nowhere in this cycle of serenity and nothingness at all, Ai broke the news.

“It’s time for you to return home, Yusaku, I’m sorry but you can’t stay any longer, the misfortune that could result would be too dire.” Ai lamented.

“What, no?” Yusaku protested. “It's fine, I can stay a little longer.”

Ai shook his head mournfully, “Just go back to planet Earth for a little bit, see the sights, breathe that nostalgic air and then, I will send for you again, I promise.”

“I want proof of your promise.” Yusaku demanded of the beautiful yet sad alien in front of him.

“Very well then, that I can do.” Ai agreed.

He nodded his head solemnly and held out his hands. They were slender and doll-like, complete with ball joint knuckles. A box manifested, it was only small and it was blue, striped with spiralling lines that evoked circuitry boards. He gifted it to Yusaku.

“Promise me to never open it but it will keep you safe and connected to the Cyberse World just fine.” Ai said. “I hope to see you soon but not too soon.”

He leaned in and kissed Yusaku’s forehead. Yusaku felt his heart skip a beat but he didn’t protest any further. He knew Ai’s promise was valid. Even if he felt more at home in this little hideaway in the cosmos on the planet that he hailed from and was reluctantly returning to.

Ai had Link Kuriboh return Yusaku all the same as how he came. Yusaku waved Ai - and the others of his species, as few as they were - goodbye from behind Link Kuriboh’s faceplate. He wasn’t sure if he was seen but he believed he was per how his heart swelled as he was forced to leave the Cyberse World.

And was, regretfully, returned to the very beach that he had encountered the falling star which was Link Kuriboh. But it was only supposed to have been three days. It looked as though more than three days had passed, Yusaku didn’t recognise the skyline that he was delivered to at all.

Yusaku was awed - and not in a good way - as he looked out onto the city. He could see parts of it that he recognised as Den City but not much. It was desolate, broken, grinded into rust and dust but by what? It looked like the aftermath of a very old apocalypse as nature had begun to reclaim the decimated skyscrapers and alike.

Yusaku turned his head to Link Kuriboh who trilled happy and playful, utterly oblivious to the horrible feeling churning up Yusaku’s insides. He really, really wanted to go back to the Cyberse World, what could be worse than this world he truly did not belong to now? Not three days later but if he had to guess, rather three hundred years later.

Unthinking, desperation in his fingers, Yusaku opened the box that he was clutching onto. He blanked. He forgot what Ai had told him but he just wanted to go back to the Cyberse World but he found inside the box was not some note of love from Ai nor exactly what he wanted.

It was what he was owed.

Yusaku felt himself age immediately upon opening the box. A wispy, white bear curled off his chin as he hunkered down with poor posture. His skin turned to leathery wrinkles and his vision blurred. His bones ached and Link Kuriboh curiously looked up at him, it blinked and projected a hologram from Ai.

Ai was horrified to see what Yusaku had done to himself but Yusaku was over the moon to see his alien lover again.

“I told you not to open it.” Ai chastised him. “What was inside was your old age… But not to worry, you can return again to my side… In three day’s time.” His voice was sad and sweet.

Yusaku smiled a weary smile, tears glinting his aged eyes and he believed it. In three days time, he would see Ai again and all would be good and fine with them reunited in the Cyberse World.

#aiyusa month #aiyusamonth #aiballshipping #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #ai (vrains)#fujiki yusaku #yusaku fujiki #writing tag #absence of singularity

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mllekurtz · 3 years ago

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14 and/or 22 for the weird writer asks meme! <3

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back? I do lend my books to people! I do it much more infrequently now that 1) most of my friends are online and 2) I usually buy ebooks instead of physical books. I used to enthusiastically drop books in people's laps because I love to share the things I'm excited about, and yeah, I had a list of all the people I gave my books to when it became hard to keep all the loans straight in my head.

I like to think I have a healthy relationship with physical books. I've never truly venerated the book as an object (yeah, I'm an amateur bookbinder, but appreciation is not the same as worship), and working in publishing put the final nail in the coffin of my being precious about paper and ink. After all, you put all your efforts in the words themselves, and holding the bound object is just the last part of a long process. With all the due exceptions, as long as they're not out of print or ridiculously expensive, books can be replaced. The story is what's important, the reader is what's important; I'd rather never see a beloved book again than keeping a friend to enjoy a story I love.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

(this got long so it's under a cut!)

Story ideas usually live in the hivemind, aka discord chats or servers. Once an idea develops and starts to turn into a proper outline, I create a channel for it in my private discord server where I can chuck ideas on my phone when I wake up at 2 am. Once the fic is done, I move the channel into the graveyard.

This is what the graveyard looks like btw (not all of it):

(If you're wandering what is essek-thoughts, I was too, so I checked: they're notes on a better man than me. idk-shadowgast is the early stages of all this science i don't understand)

I keep using discord even when I start working on the fic properly in Google Docs; all the random thoughts I have when I don't have access to GDocs go there, as well as most of the darlings I kill while editing. (I also download copies of my docs in my hard drive very often, because 1) I was born in the '90s and I don't trust the cloud 2) you never know when you'll need to go back in time and search through an old version of your work.)

I usually break down the fic into scenes and/or chapters, depending on its length; I use various headings to make an organised outline in the sidebar. I've also started using the summary function to write notes to myself (future developments, changes I need to track, the tags that I add as I go, things I need to remember to say in the A/N and so on).

This is what my outline for the emergency contact au looks like right now:

It's not very detailed because the structure is very straightforward and the chapters are short, but I would usually have nesting headlines so I can keep track of scenes I need to go back to, flashbacks and so on. The days of the week are a necessity because I often have to refer to something that happened "three days ago" and I wouldn't remember when that would have been. I also need to remember that offices are usually closed on a Sunday, and so on.

I also often leave comments to myself and/or my betas throughout to highlight the parts that need attention. And this is it, I think? It might sound convoluted but it's actually a very straightforward process that keeps me from messing up and forgetting ideas.

#thanks for the ask ariadne!#ask game #weird asks for writers

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hanoella · 4 years ago

Text

Affettuoso- With Feeling (Part 1)

Pairing: Bucky x Pianist!Reader

Set after the events of TFATWS: In an effort to start over and make a home in Louisiana, Bucky meets a friend of Sam's who ends up being his landlord. With only a driveway to separate them, he finds that he's not the only one looking for a fresh start.

Series tags/warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Bucky x Reader, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Canon Level Violence

Read Part 2

---

After everything that happened with the Flag Smashers and the GRC, Bucky thought that laying low with Sam in Louisiana was a good idea. He had been looking for a fresh start anyway. Between losing Steve and making his last amends, New York as of late had only been full of sad memories and regrets. Louisiana was so different- slower paced and fresh, no negative feelings. No feelings at all, actually. Sam was more than understanding, letting him stay with them until he found a semi-permanent place here.

Currently, Bucky was staring out the window, watching the breeze make little waves in the grass as he ate his sandwich. Sarah and the kids had gone out to the boat, making the house feel virtually abandoned. There was too much space and not enough people. For just himself, it was only a reminder that he would continue to stay as he always had- alone.

Sam walked into the kitchen where Bucky was, effectively breaking his train of thought. He raised an eyebrow at Sam’s mischievous smile- or maybe it was a regular one. He always looked like he was up to something, at least to Bucky.

“Great news,” Sam started. “I just got off the phone with a friend of mine. She’s moving down here for some work and is looking for someone to live on the property with her.”

“She?” Bucky questioned.

“Listen, I know what you’re thinking but before you say anything else, let me explain. So she already bought the house, it’s less than 10 minutes from here so you can still see us whenever you want. The property’s a couple acres so it’s got tons of space. It comes with an apartment over the shed, so you don’t have to share walls. She keeps to herself so she won’t bother you,” Sam said, counting the pros on his fingers as he talked.

“And the best part is: you don’t need to pay rent. I explained the situation, with you being a hero to the world and all, and she said as long as you can help her out with the heavy-duty stuff like taking care of the property and the occasional repair, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Bucky eyed the couch that had been his home for the past several weeks. Don’t get him wrong- being here with the boys was fun. Unfortunately though, he was still in a place in his life where he needed time to think, heal and meditate. The nightmares, although less frequent, were still occurring. Sam was always supportive, but Bucky didn’t want to keep putting him out. Sam noticed the hesitation and spoke.

“You don’t have to decide right now, but she’s moving here in a few days and could at least use some help. She said we could go look at the property now- no pressure though. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”

Bucky paused a moment before nodding.

“Okay, let’s go.”

---

Sam turned into a dirt driveway lined with low hanging trees on one side and a field on the other. Bucky wouldn’t have even noticed it if not for the mailbox on the street.

“See, well this is perfect for you, it’s back in the cut.” Sam said.

Bucky could understand from context clues that that meant secluded. Probably.

It took a few seconds down the driveway before the trees on the left cleared and the water was visible. On the other side, there was a light green house with white trim. With the typical Southern architecture and porch, it was the picture perfect place to live. No neighbors- just trees and water.

Sam whistled as they pulled up at the end of the driveway by the house. Now that they were closer, Bucky could see the large garage on the opposite side of the driveway. It almost looked like another house but much smaller, and with a small dock in the water. The bottom floor of the garage had two large doors that opened upwards, and one regular doorway. The top floor had several windows with curtains in them, shrouding the inside. Getting out of the car, Bucky walked around the car to where Sam was opening the door to the garage.

Going in to inspect the garage, Bucky blinked to adjust to the dim light. He looked around to find several yard tools, some cans of paint on shelves, and a riding mower. On the back wall was a door. Hearing a rustle, he turned to find Sam feeling up on the highest shelf.

“Found it!” He said triumphantly, holding the key to the apartment up.

Walking over to the door on the back wall, Sam unlocked it and pulled it open. Bucky poked his head through the doorway and looked up to the staircase at his left. He turned to meet Sam’s eye, who shrugged before gesturing to Bucky to take the lead. It led up to the top floor of the garage, which was fitted with an apartment that turned out to be nicer than he thought.

It was simple but in good condition. Dark hardwood floor, white trim, pale steel blue walls. Where they had walked up was the living room. Directly across from it was a kitchen area with a veranda to walk out on. The open space then shrunk to a hallway to the left. The bathroom being the first door and a bedroom at the end of the hall. Overall, plenty of space for one person.

“I don’t know about you Buck, but this place seems perfect.” Sam said as he opened the glass sliding door to the veranda. It overlooked the undisturbed landscape, hidden from the nearby town.

“It does.” Bucky responded simply.

He took a moment to walk out onto the veranda with Sam and view the birds wading through the water.

“Well good,” Sam said with a chuckle. “This way, you can stop hitting on my sister.”

Bucky laughed and punched him in the arm. Sam feigned physical and emotional injury.

“Haha, Very funny.”

Sarah was a nice gal, but focused on her life at the moment. Sure, there had been a few sparks, but ultimately she had made it clear that her priority at the moment was her boys and her business. Bucky had been a good sport about it. It just felt good to be back in the game without it feeling forced.

Sam watched as Bucky stared out at the water before switching to a serious note.

“So… You feel like you’re ready?”

Bucky slowly nodded.

“Yeah. This is it.”

Sam smiled wide as he handed the key over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Welcome home.”

---

Bucky had very few belongings from New York that came with him. A small wooden table with chairs. A few books. A bed, a couch, a TV. There wasn’t really a whole lot that couldn’t be replaced if needed. He had been able to take the trip to and from in a few days, already moving his belongings into the apartment. The only big thing he had done was bring Steve’s old Harley out of storage. He probably should get a car at some point since it wasn’t the city anymore but he’d figure it out.

After saying goodbye to Sarah and the kids, Bucky opened the door to Sam's truck.

“Promise you’ll visit?” shouted one of the boys before clinging to him.

Bucky smiled and patted the kid on the back.

“Of course, I will.” He said, looking at the other boy before gesturing for him to join the hug.

“Uncle Buck’s not going anywhere boys,” Sam promised across the center console from the driver’s side.

Both boys eventually peeled off of Bucky’s side. He got in the truck and rolled down the window.

“Be good for your mom okay?” He said to the boys as he waved and nodded at Sarah, who smiled back as the truck started.

“Okay, bye!” They shouted until Bucky could no longer see them in side view mirror.

He really would miss those kids.

They drove in comfortable silence until they pulled up to the house where a light blue sedan was parked next to a storage pod that had been delivered. After parking by it, they exited the truck as you were stepping out of your car.

“Sam!” You exclaimed cheerfully, as you went in for a hug. He lifted you slightly off the ground and you laughed, smiling wide. Bucky stood to the side and observed the interaction, giving you a once-over. You were dressed appropriately for the work you were about to do- light-wash high-water jeans, a white t-shirt with a chest pocket, canvas shoes, and hair up in a slightly messy bun with a few gold bobby pins thrown in to hold back any loose wisps of hair.

After Sam set you down, he turned to Bucky and introduced you.

“… and we met during a charity event that Tony hosted. She offered her services free of charge to help us raise money for the VA.”

You held a hand out to Bucky.

“It’s very nice to meet you! Thanks so much for helping me move in, I really appreciate it.”

Bucky smiled lightly and nodded as he shook your hand.

“Nice to meet you too.”

You smiled and took back your hand before looking at the house.

“Shall we?” You inquired, gesturing towards the storage pod.

“Of course,” Sam replied, opening the door to the pod. As Bucky looked inside, he noted that it was mostly just boxes. The noticeable items were the same as his: the bare minimum- besides a fancy electric piano.

“How’re you gonna fill up this house with a few pieces of furniture?” Sam joked.

“Hey, it’s better than having too much stuff! Besides, don’t guys always say that women have too much stuff?” You quip back as you reach for one of the larger boxes in the pod.

“Ah-ah-ah, no you don’t,” Sam said as he intercepted you and picked up the box.

“Oh, c’mon Sam. I’ll feel bad if I make you guys do all the heavy stuff.”

“You’re not making us do anything. Besides, I’ll be fine, and the old man could use some exercise,” he said, nodding towards Bucky.

You smiled timidly at Bucky.

“I have a bad shoulder.” You explained while gripping the top of your right arm.

“I get what that feels like,” he sympathized, nodding to his metal arm.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry, it’s not nearly as bad-”

Bucky cut you off.

“Don’t be sorry. If it’s hurting you, don’t worry about it. We can handle it.” He said gently, pausing for a moment before continuing.

“Or at least I can.”

Sam tilted his head back and feigned hurt feelings while you picked up a lamp base and shook it lightly at him.

“Does this meet your approval, Mr. Wilson?” You asked teasingly.

“Why yes, yes it does. Now come on.”

He walked into the house, you right on his heels. Bucky eyed the two of you together for a moment before picking up a few boxes himself.

---

A few hours later, he was sitting on the worn leather couch next to Sam while you went to get them some drinks in the kitchen. You appeared under the white trimmed archway into the living area holding three glasses.

“One sweet tea for the guest, one lemonade for my new neighbor, and a half and half for the gracious host.” You said, holding up your glass after handing the others out.

You three clinked glasses and you sunk into a sage green armchair with dark wood.

“So… how does this work?” Bucky asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Mmm, yes.” You said, swallowing the sip you had taken.

“Uhm, basically whenever you’re not off saving the world with Captain America,” You started, smiling with pride at Sam. “If you could just make sure the grass doesn’t get too long and help me with some of the more physically demanding repairs and jobs around the house, that’d be great. Of course, that only applies if you’re here, and even then, as long as it’s not urgent, you can take your time getting around to it. Other than that, you’re free to do as you please.”

“That’s very generous of you.” He remarked.

“Well, don’t say that yet,” you said while laughing. “The property is huge so it might be more of a challenge than you think. But like I said, there’s no need to rush to anything. Besides, I should be thanking you. You’ve done a lot for the world.”

Sam interjected before Bucky could respond, which was okay because he still wasn’t used to accepting thanks instead of apologizing.

“Where’s my thank you for saving the world?”

You rolled your eyes and sarcastically rattled off a thank you. Bucky cleared his throat after a moment.

“Anything you want me to start working on?”

“Oh, please get settled in first. I have some furniture getting delivered that I might need help assembling in a few days but otherwise, there’s nothing else. If you have any expenses like paint or tools, you can just use this card and let me know.” You said, handing over a credit card.

“We should also exchange phone numbers too. What’s yours?”

Bucky stalled a moment before rattling off the numbers. It was a foreign feeling- giving out his phone number. He was most definitely having PTSD from his therapist chucking his phone at him. He watched as you typed away on your phone. Feeling his phone ping, Bucky looked at it and saw a message from an unregistered number.

“Hi, It’s me :)”

“That’s my number. Obviously.”

Bucky nodded his head in thanks while registering your number. It had been a while since he had added anyone’s number. You and Sam started talking about something else while Bucky exited back to the main list of contacts. There, your name was italicized and highlighted at the top. What a strange feeling.

…

Later that night, Bucky was relaxing, enjoying the peace. It was warm for autumn, and the water was reflecting the moonlight. He couldn’t sleep. Not that that was surprising. He walked out of the apartment down to the small dock to sip on a beer and celebrate his newfound independence. Sitting on the edge where his feet barely touched the water, he leaned back onto his hands and took a deep breath in.

That’s when he heard it.

Just barely, with his enhanced hearing, he could hear your crying. It was like you were wailing in pain. Not a sharp new pain, but an intense never ending one. The kind that you hear from an animal that’s been maimed- the kind you put out of their misery. Whatever you were holding in, it had been building up for an impossibly long time and finally, exhausted, you found a chance to let it out. Being able to hear it felt like a dirty invasion of privacy.

Bucky swallowed and took another deep breath before trying to focus on the sound of the wildlife around him. But it was no use. Here you were. Here he was.

No longer the only runaway seeking refuge.

#Bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

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May I have a scenario/imagine, whichever makes more sense, of Trey, Rook, and Crewel trying to tame some sort of wild, magical invasive species of Poison Ivy that has taken over the greenhouse?

Crewel gives me perpetually disappointed wine aunt father vibes. This piece also lowkey turned out to be Trey x Rook, but you didn’t read that from me.

This imagine’s longer than my usual 1k word self-imposed limit, since it goes out to a friend of mine that’s been supporting me through final projects and exams. I’m not sure if they’d want me tagging them so publicly, but they know who they are.

Imagine this...

To Professor Crewel’s chagrin, members of the Science Club had never had strong academic intent. In actuality, the club was a thinly veiled excuse to bake cakes (just to find the perfect ratio of leaveners and sweeteners!) and to stalk watch students in their natural habitats (nothing wrong with an impromptu observational study, right?). Instead of test tubes and beakers, the lab benches were littered with cake pans and photographs of unsuspecting Savanaclaw students.

“I do wish you two would take this club more seriously,” Crewel would often gripe, fingers massaging his temples. “Science is not a play thing, it is a powerful tool with which we can use to redefine and reshape the world around us.”

Such were the woes of an instructor--but today, he had no time to lament.

Crewel’s jaw tightened as he gazed upon a sprawling mess--the shattered glass panes of the Botanical Garden, with massive stalks of ivy reaching for the skies. Casualties lined the ground--plants and flowers drained dry of their life, all withered and decayed. The ivy writhed in glee.

(He shouldn’t have been surprised that the headmaster summoned him and the Science Club to resolve the issue instead of hiring a real exterminator.)

“How unseemly,” Crewel noted, clicking his tongue. “Running amok and ruining so many of the specimens we’ve carefully cultivated... This shall not go unpunished.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Clover.”

“Yes.” Trey stepped forward, his magical pen ready.

“Hunt.”

“Oui.” Rook followed suit, smoothly drawing forth his own pen.

“The time has come to prove your mettle,” Crewel announced, rapping his pointer against his palm. His onyx eyes seethed with a quiet, controlled rage. “Show this overgrown weed what the Science Club is truly capable of.”

At his command, the boys nodded and tore off toward the Botanical Garden.

Crewel held his ground. The corners of his mouth curled into a condescending smirk as he addressed the poison ivy. “Come here.”

An arm of ivy flew at him, so fast that it was but a blur.

An alive, but livid, blur.

“Heel!”

A column of fire erupted from Crewel’s pointer. His attack slammed against the plant, settings its leaves awash in embers. The rogue plant let out a sky-splitting roar.

The battle had just begun.

Trey ducked under an arc of burning ivy and threw open the door to the Botanical Garden. Tucking his limbs in, he barreled through right as more ivy snaked in to seal off the entrance once more.

He could feel the heat upon his back, the earth quaking under his feet, and Rook close behind him--yet he willed himself to keep his eyes glued ahead, even as he launched across the threshold and into a terrifying new realm.

The inside of the greenhouse now glistened with ivy--covering the glass panes, slowly strangling what few plants remained. The Botanical Garden had always been warm before, but it was unusually so today. Sweltering, and almost so humid that the floors and walls seem to eerily pulsate with life.

“Keep your wits about you, and don’t look back, boys,” Crewel had instructed them. “Just get in there, and cut it off at its source--at the heart.”

Trey’s eyes darted this way and that. Green, green, green. It all looked the same to him. Where in the world was the point of origin?

“Got any ideas?!” He glanced over his shoulder at his partner--and his protective goggles nearly went askew.

Rook had dropped to one knee, pressing a gloved hand against the floor--now a carpet of vines. “Hoooh! What a fascinating specimen!” he marveled. “Such destructive power, and yet it also sports this emerald sheen... Très manifique!”

“H-Hey... No offense, but I don’t think now’s the time to stop and sniff the roses. Or, well. I guess it would be ivy in this case.”

“Non, non! There is always time for beauty--even in dire situations!” Rook insisted, his hands continuing to grope around. His eyes suddenly creased, and his smile turned sly. “Ah, te voilà.”

“Even if you say that, that’s not going to help us fix this...!!”

“Calm yourself, Chevalier des Roses,” Rook advised with an airy laugh. He cupped a hand to his ear and beamed. “Listen closely! Surely even your own heart beckons you to still your worries.”

“Heart?” Trey straightened, adamant as he folded his arms. “Sorry, but I just don’t believe in stuff like that. Come on, Rook. We need to focus--Crewel-sensei’s trusting us with this task.”

He cast a concerned glance at the doorway, ensnared in vines. They’d have to blast their way through later--but if they stayed in this space for too long, they, too, would soon be drained of all their life force. “We can’t just mess around!”

“Ah--but you must put your faith in me as well, Chevalier des Roses!” Rook insisted, pointing to the patch of floor that he had been not-too-subtly groping earlier. “I implore you to lend me your strength!”

“You want me to attack the gr--?!” Trey froze mid-sentence. He had become vaguely aware of a gentle sensation creeping around his ankles.

In an instant, he was yanked into the air, dangling upside down like a useless rag doll. Blood rushed to his head, and his surroundings spun.

“Chevalier des Roses!!”

“I’m fine!! I-I’m fine!” Trey called--though he clearly wasn’t. “I can just--” He waved his magical pen, the air growing tense as a small ball of fire collected at his command.

“Non!” Rook warned, startling his classmate. “There is nothing to cushion your descent, mon amie! You will surely break a leg--and certainly not in the theatrical sense!”

He’s right. Trey’s fire extinguished itself, replaced by a chill crawling down his spine.

“A little help then?!”

Rook’s eyes widened. “You would give me your trust?”

“Not exactly like I have any other choice.” Trey would shrug, but it was a rather difficult motion to pull off while suspended midair--and far more troublesome, his veins ran cold. It was a sure sign of the ivy sapping his energy.

“Have no fear! Today, it shall be my turn to be the chevalier.” The hunter grinned from ear to ear, magical pen in hand.

“Please, Rook! Any day now--before I become plant food!” Trey’s voice was hoarse--from exasperation, or from the magical ivy, he wasn’t quite sure. Perhaps both.

“Just for today, I shall be your Chevalier D’amour.”

And with a confident wink, Rook plunged the ivy-covered floor into a sea of flames.

The accursed plant wailed as it shriveled to ash upon a backdrop of billowing smoke. Embers flickered and danced in the afternoon, the Botanical Garden set ablaze. Crewel took a step back, grimacing at the growing fire.

A figure emerged from the greenhouse, carrying another. The professor squinted into the smoke, pinpointing the familiar outline of his Science Club members--Rook, cradling a pale-looking Trey in his strong arms.

“Puppies.” Crewel pinched his temples.

“C’est chose faite--it is now done.” The brim of Rook’s hat eclipsed his eyes, making the typically cheery hunter appear dark to match his tone. Then he lifted his head, basking in the sunshine, and that somber moment was over. “All is well and good again, as it should be!”

“I... I thought I was going to die,” Trey groaned. “... And Rook, I appreciate you catching my fall, but you didn’t need to carry me out like you’re an action hero in a movie or something.”

“Are you able to still stand after an attack from that heinous plant?”

“Yeah. Just put me down.”

“Oui.”

Trey stood on shaky legs--and instinctively leaned on Rook’s shoulder.

“Well, boys. You’ve exterminated the ivy--as well as just about every other plant in the Botanical Garden. How exactly do you intend to atone for this?!” Crewel snapped, whipping his pointer at his students. “I believe my instructions were quite clear--destroy only the heart of the ivy.”

“The fault lies with me, Monsieur,” Rook declared, dipping into a bow. “We dallied for longer than was necessary, and in a moment of panic, I unleashed my magic.”

“Always one with a flair for the dramatic. Unfortunately, that will not serve you well in detention, Hunt.”

“Wait. Crewel-sensei, that’s not the whole story,” Trey interrupted. “Rook got me out of a pinch--and he deserves credit for that. He’s also the one that found out where the ivy’s heart was--buried in the floor itself. I didn’t realize until it was too late.”

The professor’s lips pursed into a straight line. “Clover, are you confessing to your own negligence?”

“I am.” He nodded firmly. “I’m the one that deserves the detention.”

“Trey-kun is not responsible!” Rook protested. “He is the one that attempted to set us on the right path. I refused to heed his advice, which led to events escalating.”

“I didn’t listen to Rook when he tried to tell me about what I needed to do.”

“I should have phrased it more concisely.”

“You--”

“Trey-kun--”

“Enough. It is clear to me that both of you contributed to this chaos.” Crewel sighed. “... Hunt, take Clover to the infirmary. I will put out the fire myself.

“... Are you letting us go?”

“Of course not. Once you’ve recovered, Clover... you boys will be restoring plants in the Botanical Garden for the remainder of the semester as punishment.”

“Ahhh, I should’ve known. Riddle’s not gonna like this at all.”

“Chin up, Chevalier des Roses! At the very least, we shall have each other’s company!” Rook laughs, smacking Trey on the back and sending his peer nearly doubling over.

Crewel sighed once more--he was disappointed, but not surprised.

His Science Club puppies still had a long way to go.

#twst #Divus Crewel #Trey Clover #Rook Hunt #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland requests #twisted wonderland scenarios #imagine this

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

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agony quiets to pain

Words: 2.1k Relationship: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay Tags: AU - Pre-Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Tenderness, Burns Warnings: burns, aftermath of hospitalization, implied abuse/neglect, self-depreciation

Ao3 link in source!

Gerry aches. Which is a step up from total agony at least, but still, not pleasant. And then of course there’s the bandages, still covering nearly every inch of his body and hiding the mess that lies beneath.

(Permanent scarring, the doctor had said with a plastered-on expression of sympathy. We’re very sorry. There’s nothing we can do.)

It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is, isn’t he?

And to top it all off, he’s lost the book—the Leitner he’d been sent to fetch. He fully expects to step out of the hospital doors to see cool blue eyes staring back at him, hard with disappointment despite the benign expression on her face and accompanied by a casual, “Let’s go home now, Gerard,” that he would recognize for the threat it is.

Instead, he sees a man, thin and tired-looking, sat atop the short wall outside the hospital doors with a lit cigarette held between two fingers and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck to chase away the late December chill. And Gerry realizes that the nurse never said exactly who he was being released to. The relief that overcomes him is dizzying, and he barely registers the nurse handing him his discharge papers before disappearing back into the hospital.

“Jon?” Gerry says, his voice cracking a bit around the words (though he tells himself it’s just from the lingering effects of the book, filling his lungs with smoke).

Jon looks up. When his eyes land on Gerry, he quickly snubs his cigarette out on the wall next to him, stands, and takes quick steps toward Gerry. He looks, for a moment, like he’s going to wrap Gerry in a hug before thinking better of it and simply fluttering his hands aimlessly in the air for a moment before dropping them back to his sides. Gerry’s disappointed and grateful in equal measure; given that his skin is still raw and sensitive, he doesn’t think a hug would feel pleasant. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t ache for one anyway.

“Are you okay?” Jon says, then shakes his head before the words have even finished leaving his mouth. “Right, no, of- of course you’re not. What I mean is.” Jon pauses, as if considering, before saying softly, “Are you all right?”

It’s the same question, technically. But Gerry knows it’s not. And so he decides to answer honestly.

“Not really.” Gerry rubs his left thumb over one of the tattoos on his right knuckles, the motion a habit born of nerves and anxieties. The skin there is smooth and unblemished. Funny, that. “All this, and I didn’t even get the book.”

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. There’s a sadness there that Gerry doesn’t want to look too closely at. Mostly because it’ll look too much like pity, and he doesn’t think he can handle that right now.

A sharp wind cuts through Gerry’s clothes, making him shiver and then wince as the sensation sends pain skittering across his skin. The unhappy expression on Jon’s face is erased in an instant, replaced by concern and determination. “Here, let’s- let’s go home, and we can figure everything else out after that. Okay?”

Figure it out. As if Mary Keay could be placated so easily. Still, Gerry nods, and he follows Jon to his car, twinges of agony pulsing up his legs with each step that he tries to hide. Given Jon’s grim expression as he helps Gerry into the car the best he can without touching Gerry’s skin too much, he doesn’t quite succeed.

The car used to be Jon’s grandmother’s, out of style by a decade or so with roll-up windows and a lingering cigarette smell that no amount of air fresheners seem to eliminate. Gerry leans his head back against the seat and breathes it in. It’s not something you’d bottle up and sell as perfume, but compared to the sterile antiseptic smell of A&E, it’s heavenly. Jon starts the car, looks over at Gerry once like he’s making sure he’s still there, and begins to drive. His hands shake ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Gerry pretends not to notice.

Gerry isn’t surprised when Jon takes them to his flat. Of course he isn’t, Jon’s the one who picked him up, so logically they’d go back to his place. Still, Gerry can’t help the rush of dizzying relief that sweeps through him when they arrive, like he’d still expected to be faced with rusty red brick and a weathered wooden sign that seemed to laugh at him with every creak of its hinges.

“Thank you,” Gerry says. He doesn’t bother to hide the way the tightness in his throat chokes off the words.

Jon’s quiet for a moment. Gerry can almost hear it—echoes of a conversation oft-repeated, useless and fantastical and irritating only because Gerry knows that Jon is right. I wish you wouldn’t go back, Jon would say. And Gerry would say, I know. And sometimes it would continue, if Jon were feeling particularly incensed at the moment. Sometimes it wouldn’t. Gerry almost hates that more, if only because of the expression that would come across Jon’s face, something profoundly sad and weary and, underneath it all, hurt.

It’s almost enough to convince him.

Almost.

“Yeah,” Jon says, his hands tightening on the wheel for a moment before going slack. He removes the key and fiddles with it absently. “You know I…” Jon trails off, worries his bottom lip between his teeth, then says abruptly, “Well. No use just sitting here, I suppose.”

It’s clipped, a bit brusque. Rude, if Gerry didn’t know better. But he does, and so his mouth settles into a small smile as he follows Jon into his flat, despite the burning, chafing sensation on his skin as his bandages shift as he walks.

God, he feels like shit.

As soon as they’re inside, Jon insists that Gerry sits on the couch, and Gerry goes without complaint, his aching body screaming in relief as he sinks down onto the cushions and finally takes weight off the soles of his feet, which did not come out of the experience unscathed. There’s clattering from the kitchen, a few muttered curses, and before too long Jon’s in front of him with a glass of water with a straw in it and a bowl of what looks like hastily reheated curry. He hesitates a moment before saying, “Can you… hold things?”

Gerry flexes his fingers experimentally. His hands got the best of it, given the myriad of tattoos across the joints of his fingers. Still, the entirety of his palm and the pads of his fingers are red and inflamed, and though they’re no longer bandaged, the needles of pain that shoot through him at the motion draw a small gasp from his lips despite his best efforts to keep it contained. Jon’s forehead sets into a firm line at that, like he’s considering something, before nodding once. “Right.”

He sets the dishes on the floor, disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, and reemerges carrying one of the wooden chairs from his kitchen table. He looks a bit winded when he sets it down in front of Gerry, which might be amusing in any other circumstance, but Gerry’s too busy wondering what the hell he’s doing.

Then, Jon retrieves the dishes, sits in the chair, and holds the glass of water in front of him stiffly. And Gerry realizes, all at once, what’s happening.

“Is this where I’m supposed to say ‘ah’?” Gerry says, because joking about it is preferable to protesting or staring at Jon in shock or—god forbid—getting flustered.

Jon seems to appreciate it because the tension in his arms dissipates ever so slightly, and he says primly, “If you’d prefer. Though I really don’t see how that will aid in the process.”

“Prick,” Gerry says, not without fondness. And it’s only a little awkward when he leans forward and, while Jon holds the glass, drinks. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until that moment, and he should probably be a bit embarrassed by how quickly he empties the glass, but he can’t quite bring himself to care when he sees the little pleased expression on Jon’s face. The affection that accompanies it, however slight, is enough to squeeze at Gerry’s chest until he finds it hard to breathe, and he clears his throat slightly to relieve the pressure.

The curry comes next, and it’s significantly more awkward to have Jon spoon-feeding him chicken and red bell peppers with careful precision so as to avoid any spillage. But Jon talks during it, which helps. It’s mundane things, like the case Jon’s currently working on at the Institute and what he had for lunch that day and the grocery list he’s compiling for the weekend. He transitions after a bit into a discussion of a documentary he watched recently about the origins of humanity, and Gerry gets to sit back and listen to Jon grow increasingly more passionate about bonobos and homo erectus and the unique structure of Neanderthal bones.

It’s nice, to learn about things like this. To learn from Jon. He spent his childhood chasing after cursed books, his mother giving him half-hearted studies in between that she deemed sufficient enough to be considered homeschooling. He’s just lucky he knows basic maths, honestly. But he knows a lot about books. Even if they’re mostly just the spooky kind.

So Jon talks, and Gerry listens. And he tries so very hard not to label the warm feeling in his chest as love, but, well. It’s hard not to fall in love with Jonathan Sims. And he doesn’t particularly want to try to stop it.

Soon the bowl is empty, and Jon holds it awkwardly against his chest for a moment before setting it aside on the floor. He’d stopped in the middle of a discussion about Stone Age tools, and Gerry wants so badly to ask him to continue. But there’s a weariness in him now, the food and water having chased away the gnawing hunger in his stomach and the dryness of his throat and leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion.

So he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Jon breaks the silence between them, his words stuttering and jagged, like he hasn’t quite figured out how to smooth them into shape. “I. I don’t really know. Uh. What else can I- can I do? To help. To make things easier.” He pauses, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, before looking at Gerry with a fragile expression and saying, “I’m sorry, Gerry. I- I should have been there. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“No,” Gerry says firmly. The thought of Jon being like him—wrapped up like a mummy, all agony and raw skin and cracked lines across his body that promise to leave him blotchy and scarred forever—makes him nauseous. Better that it’s him. He can handle it. He always has before. “It’s not your fault. And I don’t want you to blame yourself, okay? I know how you get, so don’t. There’s nothing you could have done.”

Gerry can see the protest written all over Jon’s face, in the way he purses his lips and fixes his eyes firmly at a spot over Gerry’s shoulder. But all Jon says is, “That doesn’t make it better. So please—tell me what I can do.”

There’s a kind of desperation in Jon’s eyes at that, a need to categorize a problem and find the best course of action in order to resolve it. His hands are curled into fists on his lap; Gerry wants so badly to take them in his own, to uncurl Jon’s fingers and thread them with his and squeeze until all the tension’s bled out of Jon’s body. Instead, he says, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I think I’d just like to go to bed. It’s been a long few days.”

Jon lets out a small, humorless laugh at that. “I suppose it has.”

Gerry doesn’t protest when Jon offers him his bed, just offers quiet thanks before making his way relatively painlessly to the bedroom. He considers trying to remove his clothes, then thinks better of it and gingerly climbs onto the bed with them still on.

It’s uncomfortable in every way possible. Gerry falls asleep all the same, the soft sleep well Jon had given him before disappearing back into the living room lingering in his mind until he drifts off into a restless slumber, his dreams filled with burning flesh and a fear he doesn’t think he’ll ever quite shake.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tmagerryweek2021 #jongerry #jonathan sims #gerry keay #my fic #my writing #prompt 2: burn #now that i've done two of these my brain is like 'do the rest! do the rest!' that's the devil talking lol

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iceshard1011 · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Sanders Sides (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders Characters: Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Additional Tags: pre janus' photoshoot, he had no right looking that gorgeous okay, yeah literally got inspired by the fact that janus and roman wore the same lipstick, could be romantic or platonic, Insecurity, Self Confidence Issues, Deceit | Janus Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Sweetheart, who is only mentioned once, Making Up, (kind of), Hopeful Ending, Guilt, Makeover, In which i call myself a multishipper and then continuously go nuts over roceit, Ro goes from confused himbo to romance expert way too fast, and that's bias for you, Listen just because janus is self preservation doesn't mean he's got good self esteem, Janus ‘self care’ sanders: what is makeup, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Relationship Summary:

Janus needs to get ready for his turn for that stupid photoshoot idea Thomas offered him. He’s not exactly looking for help, but he gets it anyway.

And… maybe something more.

2k word fic under the cut :)

The mindscape hadn’t seen much of it’s self-proclaimed prince lately. It was painfully noticeable, given the halls weren’t being deafened by singing, and no one was as challengeable or as willing to bicker as much anymore. Patton’s smile was just this side of strained at breakfast. Logan would look up, eyes sparkling and eyebrow half-raised, the beginnings of something on his tongue before he would remember there was no one to say it to. Virgil kept sneaking sideways glances towards the staircase, as if no one could see him.

Not that Janus was bothered, of course. He had always preferred peace and quiet over chaos. He had just… become slightly acclimated to it during his years with Remus.

Except… it did make things exceptionally difficult when Janus needed something.

Even more so when he didn’t know exactly what it was he wanted.

Janus tried not to curl his lip too much as he stared at his reflection. Stupid sides and stupid Thomas and his followers and his own stupid thoughts. This looked wrong and felt wrong and Janus was a few seconds away from burning this damn —

An opening door. It creaked slightly, not enough that it was Virgil’s, but certainly not Logan’s. It was opened hesitantly, not something that Patton would have much reason for. Perfect.

Janus stuck to the shadows as he slunk down the hallway. It was unnecessary, as had been prefaced many times by the others — even Virgil had caught him at one point, in the middle of slithering silently into the kitchen for something to drink.

“You don’t have to do that,” Virgil had said. “You’re allowed to get something to eat.” (Janus had not pointed out that his throat had been parched and itching for water from a dying scream after flashing images had raped his sleeping mind.) “Plus, you look ridiculous skulking behind furniture like that, anyway.” Janus had flicked his tongue at him and left to get his water.

Roman hesitated at the top of the stairs before slowly making his way down. Janus didn’t know what he was looking for, but it didn’t seem to deter him. Once he was out of sight, Janus shot into his room, the door still creaking open.

What did he need? What was he going to need to put on? What were the requirements of this stupid activity?

He didn’t even know what he wanted. What would help? What would cover up enough that he fit the unspoken, stupid critera for these damn photos? What did foundation do? Would it dry his skin out? He was not in the mood to deal with brittle scales.

Lipstick. Roman had used lipstick in his photoshoot.

Janus shot forward and grabbed the first one of the display rack.

“Stealing now, are you?”

Janus whirled around, thankfully crushing the rather embarrassing squeak before it could escape.

“Oh, absolutely,” he purred, but the not-lie was immediately evident the moment Roman’s angry eyes trailed down to the lipstick clenched in his fist.

“You sly little —” The prince marched forward, face twisted dangerously, and despite himself, Janus found himself stepping backwards.

Roman wasn’t violent. He was brash, and impulsive, and when he pulled his sword on whatever startled him, but he had never, not once, used physical aggression to prove a point.

Janus found it hard to believe he would start now, but… Roman had never been driven to such a point before now.

And Janus was the reason.

It was when he had stalked close enough that their height differences were clear enough that under normal circumstances, Janus would be rather annoyed (now, however, he was only focusing on keeping his breath calm and his gaze level), that Roman seemed to notice the way Janus was dressed.

“What are you wearing?” he uttered, suddenly sounding far more confused than mad.

“Something that was certainly all my idea,” Janus hissed, waiting for the disbelieving eyebrow raise, for the look that said You? Really? Waiting, as tense as he had ever been, for more laughing.

Roman did nothing except manage to look even more lost. “Oh.”

Janus wasn’t sure if he felt irritated or guilty at the prince’s crestfallen look.

Irritated, apparently, as his thoughts began to hiss.

Oh, terribly sorry that I’ve been accepted like the rest of you. My apologies that I aim to help Thomas just like everyone else in this damn place. I am so sorry that for whatever godforsaken reason they asked me to put on these ridiculous —

“Well, hurry up and finish the look,” Roman said, as if resigning himself to a fate that no one asked him to.

Janus blinked at him.

Roman summoned a hand-held mirror and held it out towards him.

Janus didn’t quite say ‘what the hell’ — but it was close.

Roman seemed smart enough to read the baffled look on his face. “You can apply it here so I can be assured you will hand it back when you are done. I can’t trust someone like you to return it otherwise.”

“I’m sure you can replace a single stick,” Janus said, just slightly scathingly.

Roman didn’t seem discouraged. He expectantly held the mirror out further.

Janus’ stomach was writhing uncomfortably. He kept his face carefully blank, loath to betray how distasteful he found this, and glared at the mirror. He ignored the bemused look Roman gave him when he struggled with uncapping the lid, and fought against the slight tremors in his hand.

He didn’t get very far before Roman, looking absolutely scandalized, reared back like a startled horse. Janus paused when his mirror was yanked away and glared up at the prince.

“I would appreciate a limited amount of interruptions,” he began but Roman had already dumped the mirror and darted forward to snatch the lipstick from his hand. “Hey!”

“Why did you try applying it like that?” he cried. Janus shuffled, bewildered.

“I know exactly what you’re —”

“No, no,” Roman interrupted, waving his hands. “No. Stop. Come here.”

Janus bared his teeth. “Why?”

“You look like you’ve never applied makeup a day in your life,” Roman said, and suddenly Janus didn’t have any quips to reply with. Roman squinted. “You’ve never used makeup?”

“Because I have always had a reason to,” Janus snapped. Roman raised his hands, which surprised him.

“Right.” The prince beckoned again, but Janus remained rooted. What on earth was the moron trying to achieve?

Roman seemed to pick up on his hesitance, and leaned forward, quietly scrutinizing. Janus bit back on a snarl.

“When’s the shoot?” Roman asked.

“What?” Janus said, slightly more harsh than he intended.

“The photoshoot,” Roman clarified.

“Whenever I want,” Janus snapped.

Roman, rather than retorting, or recoiling, lit up. “Perfect!”

Janus slunk backwards. “What are you playing at, White Knight?”

A flash of confusion danced in Roman’s eyes for a split second before he lost himself in his excitement once more.

“Your makeup, Phantom of the Opera!” he shrilled, bouncing over to his vanity and pulling out the chair. “I’ll do it for the photoshoot! Come, sit, sit!” Janus narrowed his eyes. He didn’t move. Roman faltered. “Or… or not. I don’t —”

“Why?” Janus interjected.

“You can’t get dressed up without a little makeup,” Roman said with a smile.

“The others did,” Janus pointed out, but Roman waved him off.

“It’s imperative to feel good when you should be looking good!” He began to dig around in his draws, pulling out a variety of brushes and different coloured palettes. Janus didn’t know what any of them were for.

“What are you implying?” he asked slowly.

Roman paused long enough to level him with a skeptical look. “You, who came in here for makeup and got caught red handed… are trying to ask what I am getting at?”

Janus glared at him.

Roman gestured to the chair once more. “Sit.”

Sulking, Janus sat.

Roman studied him carefully for a moment before beginning to sort through his ridiculously large assortments of strange… makeup… things.

The prince started slowly, using an odd, coloured sponge, but Janus still flinched when the first cold sensation started to plaster his face.

Roman pulled back as well. “Sorry. Here, this is primer. It’s kind of like moisturiser.”

Janus’s tongue flicked in and out for a moment in consideration. Coming to a decision, he forced himself to sit still and allow Roman to start again. He must have realised Janus was still not entirely comfortable with this setting, so he began to offer what each tool was and what it did as he applied it to Janus’ face.

Primer, foundation, ‘concealer,’ whatever the hell that was…

It was quiet for a few minutes while Janus let Roman work before he finally had to speak.

“You’re… not doing my other side.”

Roman didn’t pause, moving to pick a different brush and palette. “Your scales?” he asked, focusing on where he was working. Janus found the lack of eye contact oddly comforting.

“Why aren’t you covering them up?” Janus asked.

Roman did halt, then, and lowered the brush. He frowned slightly. “Why would I want to?”

The earnest in his voice made Janus falter. The prince’s genuine confusion made his chest feel impossibly wide and too warm. Roman had already resumed his work, completely clueless to what he’d done.

You fucking himbo, Janus thought.

“Close your eyes for me,” Roman instructed. Janus frowned at him. Roman didn’t seem to understand that kind of action required an amount of trust that Janus certainly did not have for him yet. He elaborated with a beseeching, “Please?”

Janus’ eyes closed.

He could tell Roman was pleased when he got back to work. “Keep your eyes relaxed, but don’t open them, unless you want a bunch of brush bristles where they should not be.”

“Pleasant,” Janus remarked.

“Very,” Roman agreed sagely. Janus bit down the smirk.

It was quiet again, apart from Roman beginning to hum the beginnings of a song. Janus didn’t recognise it, and he wasn’t even sure Roman knew he was doing it. But it wasn’t unpleasant, so Janus let it be. The lack of silence was comforting against any awkwardness that could have remained.

Eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara.

Eventually, Roman leaned back, and beamed. “There.” He held up another — how many did he have? — handheld mirror. “Look!”

Janus looked.

Roman’s smile softened as he glanced between Janus’ face and his reflection. “You like it.” It wasn’t a question.

“How do you know?” Janus asked.

“I didn’t push any blush on your cheeks.”

Janus didn’t point out that Roman had moved his hand to Janus’ knee and it was burning through the skirt, but sure. Janus could agree that he didn’t hate the look Roman had given him.

Roman’s eyes scanned over Janus’ face once more, and this time Janus matched his gaze unwaveringly. A smile twitched at Roman’s lips, and the prince jumped.

“Oh! Almost forgot the whole reason this happened!” He twisted around and turned back, jabbing the lipstick at Janus’ face. It was jolting, and Janus jerked backwards against his own will. “Sorry, sorry.” Roman held a hand. “Come here, come back. I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Janus remained still as Roman lined his lips with the paint. The fingers pressed to the edge of his jawline rendered him rather useless against his instincts, anyway.

Roman’s eyebrows twitched downward for a second. He must have made a mistake, because he moved to carefully swipe a finger at the edge of Janus’ lips.

Goddamn it, this was such a mistake.

Janus swallowed.

Finally, after way too long how slow do you apply lipstick, Roman pulled back, seeming satisfied.

“Now you're ready for a photoshoot,” he decided.

Janus glanced back to his reflection. He still had some of his own details to add, but… yes. Janus could almost agree.

Roman went back to sorting through his various makeup supplies. Janus felt a little transfixed with the deft movements of the prince, how certain he moved, how he knew where everything needed to be. A confidence Janus had failed to see in… a very, very long time.

A sharp laugh, vicious and hurtful, the lie doing nothing to soften the blow —

Janus stood abruptly, the chair wobbling against the carpet. Roman glanced up. He seemed to remember where they had been before Janus’ makeover, and for a moment his eyes darkened. Janus braced himself for another argument.

Then Roman’s shoulders relaxed and he tilted his head. “Have fun,” he said. Then, after a moment, added, “You’ll kill it.”

Janus halted at the doorway before he could flee, taken off guard. He glanced down at the prince, who gifted him a small smile.

Janus didn’t smile back. He turned to study the doorway framework. “It would certainly be rather… dismal if you came down for dinner at some point tonight. Presumably, at the same time as everyone else.”

Roman raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, truly?” he said. His voice was warm.

Janus sighed theatrically. “Oh, I don’t know. I couldn't argue if you were to try to prove me wrong.”

Roman tossed his head. “Watch it, Noodles. You don’t want to defy a knight.”

“Perhaps not,” Janus mused, regarding a chip in the doorway’s wood. “But a hero never backs down from a challenge.”

He didn’t wait to see Roman’s expression. He wisped away down the hallway without looking back, without seeing what he could have just done.

Like a coward.

He may have just made things worse. He could have reversed everything that odd makeup session had built. He was well aware of the fact that if that was the case he should have kept his mouth shut.

But oddly, Roman’s silence hadn’t seemed heavy. He hadn’t tensed. He hadn’t shouted, or scowled, or slammed the door in Janus’ face.

Granted, Janus hadn’t given him a chance to, but…

As he slid into his room and quietly closed the door behind him, he didn’t feel horrible. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

Now. He set his gaze on his closet, still open and waiting. Where was his hat?

#sanders sides #roceit #janus sanders #roman sanders #long post #cross posted on ao3 #inspired by twitter #sanders sides fic #angst #janus is a sad boy #fluff #hopeful ending #literally someone has probably already done this #so. those skirt pics huh.#janus is unfairly pretty

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psalloacappella · 4 years ago

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Red (oneshot)

Title: Red Pairing: SasuSaku legit i don’t write anything else Word Count: 3400~ Rating: E, for like explicit, not for everyone. NSFW. Ya get it. Tags/What you’ll see: Sakura getting the office and oral she deserves

Summary: An old dress, a new office — Uchiha Sasuke offers regards to both.

Ao3 | FFN | ↓

(I have to preface when I post this that my top-tier amazing friend convinced me to do so and reminded me not to delete it this morning in the cold sober dawn lol. I consider this absolutely self-indulgent)

“Ah, Sakura?”

Jade eyes alight and ringed with red, her subordinate regrets interrupting what seems to be a bout of sickness or sadness; she’s been busy lately. They all are.

Spine bent in bass clef camber, in exhaustion, she straightens at his words into a ramrod illustration of diligence. Over scrolls and haphazard paperwork, empty mugs sitting in their own fossilized dregs, she snatches up a fountain pen to preserve her dignity and reputation. At her age she’s been handed enormous tasks that she only imagined in her wildest dreams, and most of those, in the past, were of love and marriage and not the nightmares and duties which replaced them.

Extreme stress manifests in mysterious and chaotic ways; she intuitively knows this, especially today, as she basks in the quiet glances, the way their eyes follow her long, long legs leading into ankles in heels that feel like cages. Her choice of a dress underneath her white coat today feels like a wanton beacon, but her battle reputation precedes her, legendary and terrifying; no one will dare blithely approach legs like those or earn the ire of her dangerous hands, so delicate until they’re crushing mountains and throats.

Electricity, a buzzing in the marrow of her bones; she taps the pen on the desk in a stilted rhythm.

She regards the young medic with a hazy gaze for a moment, then waves a hand. “Sorry, I’m just—”

He steps over the threshold; Sakura raises her chin, lips taut.

“No no, I’m sorry,” he insists. Under her bright eyes he feels the beginnings of idiocy and bumbling; his boss makes him tongue-tied, stupid. Younger than him, in a league of her own as she stands at shoulders with new legends; lethal, inured to all the stories about herself.

He notices the ochre on her lips like an invitation.

“I wouldn’t come too close today,” she says. Grants him a demure smile, the type that doesn’t quite fool her friends but still works with fools like him. “I’m not feeling the best. It could be contagious, and that wouldn’t be helpful to our operations right now.”

“Yes, of course.” Agreeing, nodding fervently with the obedience of a particularly compliant breed of dog. “If I may — you work so much. Too young to be feeling so tired.”

A laugh, it bubbles — starts from her chest as a giggle and drips from her lips as honey. Makes her quake, mottled red seeping through the skin of her chest as a sieve, collarbones sharp.

She looks feverish; she looks like a dream.

In turn she struggles to keep the waver out of her voice, knowing she’s lit up as fulgent as rouge festival lanterns and there's no way to kill the current.

I’ll never live this down — have to get him out of here

The cough she musters up is weak and if this was Ino, or gods forbid, her teacher, they’d call it pathetic. For a young man trapped in her sphere of admiring attraction, it does nothing but induce sympathy. But her legs are shaking, the situation is dire, and she’s loath to have another round of torrid rumor on the flapping lips of civilians and staff.

“Ah!”

At her cry, she lets her temple fall into her hand and her subordinate rushes forward. Gasping, she raises her other one, trembling.

“No, please. That sounded worse than it was. Just a headache coming on. In fact,” she rasps, “if you can let Shizune know I’ll be taking the next hour to recoup? A nap, maybe that’ll help.”

“I don’t know if I can leave you like this.” His tentative step earns her sharp gaze again, pursed lips that start his mind wandering in a way that makes him blush. Physically shaking his head to clear it, he nods slowly, finally, backing out of the doorway.

The hollow sound of Sakura’s kneecap hitting the underside of the desk rings in the space. Her gullible underling starts forward again, but the foreboding slap of her hand on the desk stops him cold. Acute, like it’s one to the face.

Sakura brings her knees together, swift, crushing his damn near regal bone structure and the handsome high bridge of his nose between the muscle of her thighs. A warning.

She glances down at him, he’s slicked with sweat — the glimpse of his glittering black eye and swirling purple one bring her too close to a wave she can’t indulge; she’s still this unwanted visitor’s boss until he closes the fucking door.

“Just me being clumsy! Do as I’ve asked and let her know, and,” here her breath hitches, hand leaving the desk, fingers burying themselves in dark messy hair, “th-thank you for worrying. I appreciate it.”

She’ll pay for the smile she gives this man, a sparkle of hope, like he’ll ever earn his boss’s favor in that way, as if he’ll measure up in any lifetime to the man that has her heart, the man on his knees under her desk.

“Sure. I mean,” horrified at his own too-familiar tone, “of course, right away, ma’am. Miss. I—”

“Oh go now. ” It stutters out in jete musical meter, resembling pain — or other things. “Please.”

She doesn’t have to tell him to close the door, though she’s surprised he didn’t find another excuse to stay with her. Oh, he has it bad. But there’s no time to think —

Sinking into her chair, her hands grip the armrests with an intensity that forces music from them, cracking underneath her fingers. And now all the words of the last few minutes tumble from her lips, an unintelligible medley of curses and pleas cradling the half-formed shell of his name.

Without warning, she yanks him back by the hair and almost comes right there: His eyes scalding her, the mess on his stupid and incredibly fuckable face, a talented and dangerous mouth settling into a smirk as he thumbs an errant bit of her off his lip.

“That was close. Ah, so are you.”

He says it with such smugness and vanity. Quivering in her office chair under nothing but his stare, still in the grips of the unrelenting buzz and hum he’s enticed, and he absolutely notices.

“One of these days, we’ll be caught!” Tries to sound stern even as he rolls his neck and shoulders with a pithy nonchalance. “Stop that. So arrogant, preening like that—”

“Me? That’s rich.” He lazily trails a finger from her swollen, hot clit to her opening, lingering and lush to force all the heat and sounds he’s craving — her fingernails dig into her thigh while the pallor of her skin and dress seep and marry, reflections of one another. “Why did you wear this, Sakura?” Nudges the fabric with his nose, and she mumbles something hazy under his resumed touch; lost in orbit, in a void, in a place unearthly.

He starts the routine again, pressing his mouth to the inside of her thigh. Frowns at the irritating strip of fabric that constitutes clothing; it’s been twisted and pushed aside anyway. Her skin burning against his face, a lean cord of muscle taut underneath her pale skin. Vaguely threatening, but she’s yet to crush him to death and he’s on the second round of bringing her there and back again, and close calls such as those seem to stoke something smoldering. Some days, it feels like the only thing worth pulling himself out of bed for.

He fucks like he fights: Relentless, consuming. But that essential difference for the former is he never gives an inch; here, he pours it all in, something like an endless apology. Maybe she knows and that’s why she wears the red dress he won’t admit he prefers and paints her lips and runs the entirety of this village hospital system with grace and her own brand of gentle ascendancy — why he’s desperate for just the ragged edge of danger.

One of her legs shudders, the frenzied tap-tap-tap of her heel stammering against the floor in a cadence fit for instruments. “Sasuke-kun.”

Between the presses of his lips leading a hot, agonizing march back to her core, an arrogant noise in his throat escapes, rich and amused. “So this — is your new office?”

“Mmm,” she confirms, still clinging to the chair. The only support she has; the room’s spinning and every cell is vibrating, pink eyebrows knitted as she fights to remain upright and solid and somewhat human because the door’s not locked and she knows he knows, knows he doesn’t care and frankly neither, really, does she. Melting like basalt in unending, stifling heat.

Calloused fingers walk up the soft skin of her calf, catching and searing, sundering the delicate layer where they brush to release the pent-up steam underneath.

He’s fire; she is earth.

Always, all of him ablaze — possessive in its own discipline but a thing begging for taming. He builds the pyre here, as he has been for the last hour or so, to focus himself, patiently coaxing it into something chaotic but fruitful. Lately all he’s felt is the joyless, sober embodiment of a tool to be used though perhaps this is the same, a compulsion by any other name.

But it can’t be, not with her looking like this. Striding down her hallways with purpose while bending the horrors and ills of the world to her indomitable will. Certainly this dress is no accident, as it never is, not with him coming off a mission full of blood and necessary evil.

Dragging the thin, sorry excuse for fabric down the burning skin of her leg, Sasuke’s tongue finds her clit with terrifying precision and rips a moan from her throat, pulling a jerk of her hips against his mouth. The shockwave shared, vibrating as wires intertwined, a forcible current.

Leans back, takes her in: Her trembling, knuckles white from the fatal grip on the arms of the chair, knees sinking inward toward one another. The sight of this rich red dress against the stark, starched white of her coat blending with the mottled pinks and crimsons painting her cheeks and chest. Unraveling before him, extraordinary, even while this space belongs to her.

This, sometimes, feels like undeserved forgiveness.

Because she is always, always in living color.

Adjusts his own knees, shifts, a catch of air in his throat as he accommodates the hard length of his own caged cock. They’re no stranger to claiming desks and other surfaces as their own, but she has strings on him and there's authority in here now, where she holds men at the door with a flicker of her gentle jade eyes borne of the grueling process which created her.

Sliding the useless fabric into his pocket, raises his chin to her. Stares as she bites her lip and struggles for composure, though it’s difficult under the gaze of a man like this.

He waits, and the only sounds are ragged breathing from both.

“Please,” she whispers. Quivering, even at the ask. “Before someone comes back.”

“You worry so much,” he says. “Relax.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“What did I tell you,” he hisses, “about apologies?”

She blinks, startled, and her lips part. A sparkle, a brilliance emerging in her eyes as she clenches and unclenches her fingers. Still, they shake a bit, the anticipation and remnants of the rise and current before still lingering, lying in wait. Predatory. A wetness floods to her lips and she swallows it down, leveling her eyes to his glittering, savage gaze.

With a deep inhale, she spreads herself before him, knees apart. Blushing invisible, lost in the red that’s already dappled every inch of her, she exhales the rest of her timidity with an edged, sharp expression and hopes she’s being clear—

Sakura just barely glimpses the fierce red in his gaze before he answers with his tongue, deft, ardent, and divine.

Breaking the chair arms beneath her delicate hands again, scrabbling to stay on the beautiful planet before it turns her loose. Sinking, again, the boundaries of atoms dissolving — they are nowhere but bliss.

Like before, the careful building of a fire, the agonizing escalation: He drops a kiss here, employs a firm tongue there, skirting the easy option in favor of the tease as he peels her back, layer by layer. Running it the length of her slit, heart skipping a bit at the dangerous quake of her thigh muscle; how long it's taken to differentiate between pleasure and impending crush. Again, the sensation of crawling into the den of something prized and feral. He feels it, her writhing and the pace and canter of her breathing and she’s liquid gold, fucking melting —

Her hips jerk, hard, when his tongue swirls around her clit, the cry coming from her jagged as broken glass and trembling like music, all things that make his own situation difficult to manage but he will, because these sounds entrench him firmly in reality. Alive. Knees screaming on the hardwood floor, unyielding as his cock cradled only by fabric and not as he wishes, by her hands or her red, red lips like the kind she’s wearing now.

Instead he slows her down again, pendulum swings between teasing and a furious rhythm that coaxes the full spectrum of human sounds from her beautiful throat. Rewarded for it with a whiny gasp as if breaking the surface of water, mingling with his own as he catches his breath. The end of it careens into words, something rough, he’s not even quite sure what he’s saying but he imagines, neither does she.

This—fucking dress—!

Nice, isn’t it?

Gets you attention

But only from you, S-Sasuke-kun

And her hand lands on his head again, thin fingers yanking his hair and guiding him as he splays her open, lays her bare. His name never quite fully leaves her lips, dancing with fragments of alternating pleas and curses. Just for that, for something he’d never thought he’d ever hear in his life, he grimly knows he’d write a fucking sonnet just to hear her like this — and with his tongue, he does, or at least approximates. The tremors of her shift deeper now, approaching release; she’s so slick it feels vile, indulgence in sin. All of which is smeared on his lips, his face, tasting of tang and salt; how many times has he been told he’s selfish? Guilty. Greedy, too, as he pauses to breathe—

looking up at her, he has an idea but can’t possibly know the extent of this, how she’s absolutely wrung out and beyond this dimension, hell, this galaxy, every inch of her humming in tune with the universe and brimming with absolute, inescapable heat, muscles taut and and begging for climax. Though the soft edges of her green eyes that see through him and everything else, rolling back, mouth open and lips parted in mimeo of an oracle, sunken in the weight of divinity, might give him some clue.

Don’t stop, please—!

— he’s there, with his fingers buried and soaked and deep, playing that just-right rhythm with a thumb on her clit that’s been worked to the edge and back again over the span of her busy afternoon. Hairs part from his scalp without remorse; her nails scrabbling and fingers clinging as she prays and sighs and curses occasionally, quietly, into the limp back of her hand. As if she’s really still trying to maintain a semblance of professionalism in the throes of being launched into orbit.

So very close. He knows by the slightly erratic rhythm, the pulsating of muscles inside and out and around him, tight and he steals a quick breath to endure and ease his fingers out to redouble effort with his mouth because the way she’s sounding, that sharp icy note on the ragged edge of pleasure and pain, tends to be the signal, the tipping point. The tremor her free hand sends through the bones of the chair. Knees apart as far as she can manage and desperately meeting him at the hilt —

Steady through until the end.

Release comes as glass shattering, atoms splitting. Unintelligible words trapped in amber, in a moment, in desire. With a mouth full of fire, he rides it with her through every wave, persisting through her slow and ebbing tumble back down to earth. To him.

He leans back at last, groaning at the pain in his knees. Watches her tremble and twitch, wringing out the very last dregs of her orgasm, displacing everything coherent left in her head.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and he gets to his feet as she languishes in a pool of pleasure, steeping as scalding tea.

At some point her hand rises to her own lips, limp and wavering, to clean her own unabashed drippings with an expression of dizzy surprise. The white dissipates from her vision and she finds his eyes on her again, one still richly red in its sole mission of memorizing the glowing after.

“Oh.” That’s all she says, breathless.

Sasuke brings fingers across his own mouth, rolls his jaw side to side, and something about his expression of smug satisfaction resonates, strings of a plucked instrument, a pull again of desire that threatens to ruin the sanctity of this brand new office and the role that comes with it.

For a moment she leverages the chair to rise, then loses strength — she lowers herself back in it, arms still quaking.

She reaches for him, plucking at his shirt. Hair flyaway, askew from her frenzied fingers, still in his mission gear.

Yanking him down by the collar, she crashes her mouth against his, red and hot, the tang and taste of herself immiscible with his own. Whatever sound he makes, this growl or rumble or ache, splits them open.

What pulls them apart is the grating sound of their former sensei’s voice: “I heard from a bird that someone in here was sick?”

Sasuke feels them in the room now and pulls away. Half-turns, finds himself leaning on her desk in a way that’s almost too casual, but necessary — his knees are shot through. Sakura smiles too widely, masking a secret; after all, both still feel the pinpricks of liquids drying in the new air.

“From your darling subordinate,” Kakashi twinkles, grinning underneath his mask.

“That one who follows you around like a puppy,” Naruto supplies, pouting.

Kakashi tilts his head toward him, both still lingering over the threshold. “Terrible, hm?”

Naruto misses the jibe and instead turns his wide ocean eyes on her new space. Whistles. “Man, Sakura-chan, this office is niiice. I’m jealous.”

“You’ll be in your new one soon enough,” she says, and there she is, her usual self. “I have faith. Anyway, this office comes with responsibility.”

“Well if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“He was under the impression you were sick. Looking at you now, though,” and here Kakashi pauses in a manner all too deliberate, eyes sweeping over Sasuke’s cloak and belongings in a chair, and ends it with looking right at him, “you seem all right. Exhausted, I imagine.”

Her flush threatens to undo them both.

“He’s . . . sweet. To care.”

“He’s a fool,” Sasuke mutters.

“Perfect, you’re dressed nice,” Naruto crows. “How did you know we’d come make you celebrate? You didn’t eat, I bet you didn’t!” He eyes Sasuke up and down, at his unusually ruffled appearance, and clicks his tongue. “You didn’t even go home first, did you? Shitty boyfriend.”

The damage he committed on his recent mission pales in comparison to the crimes Sasuke wants to indulge now.

“Anyway, we’ll wait out here. After all,” Kakashi says, inclining his head, “this is your space now.”

Sakura exhales long and slow as they step out into the hallway. Covering her face with her hands, she groans. “No matter my job, I’ll never escape embarrassment, huh?”

Standing at last, she readjusts her clothes and kisses the underside of Sasuke’s chin. She reaches for his pocket and he moves easily out of her grasp.

“Sasuke-kun!”

“Pointless now. I’ll keep it.”

No matter what time, season, dimension, he regards all of her — the dress, the lips that held their color, the new flush simmering on her neck and chest — and craves, endeavors, to always love her red.

#sasusaku #psalloacappella #sasusakufanfic #smut #sasusaku smut #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #sorry it's shameless #whatever ya'll #give me good head or give me death

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Text

this is part two of this fic if you want to read that first!! warnings in the tags!

When they finally make the leap out of Hawkins, they move into a one story in Oregon, of all places. It’s not California, but it’s close by, and the doctors say that for the sake of Billy’s lungs, he needs a more mild climate than he’d have there. Besides, Billy insists that anyplace is home enough for him as long as Steve’s with him.

After a few months of living there with a nagging sense that something was missing from the space, they’re able to complete their new home when they find an upright piano for next to nothing on the side of the road to replace the old grand they had to leave behind at Steve’s parents place.

It’s much less sophisticated than what they’re accustomed to, the finish had long ago chipped off and half of the yellowed keys played the wrong notes, but they’re able to fix it up with some work.

Once it’s presentable, shined up and once again functioning properly, it sits like a trophy in the corner of their dining room, a symbol of what they could do with music. That graceful ability to grow and to change and to heal that they were so familiar with, and of the love that developed between them on the bench.

Billy plays more than Steve does, to keep himself occupied when he’s on his own and itching to get out there and break every rule of his recovery laid down by his doctors.

Even after he regains most of his strength, his hands no longer shaking from the simplest of tasks, the piano never loses its power to keep him out of his thoughts, chasing away nightmares and rampant fears so he can feel like himself.

The sounds of Billy’s playing carrying through their houses, the soft twinkling of keys as the first rays of sunshine cut through curtained windows is like an alarm clock, has Steve waking up in a bliss each morning.

Even in the winter, when the cold is especially hard on Billy’s body, his scars sore like they’re still new and his joints stiff and aching, he’s guaranteed to be up to play at the first rays of the morning sun, usually before Steve is even up for work.

One particularly snowy morning, when Steve wakes up to the usual melody of Billy’s playing with the sun in his eyes, he takes a moment to just stay in bed and revel in the warm music drifting in the room before he realizes he’s slept through his alarm.

He panics for a moment, shoves his glasses onto his face crooked and stumbles out of the bed fast enough he almost trips over the comforters still wrapped around him, but in his effort to stay upright he notices a note on the nightstand.

In Billy’s shaky handwriting it reads, “School’s cancelled. Thought I’d let you sleep in -B”

Steve chuckles to himself over the mix-up, and peeks out the window past thick curtains to see a few inches of snow that wasn’t there when they’d gone to bed the night before. He’s not one to say he hates his job, or even dislikes it, teaching is what he’d always wanted to do, but a thousand times over he’d rather be given the chance to stay at home with Billy.

Without bothering to change out of his pajamas, he pads down the hall into the kitchen, focusing on the song drifting in from the dining room, one he doesn’t think he recognizes, as he starts to make their morning white tea.

Billy would’ve rather it be a morning coffee, but that much caffeine is bad for his heart, so they settle for tea with honey and a pinch of sugar.

“Mornin’, Stevie.” Without looking up, he acknowledges Steve as he enters with two steaming mugs. “Did you get my note?”

“Wouldn't I be out the door by now if I hadn’t?” Steve sets their teas on the corner of the dining table to cool, and sits down so he’s straddling the bench. He situates himself so he can wrap his arms loosely around Billy’s braced torso, and rest his cheek against his shoulder so he can watch scarred hands as they glide across the keys.

Billy chuckles, smiles down at the keys. “Touché.”

Once he’s settled, Steve sighs through his nose and asks, “What’s that you’re playin’?”

“S’a song called When.” This tip of Billy’s tongue pokes out just between his teeth, his concentration on what he’s playing intense. He acknowledges Steve again when he reaches a slower part of the song. “You wanna hear it?”

An answer isn’t really necessary, Billy knows undoubtedly that Steve is interested in anything he does, but he gives a confirmation regardless. “You know I do.” He shifts until he’s comfortable against Billy’s side, and Billy starts into the song.

His voice is much better than before, now that his throat is healed. It’s still a little gravelly, gets deeper when he sings where Steve’s gets higher, but it’s smooth and warm and just about Steve’s favorite sound in the whole world.

Closing his eyes, Steve focuses on just listening to the magical sounds that Billy can make, on feeling the soothing vibrations of his voice as he works through the piece.

With words the song is vaguely familiar, and it’s truly a beautiful thing.

It’s a ballad to nature, ironic for someone who spends most of his day confined to indoors or his own backyard. The song is gentle, full of pretty trills to accentuate even prettier lyrics, but it takes on a melancholy tone, given the context.

Appreciation for life, for the world and everything good within it is something anyone can relate to, but apply it to a sick man and it changes the meaning drastically. Gives it more a sense of longing for these things, and it’s got Steve feeling overwhelmed by its sincerity.

Typically, Billy favored songs he thought were fun like The Bitch is Back and piano covers of songs far too hard core for the dainty instrument, so it’s surprising, hearing him pouring his heart out through an actual ballad, but Steve is glad for it, that fond and warm feeling growing in his chest at hearing Billy’s song.

The song trills one more time into a slow crescendo, and finishes off in a way that Steve couldn’t have been expecting with the words, ““When the whole world is filled, with Mother Nature's noises… that's the time to stuff cotton in your ears!”

The change of tone in the song is so abrupt it makes Steve open his eyes again and pull away from his hold around Billy’s waist, keeping his fingers linked but leaning way back to look at his face. Billy’d duped him, had him feeling all emotional before revealing his cards, his normal sense of humor.

He’s wearing a smile, crooked and relaxed as he takes in Steve’s reaction, the confusion at the pace change. Despite the humor twinkling in his eyes, he asks innocently, “What?”

“Nothing.” Steve can’t help but smile back, even if he shakes his head at Billy’s choice of song.

Still smiling, Billy kisses him, soft and slow in a way that has always made Steve feel like it was the first time, his heart doing backflips while he melts into the bench.

They pull away for a breath, and the moment passes bittersweet, just as many do these days. Giggle almost always turn to tears anymore, and Steve feels his lip start to tremble, feels Billy put a hand on the small of his back so he can pull him closer and sigh into his hair.

Billy’s dying.

The doctors say he’s only got a few years left in him, if that. His heart is worn out from too many surgeries and medications to keep the hole in his chest closed.

They can’t fix it for fear of doing nothing but speeding up the process. They’re stuck with the recommendation to take him home and make him comfortable that nobody ever wants to hear, especially not now, when they’re still young, supposed to be living their lives to the fullest.

He’s already lived longer than they initially estimated when his body started rejecting the transplanted lung a while back, but he’s sick, getting sicker all the time.

The weight he’d been able to put back on in the years following that initial hospital stay was gone again, and his lung capacity was worse every day to the point that even with the oxygen tubes he felt breathless and dizzy, and he was coughing up blood.

Steve doesn’t know what he’ll do when Billy’s gone. Doesn’t know if he’ll keep teaching, if he’ll leave the area, he doesn’t like to dwell on it too much.

But what he does know for sure, is that the house will never be silent, and the piano won’t be covered. Won’t be forgotten in that corner or left unplayed after he goes.

It will stay just where Billy left it, to commemorate him and all he’d done with it, to honor and remember his music through Steve’s own.

Moments like these, fleeting as they are, are everything to Steve anymore. When Billy isn’t here anymore, all he would have were the memories of mornings like these and every second together with him, sealed in a box in his heart where nobody could touch them.

To lose the person behind that, there are no words that can describe how hard that’s going to be. Loss has never been easy for Steve, and having time to anticipate it did nothing but draw out the pain of knowing what was coming, what he’d have to let go of.

But it wouldn’t hurt forever.

Of course he would allow himself the time to mourn, how couldn’t he, when he’d be losing the only person who’d been able to take every wish and dream he could ever have possibly had and make them all come true, who’d ever really loved him. But he promised Billy, and himself, that he wouldn’t let himself be sad.

Because he refuses to remember him by his lows, all the countless days spent in the hospital, sleepless nights when he’d have coughing fits and be in so much pain he couldn’t sleep, the teary eyed panic attacks when something triggered a bad memory. That wasn’t Billy.

When the time comes, Steve wants to keep making music. To use the very tool he’d given Billy after government conspiracy and more than a year in the hospital, back then to offer him an outlet to feel better, to now keep his memory alive. Give him a legacy.

In the moment, Steve lets Billy wipe away his tears and pull him closer still to kiss the top of his head. He chokes back a sob listening to that wavering heartbeat from where he’s drawn close, and tries to chase the thoughts away.

Because they’re here now. Billy isn’t gone yet and Steve isn’t letting go. Right now, there’s still time to create more moments to hold onto, to create something beautiful, melodic, powerful.

Steve taught Billy to play the piano, but Billy taught Steve how to live in the moment, how to care for someone with all of his heart. More than anything, Billy taught Steve how to grieve.

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tw character death #just a little heads up #nobody dies but it’s referenced that it’s going to happen sometime soon #like mourning a death that’s inevitable I suppose #ej writer #story by ej!#sorry to get all depressing on you guys

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songsoomin · 5 years ago

Text

Substitute (S)

Synopsis: You really need Mingi inside you but he's all dressed up for a show so he can't risk getting crumpled and dirty so he finds something to replace him

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Vaginal penetration with an inanimate object, fingering, degrading dirty talk

Posted: 14th June 2020

"Oh my God, Mingi, that was amazing! You were amazing!"

"You really think so?" Mingi came bounding up to you backstage, happily bouncing up and down like a child. Ateez had just finished their first ever MAMA stage and they were all so happy.

"Hey Y/N! Did you like the show?" Hongjoong came up and gave you a quick hug, followed by the other members. None of them minded you tagging along backstage when they performed at shows because it meant they had an extra cheerleader and you'd all grown quite close since you started dating Mingi.

"It was amazing, Hongjoong, all the time and effort you all put into it really paid off, you were all perfect out there." You said with complete sincerity. "And Jongho your high notes were unbelievable tonight!"

"Thanks, Y/N, that means a lot." Jongho said as he came to hug you in his strong arms.

The guys slowly trailed off to take a rest before having to go back out to join the audience for the remainder of the show so you took the opportunity to fuss over Mingi.

"Is your back alright after that? I could see you put a lot into your performance." He had just returned after having to take time out for his back problem and, although you knew he'd worked hard to get better, you couldn't help but worry he'd over done it given the tough choreography for Wonderland.

"I'm fine, Y/N, stop worrying." Mingi said as he leaned down to hug you.

His white waistcoat was still undone under the white coat he wore so you could see the planes of his smooth chest and abs and snuck your hands in to caress them.

"You know..." you purred quietly, "...I love this look the stylist gave you tonight; I barely need to undress you."

"Y/N." Mingi said as sternly as he could muster, "We're backstage with tons of other people right now - don't be naughty." Mingi had such an awesome charisma on stage but when he tried to look commanding off stage it was just so cute and you could always work him round to your way of thinking.

"But Mingi..." you whined, "You just looked so fucking hot up there tonight. All I could think about was getting you home to fuck you but I don't know if I can wait that long." You looked up at him through your lashes, knowing exactly how that look affected him.

Mingi groaned quietly, "Y/N, you’re making this so hard for me."

"I know. I can feel it." You giggled, running your palm over Mingi's crotch. His trousers weren't too tight so you could easily feel his dick hardening as you ran your hand up and down his length over the white material.

"You know that's not what I meant." he groaned as he looked down at you with the tiniest hint of disapproval but you knew you were winning because the overall look in his eyes was lust.

For a second you thought he had found some resolve when he grabbed your hand away from his now almost fully erect member but he whispered low in your ear "Come on, let's find somewhere quieter." and pulled you away with him towards the corridor.

Mingi pulled you into an empty dressing room a short way down the corridor and roughly backed you up against the wall. "Were you getting all needy watching me on stage?" he said as he started kissing your neck; you could feel his hot breath against your skin and it did nothing to ease the heat burning inside you. "You looked so hot up there...I wanted you so badly..." You breathed out as you tried to move your hips against his - Mingi was strong, though, he was holding you against the wall easily even with just one of his hands; the other still holding the gold microphone he had used on stage, "...and your voice is so deep and rough when you rap - it makes me wet just listening to you."

At that Mingi moved his free hand down your body and under the short skirt you were wearing; he ran his fingers gently along your lace panties, feeling the wetness that had soaked through them. "Hmmm," Mingi hummed in appreciation, "..you're so wet for me and I barely did anything. You're that hungry for my cock just from hearing my voice?" He continued kissing down your neck, getting ever closer to your chest and you felt your core clench at his words, especially as his voice got so much deeper when he talked dirty to you. "Oh my god, yes! I want your cock so badly." You felt like you couldn't wait any longer but Mingi was clearly in a teasing mood.

The duality Mingi had really was amazing; off stage he was usually playful and charmingly boyish but on stage he had an intimidating charisma that left you in awe of him and to your absolute pleasure he usually turned on that same dominating personality when it came to anything intimate between you.

"That's too bad, Baby, because I really don't have time to fuck you right now, the boys will be looking for me soon to get back out front." as he said those words he looked at you with faux sympathy but you could see that really he was enjoying seeing you so desperate. "Mingiii..." you whined looking at him with a pout, "I can't wait that long. There are still 2 hours of the show left!"

"Well.." your boyfriend had a look of mock-thoughtfulness for a moment, "I can't fuck you but I guess there is something I could give you without getting my outfit crumpled or dirty - the stylist would kill me if I do that." he laughed. "What is it?" you wondered and jumped slightly as you felt something smooth and cold sliding up your inner thigh. It didn't take long for you to realise what Mingi was intending to do once you remembered he still had the microphone in his other hand. You were slightly nervous as you and Mingi had never even used sex toys before and here he was about to fuck you with an object not meant for that at all but you had to admit that his rough, deep voice when he rapped turned you on so much it excited you that he was going to use the tool of his trade to make you cum.

You let out a shaky breath, not knowing quite what it would feel like, so Mingi looked into your eyes and said "Don't worry, I'll be gentle, Baby." The way Mingi always looked at you with such sincerity never gave you any reason to doubt him so you smiled at him and gave a little nod for him to go ahead.

Mingi slipped his fingers underneath your panties and you let out a moan as you felt them trace over your folds and slide into your soaking hole, "You ready, Baby?" he asked as he pulled your panties to the side. You nodded, not wanting him to think you sounded unsure if you answered aloud because you were already so turned on your breaths had become shallow and you didn't think your voice would sound stable at all. You were so desperate by now you just needed something filling you even if it wasn't him.

You gasped a little as you felt the cold metal touch you, Mingi sliding it along your wet slit to lubricate it before he started to push it in slowly. "That's good, Baby...you're doing well." You couldn't help but moan as he whispered the words of praise into your ear. Slowly Mingi pushed it further in and you began to feel accustomed to the foreign-feeling object. "Mingi..." you whined, "...I need more."

"You're such a little slut." Mingi growled in your ear, "You don't care what's in you as long as you're getting fucked, right?" Mingi degrading you in his beautiful, deep voice was one of your guilty pleasures; you knew it shouldn't turn you on but, still, it never failed to - and Mingi knew that all too well.

"Is my little cockslut enjoying being fucked like this? I bet you're imagining it's my cock inside you, filling your tight cunt so well." You couldn't help but let out a loud moan at the thought and Mingi put his large hand over your mouth to silence you. "Quiet now, Baby...We wouldn't want anyone hearing you and coming in to see what we're doing." Another small whimper escaped your lips and Mingi's eyes widened in response. "Really? Does that turn you on, imagining someone catching us? Seeing me wreck your tight little pussy with my mic?" Hearing the way his voice lowered even more as he asked that last question made your knees weak so you held onto Mingi's upper arms for support. You could see him smirking as he witnessed how much of a mess he could turn you in to.

The pace with which Mingi was thrusting the makeshift toy into you was speeding up as he felt you starting to tremble slightly but, as hot as it was, he knew you'd need more so he took his hand from your mouth and used his thumb to circle your clit, "You're doing so well, Baby, but if I let you cum you're going to have to promise to keep quiet. Can you do that for me?" The thought of not being allowed to cum had you rushing out the words in a panic, "Yes, Mingi, I promise. I'll be good just please don't stop. Please let me cum for you."

"Good girl." Mingi said, chuckling slightly at how desperate you sounded. As he started to circle your clit faster, in time with the thrusting of the microphone, your breaths grew more shallow as the tension in your lower abdomen built more and more. It didn't take long for your orgasm to hit you with the combination of Mingi's skilled hands and his low voice in your ear telling you how well you were taking it. You did your very best to stay silent - biting your lip to keep the moans in but, as usual, the orgasm Mingi gave you was so intense you couldn't help but let some sound escape as your body shuddered, trapped between Mingi's large build and the hard wall.

Once you'd calmed down from your high, Mingi gently pulled the microphone out of your pussy and admired the sight of your juices coating it. "You're so filthy I bet you'd let me do anything to you." He mused, leaning down to kiss your lips and biting gently on your bottom lip. You didn't admit it to him but you probably would.

While you tried to make yourself more presentable and Mingi went to the nearby bathroom to clean the microphone, Jongho walked in and you felt so relieved he hadn't come in a few moments earlier. "Y/N, have you seen Mingi? The manager is getting worried, we have to go take our seats for the rest of the show."

"Uhh, yeah, he, uh...he's just gone to the bathroom." you stuttered, trying to seem like you hadn't just cum less than a minute ago. Jongho looked at you suspiciously because the way your voice rose and the blush on your cheeks told him you had done exactly that. Mingi awkwardly exclaiming "Oh, Jongho, we were just, uh..." as he came back in to find him didn't help the youngest member's suspicions at all.

"It's ok, Mingi..I really don't want to know what you were just doing. Just get back out here with the rest of us." Jongho sighed and led the way back to where the others were gathered.

Along the way Mingi leaned down close to your ear and whispered, "You might be satisfied for now but when we get home I'm gonna be ramming my cock into you so much harder than that mic was."

#ateez smut #ateez mingi smut #ateez x reader #ateez x reader smut #ateez mingi #song mingi smut #song mingi #mingi smut

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starkerintheparker · 5 years ago

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starker reclist - AUs

Hey guys! Welcome to the second part of my personal Starker reclist, dedicated to AUs. Last week I posted my canon-based recs, you can find them here.

I tried to incorporate as many tropes as I could, hoping everyone will find something special within their interests. There are a few a/b/o and underage fics, all properly tagged in case anyone wishes to avoid them. I also tried to highlight soulmate AUs because I reckon it’s a somewhat popular trope. Enjoy! ❤️

Last updated: April 25th, 2020. All new fics added will be marked with ***

• 007 AU by @darker-soft-starker (T, 4k, completed)

Summary: Undercover and bored at an art auction, Tony finds entertainment in Peter Parker.

Review: Look, I’m a simple woman. Daniel Craig has owned my ass ever since Casino Royale and I was reading 00Q and Hartwin before I even shipped Starker. Point is, I like spy movies, ok?! So naturally I couldn’t leave this fic out of my reclist. I you need further incentive, consider this quote: “What, a little late night espionage not romantic enough for you?” Peter retorts, whipping a pistol out from his jacket and aiming it at Tony’s chest.

• 3 Times I Told You I Loved You & 1 Time You Said It Back by @starkeristheendgame (E) background Peter/Steve, Peter/Bucky, Peter/Scott

Summary: Peter Parker confesses his love to Tony Stark three times. Once at ten, once at fifteen and once at twenty. Finally convinced that Tony will never love him back, Peter ventures out into a different path, desperate to find the love he seeks from someone else. But you know what they say about star-crossed lovers.

Review: This lovely fic holds a very special place in my heart. I’m so invested I decided to wait until it’s finished so I can read it all in one sitting. Peter’s longing and heartbreak hurt my poor soul but I trust Jensen to give me that promised Starker endgame - I know it will be glorious when it finally comes.

• A Night on the Town by @scarletmanuka1 (G, 2.3k, completed)

Summary: Nightclub AU. Years after the events of Endgame, Tony has hit rock bottom. The Snap left him crippled, Pepper has abandoned him and has taken Morgan with her, and he's feeling old and lonely. Peter arranges a night out at the nightclub that he works at to try and cheer Tony up.

Review: I love get together fics, especially if it involves oblivious!Tony getting his shit together and going after his man. Seeing him bitter and broken after Thanos was hard, but special kudos to IronBros moments because that friendship is true goals!

• Age of Adeline by @starkerforlife6969 (completed) background Harley/Peter, Bucky/Peter, Wade/Peter

Review: I’d never in a million years think about this movie as a Starker AU but gosh, this is everything I needed in my life and it completely devastated me but I loved every minute of it. As a devoted monoshipper, I was surprised to realize that I got emotionally involved with all pairings, even more so with Starker, which totally paid off. Gorgeous, powerful and heartfelt. God bless SFL.

• assume makes ass for u and me by @pretty-well-funded (M, 1.6k, completed) tw underage

Summary: In Tony’s defense, he was sure the kid was a rent boy.

Review: This 1.6k fic caught me completely off guard and now I’m crying because I need MORE. I love the premise, the dialogue is criminally good, their voices are amazing and I can’t get enough of cheeky!Peter charming Tony with his wit and filthy mind.

• Bamf!secretary Peter by @starkerforlife6969 (M, completed)

Review: Who could ever resist some corporate espionage drama with bamf!Peter leaving Tony speechless and horny? Not me. I’d read more 30k of this verse because competent, sassy Peter Parker is such a kink, omg.

• Biker!Tony by @starkerforlife6969 (T, completed) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Review: Same age AUs are not usually my thing but I can’t resist cute high school sweethearts written by this fandom goddess. Plus, protective!Tony calling Peter “doll” does things to my heart - and Peter’s.

• Breaking Character by @cagestark (E, 8.3k, completed)

Summary: Tony Stark, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and spy for SHIELD. Working with another SHIELD spy, the infamous Spider, he will take down an infamous human trafficking ring in New York. But the act they have to put on will demand more from Tony than he ever thought he'd have to give. Not that he minds.

Review: The spy trope seriously needs more fic like this one, because I’ll have bamf!Peter lying back to save his country while Tony freaks out any day. Cage hits the perfect balance between plot building, fantastic sexual tension, clever dialogue and the hottest smut sequence. What a ride! (Pun intended).

• Curiosity Killed the Cat by @areluctantsblog (T, 1.5k, completed)

Summary: Peter has been modelling in an art school for years. He's used to strangers' eyes roaming his body - clothed or naked - and he knows that it's not him they are looking at. Not him who they are interested in. He's just a model, a tool for their work. And for a long time he doesn't notice the one pair of eyes that, despite seeing him but rarely, is looking right at him.

Review: Very soft and atmospheric, this fic left me in a bit of a daze and it took me a while to realize it was over. Great writing will do that to you.

• Detective!Tony, Graffiti Artist!Peter by @starkerforlife6969 (M, completed)

Review: Oh don’t mind me, just appreciating this author’s talent at writing from the filthiest smut to the softest “Tony saves Peter in all ways that matter” like this ficlet. We stan.

• Eat at Pete’s by feyrelay + glorious art by @peachbabypie (E)

Summary: Peter gives him an unimpressed look, “If you didn’t do your work, then you wouldn’t be able to earn my time though, would you?” Pfft. “Kid, I have more money than god. I can splurge on your delicious pancakes and attention, trust me,” Tony informs him loftily. Peter smiles that wicked, crooked little smile that's just for him. It's not even and perfect like his the-customer-is-always-right one that's more frequently on offer. “I didn’t say you couldn’t afford it. I said you wouldn’t have earned it.”

Review: How can we ever say no to dom!Peter putting Tony in his place and hopefully on his dick + Tony loving every second of it?? Their dynamics are fantastic and that TASTY COUNTER DIALOGUE KILLS ME. EVERY TIME. Check it out and come scream with me: sub!Tony rights :D

• Fire and Ice by LeafyGreenQueen773 (M, 3k, completed) Soulmate AU

Summary: AU where when someone writes on his or her skin, the same thing shows up on their soulmate in the same place as a Mark that fades away in a few hours.

Review: This was the first Starker soulmate fic I’ve read and it made my heart ache so soft and good. Lovely and bittersweet, quiet and painfully honest.

• Genius, Acrobat, Playboy, Philanthropist by @scarletmanuka1 (E, 28k, completed)

Summary: After Peter's aeriel acrobatics partner, Adrian Toomes is fired from The Avengers Circus Troupe for theft, he is shocked to discover that his replacement is non other than legendary performer, Tony Stark - the man that Peter had hero worshipped since he first learned how to tumble.

Review: After reading this fic I realized I need more Circus AUs in my life. I could read jealous idiots falling in love while doing beautiful acrobatics for the rest of my days. Original plot, nice character development and I really appreciated how the author inserted little canon things here and there.

• Happy to Disappoint by @deaded-blush (M, 60k, completed) tw underage, domestic violence

Summary: Adrian Toomes is in quite deep with notorious mob boss Tony Stark. But when Tony comes to collect the debt owed, he's surprised to discover Toomes has an adoptive son. The chance meeting changes the direction of both their lives...

Review: Hands down one of the best Mafia!AUs I’ve ever seen. Read it all in one sitting and by the end I was SHOOKETH and utterly obsessed with this story. Nothing about it is okay so brace yourself for whump!Peter and lots of h/c. Bonus points for an incredibly satisfying ending that will make you gasp out loud.

• Hey Baby, Slip between my Beta-Pleats and get to know my Alpha-Helix? by @starkerforlife6969 and @darker-soft-starker (E, 37k, completed) A/B/O

Summary: Even though Tony can't tell the difference between Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo, Peter really has no other choice. His heat is around the corner, so even though he loathes the party-going, booze drinking, smug playboy know-it-all that is Tony Stark. He'll just have to do.

Review: I can’t believe life went on as we know it (or did it??) after these two geniuses wrote together. This is the Starker version of “enemies to lovers” we all wanted and deserve, where spoiled-bratty-posh princess Peter finds the perfect balance for his chaotic energy in goofy-unapologetic-charming playboy Tony. Their falling in love is just so tender, so genuine and so good, it’s impossible not to cheer for these two sweethearts through this delightful, carefully crafted story.

• If you let me by @css1992 (E, 12k, completed)

Summary: Peter had tried dating younger guys, but it just didn’t do it for him. They were often too eager, too fast, too rough. Just too young, in general. Not that older men couldn’t be too much, too, Peter learned it the hard way. The man looking back at him from across the room seemed like a good one. He knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but he was gorgeous. Possibly the most handsome man Peter had ever seen in his short life.

Review: I remember the first time I read this fic it hit me in such a powerful way I cried a bit and was too overwhelmed to do words and tell the author just how much I loved it. But I never forgot this fic or the way it made me feel. It’s so evocative, so sexy, so raw, so heartbreaking, so sweet and so gentle. Great atmosphere, even greater characterization and some of the hottest smut I’ve ever read. Treat yourself and check this out right now.

• I’ll be Home by @starkerforlife6969 (M, completed) A/B/O

Summary: The story starts when Soldier Tony comes home for a few days, and is introduced to the love of his life.

Review: Will I ever stop reccing SFL’s works? Maybe, but today is not the day. This gorgeous, breathtaking fic attacked me in my own house during Christmas day and made me cry like a baby. I’m a sucker for reunion stories - the longing, the heartbreak, the power of endurance. This fic reminded me that no matter how long or difficult the journey, love will always find a way.

• Little Spider by @stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou) (E, 5k, completed)

Summary: Peter Parker is one of the country's best hitmen, known in the underworld as the Little Spider. He spends his days in the lap of luxury with his billionaire fiance Tony Stark, and his nights doing dirty work for various shady characters. Life is good, right up until someone puts out a hit on Tony and wants Peter to pull the trigger. It... might be time for them to have a talk.

Review: Omg this fic was so deliciously good in a totally surprising and sexy way. Bamf!Peter took my breath away with the perfect balance between his two personas. Tony getting off on that sheer power and confidence is a BIG MOOD and my second favorite thing in this fic. The first being the badass power couple they make.

• love somebody like you (E) by @intoxicatelou

Summary: five times Tony was Peter’s roommate and one time he was his soulmate instead.

Review: Who doesn’t love some forced proximity mixed with the unbeatable soulmate trope? This plot is the hottest take and my heart cannot handle young!Tony with his brilliant mind and sassy charm protecting and flirting with Peter, unfff feels everywhere *cries in Starker*

• Love Thy Neighbour by @darker-soft-starker (T, 2.3k, completed)

Summary: Tony's new neighbour is kinda weird.

Review: I know I keep saying that same age!AUs are not really my thing but I’m the softest bitch for feel-good, cozy domesticity, and I love how this charming story shows that ordinary life become magical when shared with someone special. I could babble all night about how eccentric and confident Peter seduces our man of science that for once has absolutely no idea of what’s going on - but you really should see it for yourself right now :)

• Mafia Boss!Tony Break Up Make Up by @starkerforlife6969 (E, completed)

Review: Man, this fic was so rude to my heart. The heartbreak, the rough sex, the guilt, the hopeful make up, the gorgeous ending. My body literally cannot take the stress, why are Mafia AUs so doomed and beautiful and more importantly, why is SFL so good at writing them???

• Microcosm Series by @bloomblood (M, 32k) tw underage

Summary: Tony and Peter become each other’s heroes after the Snap, saving themselves before they offer aid back to the world.

Review: I haven’t read many post-apocalyptic fics but this series’s raw atmosphere sucked me in. I adore the quiet intimacy, the slow and tentative healing, and all the silent and complex emotions underneath apparent simplicity. Big aesthetic mood, just as its lovely author.

• Musechaser by @nightskygardenia (M, 10.5k, completed)

Summary: Eighteen year old art student Peter Parker is desperately searching for his muse, someone who can bring his creative skills to the next level through inspiration. Lucky for him, his next class just so happens to feature a gorgeous model by the name of Tony Stark, a man Peter's convinced is his muse, to the point of staying after class to ask for private modeling sessions.

Review: Another big aesthetic mood, this fic paints a gorgeous imagery. I love the setting, the slow pace and the building anticipation until the sexual tension finally breaks. Peter is adorable and Tony exudes confidence; their voices are spot on and their chemistry is palpable and intense.

• My Best Friend’s Dad by @darker-soft-starker (M, 17.6k, completed)

Summary: Peter is home for the summer, back from his first year away at college. Having stayed over at Harley's house every weekend since they were fourteen, he never used to think much of his friend’s dad. A few years worth of college experience has Peter noticing Tony in a different way. This time, Tony notices him back.

Review: Turns out that Tony Stark being a dad and a daddy is too much for my body. I worship this fic. I wanna get married to it and have its babies. No words will ever make it justice *sobs* no but seriously, secret relationship is a perfect Starker trope and this one will take you to the edge of your seat until the very end. A+ characterization, lovely build up, infuriating cliffhangers and the wholesome happy ending we all deserve. This is the kind of fic that leaves you a bit depressed once it’s over, because you suddenly realize you’ll never read it for the first time ever again. So get to it and make sure to enjoy every second!

• One Call Away by @readysetstarker (E)

Summary: Tony didn’t need the phone sex gig. He was more than well off, his own sex life was in great shape, but damn, there was just something about listening to someone else get off to his voice.

Review: Omg who could ever resist sex hotline + daddy kink + identity porn? Dev is coming after our own hearts and bodies with this hot combo. I love the balance between their cute chemistry and the hot phone sex, plus the identity porn is deliciously fun. I was so happy to know this fic is getting longer than the author had previously anticipated because I’m definitely not ready to let it go.

• Open Road by @starkerflowers (E, 2.5k, completed)

Summary: It’s not love, but it’s good. TW: implied abuse (not between Tony/Peter); bruises/violence; panic attack.

Review: This refreshing not-quite-a-love-story will capture your heart, make it hurt, make it ache, make it hope and finally, make it heal. This fic is so gorgeously written I honestly cannot rec it enough. Yes, it’s dark and angsty, but it’s also gentle, hopeful and deeply evocative.

• Panty Raid by @starkerforlife6969 (M, completed) A/B/O

Summary: Imagine Tony being forced to do a panty raid as an initiation for his fraternity. So Tony, keeping up his playboy appearances, sneaks into the omega dorms. And he sees sweet innocent Peter who is so alarmed by the alphas raiding their dorm Tony can’t help but comfort him.

Review: Unf this fic is just too charming and cute, my heart cannot take it. Frat stories are so fun they make me forget my preference for age gaps and realize I could read more 50k of protective young!Tony any day, please and thank

• Pete’s Eats by @darker-soft-starker (T, 9.3k, completed)

Summary: Peter has a YouTube channel where he just drinks wine and teaches people how to cook things if they live in a mediocre apartment. While cooking and drinking he just talks about stuff like memes and school and, most importantly, his undying thirst for Tony Stark.

Review: This is legit the funniest shit I’ve ever read, everybody else can go home. I was already sold on Peter being a relatable thirsty dork, but Tony’s A+++ characterization (for a moment I thought it was RDJ on the big screen) and the identity porn side trope killed me for good. And what a way to go. I’m an angst hoe but I could read this forever and would be okay with it.

• pondus, pondera by spqr (M, 9.3k, completed) underage prostitution but not between P/T

Summary: Peter sells his virginity for $5,000 when he’s fifteen.

Review: Ugh I’m so weak for the angsty hooker trope, I just love the potential to simultaneously explore whump, mutual pining and gentle recovery. Trust spqr to deliver it all with a carefully crafted slow burn, god-tier characterization and a heartfelt and satisfying get together. This fic is a gem.

• Powerful by @cagestark (E, 4.6k, completed) SIM!Tony

Summary: After finding out about Peter's abusive ex, Tony privately vows revenge.

Review: This fic took my breath away and made me realize that dark!Tony with a soft spot for Peter is everything I need in my life. Precious Peter being empowered by a viciously protective Tony is now my absolute jam, and it was fascinating to see see their dynamics mutually feeding each other’s nature. This fic is gorgeous, sexy and liberating.

***Red Light District series by @starker-stories (17k, ongoing)

Summary: Everyone knows that Tony Stark is a playboy who has dozens of women passing through his life and through his bed. What everyone doesn't know is that Tony Stark is deeply closeted, longing for something he can't ever have -- a life and a love with another man.

Review: I’m completely in love with this series and not only because it explores the good old hooker trope which I’m very partial to. It’s so well written and atmospheric, if a tad bittersweet and heart-wrenching. Great narrative tension, Tony and Peter’s chemistry is insane, their voices and dialogue are amazing and the smut is looong and scorching hot *chef’s kiss*

• Samadhi by @starkercrossedlovers (E, completed)

Summay: Tony goes to yoga to try and deal with his anxiety and ends up falling for the instructor, one Peter Parker.

Review: Okay so yoga fics are among my guilty pleasures and I can’t get enough of feel-good fics like this one. Peter’s such a sweetheart, so thoughtful and amazing with Tony. I love it when they take care of each other and find solace together, this fic made me soft :’)

• Single dad baker!Peter and lawyer!Tony by @starkerforlife6969 (G, completed)

Review: I’m not usually a fluff girl but this fic is just too wholesome to go by unnoticed. Nothing hits my soft side harder than a cynical character reaching that turning point that makes them start to believe in love. Fuck yes, YOU SHOW THAT MAN SOME HAPPILY EVER AFTER PETE

• Soft Kitty by @ko-fiandfanfiction (E, 33k, completed)

Summary: Peter wasn’t wearing something Tony would call normal, not that there was anything inherently wrong with what he was wearing or anything. It just struck him as…different. To put it plainly. Tony is not sure what to make of this new development.

Review: For those of you who love some occasional feminization, this is the perfect treat. Soft, sexy and sweet, it combines top guilty, pining Tony with oblivious idiots in love, two of my favorite tropes. Amazing slow burn with glorious sexual tension, infuriating dancing around each other and a very satisfying get together. Bonus points for including the “Avengers living together in the Tower” trope, this is the 2012 team building fic we deserved.

• Solitaire by @darker-soft-starker (M, 29k, completed)

Summary: After a traumatic experience, Tony loses his marriage and his business empire in one fell swoop. At rock bottom, it takes real change to pick up the pieces, to dig himself out of the funk he's been living in. It's not pretty. Along the path of healing Tony meets a bright young man, Peter Parker, who makes the entire journey worth it.

Review: Oh man, this was a tough ride on the soul. Few things hurt me like reading whump!Tony but his healing journey is so beautiful it’s all worth it. Top notch characterization, amazing dialogue, FEELS EVERYWHERE, and a gorgeous portrayal of loneliness, friendship, hope and love.

• Someone Who Makes you Happy by tuesday (T, 6k, completed) Soulmate AU

Summary: Peter was born with several marks already marring his skin, including an interlocking AES over his heart. A scar-sharing soulmate AU.

Review: This fic is absolutely stunning and it makes my heart ache in all the right places. Great worldbuilding (I LOVE the scarring concept, so unique and fitting to these characters), A+++ Tony characterization (the wit and the self-hate are so spot on I could weep) and a journey full of longing, until they finally get to be on the same page.

• Splice by Mezzymet (E, 35k, completed) A/B/O

Summary: "He's not...." The doctors polite nature and disposition hadn't been able to mask the odd tone of his voice, like he had been reading someone's death certificate. Only Peter hadn't been on his death bed. "Peter isn't like the other kids.

Review: I keep coming back to this story because it’s such a fascinating and unique take on this trope. Very well thought and put together - the world building is fantastic, the sex sequences are breathtaking, and Tony’s gentle thoughtfulness makes me wanna cry.

• Stopover by @cagestark (E, 10k, completed)

Summary: A stopover is just a break in a journey. Tony is on the run from the organization he used to kill for, and when he stopped for gas and coffee in the small town of Stopover, IL, he had no plans to leave with anything more.

Review: *sigh* this is the mob boss!Tony fic I’ve waited for all my life. Even more impressive than the delicious smut checking all my kink boxes was the phenomenal build up, the overall urgent atmosphere that surrounds those “on the run”, combined with the gentle wonder of stealing a moment in time to find solace in the most unlikely place. Breathtakingly moving.

• Student Body President Election by @starkerforlife6969 (T, completed)

Summary: Tony and Peter are competing for Student Body President and a smear campaign takes things a little too far.

Review: GIMME ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND ALL THE HIGH SCHOOL DRAMA. This ficlet is so fun and adorable it will make your heart smile. Great plot idea and the usual bonus points for protective!Tony being a sweetheart. Will have more 30k, pls and thank.

• Such a Softer Sin by @css1992 (E, 18k, completed) background Peter/Norman

Summary: Tony is a self-made man. Peter is a sugar baby – someone else’s sugar baby.

Review: Another fantastic slow burn that hit me hard in the feels. I love it when fics explore the characters’ personal struggles before they get together, and while the Peter!whump destroyed my heart, Tony’s parallel journey of growth took my breath away. css1992’s talent took the good old sugar baby trope to a whole new epic level.

• Summer Daze by @darker-soft-starker (NR, 4.3k, completed)

Summary: Starker no-powers au where Peter watches construction worker Tony from his bedroom window as the older man works across the street.

Review: Ahh yes, the classic “food as metaphor for love” trope, my absolute jam. This fic is so adorable and endearing, pining!Peter in his wooing mission makes my heart ache and the sweet anticipation is so good. There’s something about this fic that gives me nostalgia; it’s as soft and warm as a summer breeze.

• Tamed by @cagestark (E, 8.3k, completed)

Review: It’s no wonder this is Cage’s most beloved fic. Bad boy!Tony being all soft for Peter is everything we deserve, not to mention a mesmerizing (and HOT AF) first time together. This fic shows how rich and captivating Cage’s writing is - she’s able to transform that old basic trope into something unique and heartfelt. If you need one more reason to read this, please consider: best first bj ever :)

• Teacher!Tony wrong number by @areluctantsblog (T) tw underage

Summary: Peter’s using a replacement phone and mistypes Ned’s number asking for help on a physics problem.

Review: I have such a soft spot for this fic! It was one of the first AUs I’ve ever read and I’m completely in love with their dynamics. Peter’s underage but this fic is carefully written and pretty tame, so I’d rec it to anyone looking for the good old “they probably shouldn’t, but then again nothing’s happening” trope.

• The Bleedover Effect by tuesday (T, 11k, completed) Soulmate AU

Summary: The first time Tony got punched in the face by nobody there, he had a lot of very complicated feelings about it that mostly boiled down to, "I deserve this." A pain-sharing soulmate AU.

Review: Tuesday truly is the queen of soulmate AUs, we have no other choice but STAN. First of all, I adore the concept here - being such a sucker for whump, this could easily become my favorite soulmate trope. As usual, her Tony voice is perfect and his devotion to Peter hits my fragile heart every time. Kudos for the soft and hopeful ending. The series has been discontinued but the sequels are very much worth the read, if you’re up for it :)

• The Catfish Chronicles by @stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou) (E, 32k, completed)

Summary: Peter creates a fake profile under the name “Benjamin” trying to catch his scumbag boyfriend cheating. Tony creates a Tinder profile for "Anthony" looking for love late in life. Funny how two geniuses who fight side by side every day can only manage to fall in love after they've accidentally catfished each other. This is... gonna get awkward.

Review: My identity porn thirst might be showing but who cares, I want these two idiots pining after each other in every possible way. This was such a fun and exciting ride! The suspense had me legit freaking out and their get together was lovely and wholesome. I particularly adored how thoughtful and sweet Tony was dealing with Peter’s insecurities, that was handled really well. A treat!

• The Concept of Domesticity by @peters-tofu (E) mpreg

Summary: Tony has accomplished nearly everything he's set out to do, now he wants something different. A family of his own? Sounds easy enough. But he's far too impatient for a relationship, so surrogacy it is. Meanwhile, twenty-two year old college student Peter Parker has just volunteered to be a bearer at an agency.

Review: Can’t say I’m a big fan of this trope but since every rule has its exception, here it is! The only Starker mpreg I’ve ever read is so so good and adorable I can’t help smiling every time I think about it. I just love their dynamics, the soft domesticity, the cute bantering, and the fact that Peter has one baby daddy all wrapped around his little finger but what else is new ;)

***The Date by Neuropsyche (E, 33k, completed)

Summary: Tony has a high society gala and he needs a date.

Review: My favorite fake dating AU so far, this fic is so sweet and wholesome. Confident!Peter is my jam and it was amazing to see their sassy bantering evolving into genuine affection towards each other, not to mention the delicious hot smut with dom!Tony :D

• The Final Heist by @starkerforlife6969 (G, 10k, completed)

Summary: Tony’s only got one more heist. He does this, he can be retired on an island in the Mediterranean in a month. All he needs is a world-class art forger. (White Collar inspired)

Review: Honestly, the amount of times I’ve mentioned SFL in this list is getting embarrassing. I must have done something really good in another life to get such a talented author writing something inspired by one of my favorite TV shows. I feel like this fic was personally crafted for me; it’s original, romantic, sexy, fun, clever and so very atmospheric. I’m a lucky hoe.

• The Heart Benefits of Exercise by @areluctantsblog (E, 14k, completed)

Summary: Personal Trainer Tony and Gym Newbie Peter. Peter can hardly keep it together watching Tony demonstrate different exercises and lift weights. Tony is very much aware of the effect he has on his trainee, and after a session, Peter begs to be shown a whole different array of exercises.

Review: This fic was a lovely surprise, very relatable and entertaining. Love myself an adorable Peter thirsting over Tony (can’t really judge lol), especially if it comes with a good amount of pining and hot, kinky smut :D

• Tipping the Scale by JayPendragon (E, 119k, completed)

Summary: Peter has a rhythm. A system. All runs like a well-oiled machine, engineering pun intended. Every wheel of his life is churning perfectly. He doesn’t expect Tony Stark of all people to throw a wrench in it.

Review: Hooker!AUs are my kryptonite, I’m so here for the “fuck first, talk later” and the general pining + misunderstandings + h/c combo this trope provides. This amazing longfic delivers it all with a well-paced, delicious slow burn told from Peter’s POV, which is always a delight to read and makes you fall even more in love with him. If you also enjoy this trope you’re in for a treat!

• To Catch a Spider by Thekeyandquill (E)

Summary: After the war, Peter Parker left his career as a spy behind to live a simple life in the south of France. But when someone frames him for the theft of plans for a new weapon, he must re-enter his old life and get close to the real thief's likely next target - one Tony Stark. A To Catch a Thief AU.

Review: TKAQ is so skilled their writing should be experienced like fine wine. Amazing research, top notch world building and characterization, and the loveliest atmosphere that makes you feel like you’re inside a movie. Clever, organic dialogue and a sexual tension so palpable you can almost taste it. This is a gem. Make sure to check their other works.

• Two White, Two Black, One Pink by @starkerforlife6969 (E) poly fic: Peter/Tony, Peter/Steve, Peter/Bucky, Peter/Strange Summary: Peter has three (maybe one day: four) men in his life who mean the world to him. Review: Ugh, this fic is pure bliss. It has legit ruined me for any and all other poly fics. Words just cannot describe how gorgeous, poetic and unique SFL’s writing is, or how deeply it has affected me. So if you enjoy Mafia AUs, poly fics and soft-but-also-bamf!Peter taking care of Tony AND being taken care of by the men he loves, give this a chance and experience transcending storytelling.

• Uranium Heart by spqr (M, 11k, completed) Soulmate AU Summary: It’s probably better, Peter thinks, that he doesn’t know who his soulmate is. He wouldn’t want to lie to them about Spider-Man, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to tell them the truth, either.

Review: Be still my heart. This is such a gorgeous fic! Not only it combines two major tropes in a coherent 11k story, but I also appreciate how spqr explores these characters and their dynamics in a very unique and realistic way. I strongly recommend checking their other works, especially Landslide.

• Waiting Game by @cagestark (E, 6k, completed)

Summary: Peter hasn't seen Tony in fifteen years. Not since he had their hasty marriage annulled, graduated college, and moved across the country. Their twenty year high school reunion will find them reunited. They've both changed, but one thing hasn’t. Hint: it's their feelings for each other.

Review: This fic literally made my heart BURST WITH FEELS: the whole build up and anticipation, the slow disclosure of their past, the first uncertain moments of their reunion. I also appreciate the powerful and moving message underneath it all, that true healing comes after we overcome our demons at our own pace. A masterpiece.

• Wooing Peter Parker by Neuropsyche (E, 62.5k, completed)

Summary: Tony and Rhodey dodge the press and sneak into the library where they meet Peter Parker - who immediately catches Tony's eye. But Peter isn't a one and done kind of guy and Tony's going to have to work for what he wants this time.

Review: This is the kind of fic that warms you all over and makes you smile non stop. It has so many elements I love in fic: cute flirting, clever banter, hot sex, soft domesticity, boys being reasonable and talking their problems out for a change. If you’re looking for something light, sweet and honest, this series is a must read!

#starker #reclist #peter parker x tony stark

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