#i can see it so clearly in my brain and i feel like curling inwards like a goddamn armadillo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintmurd0ck · 2 years ago

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congrats rhi!!! well deserved 👏🏼💖

🗽 - matt and frank are on the brain. what if you tried going on a date with them?? and they're making each other jealous, which eventually leads to all three of you breaking the bed in matt's apartment 👀

nik baby, thank you so much for this ask. i am so sorry it took so long, BUT i needed it to be absolutely perfect, and i think ive done it. it was absolute perfection, a joy to work on, and clearly you know me so well because this is one of my favourite things to write EVER and i will die on this hill!!!! i love you and thank you for your incredible request <3

winner's streak | frank castle x f!reader x matt murdock

masterlist

summary: you've had a little thing for your neighbours for the longest time. what's the worst that can happen when you ask them both on a date and turn it into a little friendly competition?

warnings: matt & frank roommate au, voyeurism/public exhibition, couple blind jokes, fingering, oral m and f receiving, unprotected p in v, spanking, choking, etc bruh there's so many i cant

THIS IS A LONG ASS FIC (9K WORDS DONT KILL ME) BUT PLEASE ENJOY AND REBLOGS ARE MUCH APPRECIATED

Your groan reverberates against the iron door, echoing into the empty space of the stairwell.

ROOFTOP CLOSED, the paper sign reads, FOR SCHEDULED MAINTENANCE.

It’s impossible for your eyes to roll any further back. Of all days this rooftop is closed, why does it have to be today?

The notice scrunches in your hand as you pull it free from the door, shoving it down into your bag. You’re already annoyed about making the trek up to the rooftop, but thankfully it’s a quick trip back downstairs, and you’re outside on the fire escape in no time. The balmy afternoon wind flushes hot against your face, thin metal railing digging into your forearms as you lean forward, but your chest falls gracefully with the deep exhale that carries with it any negativity.

You’re grateful for the quiet. Besides the occasional siren, you’re high enough that you can barely hear the commotion of the streets – a rarity in this city – and apart from your noisy neighbours to the left, it’s pretty tranquil here.

Keeping an ear out for anyone disturbing your peace, you scout the apartments to either side of you, listening to the ambient sounds and whatever the street below has to offer. Nothing today; nothing except for the brush of wind rustling the trees and dislodging those clumsily pinned flyers you hate. Good.

With no one home around you, and weather almost too perfect for tanning, your hand snakes up your spine to where the strings of your bikini top lay, tied in a careless knot that comes undone in one tug. The summer heat hits your bare chest with a ferocity that surprises you, but you close your eyes and tip your head back, allowing the sun’s warmth to wash over your face and cascade down your body.

But then, it shoots straight at you; a whistling arrow that lodges itself into the centre of your chest. It’s the sound of a breath catching; an inhale so sharp you might mistake it for a hiss. Your head whips to the side.

“Frank,” you seethe, hands flying up to where you’re exposed.

He croaks out your name as your eyes level into his, bewildered stare parting his mouth in an ‘o’. He doesn’t know where to look as you muster a fake smile, tilting your head to the side so saccharinely you feel him cave inwards.

Frank’s body is still square to yours as he looks up to the sky. “Nice uh… sunny day, right?”

You scoff, arms tightening around your chest. “Cut the shit, Frank. Were you spying on me?”

His nostrils flare as he grips his coffee mug, knuckles turning white to the point where you think it’s going to break.

“Well?” you deadpan, a muscle twitching in your jaw.

He sputters at your question, and then it dawns on you.

He’s lost for words.

Your lips curl into a smile. First of all, you’re not really mad per se, you just like seeing him squirm. Secondly, Frank fucking Castle, your utterly menacing, 6 foot, ‘women call me daddy and I benchpress 400 lbs’ neighbour is lost for words. He’s stumbling over every syllable, and it’s like you have him by the balls.

Then again, maybe you just did.

You’ve seen the way he looks at you, not-so-slick with the little half-glances he shoots your way, or how his lips purse when he sees you in the hallway, the vein in his neck popping as an existing string of unholy thoughts undeniably course through his head. He’s always rushing to help you with something, whether it’s to carry your groceries, or to repair anything broken in your apartment.

You never complain, of course. With the way he treats you like a queen, and gets away looking like that? Yeah, you can’t fault his behaviour.

And that was just Frank’s side of things. His polar opposite, puppy-eyed roommate Matt has it just as bad for you, but Matt… oh, Matt… he makes you throb in ways you don’t understand. You’re the kind of girl who will never let a man tell you what to do, but Matt? He makes you want to get on your knees, submit yourself to him, devote yourself whole.

Matt’s not a grand gesture kind of guy as much as Frank is; he’s more of a smooth talker, knowing exactly when and how to lay on the charm. In fact, it’s not just that; he intrigues you. You’re observant – more than you give yourself credit for – and you notice the unexplainable, the somewhat impossible. It’s the bruised knuckles that so often leave his hands stained crimson, the cane that’s nowhere to be seen, the hushed phone calls and (to your displeasure), kiss-bitten lips.

You know a body as cut as his doesn’t come from walking to the office every day.

If you go out on your fire escape at just the right time, and tip your head in just the right direction, you can hear them talking about you. You’ve never admitted it out loud, but your heart flutters with the way Frank describes you to Matt, in what you’re wearing that day, or when he says those mundane things like, ‘she bought the same toothpaste as us!’

Alright, fine. You’ll admit it.

You think about them. A lot.

And in more ways than one.

You’ve indulged in their words, in their actions, in the little things they do that makes your skin hot and your back arch. It’s always variations of the same forbidden fantasy that creep into your mind, images that become more visceral as your fingers slip beyond the thin material of your soaked panties.

And in this fantasy, there's both of them, working you, stuffing you… until you can’t handle anymore, until you cry out both their names as you fall apart.

The worst bit? With time, your desire for them — or, whatever the hell you want to call it — has only grown stronger. It used to be that you’d run into them in the corridor, exchange a few ordinary greetings, maybe flash a pearly smile, and leave as they melt into man-sized puddles. Now if you run into each other, you all leave flustered, fumbling for the locks on your paint-chipped doors, desperately trying to conceal whatever indulgent thoughts you all harbour in your minds.

“You okay?” Frank’s gruff voice snaps you back down to earth.

You shake your head as you snap awake, your doe-eyes meeting his. “Hmm?”

He blushes, fingers straining against his coffee mug. “You just started starin’ off in the distance…”

You offer him a tight-lipped smile as your chest rises with a rapid breath, doing your best to ignore the second pulse that’s appeared in between your legs.

You really had to daydream at the right time, huh?

“Look,” he coughs, diverting his gaze, again, “M’sorry for uh… interruptin’ your–”

The graphic image of his body in yours while Matt’s underneath clouds your vision, and it turns your knees to jelly. “I-it’s fine.”

You spin on your heels, intent on dropping one of your arms to reach for the side door, but you conceive an idea.

“Hey Frank?”

“Yeah?”

You turn to face him. “Let’s go out tonight. You know that wine bar between 10th and 11th?”

He musses a hand through his hair, eyebrows raising as he nods. “Really?”

“What,” you pout, “you don’t wanna?”

A wry smile creeps across your face as he straightens his spine, the intensity of your stare a little too much for him as his eyes flick away, throat bobbing as he shifts in his stance, almost uncomfortably.

Oh.

You stifle a gasp, zoning in on the faint outline of him, straining against his jeans.

Pupils blown and lips pursed, he catches you staring, watching intently as your tongue snakes out to wet your lips. The vein in his neck is as prominent as ever as his eyes wander over your body, at your bikini bottoms that leave almost nothing to the imagination, at your half-naked self standing there in his presence.

An idea crosses your mind. An insanely, obscene, insane idea, but oh, you’re devious. Frank squeezes his coffee mug tighter, eyes pulsating as the corners of your mouth upturn into a cheeky grin…

And your hands drop from your chest.

All you hear is the soft murmur of a holy shit, the ceramic mug shattering apart in his hands, and the sound of your laugh echoing in the wind, carrying itself across the rooftops.

“I’ll see you tonight at 7, Frank.”

Matt catches you in the hallway later that day as you’re running errands, heartbeat thundering in your ears as he walks himself into your shoulder. He murmurs a quick ‘sorry’, straightening his suit jacket, preparing to continue his walk ahead.

“It’s me, Matt!” you call out, biting your lips he turns, his composure cracking with an infectious chuckle and a smile that crinkles his eyes.

He motions to his cane, shrugging his shoulders. “Whoops.”

Rolling your eyes, you push off your heels, inching closer to him, his voice smooth in your ears. “How was your day?”

You focus on a small piece of white lint sitting awkwardly on Matt’s lapel as he shifts his weight onto one foot, running your tongue over your teeth as you contemplate whether or not to flick it off.

“Actually,” you start, heat singeing the back of your neck as Frank pops into your mind, “you know what? It wasn’t that bad. How was yours?”

Matt chuckles half-heartedly, nodding. “That’s uh, that’s great to hear. Mine was… well, we received a hundred rhubarb pies as payment today. S’for a client we helped a while back.”

He leans his head in towards your giggle, hand flying up to loosen his tie. “Alright, I’m exaggerating,” – he tips his head to the side – “I’m told there were… four, at best, but Foggy’s acting like we have that many.”

A moment of silence passes between you, nothing but a gust of warm wind filling the negative space. Your breath picks up as your mind races. Say something. Anything.

A look of uncertainty flashes across Matt’s face as he purses his lips, hand coming up to brush against his stubble. “Look, I’ve– I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while, but–”

“For a while?” you interject, raising your eyebrows.

“Yeah, a while,” – he rounds his shoulders, both hands gripping his cane – “d’ya wanna get a drink somewhere?”

“Are you asking me on a date, Matthew?”

He laughs, cheeks reddening at your question. “Only if that’s fine with you.”

“Hang on a second, how long exactly have you been thinking about this?”

Flustered, Matt pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, dimples showing as he tries to hide his sheepish smile. “A while.”

“Stop me when I get close.”

He grins from ear-to-ear.

“One month?” you ask.

“No.”

You feign surprise. “Three months?”

“Nope.”

Matt laughs as you gasp, loudly. Too loudly. “A year.”

“Longer than that, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

The nickname pools in your thighs, heating the tips of your ears, forcing you to bite back a moan.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Matt asks, nudging your foot with his cane.

What about Frank?

The memory of the obvious tent in Frank’s jeans tugs on the knot building behind your stomach.

“I– well, I have the apartment to myself tonight, so I could cook. For you,” Matt says, voice lined with anticipation.

“Huh,” you look up, swallowing a laugh. “Frank isn’t home tonight?”

Matt scrunches his face. “Uh… no. He said he had something on. I figured I might as well take advantage of the quiet.”

In an instant, a thought blossoms in your mind. It’s devious, it is so goddamn devious, but oh…

So are you.

You step forwards, breath coming out a little shaky as the heat from his body reflects onto yours. Reaching a hand up to his lapel, you brush off the lint you were eyeing earlier, indulging in the earnest grunt that falls from Matt’s lips.

“7 PM,” you whisper in his ear. “Meet me at the wine bar between 10th and 11th.”

He presses your hand against his collarbone, holding it steady as he tilts his head downwards. You’re shuddering at his touch, at the warmth and tingles it shoots through your veins, at the unexpected coarseness of his hands.

“It’s a date,” he confirms, letting go of your hand, the dimples in his grin remaining as he unlocks the door to his apartment.

The wine bar is intimate; only the sounds of hushed whispers and the clinking of glasses keeping you company. You tap your fingers against the lacquered wooden table, sucking in your cheeks as you look at the time. 7.15 PM. You’re a little annoyed, not just at the fact that they’re late, but at the straps of your sundress, thin and finicky things sliding off your shoulders with even the tiniest of movements. A sigh escapes your lips, condensation blooming across the wineglass in front of your face. Maybe they figured you’d double booked them, asked them to the same venue and on the same date without saying much more. So much for your devious little plan, huh?

You pick at your nails, wine crisp on your tastebuds, each subsequent sip making you dizzy, but slowly taking the edge off. Who cares if they don’t show up? You need a night out anyway.

As if on cue, the door opens, catching on the little silver doorbell, and Frank steps inside, a bouquet of flowers in hand. Your breath hitches in your throat as you take him in. He’s somehow even more ruggedly handsome tonight, sharp jawline perfectly illuminated by the warm lighting.

He apologises to you profusely, pulling you in for a tight hug, the contact from the muscles flexing under his thin shirt heating your skin. He motions to the bartender for a glass of whatever you’re having, setting the flowers down beside you.

He rests his forearms on the table, dark eyes peering into yours. “Will you excuse my tardiness, pretty girl?”

Oh, my fuck. What the hell is it with you and nicknames?

‘Pretty girl’ jolts you upright with a throb, and it takes every single ounce of strength you possess not to just uproot him by the collar and have him right then and there. Unfortunately, your reaction is poorly masked, and you’re forced to watch as Frank’s knowing smile grows, stretching larger as the bartender brings him his drink.

“Cheers,” he says, lifting his glass to yours, tongue peeking out to wet his lips, eyes moving lazily up and down your torso.

Frank leans back in the booth as he takes a sip, his shirt riding up to expose the smallest sliver of skin. “So, uh, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s the reason for,” – he waves his hands around – “all this?”

You swallow what’s left of your wine, pressing your lips together. What were you supposed to say, that you were sick of the sexual tension and all you wanted was to have fun with Frank and his equally sexy roommate?

You say something else instead. “I like being spontaneous, Frank.”

He cocks his head to the side, raising his eyebrows. “S’that so?”

You let out a sharp laugh. “I’m sick of doing the same thing all the time, and I need a little change in scenery.”

Frank shuffles towards you, muscles rippling under his long-sleeved shirt. “And you think I can do that for ‘ya?”

A half-smirk tugs on the corners of your lips as your fingers start to dance to where his hands are resting on the table…

But you jerk your hand back, ears pricking up at the sound of the door swinging open and slamming against the wooden frame, followed by a loud ‘sorry’ offered to whoever’s tending the bar.

Your stomach turns as the bartender guides Matt to your table at your signal.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Still think this is a good idea?

You’re not sure where to look as Frank’s sour expression shoots daggers straight at you, moving over hesitantly to make room for Matt in the booth.

Matt’s cold shoulder towards Frank is way too obvious as he sits down, setting his neatly folded cane on the table.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he swallows, “I had something I had to… take care of. But I came here as soon as I could.”

You glance down, flinching at the scabs across his knuckles, at the deep purple bruise on his cheek marring his features. There it is again, that thing about him you can’t quite figure out.

“Yeah, okay, the fuck is this?” Frank turns to you, quizzical look bordering on anger.

“I’m sorry, I thought this was a date,” – Matt chimes in, wagging his finger at you – “between the two of us”.

“She asked me here, Red,” Frank whips his head around, shoulders tensing.

Matt scoffs, throwing his head back. “You? She asked you.”

Frank grits his teeth, fists clenching tightly together. “Shut the hell up. At least I had the decency to get the lady flowers.”

Matt laughs scornfully. “Oh yeah Castle, that’s so original of you.”

“We needa take this outside, Red?”

The clink of three whiskey glasses being set down on your table is loud enough to collapse their argument.

The server clears their throat. “Excuse me. Courtesy of that man over there,” — they pause, pointing — “if you keep it down.”

You thank the server, flashing an apologetic smile at the man in the corner, and pull a glass towards you, tipping it straight into your mouth. Frank does the same, waving at the bar for three more, while Matt sips his furtively, licking his lips before he swallows.

“I can explain,” you start, grateful for the warmth of the whiskey spreading through your veins.

Your face grows hot as Matt and Frank sit back in the booth, training their attention on you. With your heart thundering in your chest, the alcohol rushes to your head, hitting you with that little bit of confidence you need.

You lean forwards on the table, cocking your head to the side. “Let’s not sugarcoat this, alright?”

Frank shoots a sideways glance at Matt.

“You two think you’re so slick with your looks, and comments and… sink fixing,” you say, fingers curling into fists, “but the truth is, you don’t hide it well. At all.”

Matt presses his lips together as he slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose, while Frank takes a shallow breath.

Your forearms are now completely on the wood as you inch closer. “If you want me, you can just say so.”

The space between the three of you suddenly goes dead quiet; so quiet it’s as if time has fallen away, leaving you in your own little bubble.

“It’s lucky,” you pause, “that I have an affinity for you both. And I thought maybe… just maybe, we could have a little fun together.” You turn your head, making sure Frank catches the mischievous glint in your eyes.

You’re so far forwards now that your head is in between theirs, and you bring your hands up to their cheeks, pushing them closer to you. With their heads almost touching, and your lips one breath away from their ears, you feel the shudder running through their spines reverberate into your body. “Maybe we can make it a little interesting, hmm? Only if you’re up for it,” you wink.

Matt’s smirk peaks your nipples, spurring you to lower your voice, words dripping like honey. “Let’s just say the person who makes me cum the most tonight can take me on a real date.”

To his credit, Matt keeps his cool, merely interlacing his hands together on the table, sucking his cheeks in. Frank curses under his breath, gaze narrowing as he studies you, contemplating your proposition.

Matt is the first to speak, his voice dipping an octave. “Let’s go.”

Frank jerks his head in Matt’s direction, eyes wide. “Huh?”

Matt’s tone is insistent now. “Let’s get outta here.”

“Fuck, Red,” Frank whispers, hand coming up to stroke his chin, as the server sets three more whiskeys down on the table.

You exchange a glance with Frank before you throw back the liquid, head shaking as it burns the back of your throat. They follow suit, wasting no time at all, and while Frank leaves a generous tip at the table, you make a beeline for the door.

The cab is way too small for the three of you, but you squeeze into the middle seat anyway, biting back a wicked grin as Matt leans forward to give the driver his address.

There’s not a lot of space – well, not when you’re caught between two individuals with the muscle mass of an entire Planet Fitness combined – but you try to relax, heart racing as your body presses up against theirs. Something clenches in your jaw as you shuffle in the seat, the paper-wrapped bouquet of flowers crinkling by your feet. You’re not sure where to put your hands, but they come to settle at the edge of your sundress, where it’s ridden up almost beyond the point of modesty.

A thick finger sweeps against the back of your neck, catching you off-guard. The half-gasp half-cough you let out is louder than intended, and it draws the attention of the cab driver, who looks at you from his rearview mirror.

“Everything okay, miss?” he asks, concerned.

You will yourself to snap out of it, out of that lust-filled daze, squeezing your legs together as the throbbing in between your thighs intensifies.

“Yes,” you gulp. “Everything’s fine, thank you.”

Frank waits until the driver flicks his gaze back to the road ahead. “Didn’t mean to scare ‘ya, sweetheart. You want me to stop?”

You purse your lips. “No.”

He takes his hand away from your neck and hovers over the patch of skin your sundress did cover. He drags the tips of his fingers up your thigh, stopping just high enough to hear the tremble in your breath, shooting you a half-smirk as you suck your cheeks in.

“Frank.” Matt’s tone is stern as he tilts his chin upwards, nostrils flaring with his rising temper. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

Frank’s laugh is mirthlessly low. “Who said that, Red?”

You stare at your knee, at the big hand that’s found its mark. You’ve never noticed how gorgeous Frank’s hands are, the way he keeps his fingernails neatly trimmed, forked veins on the topside pulsating as he grips tighter, the light pink striations of healed scars running over his knuckles. And those fingers… God, if his fingers are that thick already, what would his–

You bite down on your lip, hard, as Frank pulls your knee towards him, spreading you apart in the seat. Fuck. Every nerve in your body is on fire as he lifts your hand up to his mouth, static electricity buzzing as his lips graze over your knuckles.

While Frank’s other hand slides under your dress, up to where the thin waistband of your panties sit, Matt leans over, as if to fix his seatbelt. Your eyes lull back in your head as he creeps forward instead, fingers skimming the inside of your thigh, their combined actions threatening to elicit a moan from your lips.

You’re not in control anymore.

Actually, you haven’t been in control for ages. It takes all of your willpower – well, what’s left of it – to not cry out, to not sit as far back as possible and let them…

“That’ll be $29.30,” the driver announces, brakes screeching as he pulls up outside your apartment building.

“Fuck!” you curse under your breath, reaching for your purse as you pull down your dress.

Matt grabs your wrist, locking it in place as he takes out his wallet, gliding one finger along the top of the bills.

“I think this is a 50… Frank, a little help please?” Frank grunts in agreement as Matt hands the bill to the driver. “Keep the change.”

You don’t care that you flash Frank a little as he helps you out, smirking as you watch his chest tighten at the little scrap of fabric barely covering you, clenching the bouquet of flowers in his other hand. You yelp as he pulls you out towards him, flush against the hard muscle of his chest.

His gaze is piercing as he tips your chin upwards, irises paper thin around blown pupils. “You sure you know what you’re gettin’ into, pretty girl?”

You swat his hand away. “Oh Frank, I’m not quite sure you’re ready for me.”

“What, you think I can’t handle you or somethin’?”

He trains his eyes on your mouth as it shifts into a wry smile, your tongue darting out to lick your lips in one smooth motion. Frank opens his mouth to retort, to say something with the intention of buckling your knees, but Matt walks up to you with perfect timing, offering you his arm.

“Walk with me?”

Frank groans, throwing his head back. “How many times do I have to tell ‘ya, Red? You can’t keep using that trick. What happens the day someone says no, huh? Can’t walk by yourself?”

A hearty laugh bubbles from Matt’s chest. “First of all, go to hell. Secondly,” – his voice drops to a whisper – “no one’s gonna say no to a blind man.”

He turns to you, arm still on offer. “Right, sweetheart?”

You savour the priceless look on Frank’s face as you take Matt’s arm, linking it in yours. “Absolutely, Matthew.”

The walk upstairs to their apartment is excruciatingly slow; every step laced with the type of tension that sits thickly in the air. Arm still in tow with Matt’s, Frank trails behind the two of you, the thud of his boots against the wood echoing loudly in the stairway. You can feel him staring at you, at the way your dress flutters with each step upwards, the little glimpses of your ass making his mouth go dry.

Matt stops on the next landing, jerking your arm to do the same. Wordlessly, he drops his cane to the ground, unlinking his arm, tilting his chin upwards as if to settle his phantom gaze on you.

His lips are on yours before you can say anything, hands dropping to your waist, inching you towards the wall until he has you pinned. You mewl as he slips the straps of your dress off your shoulders, trailing his kisses down your neck, pressing himself into you.

“If there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with,” – he rasps, nipping a sensitive spot on your neck – “you tell us, okay?”

He smirks against your mouth as you tell him ‘yes’, dragging the tips of his fingers from your collarbone down your arm.

But the kiss is over as quickly as it started.

“Hey, hey, hey, what the fuck, Red?” Frank spits, yanking Matt back by the collar.

“Fuck you, Frank,” Matt retorts, stepping forward as his hands tighten into fists.

You stifle a giggle, trying your best not to show your amusement at the flowers that undercut Frank’s tone.

Frank looks at you, nostrils flaring at the way Matt’s messed up your hair. “Darlin’, it’s a fair competition, yeah?”

Matt interjects as you start to agree. “Alright, Castle, then tell me how much fun you had before I got there. You had a head start.”

Frank throws his hands up in the air, shaking his head. “For God’s sake Red, I didn’t ask for you to be late–”

Matt presses his lips together, cupping his hands over his face, the exasperation in his voice imminent. “I had things to do, Frank, I–”

You clear your throat. “Why don’t you two save this for when we’re upstairs, huh?”

They turn their heads in your direction, nodding.

The two remaining flights of stairs disappear under your feet in a matter of seconds.

You swear you hear a crack as Frank bursts into the apartment, ushering you in as he scrambles to kick the front door closed. Matt lets out a little laugh as you drag him inside, stomach twisting as he yanks your hand, spinning you towards him. His lips find yours in an instant as he shrugs his suit jacket off, hands coming up to cup your jaw.

Bouquet of flowers still in hand, Frank rushes to find a vase, faucet creaking as he waits for it to fill up.

“Hey!” he yells out, “Better not start anything without me!”

Matt breaks away from your kiss to undo his tie, whipping his head towards Frank in the kitchen. “Like you waited in the cab?”

He groans into your mouth as your tongue swipes along his bottom lip, teeth gently clashing together as he steadies his hands on your face.

“Frank?!” Matt calls, pulling off his glasses.

“Yeah?”

“Here.” Matt throws his glasses at Frank, who catches them in one hand, setting them onto the counter with a soft click.

As his mouth meets yours again, Matt’s hands begin to wander. As his thumbs brush over your nipples, he dances his fingers upwards, lingering for a moment on the hollow of your throat, coaxing a soft gasp from you as he uses a knuckle to trace its outline.

His lips skirt your collarbone as he lifts your dress up, grunting as he kneads your ass, grinding his hard cock into your leg. He continues moving his hands up to where your panties sit on your hips, picking at the waistband, listening intently for the snap of the elastic against your skin as he lets go.

There it is again, that fucking smirk.

“Matt,” you exhale sharply, nipping at his earlobe as he snaps your waistband once again. “Matt…”

“God, I love it when you say my name like that,” he groans, tugging your panties down your thighs.

He presses closer to you, wedging his hand under your dress, tracing a finger up your slick folds. You’re squirming in place, chest heaving as he puts pressure on your clit, circling it in a way that pulls on the knot building behind your stomach.

You make a sound you’ve never heard before as Frank comes up behind you, thick hands gripping your waist, holding you in place, steadying you for something you’ve only ever fantasised about.

Matt sinks his fingers into you, thumb still moving over your clit, brushing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

“Attagirl,” Frank whispers, as you tip your head back into his shoulder, vision going blurry at the way Matt curls his fingers inside you.

You’re a mess, dripping all over his hand, keening into his touch.

Frank’s voice is husky in your ear. “Look up at – that’s right, baby, look up at me.”

You stare into Frank’s eyes, mouth parted in a perfect ‘o’ as Matt growls, thumb so slick with your arousal that he glides over your clit with ease. All you manage to get out is ‘mmhm’ before Frank brings his fingers to your lips, commanding you to ‘suck’.

Frank purses his lips, throat bobbing as you seal your mouth around his fingers, bucking against Matt’s touch, eyes rolling back as he hits the back of your throat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“That’s right, darlin’,” Frank rasps, watching the uneven rise and fall of your chest, the telltale sign of your impending release.

Your cry is muffled as your orgasm rips through your body, flooding Matt’s hand, his own slacks staining with his leaking precum. There’s a string of spit clinging to Frank as he slides his fingers out from your mouth with a pop, but it doesn’t phase him; not one bit. In fact, he tips his head down to look at you like a trophy, something like a mix of awe and desire manifesting in his darkened gaze.

You wobble as Matt and Frank step away from you, slipping your dress off as you right your balance on the couch behind, bracing your wrists on the soft leather.

But there’s no rest for the wicked, and Frank beckons you towards him as he pulls his shirt off, leaving it in a heap on the floor. He sweeps you in for a kiss, full lips insistent against yours. He’s a little rougher than Matt, but somehow, his mouth is more forgiving, warm and soft as it melds to yours. You break the kiss, stepping back for a second to look him up and down, taking in as much detail as possible.

“Holy hell,” you say, Frank’s responding expression evidence that you actually said that out loud, and not in your head.

He looks at the floor, shyly messing a hand through his hair. “S’there uh… something you like?”

“Something I like?!” you exclaim, ogling him.

“Shut up, Frank. How the– Oh my God, Matt, get over here,” you command, motioning Frank to come up behind you.

You waste no time in unbuttoning Matt’s shirt, working your way from top to bottom. Unlike Frank and his efforts to woo you by walking around shirtless, you’ve never seen Matt without clothes on. He’s always in something, to your disdain…

Until now.

A gasp escapes your lips – partly from the way Frank’s leaving marks all over your neck – at Matt’s tanned skin underneath, at what he’s been hiding this entire time. You run your hand over the vast expanse of him, jaw dropping as he flexes underneath your hand, rigid muscle sending heat to your core. Your heart stills at the scars flecking his torso, some well healed, some angry and red as if they’re new.

Frank skirts his fingers over your nipples, pulling from you the tiniest whimper.

“Uh…” Matt starts, vacant eyes flicking upwards. “I can explain–”

Your voice hushes to a whisper. “Don’t worry about it, Matty, j-just… just c’mere, okay?”

The sound of Frank’s belt being unbuckled makes your breath catch in your throat, the clinking of metal ringing faintly in your ears as your fingers graze the deep vee lines on Matt’s hips. You watch as Matt sucks his cheeks in, cock twitching against the fabric of his slacks as you hook yourself into his waistband, pulling him closer to you by his belt.

Your mouth melts against his before you turn to Frank, who you know is desperate for attention from the way his arousal presses hard into your back. His tongue slips against yours, hand curving your jaw, tracing the contours of your face before it settles on your breast, drawing out a stifled moan as he rolls your nipple with his thumb and forefinger.

“Alright Red,” Frank pants into your mouth, “I’m done being nice.”

Matt laughs scornfully as he kisses your neck hungrily, reaching around to your aching cunt once more.

Frank grunts as you palm him over his underwear, throwing his head back at the sensitivity of your touch. “Baby, did he make you cum good?”

You gulp, nodding as Frank smacks Matt’s hand away, rough fingers taking residence on your clit. “Yeah, Frank.”

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “Really? ‘Cause that was altar boy’s first time touchin’ a pussy.”

Matt puffs his chest out, striding forward. “Oh, you–”

Frank offers Matt nothing but a smug laugh as he picks you up over his shoulder, fingers digging into your waist as he carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing. Goosebumps erupt all over you as the cool leather makes contact with your skin, then as Frank knocks your knees apart with the push of a hand. A chill runs down your spine as you bare yourself to them, and although you know Matt can’t see you spread out like you want him to, you get the idea he knows exactly what’s going on; maybe the scent of your heightened arousal is easier for him to pick up.

“I haven’t let you off the hook, Castle,” Matt snarls. “You and me? After this we’re gonna settle it our way, yeah?”

“If it makes you sleep better at night, then yeah,” Frank retorts, head settling in between your legs.

Matt curses under his breath, fists coming up to press against his forehead. “Okay– just, fine. Just describe her to me Frank? Can you do that, then we’re even?”

“For now.”

“Fine, for now.”

You wiggle up on the couch, propping yourself up by your elbows as Frank flares his nostrils, inhaling you before him. “Fuck Red… the way she’s lyin’ on her back, spread out like this…”

Matt shudders as he palms himself, nodding.

You feel yourself heating up as you continue listening. “And she’s– she’s fucking drippin’, God, fuck.”

“Yeah?” Matt pants, shrugging off his slacks, hand closing around his cock as it springs free, tip leaking with precum. “Keep going.”

“And now, I’m gonna lick her pretty little clit.” Frank looks into your eyes, lips pressed together in a hard line. “You want me to do that for you, baby?”

The way your breath shakes as you say ‘yes’ makes the both of them smirk.

Then, Frank’s tongue flattens against your clit, drawing from you a sound you’ve only ever made while fantasising about them, only in the privacy of your bedroom, of your shower, and wherever else you’ve thought about them. Your back arches as he licks wet circles into you, pressure feeling like velvet on the most sensitive part of your body.

Matt finds a spot next to you as he strokes himself, eyes squeezed shut as the sounds you make travel through his body. You reach out, wrapping your hand around his cock as he leans over to play with your tits, marvelling at the thick length before you, at the way it looks like it was made for your pleasure.

‘Come here, Matt. You’re begging to be sucked’ are all the words you can manage in between moans, but he comes up right next to you, slapping his tip on your tongue. He groans as you lick along the underside of him, along the prominent vein that pulsates with every touch. He lets out a half-cry as you seal your mouth over him, taking him in so deep that he hits the back of your throat.

You start to bob your head, hand coming up to work his shaft in tandem, but Frank’s tongue slipping itself into the warmest, wettest part of you breaks you wholly, head tipping back as your peak sails through you.

Mouth and chin glistening with your cum, Frank looks up at you smugly, watching your erratic breathing as you come down from your high. He wipes his mouth before pushing off the couch to take his underwear off, cock so hard it slaps against his stomach. Your mouth goes dry at the girth, legs crossing over from the thought of him stretching you out; the pain that’ll give way to pleasure.

You get off the couch to kneel between them both, rug under your knees semi-cushioning you from the hardwood floor. A shudder runs through your body as you look up at them, standing tall over you, every hard contour of muscle illuminated in the dim light of the apartment. Pupils dilated and mind buzzing with the thought of every single thing you’d like to do to their bodies, you reach upwards, hands closing around their cocks, throbbing and warm under your touch. Your strokes are languid as you relish in the sounds that tumble from their mouths, string of curses music to your ears.

As your pace quickens, Matt tangles a hand in your hair. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this for,” he says, jerking your head back ever-so-slightly at the jolt of pleasure that runs through his body.

“Hmm,” you chuckle, flattening your tongue on his head, the half-howl half-cry he gives you making your legs shake. “And what about you, Frank?” You look up at him with innocent eyes as you shift to his cock, coating him in your saliva as he fucks the back of your throat.

He ruts into your mouth, grunting the words out. “Ever since I first laid eyes on you, darlin’.”

You move back to Matt, hand gliding easier along Frank’s length with the help of your spit, licking the underside of him before you take him all into your mouth. “Did you ever think this was gonna happen?”

Frank laughs as you push them together closer to you, taking turns to blow them. “You should see Red, jerkin’ himself to the thought of you.”

Frank jabs Matt in the chest lightly. “He’s not quiet about it.”

Matt turns red in the darkness, pursing his lips as his cock hits a spot at the back of your throat, making you gag. “Oh and what about you, Castle?”

Frank’s voice is gruff as he reaches down to play with your nipples. “Oh shut it, Red.”

You render them speechless for a second as you stuff them both into your mouth, stretching your lips to fit them in as much as possible. They’re big, bigger than you’ve ever had, so they barely fit, but God, you’re so good, trying to please them both at the same time.

“Fuck,” they curse, voices dropping an octave, Matt’s hand coiling tighter in your hair. Tears spill down your cheeks as you get sloppier, strings of saliva following you from one cock to the other.

“I can hear you,” – Matt pants – “saying her name in the shower.”

“Yeah, so? Maybe I did, once or twice.”

“No, no, no,” Matt laughs, “Not once or twice. All the damn time.”

Frank growls as Matt opens his mouth, fake moaning your name brazenly. “Cum for me darlin’, cum for m–”

A well placed kick to Matt’s ankle shuts him up, making him stumble backwards. “Yeah, okay, now I’m gonna say that to her for real.”

Frank shuffles behind you, bending you over the coffee table, pinning your outstretched arms at the wrists. The rug burn on your knees makes you hiss, but the resounding smack on your ass distracts you from the pain. It’s soothed by Frank’s wet cock slapping gently against his handprint, and then the trail of kisses he leaves from the welt to your pussy. He licks a broad stripe up your folds before plunging his fingers inside you, tongue exploring every part of you to see what sounds you make, what you like… what’s gonna get you to your next orgasm.

You let out a sharp exhale as you feel Frank being shoved away, the night air cold on your bare pussy, but you’re sent straight back to heaven as Matt’s mouth meets your core, tongue slipping inside your entrance as he spreads you apart with his hands. You recognise him by the way he eats you; he’s so much more gentler than Frank, taking his time with you as he worships your body.

But you’re not ready for the sensation of Frank lapping at your clit while Matt tongue-fucks your hole, the mewls and whimpers falling from your lips spurring them on to lick faster, prod deeper. You feel the pressure behind your stomach building to a crescendo, one that’s broken apart as you hear the sound of scuffling behind you, turning to see that Frank’s put Matt in a headlock.

Your eyes roll backwards in annoyance, frustrated at the way they’ve left you high and dry, a mix of your cum and their saliva dripping down your thighs and no orgasm to match.

“Darlin’?” Frank calls, slamming his hands on Matt’s chest.

“Yes, Frank?” you mumble, stretching your back over the coffee table.

“You want my cock?”

“Yes.”

In a flurry, Frank gets Matt flat on the ground enough that he can’t rise up to retaliate, not quickly at least, before pushing himself right into you. The combination of his thick girth and length makes you sweat, makes your eyes lull back in your head; the burn of the stretch slowly giving way to pleasure as he grinds into you.

He pulls back, far enough that you feel only the tip of him remaining inside, before slamming his hips into yours. You fall apart instantly as he drives his cock into that spot inside you, walls clenching and back arching as you pulsate around him.

Matt gets up, feet poised into a stance that screams ‘I’m gonna fucking kill you, Frank.’

“Did you? Did you just make her –”

“You’re goddamn right I did.”

Matt lets out an angry sigh before he helps you up, leading you to the dining table. He hoists you up on the table, brushing your hair to the side before grinning in your ear, every word dripping with want. “Alright sweetheart, here’s what’s gonna happen okay? I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve. None of that bullshit Castle’s been giving to you this whole time.”

The quiver in your breath makes him chuckle. “Ready for me to fuck that pretty pussy of yours?”

He drags his teeth along your pulse as you murmur ‘yes’ in his ear, nipping at the bruises Frank’s already left on your neck. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he traces himself on your folds, teasing you until you squeeze him, desperate for the gratification you know his cock will provide.

Frank comes up beside you, bending down to swirl his tongue over your nipple, fingers featherlight on your clit as he rubs it in small circles. You bite down on your bottom lip as Matt guides himself inside you, pushing until he can’t go any deeper, Frank’s fingers still wedged in between you.

He grits his teeth as he fucks you, one hand on your waist and the other wrapped around your thigh, the wet squelches of his thrusts almost too much for him to bear. Matt isn’t as girthy as Frank, but he reaches the deepest parts of you effortlessly, pistoning himself at an angle that makes you cry out his name. The way he drills himself into you echoes throughout the room, the sound of his hips snapping against yours the only thing you can focus on before you throw your head back, exploding on him.

Matt’s cocky grin makes you weak as he pulls out, chin levelling into Frank’s glowering stare. He brandishes his hands in front of him, palms pointed to you as if to say, ‘your turn now’.

Frank huffs at Matt as he scoops his hands under your ass, pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He wastes no time in filling your body with his, bending his knees as he drives himself upwards. You’re cockdumb at this point, eyes half-lidded and utterly glazed over, dopey smile the only thing you can muster as Matt tilts your chin up to his, kissing you hungrily as you moan into his mouth. Every thrust pulls from you a little mumble of unintelligible words, every nerve of yours firing at rates you didn’t think possible.

“Who’s winning, baby? Me or Frank?” Matt purrs, tongue scraping along your bottom lip.

“You’re b– fuck! Fuck, Frank!” – you say, in between his ruthless thrusts and the wicked gleam from his smile – “You’re both so good.”

You clench so tightly that Frank pops out of you for a second, but he doesn’t wait a beat to stuff himself back into you, continuing the relentless pace you know will have you ripped apart within minutes.

“That’s not good enough for us, darlin’,” Frank grits his teeth, hands digging into your ass.

“Sweetheart, I can’t even see and I know he’s not fucking you right.”

Frank snarls at Matt, swatting him out of the way as he lifts you onto his cock, off the table. Gripping your lower back, he pumps into you harder, the new angle making you want to tip your head back and howl. Ecstasy shoots through your veins as he carries you to the bedroom, cock still buried deep inside you.

He rakes his nails up your back as he uses your waist as leverage, moving you up and down on his cock with almost no effort at all.

“Yeah darlin’,” he groans, “You feel so fuckin’ good for me, you know that?”

You whimper in response, kissing him to muffle the cry that builds up from within… and your peak sails through your body, every muscle going taut, toes curling, fingernails leaving marks on his shoulders as your overstimulated body responds to his pleasure.

He lowers you on the bed, bracketing your head with his forearms, languid kisses matching the pace of his hips. You can feel every inch of him as he thrusts into you, body expanding to accommodate him as he stills inside.

“You’re fucking infuriating, Castle,” Matt barks, standing over the two of you as he strokes himself.

“Yeah, well, if you ain’t strong enough to fuck her standing, just say so,” Frank chuckles mirthlessly, coaxing you over the edge once more.

“You didn’t give me the goddamn chance!”

“Chance?” Frank spits, squeezing one of your tits, mattress dipping as he gets off the bed. “Oh by all means Red, be my guest.”

You’re caught between a gasp and a sharp exhale as fury embeds itself in Matt’s face, lips contorting into a snarl. You’ve never seen this side of him before; this dark edge simultaneously scaring you and turning you on more than you already are.

Something snaps in Matt.

He moves so quickly you almost miss it, akin to lightning flashing in a thunderstorm, pile-driving Frank into the bed so hard it’s a tangle of limbs and testosterone. Frank hits the bed, hard, hissing as Matt’s fist makes contact with his jaw, and then…

The soft splintering of wood, pricking Matt’s ears, sending him on high alert.

And the bed breaks. Two out of four legs collapsing in on themselves, the entire bed sinking on one side, catching all three of you off guard.

“Oops,” Matt grimaces, sheepish smile adorning his face.

Frank clicks his tongue, shaking his head at the broken bed as he gets up to his feet. “Goddamn it, Red. Really had to let your anger get the better of ‘ya, huh?”

You don’t care that your words are slurring a little. You’re cockdazed, and they better learn how to deal with it real fast. “Oh my God. You know what? I’m so sick of– I should’ve never made this bet if it was gonna get you two riled up like this–”

You wobble as you stand up, scowl scrunching your nose as you bare your teeth. “I’m so–”

Matt shuts you up with a kiss, not caring that your teeth clash a little, pulling you close to him by the ass. The feeling of his hard cock pressed up against your stomach melts you from within, drawing out a moan you can’t bite back.

“You’re right, sweetheart. We’re sorry,” Matt murmurs, tangling his fingers in the back of your head.

“Yeah darlin’, he’s right. We can get uh… a little competitive,” Frank lowers his voice, coming up behind you to press his kisses into your neck.

You scoff, but it’s quickly replaced by a soft sound, one that indicates you’re far from being done.

“I dunno, Red, you think she still wants us?” Frank grits, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Oh yeah,” Matt smirks, rubbing his cock on your clit, “I think she does.”

“I promise we’re gonna make it up to you, alright?” Frank teases, running his finger over the curve of your jaw. “Whatcha say, Red, wanna stuff her and make her scream for us?”

Matt’s devious smirk grows larger. “Only if she’s fine with it.”

He tips your chin upwards, the action exposing your neck enough so Frank can close his hand around it. “Are you fine with that?”

“You got some making up to do, gentlemen.”

“S’that a yes?” they say together.

“Yes.”

“Well, the bed is broken,” Matt sniffs the air, “but, we have all night and the entire apartment to explore, right?”

Matt’s grin is different now. Devilish.

And more so when Frank reciprocates it, eyes glinting with a feral hunger. “You’re damn right.”

#matt murdock #matt murdock smut #frank castle #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader smut #the punisher #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle x matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader x matt murdock #matt murdock x reader x frank castle #rhi's mutuals 💗#daredevil #rhi responds 💌#saintmurd0ck 200 milestone celebration #rhi writes 💻#x reader

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dibbiedabbiedoobie · 3 years ago

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Cage

Another voretober prompt! Cage, this time. Do not look at me for the fandom, I also have a Pri/de & Pre/jud/ice fic laying around somewhere. Vore brain never stops, not even for classic literature. I also did try to imitate the style a little but like... i am Bad at That lmao

Word Count: 1882 Fandom: The Gre/at Gat/sby Tags: safe vore, soft vore, unwilling prey, fearplay, fatal vore (implied, past) Summary: Nick is a tiny caught and conditioned to eventually become a pliant meal. Gatsby is the giant who steals him.

Shivering, I curl inwards on myself, trying to burrow deeper into my thin, raggedy shirt. It's terribly cold in Tom's cellar now that winter has set, and the metal flooring of my cage only saps at what little warmth I have left. I crouch on my toes, trying to limit contact, but it helps little. Really, all it does is upset my ribs, which are still bruised from yesterday's "training," as Tom calls it. In actuality, it's more akin to torture. At the slightest fault -- or even lack thereof -- he likes to squeeze me until my bones feel as though they're about to snap. It's most common for him to simply take me around the chest and crack a few ribs, but he's also narrowly avoided breaking my limbs and skull. He likes to drop me, too. Never from too high, lest he lose his toy, but enough to hurt and leave me winded. My body is splattered with bruises of various colors, like a macabre sort of painting. I wish I had someone to gripe with, to share complaints and comforts, but I'm the only one left. There were twelve of us, but Tom gobbled them up as it suited his fancy, forcing me to listen as they were slowly digested alive. Those muffled screams haunt my sleep, sometimes wake me up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat. I know I'll be next, soon. As much as I seem to be Tom's favorite, I'm still only a snack to him. The thought makes me equal parts terrified and relieved; God knows I don't want to die, but at least I'll be free from the bruises, beatings, and constant anxiety. My heart leaps into my chest as the cellar door creeks open, though my body is too sore to jump. A man appears, tall and broad and clean-shaven, with short-clipped blond hair. He wears a sweater vest over a collared shirt, and neat black slacks; if he weren't about to kill me, I'd call him handsome. As it is, I whimper softly and press as far away from the cage door as I can manage. Though I know my death is inevitable, I still don't wish it to come now. Surprisingly, he falters, almost as if my own shock put him off. His face softens, and he whispers a mournful, "Oh, poor thing..." I remain pressed against the back of my cage, mindful not to ever meet his eyes (a staple of Tom's training). His voice sounds so sad, and it thoroughly confuses me. Perhaps he's upset I clearly can't put up the sort of fight he wants? Or because I don't have enough meat to be as filling a snack as he would like? He bends down to get a better look at me, and I can't help but feel like a mouse under a cat's scrutinizing eye. Trapped, waiting to see if their captor is hungry enough for this particular meal. "Jay! Where'd you go?" Tom's muffled voice calls from above, startling the man. The giant -- Jay -- bites his lip, then flips open the lock to my cage. "Sorry about this, old sport." Immediately, I grab a hold of the bars -- for as much as this place has represented captivity, it's represented safety, too. Here, I wasn't hurt or squeezed or threatened. As awful as it was, cold and uncomfortable and dark, it was safe. More safe than the hands of a giant could ever hope to be. Jay... hesitates before reaching for me. I don't understand that either, though I suppose it doesn't matter much; he's still planning to eat me, and no amount of pity will stop his stomach acids. With terrifying ease, he plucks me away and lifts me aloft. His fingers are almost too hot against my frigid skin, and I can't help a sharp yelp. "You're so cold, old sport," murmurs Jay, yet again mournful. "I'll have that fixed up in a jiffy. Just relax, alright? Trust me." He opens his maw wide, too-sharp teeth gleaming in the dim lights. He starts to lower me inside, and suddenly I find my voice. "S-Stop!" I cry, beginning to wriggle for all I'm worth. "Please! No! Let me go, please!" Of course, it does nothing to stop the giant from pushing my body onto his tongue. My heart feels like it's somehow going even faster, and I keep squirming, though to no avail. Something raw and pained bubbles in my throat, until a scream comes out. What little light there is begins to dim, and I realize he's closing his mouth, Try as I might, though, I can't get the traction on his tongue to wrench myself free, not before I'm locked in the dark behind a wall of teeth. Jay ignores me, instead tossing me about and slathering me in spit. His tongue is probing, thorough with its work, making me squirm and fight against it. He spends far less time than I expect enjoying me, though; too soon, gravity tips, and a thick glk! drags me into the hot and tight of his throat. The powerful muscles squeeze my body, press in on my chest and make it near impossible to breathe, let alone squirm. I can feel myself growing light-headed, though I suppose that's for the best, given that I'm already going to suffocate. Unfortunately, I'm still conscious when I finally squeeze into Jay's stomach. For a long moment, I simply sit, let the dizziness fade. Then, I simply sit, let reality sink in. I'm going to die here. Soon enough, acids will pour from the walls, the air will thin, and I'll die. If I still had tears left, I might cry. Instead, I pull myself into a ball and wait; there's no point squirming, not anymore. The flesh around me groans, briefly squeezing me tighter than my already snug confines before relaxing. It's already trying to digest me, I belatedly realize. And yet, it never manages to get further. The acids never come, and there's little the churning can do to break down something not already acid-softened. The air, stale though it may be, remains breathable, somehow. Frankly, I don't understand it. Why would Jay eat me, but not digest me? Was it even intentional? What is he going to do with me once he realizes I'm not turning into mush like I should be? I can hear him talking to someone, presumably Tom. He seems in a hurry to leave, no doubt because he indulged himself in the last of the other giant's stock. Perhaps in a rush to get home, take whatever medicines he needs to kick his digestion into gear. I relax, just enough to settle. There's no point in remaining stiff; I'm helpless, and we both know it. The least I can hope for is death to be swift when it comes. I find myself looking around, feeling the walls, though I know there's not really much to find. It's as dark and cramped as I'd imagined a stomach to be, though much, much softer, almost like a hammock made of plush pillows. Saliva, or whatever the fluid around me happens to be, covers every inch, including myself. It's warm as well, warm enough that it feels like a blanket rather than just the air. It's... comfortable, I realize. Far more comfortable than I think an organ meant to process food has any right to be. I startle as something presses against my side and someone rumbles, "Are you alright, old sport?" I blink. Surely, he isn't talking to me. "Old sport?" Jay tries again, and the pressure returns, probing (I realize then that it's his hand). "I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to make sure that you're alright. Hesitantly, I push my hand against one of the fleshy walls. I'm not certain what he wants from me, but he hasn't killed me yet. It would probably be in my best interests to let him know I'm alive. "Oh! There you are!" His voice brightens, though it remains soft enough that it doesn't hurt my ears. "Are you alright?" It takes a moment to find my voice. "I... I think so..." Jay's acknowledgement comes in the form of a gentle pet against my side. "I'm ever so sorry for scaring you like that, old sport. If I'd had the chance, I would've told you that you'd be safe." "Safe?" I murmur, in spite of the fact that it's long since been clear that I won't be harmed. All the same, it's difficult to believe that was intentional. "Of course, dear boy, perfectly safe. Tom had bragged about catching a few humans, so I popped down to help while he was distracted." Jay's voice goes quieter, solemn. "...Sorry I couldn't have gotten there earlier." I whine softly, mourning the loss of people I never really knew. Distant they might have been, none of them deserved to die, and much less is such an awful, painful way. "I can't let you out quite yet," Jay continues, "but I promise I will as soon as I'm home. It's not safe for you to be outside right now, not with hungry giants with intentions far less pure than mine." "What are your intentions?" I ask before I can stop myself. I still don't know why Jay seems intent on keeping me safe. Am I a pet? A snack of sorts? He went through an awful lot of trouble for me, and it makes no sense. "To give you a home, old sport," answers Jay without missing a beat. "You're just as much a sentient creature as I am, and you deserve more than to be murdered in cold blood." "Oh." Jay chuffs sadly. "I bet you expected to be a pet, didn't you? ...It's not an unfair assumption, I suppose, given your experiences. But I said I'd keep you safe, and part of that is making sure you're healthy, mentally as well as physically. Perhaps it's just me, but the idea of being owned does little to calm my mind, even if by someone benevolent." I bite my lip, hesitant. "...Really?" "I promise." Something in my chest does a little flip. The prospect of somewhere safe to stay, where I don't have to constantly watch for hungry giants or have to struggle to find food and water is so tempting.... and if Jay had meant ill, I wouldn't be alive right now. But still.... "Will I be able to leave?" I ask. "Of course. Like I said, you aren't a pet. And you don't have to stay now if you don't want to. I only ask that you take some time to recover before you leave, for your own safety." I stare into the darkness. Such open, unadulterated generosity is strange to me. Other borrowers were constantly competing; there was no such thing as sharing, there. To have it from a giant is even more unnerving. Yet here I sit, nestled whole, safe, and alive in his stomach. I should be long dead, but Jay has been nothing short of hospitable. If it's a ruse, it's one I can't see through or bring myself to mistrust. "I'll stay with you, if you don't mind." Jay gives my side a stroke. "You won't regret it, old sport. I promise."

#dibbiewrites #v.ore #v0re #safe vore #soft vore #extreme cuddling #fearplay #the gre/at gat/sby #i suppose the vorified tag would be like #the great voresby #that looks silly but i guess it works #wondering if anyone else has written unironic gat/sby vore of if i'm the first

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peninkwrites · 2 years ago

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Wake Up. Ch 21 of ?

Wilbur gets to see his brother. Tommy gets his freewill back. Yay.

(CW: claustrophobia, descriptions of injuries, threats, abuse, dehumanization, self harm.)

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 20

Ch 22

Ghostbur hums as he drifts back toward home. He hasn’t been home in a long time, he thinks. Ghostbur sees the hillside where his sewer lays and quickens his pace, excited by the thought of maybe picking up a few invis potions. He could play pranks, if he wants! He could play a prank on Tommy. He loves playing pranks with Tommy.

He can’t seem to remember the last time he saw Tommy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement and turns toward the platforms of New L’Manberg. He sees Phil! He hasn’t spoken with Phil in a long time either, he supposes. Phil doesn’t seem to notice him, collecting dishes from the stalls outside, before proceeding back into the house, but Ghostbur doesn’t mind, he follows.

“Hi, Phil!”

Phil jumps, turning to face him, and for a brief moment he almost looks relieved. “Ghostbur! Sorry, I thought you–”

Phil pales. The glass he had still had in his hands shatters on the ground.

“Oh, fuck–” Phil runs outside.

There is no reason for Phil’s sense of urgency, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He knows Wilbur is already dead.

Punz gets Wilbur’s body back to the base, and here he stops, annoyed.

Up until this point he’d some how gotten it in his head that he would revive Wilbur and shove him Tommy’s way, but he can’t revive Wilbur. He doesn’t have any more fucking copies of the revivebook. So instead, it’s just him, a fucked up kid he still feels bad for, and a corpse. Which he definitely isn’t going to show to tommy.

Punz sighs irritably, abandoning the corpse in the dome.

He had also brought health potions for a reason.

Punz does a quick assessment of himself for blood.

He should’ve broken Wilbur’s neck. He’d been quick about it, stabbing him through the heart, but it had still been fucking messy. A lot of it was washed away by his swim down, but still. He has a feeling Tommy will recognize the diluted shades of rust on his white hoodie.

Who cares. Tommy will probably assume it’s his own.

Punz returns to the dark cell. The wall slides away to reveal Tommy yet again curled up on the floor, this time facing the doorway, his hands go to cover his face just from the dim light of the corridor. Tommy squints. His eye is still fucked up.

“Dream..?” He croaks out hoarsely.

Punz’s first impulse is almost disgust. “No,” he says sharply. “Can you sit up?” Punz kneels down in front of him, taking the health potions out of his inventory.

Tommy does so, slowly, carefully, watching Punz’s hands. “Did you do it?” He asks softly. He doesn’t know why Punz is here, but it’s not like he knew why he was doing any of this.

Punz freezes. He thinks of Wilbur’s body just down the hall. “...What?”

Tommy senses the tension, his shoulders hunching inward, flinching. He’s frantic again in an instant, “t-the chickens. Like you said, you said you would–”

“Yeah. Oh, right, they’re–” Punz relaxes. “They’re fine. They’re with some of the other animals outside my tower.”

Tommy nods slowly, relaxing a hair, considering this. He does feel something like relief, and with it there is still grief. He is still alone. “Okay. I think I believe you.”

“Not like I have a reason to lie,” Punz mutters. “Here,” he offers Tommy a health pot.

Tommy goes to take it before stopping. “Wait,” he stares down at his broken hand. He winces. “I gotta… can you help me?”

“With what?” Punz frowns.

“You gotta… Jesus man, use your brain, if I don’t set the bones, they’ll heal back wrong, and then you’ve got to rebreak them and fix ‘em,” Tommy sighs, offering his broken hand to Punz without hesitation.

Punz almost finds that more unsettling. There’s clearly a protocol here. What, first Dream would hurt him, and Tommy knew afterwards when he intended to heal that he could be trusted?

Punz decides not to think about it. “It’s gonna fucking hurt.”

“Yeah, I know, shithead, that’s why I couldn’t do it myself,” Tommy scowls.

“You still don’t know how to keep your mouth shut, do you, Tommy?”

Now Tommy pulls his hand back, reproachful. “You don’t make any fucking sense. Did you feel bad for hurting me or not?”

“What makes you say that?” Punz says dryly.

Tommy grudgingly nods, “I guess nothing.” He knows what Punz is capable of. He needs to remember how to be careful around someone other than Dream. There’s every chance that he’ll take the health potions away to punish him for getting mouthy. “Sorry. I just… I know it’s gonna hurt really bad, but can you just please help me? You won’t even need to make a splint if I have the health pot right after–” Tommy sighs, eyes closed for a moment. He’s getting thirsty now too. “I don’t want them to heal back funny because that’ll fuck me up super bad but I tried to set the bones myself and I just–” Tommy opens his eyes, looking remorseful and deperate. “Please?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I will. Do you like… do you want something to bite down on or something?”

Tommy gives him a look before offering his right hand again. “Just do it. I can try not to move. I was more worried I’d black out or some shit. I’ll… I’ll try to give you some warning if I think I’m gonna puke, though. That seems fair.”

Punz frowns, “why would…”

“You’ve never been in so much pain it makes you sick?” Tommy scoffs, almost with an air of superiority.

Punz bites back another irritable comment. He takes Tommy’s hand.

“What’s up with your nails?”

“What?”

“Your… I stepped on your hand, like. I don’t think your fingernails should be ripped up like this,” Punz stares blankly at the blood around his tattered nails.

“You don’t think–” Tommy mutters harshly. “You don’t think they should be– I’ve been–” Tommy gestures with his free hand furiously to the walls. “You were even– did you think I would cope well?” He snarls.

Punz is still not understanding. “Do you… bite your nails..?”

“Do I…” Tommy stares at him, mouth hanging open slightly. “I t-tried to–” Tommy nods toward the open doorway with a hint of desperate longing, even as he makes no move to escape. “T-The early hours– at least I think i-it was hours– I tried to get out, okay?! You have no fucking idea how fucking hard it is to– w-with the walls closing in a-and–” Tommy stops abruptly, hunching inward, tucking his free arm across his chest defensively, even as he hasn’t pulled away, like by virtue of holding onto Tommy’s hand Punz is more entitled to it than he is. He stares at the floor, furious and almost embarrassed.

“You…” Punz doesn’t know what to say. “You scratched at the obsidian. Okay. Uh. Got it. Makes sense.”

“Makes sense…” Tommy mutters sharply, mockingly, but he says nothing more.

Punz refocuses on his task. He’s reset a dislocated shoulder before, he’s stitched up cuts and so on, but he’s never set a broken finger. How hard can it be?

The last time this had happened, that Dream had set a broken finger, Tommy had blacked out after the first one. He’d had a lot of other things making him weak, so this time Tommy gets no such luxury. Tommy bangs his unbroken fist against the wall behind him, eyes tightly shut, jaw tense as he muffles a whine, Punz setting the first finger.

“I-It’s– fuck,” Tommy catches his breath, strange how pain can act as a blow to the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He tries again. “It’s only… the first three. The thumb, the pinky. Are alright. Just bruised. I think.”

Punz nods. He only stares at Tommy’s broken hand, not his face. He pretends he doesn’t feel uneasy. Another bone he pushes back into place. “This one is lined up right, it’s just fractured,” Punz says. He’s quick to let go.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Tommy says hoarsely. “C-Can I still have– Can I have the health pot?” For some reason Tommy is expecting Punz to revoke his offer, like the charity of setting his broken bones counted as already too much. All of this is already too generous. “Please?”

“What about your nose?”

“F-Fixed the nose. I think I fixed it right. Almost blacked out doing it too. I can get a little air in, and I think the rest is from the blood, so I’m hoping once it’s fixed up I’ll be able to breathe again. If not,” Tommy winces. “You’ll have to break it again.”

Punz nods grimly, handing him the bottle, uncorking it first.

“My ribs are… they’re busted up too, I think, but not like you can set a rib without cutting me open,” Tommy downs it, dropping it the moment it’s empty and curling in on himself as it feels like whitehot needles are seeking out his injuries and stabbing them back into place. His broken nose righting itself feels like getting punched again.

Punz glances up in time to see the swelling around Tommy’s eye go down. It’s still bruised, but it’s definitely better than it was. The same goes for all of him. His nose is still crusted with dried blood and the bruise along his jaw has gone from a deep purple to a greenish brown, his fingers are still clearly a little swollen, and the hundreds of tiny scratches all across his chest and arms become thin, scabbed over lines. It must be annoyingly itchy.

“Where’s…” Tommy looks past Punz to the corridor. “Where is he?”

“Not here,” Punz says flatly.

“Does he know you..?” Tommy gestures vaguely to his hand, the fingers still stiff and bruised, but the bones are at least correctly attached.

“No. He doesn’t need to,” Punz says coldly.

“Y-Yeah, you can say that, but if he sees I’m healed he might…” Tommy winces. “Have to fix that, yeah?” Tommy stares bitterly down at the empty bottle. “Maybe I shouldn’t have drank it.”

Punz grabs the empty bottle and stands. He doesn’t care if Tommy’s concerns are valid, the word that comes to mind is not wary or scared, rather ungrateful. “Not my problem,” he says gruffly, quick to make his exit, sealing the door behind him, pretending not to notice Tommy looking almost hurt by his hasty exit.

Punz heads toward the dome, starting and going for his sword when he sees a lone figure in a white mask standing in the middle of it.

Dream nudges Wilbur’s body with his boot. “What’s this?”

“Wilbur got smart. I talked him down enough to let me drag him here,” Punz says. Dream looks up at him sharply, but Punz answers before he can protest. “I killed him before we even got close, obviously.”

“Did you search him?” Dream asks.

“Yeah, I fucking searched him, do you think I’m an idiot?” Punz snaps. “He had a knife, dropped it in the community house, and I smashed his comm, dumped it in the Nether. No lodestone, no nothing.”

Dream nods. “Good. And no, I don’t think you’re an idiot, Punz,” he chuckles. “We just have to be safe.” Dream crouches down, assessing Wilbur’s corpse, looking at the hole through his chest. “So defensive,” Dream says and Punz can’t tell if he’s referring to Punz’s tone or his choice of murder. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching up with Wilbur. In a little bit. Wanna put him in his cell?”

“You’re not gonna revive him?”

“Not yet,” Dream bounces back on his heels, teasing him. “I gotta fix up Tommy a bit first.” Dream moves to go past him into the corridor.

“No need. I already did,” Punz says coolly. He’s prepared for a fight.

“What’d you mean?” Dream stops.

“I mean, you said unless I had health potions, I had to kill him to heal him. So, I got health potions and came back,” Punz turns to face him. He doesn’t want his back to Dream right now.

Dream exhales something like a laugh. It sounds more like a threat. “Yeah, but I told you that he was supposed to stay locked up alone as punishment.”

“Yeah, I know. He was alone all day. I had to go to the Mainlands and back to get the health potions, and Wilbur, obviously, but when I came back, I healed him,” Punz is all but daring Dream to protest.

“Huh,” Dream keeps his tone mild. “In that case, thanks for cleaning up your mess.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But he doesn’t know you have Wilbur, right?”

“No. No, he doesn’t. I healed him, I left. That’s it,” Punz hates that he still sounds like he’s defending himself.

“Alright. Good. This could be interesting, y’know?” Dream mulls it over. “And now that I don’t have to heal Tommy, I guess we can start here. How about I help you move him?” Dream grabs Wilbur from under the shoulders.

Punz doesn’t say a word and picks up dead weight from his legs.

They dump his body on the cell floor.

“Do you have a way to keep him under control? We wouldn't want a repeat of last time,” Punz can’t help but act a little petty.

“I mean, you could just grab Tommy. That’ll get him to behave,” Dream laughs. “Nah. I’m trying to think of a fun way we could do this, hm,” Dream remains crouched down beside Wilbur, assessing him.

“A fun way?”

“Always so disapproving, Punz,” Dream says mockingly. “You’re so boring sometimes. We’re only gonna get to make this reveal once, so.”

“Wilbur is here because he figured me out, just like I said he would when you fucking let him go,” Punz snaps. “I’m not here to have fun, Dream.”

“Well, how would you do it, then?” Dream stands, treating this conversation as something casual as he anchors a chain to the wall.

“It doesn’t matter. As long as they’re both here and contained.”

“Okay, then I can have fun with it, right?” Dream says mildly. He’s trying to push. Punz won’t let his annoyance get the best of him.

Something inside Punz snaps. “I want you to show me how to write the revivebook. I want to see the copies you have hidden away,” Punz says coldly. He’s tired of being dragged along.

Dream pauses for a moment, considering wrapping the chain around a corpse’s wrist before deciding against it. “Huh.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“No,” Dream is still too calm. “Just thinking.”

“The things I’ve done for you, Dream– If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have Tommy or Wilbur. Actually, you’d be either dead or locked up somewhere, wouldn’t you?” Punz isn’t quite shouting at Dream. For some reason, he doesn’t want Tommy to hear this.

Dream stands. “And without me, you wouldn’t even know immortality was an option, would you?” He says, still irritatingly calm, patronizing, almost. “You’d still be alone in that tower of yours, a mercenary for hire. What were you doing with your earnings? Huh? Get yourself a stack of diamond blocks, a block of Netherite, all of it for what, Punz?” Dream steps over Wilbur’s corpse so they’re eye to eye. Eye to mask. “To sit in that tower without a purpose. At least these pathetic idiots occupied themselves with desperately trying to take care of each other,” he looks back toward Wilbur, who remains unmoving. “You’ve been useful, sure. But nothing about you is necessary, Punz. I could’ve done everything you did, just might’ve been a bit more inconvenient for me. I have something you don’t. And you demanding it from me isn’t really encouraging me to listen.” Dream pauses, Punz can imagine he’s sizing him up behind that stupid mask. “I think you’ve forgotten your place.”

Punz wants to rip Dream’s mask off and shove it down his throat.

He’s right. Everything Punz had said was also true, Dream would be dead or imprisoned if not for him activating a second stasis right after they tried to pull him back, but none of that changed anything. Dream still held the only card that matters.

Punz gives one curt nod, turning toward Wilbur’s body instead of facing Dream. “What is it you want from them?”

“What’s that?”

“What is it that you want from Wilbur and Tommy? What about them seeing each other again is… fun,” Punz buries disgust as well as irritation, arms folded across his chest.

“Hm, you know, I don’t really know,” Dream mulls it over. “I mean, you’ve got to admit the two of them… they’re interesting,” he rests his elbow on Punz’s shoulder, looking down at Wilbur’s corpse with him. “I still want to figure out stuff about revival, don’t get me wrong,” he says quickly. “But…” He stares at Wilbur’s unmoving form, at the hole in his chest. “I also want to see just how far I can push them. How far we can push them,” he puts his arm around Punz’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I’m not afraid to play the long game, I mean, I already know they’d both die and kill for each other, but that’s so small.”

“And what… isn’t small, then?” Punz asks reluctantly, but he’d be lying if he said some morbid part of himself wasn’t curious.

Dream must be smirking behind that mask. “You’ve got to wonder, y’know?” A laugh half under his breath. “What’d you think they’d do to each other? With the right push?”

Wilbur’s time back in the train station is a bit blurry. Hours in the living world means days here. Wilbur didn’t know how to cope. Decades spent alone, maybe he should be used to it, the back and forth of it all when Dream had dragged him around, but after those precious weeks outside, alive, even cared for, Wilbur opens his eyes to the faded white tile of the train station’s ceiling and feels like he cannot breathe. He doesn’t even need to breathe.

“N-No– No, I don’t– I can’t–” Wilbur doesn’t know who he’s pleading with. “I can’t!” Wilbur screams. He staggers to his feet, looking around wildly. He doesn’t try the doors. He doesn’t claw at the walls. He knows better than that. He knows more than ten years better.

He paces.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck–” Wilbur hits his forehead with his palm at each word. “FUCK!” he screams to the walls he knows every corner of, every crack in the tile, every flicker of the sterile, artificial lights.

Wilbur does not try to leave.

He needs to hurt himself.

Wilbur is trembling as he sits against one of the pillars by the tracks, yanking at fistfuls of his own hair. He can hear his own frantic breathing, he can feel the stinging pain of his scalp, he can see white. fucking. tile.

Wilbur screams until his voice is raw, until he swears he can taste blood, his ears, his jaw, it all aches next to his vocal chords feeling like an open wound.

It isn’t enough.

The train station still burrows under his skin like a parasite, a possession, a violation. He cannot escape it.

However many hours, days, he spends screaming until he bleeds, he doesn’t look around, he keeps on staring at the floor, these concrete slabs he has memorized as much as the rest of them, the crack from one pillar to the edge of the platform, the corner of the one below it is stained a different shade of grey, so he doesn’t notice the handprints of blue ink clawing at the walls, smearing Tommy’s drawings.

“Wake up.”

Wilbur blinks away white pillars and opens his eyes to two figures standing over him.

“O-Oh, hi–” Wilbur stammers out the first thing that comes into his head, other than that not moving from his place on the ground.

Punz and Dream exchange a look.

“Mhm. Hi, Wilbur,” Dream says with dry amusement. “You ready to see Tommy?”

Wilbur is wary now, sitting up on his elbows. “Where is he? Why’re you…” Wilbur doesn’t know what to ask. Why are you letting me? What’s the catch?

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Dream sighs. “Look, I am going to offer Tommy something. And, you’re going to want him to accept. I know you will, that’s how you two just are,” he says it like an insult. “But you’re going to beg him not to. At the very least, you’re gonna keep your fucking mouth shut, because if you don’t–” Dream gestures to Wilbur, as if expecting something. “Come on, Wilbur, it hasn’t been that long,” he laughs, teasing. “If you don’t?”

Wilbur glances furtively around the room, struggling to get his bearings, there’s a dining table shoved against the wall, the rest of it is much of what he’s seen before, damp stone brick, dim sea lanterns. Punz has remained distant, arms folded across his chest, expression carefully neutral.

Wilbur swallows thickly. His chest feels strangely taut around the fresh scarring from yet another instance of getting stabbed through the chest. “You’ll hurt Tommy.”

“Knew you’d get there eventually,” Dream pats him on the shoulder and Wilbur scowls, pulling away, struggling to get to his feet on weak and unsteady legs. Dream heads for the exit.

“W-Wait– What’re you… what’re you offering to Tommy?” Wilbur asks weakly.

Dream waves him off, not even bothering to look back. “Not like it matters.”

Wilbur glances at Punz, assessing, briefly, if he might be able to attack the man and get away with it.

Not an option anymore. Tommy is here.

Tommy stays curled in a ball. He’s trying to make himself smaller, maybe that way the walls won’t feel so close. If he stays in the very center of the room, on his side, hunched inward, knees tucked into his chest, he doesn’t touch the walls. He can try to pretend there’s more room than there actually is. The lack of broken bones is a relief, but he almost misses the distraction. If he gives himself a goal, it stops him from clawing at the walls, he’d stopped clawing at the walls ages ago, and now his task is to not move. If he doesn’t move, he doesn’t feel like the walls are closing in on him.

Thirst right now is just irritating, but that is made worse knowing what comes next, the point where the thirst will be painful. Other than Punz’s visits, he has no sense of how long it’s been or of how long he’ll be kept locked away.

What if it starts raining again? How’s a run through the jungle feel right about now?

Tommy whines, burying his head in his hands, even as that hurts his black eye and his bruised fingers. Everything hurts, just because it’s gone from broken bones and open wounds to bruises and scabs doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.

Tommy doesn’t know what he’s hoping for. Maybe he’ll get lucky and be allowed some sleep in his cell, maybe he’ll be able to get food and water too.

Fuck.

There is nothing to hope for and nowhere to go from here. There is no light at the end of the tunnel because there’s only the tunnel. There is no light, there is no end. He feels too young for all of this, too young to be this tired.

How had he kept hope last time? He’d believed in rescue. How had he done that?

Is that what you want, Tommy? To think help is coming? To spend the rest of eternity believing in a lie?

Tommy thinks it might be too late for that. He’s gone too far now to fall back on desperate hope. That hope had saved him once.

You were saved because you could reach someone. Wilbur, Ghostbur, Ranboo. Who can you reach now? Punz?

He’s a fucking joke.

The wall of obsidian opens. He sits up and this time the room doesn’t spin. He squints at the figure outlined in the doorway.

“What now–?” Tommy makes the mistake of assuming it would be Punz. Tommy yelps as Dream grabs him by the hair, dragging him to his feet, Tommy fumbling to hold onto Dream’s wrist to stop the pain from being quite so blinding. Tommy is startled, but he certainly isn’t surprised. “S-Sorry, I’m sorry, I–”

“Shut up.”

Tommy shouldn’t have taken the fucking health potion. Now Dream is going to break him again. He’s suffered enough, he just wants this to end, why can’t he just rest?

Tommy is too focused on keeping standing, on keeping close enough that he doesn’t feel like Dream is going to rip his hair out, he doesn’t look up until Dream throws him to the ground, Tommy barely managing to stop himself from faceplanting by catching himself on his elbows, which causes a whole different kind of pain to shudder up through him. Tommy turns around, scrambling back, trying to keep Dream in his sights as he waits for another kick to the ribs, or maybe for Dream to hold him down and take out a knife. Dream doesn’t move, just folds his arms over his chest, seemingly smug.

“Tommy?!”

Tommy knows that voice. Tommy turns around sharply, he gets a mere glimpse of curly brown and white hair and a tattered trenchcoat before he’s throwing himself at his brother.

Maybe he should throw a punch, maybe he should be furious with Wilbur for throwing away what Tommy had fought and died– and died and died and died– to give to him, but he doesn’t.

Tommy clings to Wilbur and buries his face in his stupid coat, a sob caught in his throat as he holds on for dear life, because all he can think is:

Thank god. Thank fucking god I’m not alone please protect me Wilbur please keep me safe I can’t do this I can’t I can’t I just want someone to stop the hurting please make them stop please I just need someone to hug me right now–

Wilbur obliges. He hugs Tommy tightly, already horrified by the mere glimpse of Tommy’s battered face and bloodied shirt, the way he trembles, holding on as tightly as he can and even that’s too weak to hurt him. Wilbur feels an ache in his chest, a hole opening there that never needed a sword.

You came here to help him. How the fuck are you gonna do that?

“I’ve got you, Tommy. I’ve got you,” Wilbur murmurs. Tommy cannot bury his sobs any longer with Wilbur holding him, Wilbur blinks back tears and holds his breath as he starts to get choked up. He’d almost forgotten about this part. This time he can’t fall to pieces, he’s no longer dead, so this won’t be like that fucking ravine, he cannot abandon Tommy to this alone. He has to be the invincible one now. “I-I’ve got you…”

“Okay, okay I get it, you’re adorable,” Dream ruins things, as he’s wont to do. At the sound of Dream’s voice, Wilbur feels Tommy hold on tighter. “Cut it out for a sec, let’s talk, okay? And then you can go back to crying in each other’s arms or whatever.”

“What do you want, Dream?” Wilbur wishes he could kill that man with a glare. It’s two versus two now. No time like the present to revolt, that was always a good plan for you, right? some irritatingly tempting voice in the back of his head says. He glances down at Tommy, who still hasn’t let go. Right…

“I’m not talking to you, Wilbur. You’re a fucking prop,” Dream scoffs. “Tommy?” He snaps his fingers. He whistles, “come here, Tommy. Turn around, I’m talking to you.”

“He’s not a fucking dog, Dream,” Wilbur wishes his rage was worth something, worth anything.

Dream laughs. “Right, just like you’re not a prop.” He looks back to Punz. “D’you mind?”

Punz’s expression remains stony, but he gives the slightest of nods.

Punz takes one step toward him and Wilbur tries to get Tommy behind him, but the kid won’t budge. All he can do is raise one hand, the other still around Tommy, and try to sound like he’s in any way formidable. “Stay back, alright? Just– Just give us a fucking minute, where’s the harm in that? Just a minute, just–”

Punz grabs Wilbur’s extended arm by the wrist, twisting it around behind his back with expert precision. Wilbur staggers. He lets go of Tommy. Dream gets Tommy to release his vice-like grip around Wilbur by dragging him away by his hair.

“Wil!” Tommy’s voice is hoarse as he screams his brother’s name, eyes wide and terrified, reaching out towards him helplessly as Dream pulls him away.

“I-It’ll be fine, Tommy! It’s–” Wilbur struggles against Punz pinning him to the ground, wrists held together, Punz’s knee digging into his spine as he tries to look up and keep Tommy in his sights. Tommy who he can finally see properly, he can see the bruises on his face and the dried blood speckled across his chest and crusted from his nose and around his mouth. Someone beat the shit out of his little brother. Fury is too small a word for whatever animal is clawing at the inside of his chest now. There’s a piece of metal around Tommy's left wrist. That he doesn't understand. Wilbur forces himself to keep talking, to try not to sound hysterical. “I’m here, Tommy, I–”

“Shut up real quick, Wilbur. Just for a minute,” Dream says almost lazily, still steering Tommy by holding a fistful of his hair as he forces him to his knees. “Okay, I’ve got a question for you, Tommy.”

Tommy feels so much colder now. He doesn’t look at Dream, only at Wilbur on the ground. Until Dream forces him to look away, turning him to face him with a painful tug. “You’re listening, aren’t you, Tommy?” He asks warningly.

Tommy blinks, like he’s awoken from a daze as that white mask fills his vision instead. “Y-Yes,” Tommy says softly.

“Good, that’s good, Tommy,” Dream’s patronizing praise does not match his vicious grip. “You remember what I said, don’t you? You have your free will back! Yay.” Dream says sarcastically, waving toward Wilbur like he’s a present. “So, do you want to go back to the Mainlands?” Dream asks.

Tommy doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. He doesn’t understand.

“Hm?” Dream waits, and still Tommy says nothing, so he continues. “Now, obviously if you go back and tell anyone about Punz, I am going to send you pieces of your brother so shredded you could use him as confetti, but other than that, go wild. Move on with your life. I’ll have Punz keep you updated on how your brave big brother is doing. Just say the word,” Dream lets go, instead putting an arm around his shoulder, an unnerving mimickry of encouragement. “We can go right now. Think about it, we haven’t reset the stasis chamber yet, nothing would bring you back, and the lodestone– well, I’m sure your little buddies could help you figure something out. Although, I wouldn’t mind if you kept that, just in case– But anyway, I know Tubbo has been missing you,” Dream pats his arm. “So, what’d you say?”

“I don’t…” Tommy says, voice barely above a whisper, his mind in a tailspin as he tries to find some reasonable thought to cling to in this fucking mess.

“I’m not kidding. You know I’m not. I’m not lying. I have Wilbur now, and I told you once he’s back he’s your free will!” Dream looks over at Wilbur, still pinned to the floor. Punz keeps him on the ground, but other than that, he’s mostly doing his best to ignore everything that’s being said.

Wilbur understands now. He’s supposed to beg Tommy to stay. He’s supposed to make this more painful for him. But Wilbur would fucking never, just as he knows Tommy wouldn’t want to leave him.

Wilbur stares at Tommy, who doesn’t look defensive, or even wary. He looks like he’s thinking very hard.

He knows Tommy wouldn’t want to leave him.

What the fuck was he thinking– of course Tommy should want to leave him. Where the fuck did Wilbur get this ego? He’s hurt his brother enough, and he has the audacity to assume Tommy would choose this hell with him?

Tommy is so fucking tired. He’s tired of being scared, of starving and running and being fucking helpless while Dream takes everything from him over and over again.

He wants to go home.

He looks at Wilbur, who hasn’t said a word, and he knows Wilbur would let him go. Wilbur is pleading with him, begging with a look not that he stay, but that he get the hell out of here.

It’s what Wilbur wants. It’s what Tommy wants. Hell, it might even be what Dream wants if he finds it interesting enough.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna stay here,” Tommy doesn’t look at any of them. He stares at the water on the floor, not enough to reflect anything but the faint shimmer of sea lanterns, but Tommy can imagine his own reflection. “I’m gonna stay here with Wilbur,” Tommy repeats a little louder, a little more sure. Silence presses in. Wilbur feels disappointed, but he can’t help that little spark of relief alongside it.

“Okay,” Dream shrugs. “Fine. Like I said, your choice. You’re gonna stay here, but…” He chuckles. “Not with Wilbur,” he says it like Tommy is being ridiculous. “Maybe some other time, like, I’m not gonna keep you two apart all the time, but right now– why the fuck would I just let you two hang out?”

Tommy isn’t surprised. He’s glad he’d hugged Wilbur immediately. Maybe he should say something. He doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s not– No, h-he agreed to stay, shouldn’t that mean–” Wilbur, for his part, at least tries. Maybe he should know better than to try to reason for mercy. Punz drags him to his feet, keeping his arms pinned back. “Tommy, I’m sorry, I–”

“Aw, come on, Wilbur. I forgot how pathetic you got when Tommy was actually around! At least when it’s just you you’ve got a little fire in you,” Dream cuts him off mockingly. “Alright, I’m gonna go help Tommy set up his stasis again, and once I’m done, you do the same with Wilbur, right?”

Punz nods.

“Cool, thank you, Punz!” Dream is horribly cheerful. He grabs Tommy’s arm, pulling him toward the corridor.

Tommy resists for just a moment, turning back to look at his brother. “W-Wil–” He’s cut off by sharp pain ringing through his head as Dream hits him.

“Get the fuck away from him–” Wilbur snarls, struggling against Punz’s hold.

Dream just talks right over him, “did I say you could say goodbye, Tommy?”

Tommy shakes his head, cheek stinging, jaw aching. He doesn’t say another word.

“Let go of me– Just–” Wilbur doesn’t know why he’s struggling. Or why he’s begging. He can’t believe for a brief moment he thought he’d be able to protect Tommy. That’s a fucking joke.

Tommy lets Dream drag him back into the corridor, only brave enough to look at Wilbur with a silent pleading before he's out of sight.

“Wilbur, I will knock you out. Quit fighting. What’re you gonna do for him, huh? Try and fight Dream? What, so Dream can kick your ass and then hurt Tommy just to make you pay for it?” Punz is still handling him easily, the struggling merely irritating as he slams Wilbur against the wall, keeping his arms twisted upward and pinned between his shoulder blades.

"You're a sick fucking bastard– The both of you, what the fuck happened to him?! H-His face– He was all bloody–"

"What do you think, Wilbur? Do you really need to ask that?" Punz is sharp, almost defensive.

Wilbur huffs wordlessly, forehead pressed to the cool stone, eyes closed. He stops fighting. “What was… What was that on Tommy’s wrist?”

There’s a pause, and Wilbur assumes Punz isn’t going to answer him, then: “Why does it matter?”

Wilbur considers this gloomily. He’s been alive again for maybe a half hour and he feels drained. Still, he asks, voice quieter in his weariness. “...does it hurt him?”

Another pause. “It’s…” Punz hesitates. “It’s a lodestone. And…” he pulls Wilbur away from the wall now that he’s stopped fighting. “I don’t think so.” Punz refuses to look Wilbur in the eye. “Not anymore.”

#my writing #tddd #wake up.#crime boys are back!!#woohoo!!#:/

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givemethatgold · 4 years ago

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Fix’er Upper Pt. 8

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: none? Length: 2.1k Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series MASTERLIST

The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.

It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.

Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.

Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.

It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate.

Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods.

Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.

Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game.

Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang.

"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.

In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.

"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."

Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."

Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.

Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.

"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.

Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.

"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."

It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.

"I can manage-"

"But what about your-"

You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.

"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."

You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.

"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-

"Emmmm... hi."

His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.

Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.

Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.

Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.

"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"

You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.

For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.

Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband.

She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.

Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.

Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it.

Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable.

Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.

Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile.

The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.

Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.

She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.

Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.

You loved him.

You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.

Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.

Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.

"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.

Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"

"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."

This admission stopped you in your tracks.

"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."

He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."

"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.

Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.

"I trust you with everything."

PART NINE

TAGS: If you’d like to be added, send me an ask or a message! If you’re on the list please interact, I love getting your feedback, hearing your predictions, and all the “these two idiots!” comments

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov @trash-dino-5000 @reader-s-cantina @alberta-sunrise @pascal-rascal424 @bts17army @sarahjkl82-blog @grogusmum @radiowallet @vonschweetz @greeneyedblondie44 @diaryofkali @cassandras-nest @silverstarsandsuns @haapeaness @missstef23 @computeringturtle @julesorwhatever @keeper0fthestars @lackofhonor @metahigh @thirstworldproblemss @sergeantbannerbarnes @callsigncatfish @inaturenymph @agingerindenial @pedritobalmando @lord-of-restingbiface @marydjarin @sebbys-girl @apascalrascal @thisshipwillsail316 @bison-writes @absurdthirst @ubri812 @marydjarin @inaturenymph @hyperfixatingmenever @louderrthanthunderr @petersunderoos96 @dobbyjen

#Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x F!Reader #Frankie Morales x Reader #Francisco Morales x you #Francisco Morales x F!Reader #Francisco Morales x reader #Frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #Francisco catfish morales x you #francisco catfish morales x reader #fix'er upper

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quickspinner · 3 years ago

Text

Oops - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

Summary: A little too much alcohol, a drunken hookup, it happens all the time, right? Marinette didn't mean to drink so much, and she didn't mean to wake up in a stranger's bed, but she did, and now this morning isn't going at all the way she expected. When Luka asks to see her again, she can't think of a good reason to say no...and the one night she never meant to have turns out to be the beginning of something she never could have anticipated.

Alya thinks its hysterical--only Marinette could take home a one night stand and end up with a date. But when the one night stand turns into a series of hookups, Alya's starting to get concerned. Clearly it's up to her to rein Marinette in before the girl gets seriously hurt.

Rating: M - this is a little spicier than my usual fare but not really explicit? There’s a lot of off screen sex and reference to sexy things and adult activities, some drinking (obviously), cursing/foul language.

Credit to my tumblr followers for this one, because one day I went "hey, you guys want to see some bits from the folder of fics I'm never going to finish?" and one of the bits I posted was the beginning of this story, and people liked it more than I was expecting, and then it was "well, you know, I did think about doing blahblah" and "I'd sure love to see that!" and the next thing you know I've added five thousand words with no sign of stopping. In Marinette’s words: Oops. So, with much love to my followers and readers across platforms, here's the fic I never intended to finish, and I hope you enjoy it!

I'm splitting it into two chapters but they'll both be uploaded within a few minutes, so if you finish the first part and the second one isn't posted yet, just wait a little and try back. Also, much love to @livrever for talking me down off the ledge and beta reading this one.

Marinette woke up with a mouth that felt like cotton and a pounding headache. She groaned, and pressed her face into the pillow. It...smelled funny. Not bad, just...not like home.

Oh. Because she hadn’t gone home last night. At least, not to her home.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

Marinette jumped, and sat up, clutching the sheets to her still-naked body. Her head reeled and she whimpered as she pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. The door to the bedroom was cracked and she could see a sliver of light beyond it that blinked in and out. It seemed her...friend, was pacing in the other room, and from the sound of it, he wasn’t very happy.

“—crosses a line, Jean. What? No, that’s not the point, Jean, you got me hammered without my consent! How can you not see the problem here? No, you know what, my head is killing me and I’m sick of yelling at you, obviously this can’t be fixed. As of right now, we are no longer friends. Don’t call me, don’t talk to me, if you see me coming just walk the other way. I’m done with you.”

There was a thump and a sigh and an emphatic “Fuck.”

Marinette just sat there, holding the sheet over her chest, and blinked, trying to figure out what she should do and think through the fog in her brain. She didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience in these situations. Was she supposed to just…

Before she could form any ideas, he came in with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He had a pair of tattered but well-fitting jeans on with patterned boxers peeking out from the waistband, but no shirt, and there was a lot of muscle and bare skin on display and oh God he had sex hair, and it was her hands that had done it. Marinette swallowed and twisted her fingers tighter in the sheets, suddenly feeling a bit lightheaded.

“Hi,” he said gently. “I’m Luka, in case you don’t remember. Sorry if I woke you. How are you feeling? I mean, hung over, obviously, but on a scale of just let me die to I might conceivably want to live to tomorrow …” He gave her a smile that perhaps wasn’t entirely confident, and Marinette couldn’t help a small smile back.

“I think I’m not quite up to dancing to the metal band playing in my head, but pretty far from oh God where’s the bathroom, so I’ll take it, all things considered.” She took the glass of water he offered and he opened the aspirin bottle and shook a couple out into her palm. That was sweet, she thought. At least he wasn’t just tossing her clothes at her and kicking her out. How could she have let herself end up in a position like this?

Luka sat on the edge of the bed and watched her take the pills. “Man, you’re really gorgeous. I thought at least some of it would be the booze, but—“ He looked away, clearing his throat. “Lucky me.”

Marinette’s face burned. “Thanks,” she said softly, not sure what else to say. At least he was nice, she thought. At least she hadn’t slept with a jerk. And he’d certainly been...considerate. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself, just...

“How much do you remember about last night?” he asked. His voice was rough, but he kept it soft. “I’m sorry for asking but I was way more drunk last night than I ever let myself get and I don’t think I blacked out but some things are...spotty.”

“Most of it, I think,” Marinette flashed him an embarrassed smile. “The good parts for sure. The details and...transitions, I guess, are a little hazy. I don’t remember how we got here from the club, for example.”

“But you remember being here, with me.” His eyes fell to her neck and shoulders and he winced. “Man I really marked you up, I’m sorry. I hope that’s not going to get you in trouble.” His eyes widened slightly. “Please tell me you aren’t married.”

“No,” she yelped. “No, I’m not married. Totally single.” She put her face in her hand. “Absolutely, devastatingly, recently single.”

Luka let out a sigh of relief and gave her a sympathetic smile. “Bad breakup?”

She sighed. “Very. Bad breakup, bad best friend applying bad breakup logic that lands me my very first one night stand. Yay me.”

“Um, I’m honored?” Luka grinned sheepishly. “Although, I mean...it doesn’t have to be. Just the one night, I mean. Not that—” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Even as drunk as I was, I know I had a lot of fun last night.” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “And even before I got too drunk to function I wanted to get your number.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently one of my so-called friends decided I needed a little extra liquid courage.”

“I wish I had an excuse,” Marinette muttered, shoulders curling inward. “I just...didn’t want to be sad anymore.” She frowned as what he’d said and the conversation she’d overheard connected in her brain. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m pissed off,” Luka huffed, and then smiled again. “But I’m fine. I didn’t do— much I wouldn’t have done anyway. Just, not necessarily in that order, or that soon. As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“I’m...not sure,” Marinette sighed, adjusting her grip on the sheet she held to her chest. “I don’t know how I feel. I definitely did some things I wouldn’t have done sober. You, specifically,” she joked weakly. “Not that you aren’t—not that I didn’t—“

“I get it,” he chuckled.

“But...I’m on birth control, and…” she turned and craned her neck to look at the spilled box and empty wrappers on the nightstand. “We used protection, and…” she looked at Luka, worrying her lip.

“I’m clean,” he supplied.

“Me too,” she whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “And you’re hot and you seem nice and it’s not like it didn’t feel good, and I definitely wasn’t sad for a while, so…” She shrugged. “I’m a little embarrassed but...I think I’m okay too.”

“Well, no need to be embarrassed with me,” Luka grinned. “I’m definitely not judging.”

They sat smiling at each other for a moment, and then Luka seemed to remember something, because he winced. “Umm...about your dress,” he coughed. “I am so, so sorry but it seems drunk me was kinda impatient and your dress is in pieces on my living room floor.”

Marinette just blinked at him for a moment...and then she started to laugh. Luka grinned, and then started to chuckle along with her. She laughed harder and grabbed her head. “Ow, ow, oh my God.” Without thinking she leaned forward to drop her head on Luka’s shoulder.

He stiffened up for a second, but then relaxed, and one of his hands slipped into her hair. His fingers began to rub in small circles.

“Mmm, that’s good,” she sighed, and felt Luka’s chuckle.

“Well that sounds familiar,” he said, his voice going a little deeper. Marinette shivered. She felt him swallow, and his face dipped slightly towards her. “I like your perfume,” he said, and had to clear his throat again. Marinette’s face warmed.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. His fingers continued to rub her aching head, and the pain actually seemed to be receding a bit, though whether from the massage or the painkillers he’d given her, she wasn’t sure.

She should sit up. He was a stranger, after all, and just because they’d—she wasn’t exactly experienced at this kind of thing but this wasn’t really fitting in with what she imagined a morning after to be like. She probably looked weird, leaning on him like...like they were a couple or something, and—

Luka’s hands shifted and began to comb gently, slowly through her hair, and Marinette let out a small moan. She felt his breath hitch and bit her lip, embarrassed. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but there was a rough edge to his voice that—she was being silly though, he’d performed last night, and then they’d done all that drinking, and...and those other things, and it was no wonder if his voice was—

That voice was doing things to her, though, and reminding her of—things, and this time it was her breath that caught as the fingers that had been moving through her hair kept going down this time, sliding along her spine, raising goosebumps and reminding her that she was still very much naked.

“Do you, um,” Luka began, in the exact same deep tones that had made her leave the club with him last night. “Do you have anywhere you need to be right now?”

His fingers stilled, resting at the small of her back, and Marinette couldn’t see his face since hers was still buried in his shoulder. It was hard to think when he was so warm, and her nose was brushing his collarbone, and she’d hardly have to move to press her lips against his smooth skin.

She barely knew him. But...well...that hadn’t stopped her last night, so...

Marinette took a deep breath, and lifted her head, sitting back slightly to look at him. His breathing was steady as he looked back at her, almost too steady, but his eyes were dark.

“No,” she managed, barely above a whisper.

Luka’s hands moved up her back to trail up and down her arms. “Then, do you want to stay for a while longer?” They were swaying towards each other. “Maybe…” They were kissing before he could finish the thought. Marinette put her arms around his neck automatically, but as his arms went around her, pulling her closer, she dropped her hands back down again to rub over his broad, firm shoulders.

“Again?” he managed to get out between the fevered kisses, and Marinette made an affirmative noise, but he didn’t move until she broke away long enough to gasp, “Yes.”

He was pulling away the sheet between them even as he wrapped one arm around her and dragged her more fully onto the bed, settling her below him with surprising gentleness. Okay, that was hot, Marinette decided, burying her fingers in his already-messy hair as he began retracing the path he’d marked along her neck last night. Last night had been a really, really stupid decision, but this? As he pulled back to look at her, eyes clear and sharp instead of the hazy, unfocused gaze he’d had the night before, and brushed her hair tenderly back from her face before kissing her again, softly, and then deeply, Marinette began to feel that this morning was by far the best decision she’d made in a long time.

***

He should get up, Luka thought hazily, listening to his shower running. He should at least put his boxers back on or something. Change the sheets. Make some coffee. Something.

Instead he lay there, limp and relaxed, listening to the shower, and trying to hold on to this feeling of languid contentment.

God, he felt so good. Marinette was an amazing partner, sweet and so responsive, practically melting under his touch, firm and toned but soft in all the right places, and her little gasps and hums drove him crazy. She was bolder than he expected, an amazing kisser even drunk off her ass last night, and her mouth was so pretty and soft, and this morning...his body hummed with echoes of pleasure as he thought about it.

He rolled over, hugging his pillow, and grinned. He could still smell her perfume. That scent was engraved in his mind; it was one of the things that was clearest to him from the jumbled mix of memories of the night before. Luka remembered dancing with Marinette, dropping his head to hear something she was saying, and inhaling that scent, vivid despite the riot of smells that permeated the dance floor. He remembered being surrounded by it in the blur that was the cab ride home. He remembered gasping it in on the living room floor...did they fall? He thought he remembered one of them tripping over the doorstep. Even just now, with all his senses full of her, he had found traces of it on her skin, at her jaw and right behind her ear.

Luka shivered, buried his face in the pillow, and breathed deep.

He’d played a killer set last night, he’d gone home with a beautiful woman who was great in bed, had somehow managed not to humiliate himself despite his spiked drinks, and he had nowhere to be today. This morning would be perfect if he wasn’t dead certain that Marinette was going to leave and he would never see her again.

He really wanted to see her again.

Which was why he hadn’t wanted things to happen this way, damn it. He sighed, this time burying his face in the pillow to muffle his groan. He was supposed to flirt with her, get her number, ask her out, think with his brain and not his—hormones.

He was still going to kill his so-called friend. There was no justifying what Jean had done. If Victor had been working it never would have happened, but he’d called out for the night and apparently whoever had replaced him had been more than happy to make sure Luka’s drinks were stronger than advertised.

Bastards, both of them.

Even if it hadn’t turned out too badly.

Rock Giant blared out from his nightstand, and Luka flopped on his back and grabbed for his phone, forcing his eyes open as he answered it. “Hello?” he grumbled.

Silence. Luka frowned, and opened his mouth, but the person on the other end finally said, “I’m looking for Marinette.”

What? Luka frowned, and then pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. It was pink.

Right. Because he’d found Marinette’s dead phone on the floor this morning when he got up, and he’d picked it up and set it in his charger, while he took his own to the living room to call and yell at Jean. Then he’d hurled his phone into the couch and left it there.

Shit.

“Ah,” he said, reaching up with his other hand to run his fingers through his hair. “She’s, um, in the shower. I can tell her to call you when she gets out.”

“Tell her to call Alya. If I don’t hear from her in fifteen minutes, I’m calling the police,” the girl on the other end of the line said coldly, and then hung up.

“Oops,” Luka muttered, setting Marinette’s phone back on the nightstand with a sigh. He hoped she wouldn’t be too mad at him. He probably should have come up with a more ambiguous excuse, something she could use for a cover if she didn’t want to admit to this Alya person that she’d gone home with a guy, but he wasn’t exactly thinking on his feet this morning.

He should get up. He sat up with a groan and swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face.

He registered that the shower was no longer running at about the same time that the door opened. Luka looked up and his jaw dropped as Marinette shuffled shyly into the room.

Shit, he’d seen her naked less than an hour ago, why was he still blushing? She was wearing two of his shirts, a t-shirt with one of his button-ups over it, open at the front and with the sleeves rolled up, cinched at her waist with her scarf from the night before. He couldn’t look away from that scarf for a moment, a pink, gauzy thing the sight of which brought Luka another vivid memory of pressing his face against her neck to inhale her perfume as he untied it. His eyes flicked up to the lovely pattern of bruises along her neck.

“Thanks for letting me raid your closet,” Marinette said, tugging slightly at the hem of his shirt. She had what looked like a pair of his black bike shorts on underneath. They were too big for her but damn did her legs look good anyway.

“No problem,” he coughed, and cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water that was still sitting on his nightstand. Ugh, when did he become such a horn dog, drooling like this over a woman who had already more than satisfied him. Why did Jean have to decide to be a jerk last night, of all nights. Luka didn’t want things to end like this.

“Well, I should...If you maybe have a bag I can put my dress in? Then I can just go and get out of your hair.” Marinette couldn’t seem to be still, feet shuffling, hands fluttering, not looking at him.

I have to fix this, was the only thing he could think as he stared at her. I’ll regret it forever if she just walks out.

“Actually,” Luka said quickly, trying desperately not to sound too desperate, “I was going to ask if I could buy you breakfast.”

That stilled her. She froze, staring at him, and he forced himself to go on. “No pressure,” he shrugged, “But the café on the corner has a great all-day brunch menu. And I’d like to make it up to you, about the dress.” He grinned sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. Marinette’s eyes followed the motion and he thought he saw pink tint her cheeks. Well, at least it wasn’t just him. “Breakfast probably doesn’t begin to cover it, but it’s a start. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower.”

Marinette was shuffling again. “O-okay,” she said. “I’ll, um...I’ll wait for you in the other room?”

Luka chuckled. “Sure.” He waited a moment, but when she just stood there, he tossed aside the sheet covering his lap and stood. “I’ll be quick,” he told her with a grin that he was extremely sure she didn’t see. She squeaked as he passed her and he had to smother his laughter, even as he closed the bathroom door behind him. She was too cute, and her ogling made him feel less like a creep for his own.

Then he cursed and opened the door again, leaning just his upper half out. “Oh, I need to tell you, you need to call, um, Alya? I’m really sorry, but we have the same ringtone and I answered without thinking. Can you call her back before she sends the cops after me? I can’t deal with Officer Roger this early in the morning.”

Marinette paused, and then let out a strangled laugh, dropping her head into her hand. “Yeah,” she sighed, but she was smiling when she looked up at him. “Sure, I can do that.”

Luka smiled back. “I'll only be a few minutes.”

He did want to be quick, but he also wanted to be clean and attractive, so he throttled back his impatience as best he could to make sure that he both smelled and looked good. The bedroom was still empty when he came in, but the door wasn’t shut all the way and he could hear Marinette on the phone. He felt a little guilty for eavesdropping, but it wasn’t as if he could help it.

“—about that but it’s not like I ditched you on purpose. Well obviously I was wasted, Alya, so I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. No, I’m really fine. I’m kind of embarrassed and I feel really stupid, but...it turned out okay. Hmm? No, he’s really sweet and considerate. He’s, um, buying me breakfast, so…what? No, Alya, I’m not stupid, I know that. He’s just being nice and—okay that is none of your business! ” There was a giggle that followed that, and then her voice dropped too quiet for him to hear, and another giggle, one that made him smile from the sheer joy evident in it. “I guess I got lucky in more ways than one.” She sighed. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me. I really am fine. Not even sick, much. I mean I had a headache for a while, but...” She giggled again. “Luka took care of it. Mm-hmm, so good, Alya, oh my God.” Luka grinned to himself as he dug in his closet to find the stack of leftover merch he had crammed into the back corner. “Nuh uh, also none of your business. Anyway, I’m not dead in a ditch somewhere, and I’ll text you when I’m on my way back, okay?”

Stop being a smug bastard , Luka told himself, but it wasn’t working very well. Given the state she had reduced him to, it was gratifying to know she’d enjoyed herself too. Well, he had known that, he’d made sure of it, but it still felt good to hear it from her. Maybe his odds were better than he thought. He found what he was looking for and tried to turn his smirk into something less incriminating before he opened his door and emerged into the living room. From the way Marinette’s face turned red, he failed. “I really gotta go,” she mumbled into the phone, eyes on him. “Bye, Alya.”

“I hope this will do,” Luka said, offering her the cheap mesh tote with his band logo on it. “You can keep it, we use them to bag up merch when people by t-shirts and stuff for the band...I hope it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Marinette smiled, taking the bag. The pieces of her dress were already neatly folded on the couch, and she turned away from him to put them in the bag.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Luka told her, frowning a little. “I’m...not usually like that.”

“It’s okay,” Marinette sighed. “It was kind of flimsy, with just those straps to hold the pieces together. I’m not usually like this…” she gestured with one of the folded pieces, “either. I’m not, you know, sexy like that. I made it because I thought...well, I thought he would like it, and maybe I could wear it for a special occasion at home, but I never meant to wear it out , and then when everything happened, I thought I’d never wear it at all, but then Alya insisted that I had to wear it at least once and…” She shrugged, and slipped the handles of the tote over her arm, smiling up at him. “I’m just as happy to have an excuse not to wear it again.”

“Well, you looked amazing in it,” Luka told her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But I have to disagree with you about not usually being sexy. My clothes have never looked so hot.”

She tried to hide how much she enjoyed the compliment, but couldn’t quite manage it, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She’d had a breakup, he remembered, and probably wasn’t feeling too good about herself when she walked into that bar last night, dressed to the nines, and started knocking back drinks.

Then her blue eyes flicked up to give him a look through her lashes. “I find that hard to believe,” she murmured, and then blushed.

Oh he was gone. Luka found himself reaching for her, but stopped his hand before it touched her cheek. “Can I kiss you, Marinette?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Now, you’re asking?”

“Yes, I’m asking,” Luka replied, amused. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Marinette’s eyes darted to his mouth, and then back towards the bedroom. “I don’t, um...think I can…”

Luka chuckled. “Thanks for your opinion of my stamina, but frankly, me either. I’d be more than willing if I could, but, right here right now? I just really want to kiss you.”

“Why?” Marinette blurted, and then covered her mouth. Luka blinked, but before he could come up with any kind of answer, Marinette straightened and squared her shoulders. “Look,” she said briskly. “I’m sorry, I just...I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know what...I don’t know what the rules are? The...etiquette, or whatever...I mean I kind of thought once we were done with…” Her eyes shifted towards his bedroom again. “I thought it was just, over? And I would go home? So I’m...I guess I’m confused. About why you’re still...um...breakfast and kissing and all that, it just…why would you still want that, after you—I mean we—aren’t we, you know…” She floundered.

“Okay, hold on,” Luka raised his hands placatingly. “Relax, Marinette. That was kind of a lot to take in.” Luka chuckled, and looked away for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “I’m not gonna say I’ve never done this before, but...listen, I don’t have a playbook. This isn’t...a business transaction, or whatever. I just do what feels good. Dancing with you felt good. Kissing you felt good. Everything we did after felt good. This morning felt really good.” Marinette blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. “I just feel good with you. I don’t see any reason to put a time limit on that, just because we’re, um. Worn out.” They both giggled self-consciously, and Luka reached for Marinette’s hand, cradling it in his. “If you want to go, or you need to be somewhere, or if you’re just tired of kissing me—”

“I don’t,” Marinette said quickly, taking a half step forward. “I’m...not.” Luka smiled.

“Then just do what feels g—”

She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, dropping the bag on the floor. Luka’s hands found her hips automatically, steadying them both from her hasty move, and the kiss softened as they both relaxed into it.

“You’re right,” Marinette breathed, sending a shiver up his spine. “It does feel good.”

Luka kissed her again softly, savoring the soft plumpness of her lower lip between his, and rested his forehead against hers. “I could kiss you all day,” he rumbled, and cleared his throat. “But fainting from hunger probably wouldn’t feel so good, so. We should probably go.”

“Okay,” Marinette said, and then bit the lip he’d just been enjoying. “But maybe we could...keep doing what feels good? For a while? Until I have to go?”

“Hell yeah,” Luka grinned, and grinned wider when she rose up and kissed him again. He picked up her bag and offered it to her, and walked her to the front door and opened it for her, his other hand still entwined with hers.

They made it to the landing when Marinette hesitated at the top of the stairs. Looking over her head, Luka saw one of his nosier neighbors staring up at them, judgment in every line of her body. Marinette was frozen under the stare, red slowly creeping up her face. He could sense the sudden panic in her, and put a hand on her hip.

Luka leaned down by her ear. “You were the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen last night,” he murmured, smiling when Marinette shivered and turned her head slightly to listen to him, jolted out of whatever spiral she’d been in. “You completely blew my mind this morning. You’re a goddess. Own it and walk out of here like one.”

Marinette felt as if Luka’s words sank into her skin, warming her in such a way that she almost forgot what they were talking about. She was busy reliving the way he had arched against her, the praises he had whispered into her skin, the way he had clung to her, moaning as he came apart. She did that to him.

Luka watched as Marinette bit her lip, fighting the smile that was suddenly trying to break out. He brushed his lips against her temple and she looked up at him, still blushing but with a sparkle in her eye that did things to his heart. She reached back and caught his hand, tangling her fingers with his, and marched down the stairs, offering a cheerful smile to the old lady at the bottom. “Good morning,” she said, and Luka grinned shamelessly as they walked out of the door.

When they made it out of the building Luka suddenly pulled back on her hand, and Marinette gasped as he whirled her up against the wall and leaned down. Marinette rose up on her toes to meet him, cupping his face in her hands and they kissed fiercely. Luka braced his hands on the wall and leaned into her.

“Perfect,” he breathed, though even he wasn’t sure whether he meant her performance just now, or her in general.

Marinette’s hands slid from his face to his shoulders as she blushed and looked down, but then she looked back up at him, beaming, and Luka couldn’t help smiling back at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her lightly one more time. “Breakfast,” he sighed, and pushed off the wall. He held out his hand, and Marinette put hers in it, and they were both grinning as they meandered down the sidewalk.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and Marinette sighed blissfully.

“I feel...really good,” she answered. “Thank you.” She paused, and scrunched her nose. “Is that weird to say?”

“No,” Luka laughed, and brought their hands to his lips to press a kiss against her fingers. “Thank you too. I had a really good time. I’m glad you did too. I’m glad that...well, with the way things started. It could have all gone really badly, or not at all, and...I’m really glad I could show you a good time.”

Marinette blushed. “It was good. Really, um. Really good.” She sighed. “I promise I know more words than this.”

Luka chuckled. “It’s okay. Here, it’s this one.” He opened the café door, but he didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand, following right behind her into the café. They were directed to a booth, and he tugged at her, urging her to sit next to him instead of across.

Marinette only hesitated a moment. Do what feels good . Luka’s arm felt good against her shoulders as he laid it along the back of the booth, and he leaned down and kissed her without any trace of self-consciousness. Marinette’s fingers curled in his shirt. Kissing him felt really good. She should be embarrassed; she should be pushing him away. Hadn’t she heard over and over how important image is, and here she is making out with her one night stand, wearing his clothes, in a public diner booth.

Do what feels good .

It definitely felt good.

“God that feels good,” Luka sighed as they parted, and Marinette giggled. He kissed the top of her head, and then picked up the menu as a slightly wary waitress approached. Marinette glanced up at him in surprise at the rather domestic gesture, but then quickly away again. Stupid. They’d already had that conversation. It was just an impulse, not something to read into. Marinette looked up at the waitress instead, feeling her cheeks heat.

The waitress didn’t look phased at all. If anything, she looked bored. “Coffee?” she offered in a disinterested tone.

“Um, no, thank you,” Marinette managed to smile. “I’d like some lemon tea with honey, please.”

The waitress nodded, and glanced at Luka. “Usual, Lu?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Luka said, flashing a quick grin before looking at the menu again.

“Come here often?” Marinette teased, and Luka chuckled, then coughed lightly.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s close and I’m lazy, so…” He shrugged.

The waitress returned and set down a little pot of hot water, a cup with a tea bag in it, and a container of honey.

Marinette pulled away from Luka slightly to prepare the tea, but his arm remained behind her on the back of the booth.

“Here,” Marinette said, sliding the tea over to him when it was ready. “This’ll help your throat.”.

Luka blinked, and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and Marinette found herself blushing under his suddenly soft gaze.

“No, thank you,” she said, and he laughed as she reached over and stole his coffee cup. She sipped it carefully. It wasn’t quite as sweet as she liked it, but it was good enough. She glanced up at Luka over the rim, and he was still giving her that soft look.

“I should figure out a ride,” Marinette murmured, looking away, and she picked up her phone.

“I can get you a cab if you want,” Luka offered, but Marinette shook her head.

“My roommate’s boyfriend works nights around here, and he should be getting off soon. I’ll see if he can pick me up first.” She smiled at Luka. “If not, we can revisit the offer. Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed her again, and she kept him close for another, and her next text to Nino wasn’t entirely coherent.

They had to disentangle from each other when their food came, but Marinette remained very aware of Luka’s arm brushing her own, and the soft smiles he gave anytime she glanced at him. She glanced away, tucking back a lock of hair to cover up the fact that she was grinning like a fool. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she wondered. Was this just like, afterglow or something? Would it fade away once she left?

Luka touched her shoulder and Marinette jumped. He blinked. “Sorry. I was just asking if you got your ride worked out, but I guess you were a bit zoned out.”

“Sorry,” Marinette said quickly, and stuffed her phone back in her purse. “Yeah, Nino’s going to pick me up here in a little bit.” Luka nodded.

He put his arm back around her when they were finished eating, and he ordered another lemon tea instead of the coffee she expected. “You were right,” he smiled. “It did help.”

Marinette mixed it up for him again when it came, and then settled in and leaned against Luka’s side as he sipped it. He smelled nice, and he was warm, and she loved how easy he made everything feel.

Luka watched Marinette’s eyelids begin to droop. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her temple, but she just smiled, her eyes still closed. She was adorable, and Luka sighed before jostling her slightly.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he warned, and Marinette blinked her eyes back open. “I don’t particularly mind, but we can’t stay in this booth all day.”

“Can’t we?” Marinette sighed. “I’m so comfortable. You’ve been...really great Luka. I’m kind of sorry it has to end.”

Luka took a breath, and took the plunge. “Well, about that. I was hoping maybe we could see each other again.”

Marinette blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blushed as she sat up and looked at him. “Y-you mean, like a...a b-b—”

“I mean like a date,” Luka corrected, mouth twitching. She was really too cute. “The kind with talking and dinner and movies or whatever. I’d really like to spend more time with you, Marinette. Talking, and not just...well. I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stop doing everything else, but...I want to get to know you.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “R-really?”

Luka tilted his head slightly. “Why are you surprised?”

“I just don’t—I mean I didn’t think I’d be…” Marinette ducked her head, drawing circles in the ring of condensation forming around the base of her water glass. “You don’t even know me.”

“True.” Luka raised his eyebrows, and shifted his gaze away so he wasn’t looking quite so fully at her. “That’s why I’m asking you out. I don’t know you, but I want to. If you want to call it quits now and go home and never see me again, I’ll accept that, but...it’s definitely not the way I want this to go.”

“I…” Marinette looked down, twining a finger nervously in her hair. “I don’t know, Luka. You’re really sweet and—I really did have a great time with you. It’s just…I don’t want you to get hurt because I’m on the rebound, I…I don’t know if I’m ready for another, um...relationship, right now. I mean...”

Not what he wanted to hear, but...“Okay. That’s fair,” Luka nodded, the fingers of his free hand beginning to tap the table lightly.. “What if we just keep things casual for now? We can go out sometimes, and have some fun together...do what feels good…” he squeezed her hip, and watched her try to keep back the smile that wanted to break out, “get to know each other, and if you want to see other people or whatever, I’m cool with that for now. I’d just really like the chance to spend more time with you. If it doesn’t go anywhere then…” He shrugged, “at least I tried. You’ve put me on notice now, so it’s my choice to take the risk. I think you’re worth it.” His heart was beating so fast, and the tap of his fingers picked up tempo as he watched Marinette consider.

“Why?” Marinette whispered at last, with a sigh that hurt his heart. Her last relationship must really have done a number on her.

Luka cupped her cheek in his hand, coaxing her to look up at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just...have a feeling about you. I’ve learned to trust my instincts about people. I can’t explain it logically, I just...know. You’re someone I want to know. I felt it from the moment I saw you, before I’d even had a single drink.”

Marinette pursed her lips, looking up at him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to live up to that,” she said after a long moment.

Luka let his thumb stroke lightly against her lower lip. “You don’t have to live up to anything. Just be you, and let what happens happen.” He bent and kissed her, slipping a hand behind her neck to get a better angle as he plundered her mouth in a way that was definitely not appropriate for a public place. Luka was pretty far beyond caring at the moment though. That this gorgeous, sweet, vibrant woman, could question that someone might be drawn to her, attracted to her for more than a passing moment...it just wasn’t right.

Marinette relaxed into him with a quiet moan. Her hand slipped under his jacket and pressed into his chest, feeling him up shamelessly, and his own fingers tightened on her hip.

“So,” he breathed, when he finally let her slip reluctantly away. “What do you say?”

Marinette looked up at him, and bit her reddened lip, and then quietly asked, “Are you free this weekend?”

Luka grinned. “Actually, not so much, I’m usually playing gigs on weekends...how about Thursday? That way I don’t have to hurry away.”

Marinette hummed, and pulled out her phone. He watched the fingertip she pressed against her lips as she considered her schedule, and admired her bright eyes when she smiled up at him. “Okay, Thursday works.”

“It’s a date,” Luka smiled so softly that Marinette’s heart fluttered. How did he do that, kiss her like that and then do something so—so sweet .

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, she thought as he got out his own phone to swap numbers with her. What if she fell for him?

But...he sounded like he wanted her to fall for him. Maybe? But what if he fell for her, and she was just using him for sex? Because he’d made her feel so, so good...important and beautiful and wanted and…

It might not even be like that again, she told herself. Maybe I just imagined it because I was lonely and depressed and feeling unwanted...maybe I would be thinking about anyone who gave me some attention that way. Maybe we’ll just...fizzle out and it won’t even be an issue..

Luka curled his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“I…” her voice was shaking, and she took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah. Just. I’m tired.”

He didn’t believe her. “You’re okay,” he told her, kissing her cheek gently, and then the corner of her mouth. “Whatever’s going on, it’s going to be okay.”

Marinette’s phone beeped, and she picked it up with relief. “He’s almost here.”

She slid out of the booth, and Luka followed. He left some bills on the table and took her hand as they walked out.

“That’s my ride,” Marinette gestured as Nino pulled up at the curb. She turned to face Luka, stepping close. He set his hands on her hips and squeezed as she leaned up to kiss his cheek, but she paused, and then turned and caught his mouth instead. Luka moved easily to meet her in one of those slow, deep kisses that made it seem like he had no other place in the world to be. She stroked his cheeks with her fingertips and kissed him again, and then again as she slid her fingers back up into his hair. “Goodbye, Luka,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“See you later,” he corrected softly.

As he let go of her she felt something slide along her hip and looked down to see the pink scarf that had been tied around her waist slipping away. She looked up at Luka’s grinning face as he winked at her and draped the gauzy scarf around his neck. He raised the fabric to his face and inhaled. “See you Thursday,” he told her, eyes twinkling, and turned to walk away.

Marinette’s knees felt shaky as she stepped down the curb and opened the car door.

Nino was hunched down in the front seat, both hands pulling his cap over his face. “Geeze, Nette,” he muttered as she fell into the seat and tucked her feet inside. “I really didn’t need to see that.”

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, but as she flipped down the visor to check herself in the vanity mirror, she saw pink cheeks and sparkling eyes and a broad smile, and knew that she wasn’t convincing. She pressed her fingers to her lips and, for Nino’s sake, fought down the urge to squeal.

Her glow dimmed a bit as she followed Nino up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Alya. She loved her friend, but...she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. She tugged the collar of Luka’s shirt a little higher on her neck, and tried to remember what Luka had told her. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Well well well,” Alya drawled as Marinette slipped into the apartment after Nino. “Your very first walk of shame.” She smirked. “Marinette, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“What I had in me was a lot of vodka,” Marinette huffed, and came over to the table, accepting the glass of ice water Alya pushed across to her.

Alya waited until Marinette had the drink at her lips to add, “And a hot guy, apparently.”

Marinette choked, just as Alya had intended. “Alya!”

“Don’t tell me he wasn’t, girl,” Alya snickered. “You, my friend, look very well fucked.”

Marinette blushed hard. She was, at that, but Alya didn’t have to put it so...crassly.

Nino groaned. “You know what, just...knock and let me know when you’re done. I don’t want to think about it.” He went down the hall into Alya’s bedroom and shut the door.

“So you said goodbye to Mr. Right For Tonight?” Alya asked, tapping her fingers against her own glass. “You have all your stuff, right?” She frowned. “Are those his clothes? What happened to your dress?”

“I have it with me,” Marinette defended, picking up the bag she’d dropped. “He just...thought I’d be more comfortable in something else.” Not for a million euros would she have told Alya the whole truth about the dress. “And yes, I said goodbye. For now, anyway,” Marinette muttered, and caught Alya’s gaze when she looked up. Something in that look made her squirm. “Actually we have a date later this week,” she admitted.

“A date?” Alya raised her eyebrows. “Marinette, maybe I need to clue you in on a few things about this whole one night stand business. As in, one single night. After which you…” She made a fluttering motion with her hand. “You’re not supposed to get a date.”

Marinette shrugged, and reached over to pluck a croissant from Alya’s plate, just to have something to do with her hands. “Oops.”

Alya’s frown deepened.

“What? It’s no big deal,” Marinette defended, though she wasn’t even sure why she felt the need. “We just...thought we’d like to see each other again.”

Alya looked troubled for a moment, and then grinned. “It was that good, huh?”

“Well—” Marinette squirmed in her seat again. “It was fine, okay? He just...seemed nice.”

“Uh huh.”

“It was your idea anyway!” Marinette pointed out defensively.

“My idea was for you to go out and get buzzed and enjoy being drooled over,” Alya grinned. “You decided to get hammered and then get laid all on your own. I hope you’re satisfied .”

Marinette couldn’t cover the silly smile that wanted to come up at that, but when Alya snickered, Marinette shook herself back to reality and sighed. “It was probably my imagination making things better than they were. I was feeling pretty down last night and I did have a lot to drink. And it has, you know. Been a while.”

“Maybe started seeing through beer goggles?” Alya teased. “Not that I blame you, I thought he was pretty cute when you were dancing, but I’d had a few myself by then too. Not your usual type, but it’s good to branch out.”

Marinette blushed. She didn’t want to tell Alya that while her memories of the evening were hazy, she remembered Luka in the morning very clearly, not only the lines of his body but the broadness of his back beneath her arms as she clung to him, the ripple of the muscles tensing and releasing against her as he moved, the dark intensity of his eyes and the way they fluttered closed when she did something he liked.

She picked up her water glass and took a long gulp. No, she hadn’t needed the liquor to be attracted to him. Not at all.

Still. She wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, even now. “Watch,” Marinette sighed, setting the glass down. “The date’ll be a bust and that’ll be the end of it. We probably won’t have anything to say to each other and we’ll exchange awkward texts for a few days and then we’ll never speak again.”

“Hmm,” Alya raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see. It’s fine if you want to have fun, Marinette, you sure as hell could use some. Just be careful, always use protection, and don’t let him take any nudes.”

Marinette blushed deeply, and bit into her croissant. “Thanks so much for your concern,” she muttered around the mouthful.

***

Marinette knew she was in trouble as soon as she locked eyes with Luka and her stomach started doing somersaults. The slow smile he gave her was so distracting that she barely heard his greeting, or the compliment that followed. She didn’t remember putting her hand in his, it was just there, his fingers rubbing lightly over her knuckles. They hadn’t even made it to the restaurant when Luka tugged her into a shadowed corner and kissed her in that slow, purposeful way he had. His voice surprised her a little, smoother than it had been, without the roughness of hard usage, but, she found, just as seductive. Any resistance Marinette might have had crumbled the second he turned them out of the light and breathed may I ? against her lips.

When they did finally make it to their table, Luka was just as easygoing as he’d been on their first...night, and he meant it when he said he wanted to get to know her. He asked her questions, and seemed interested in what she said, even when she babbled, watching her with a quietly amused smile. He was interesting, too, telling her about his travels for the past year with his band. They had a surprising number of tastes in common. His eyes were fixed on her whenever she spoke, and he was touching her whenever he got the chance, taking her hand or playing with her fingers, brushing her hair back or letting his hand rest on her shoulder. Despite the kisses they shared whenever one of them couldn’t help themselves, his touch didn’t feel like seduction, just tenderness. Marinette felt like the center of his world, and after so long living on the sidelines of someone else’s life, she reveled in it.

They were laughing as he walked her home.

“You did not,” Marinette gasped, one hand over her mouth and the other curled around Luka’s arm.

“We totally did. What can I say, it was a full moon and my best friend is crazy.” Luka shrugged, and grinned while Marinette laughed.

“Wait, so are you a werewolf?” Marinette asked teasingly, as they approached the awning of her building.

“No,” Luka chuckled. “Unless you’re into that. If so, I can see what arrangements I can make for the next full moon.”

“You’d get bitten by a werewolf for me?” Marinette giggled. “How sweet.”

“I’d rather be bitten by you,” Luka teased back, and his hand found her hip, and her arms came up around his neck, and then they were kissing. Heat welled up in her, making her push up against him. Luka made a sound low in his throat and his hands slid to her lower back, pressing her closer. Oh, she wanted him, and by the feel of him he wanted her too, and…

Well. There really wasn’t any point in denying their mutual desire, was there. Marinette pulled away to press her lips along his jaw, and he made that sound again as he tilted his head for her.

“Do you want to come upstairs?” Marinette asked, toying with his collar. “My roommate’s out of town tonight, so we won’t be, um...bothering anybody.”

“I’d love to,” Luka told her, voice deepening. “I’d hate for you to be lonely, all by yourself.”

“Oh, I can entertain myself,” Marinette said daringly, looking up at him through her lashes. “I have an excellent imagination. There’s definitely advantages to having the real you here, though.”

“Play your cards right and I’m sure we can manage the best of both worlds.” Luka bent and kissed the join of her neck and shoulder, sucking hard enough to make her shudder. “You can start with telling me how you imagine we get upstairs. Are we making out in the elevator or am I chasing you up the stairs?”

“Elevator,” Marinette sighed, head tilting as he retraced his favorite route up her neck. “I don’t want to wear your legs out just yet.” She paused to consider. “Maybe you could chase me that far, though.”

Luka pressed another long, slow kiss to her mouth. “Then you’d better run,” he told her, grinning playfully. “I won’t be responsible for what happens when I catch you.” They both giggled, and then Marinette broke away, running for the building doors. Luka darted after her, staying just at her heels, sweeping her up in his arms just in time to carry her through the elevator doors. Marinette spared a brief moment to wonder what she was doing, being so bold, and in sight of the entire lobby, too, but Luka grinned at her, and she forgot to care. Marinette leaned over him to press the button for her floor, and then forgot everything but his mouth under hers.

Later, when they said a lingering goodbye at her door, and he asked her if she’d like to go out again, she didn’t even hesitate before agreeing. She’d figure out a way to explain it to Alya later.

Fiction Master Post

#quickspins #oops #lukanette #endgame lukanette #lukanette endgame #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #i'll never not know you #pro lukamari #nsfwish fic #alya salt #depending on your sensitivity #one night stand to lovers

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hansols-yoda-boxers · 3 years ago

Text

CNS Spin Off - Old Flame

Choi Seungcheol x Kim Minji

Word Count: 2276

Contents: slight breast play, fingering, oral (female receiving), protected sex, slight cockwarming

Note: clearly, i like established relationships sdhjhgd, also “lifers” is a term we used at one of my summer jobs for people who eventually got permanent jobs there and that became their career

Minji giggled as she and Seungcheol fell back onto the bed. His hands moved along her waist, pushing her shirt up as he started to kiss down her neck. He pressed a thigh between her legs and she let her hands fall back above her head, eyes falling closed.

“I forgot these cabins were still back here,” she sighed, shifting to let him pull her shirt over her head.

“They were supposed to demolish some of them,” he hummed against her skin, hands slipping under her to undo her bra. “But you know how long it takes to get things done.”

“It’s better for us,” She giggled, letting him pull her bra off and throw it onto another bed. “God I feel like we’re young and dumb again.”

Seungcheol laughed, hiding his face between her breasts as he did. “We’re not that old.”

“By camp standards we’re ancient,” she laughed, running her fingers through his hair as he left kisses on her chest.

“It could be worse,” he grinned between kitten licks at one of her nipples.

“And what would that be?” She chuckled.

“We could be lifers.”

“Oh don’t even say that!” she said, laughing and gazing down at him.

“See, it could be worse,” he hummed before sucking one of her nipples fully between his lips.

Minji sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. “Much worse,” she agreed.

As much as neither of them liked the insinuation of being lifers she knew neither of them would be. They both had jobs lined up for the fall. They were both fully moving into the next stage of their lives.

Which led her to thoughts of the other major change.

She had signed the lease. She was moving in with him, staying for at least a year. She thought she should be elated about it. She was living with her best friend, with someone she loved. But she couldn’t shake the fears she had. She couldn’t stop thinking about the little things that could go wrong, the way the summer always felt like a fling and then the school year started and it was back to reality. But her reality was changing.

“You okay, babe?”

“Hm?” Minji looked down at Seungcheol, concern laced into his expression. She reached down and grabbed his hand, squeezing it and smiling at him.

“I’m sorry, I keep getting lost in thought these days.”

He propped himself up a little more. “Did you need to talk instead?”

She shook her head. “There’s something else I’d much rather you use your mouth for at the moment.”

Seungcheol grinned, squeezing her hand back. “I can do that.”

He let go of her hand, sitting up for a moment to pull off his shirt before moving down her body. Minji let out a sigh as he undid her shorts and pulled them off along with her panties, leaving kisses along her legs. She let them fall open easily for him, feeling his hands trail up her inner thighs and the mattress shifting as he settled between her legs.

Minji willed her mind to calm down as Seungcheol kissed up to the apex of her thighs. She spent too much time thinking about what might go wrong. But either way it was happening. She would have to make sure it worked out. Maybe she was just overthinking? Maybe they both were. Maybe it was as easy as everyone else said.

A content sigh fell off Minji’s lips as Seungcheol drew his tongue over her clit slowly, just the way she liked.

Why couldn’t everything be as effortless as this?

Minji felt Seungcheol’s hands wrap around her thighs. His movements were slow and smooth. Each one sent sparks or pleasure through her body. He knew her body so well, he knew exactly what she liked. She let herself completely relax, it was so easy to put her pleasure fully in his hands.

And on his tongue.

And his cock.

“That feels good, love,” she hummed, threading her fingers into his hair. Seungcheol hummed against her, sending wonderful vibrations through her body. He brought one hand up to her stomach and she brought her free hand down to meet it, lacing her fingers with his. His other hand trailed along her inner thigh lazily.

Minji let out a small moan, hips starting to move just a little, rocking against his tongue. Warmth was rushing through her body and pooling between her legs, so close to where his tongue was moving. The small, teasing movements of his fingers on her thigh only made her needier.

Minji arched her back, a whinier moan falling off her lips. Seungcheol knew her well, knew what her sounds meant, what her movements meant. She didn’t even have to ask him for what she wanted next. He hummed against her, sucking on her clit lightly while slowly pressing a finger into her heat.

“Yes,” she breathed, fingers tightening in his hair as he curled his finger into her. His pace was a little faster, but not too quick. Focused. He knew just the right movement, just the right speed for her.

Minji curled her fingers into his hair more, her back arching off the bed as moans cascaded from her lips. There was something thrilling about being with someone else. They might do something she wouldn’t usually do. She was more likely to take control and that had its fun too. But being with Seungcheol was more than sex.

He knew her body so well. She knew there was nothing to worry about, nothing to think about when she was in his hands. She could enjoy every second and know that the next would be even more pleasurable than the last. He was comfort. It wasn’t something she wanted to mess with, or mess up.

Seungcheol gently pressed a second finger into her heat, flattening his tongue over her clit. Minji let her head fall to the side in a moan, reveling in every rush of pleasure he sent through her body. Already she could feel herself tensing just a little, already her body starting to build towards her release slowly.

“That’s perfect,” she moaned. “Just like that.”

He hummed in response, letting go of her hand. He pressed her thigh out a little more as she trembled. His fingers pressed into her skin, never hurting her but firm, secure. She pulled his head in closer between her legs as her hips ground a little more against his face and on his fingers. She was always torn with wanting more from him and wanting to keep going just as they were until she came.

Seungcheol eased a third finger into her, groaning as she clenched, nearly pushing his fingers back out. Her moans climbed a little higher at the feeling, even more pleasure curling through her as he sucked gently on her clit again.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard, breaths coming heavy as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body grew more and more tense with every passing second, twisting tighter as her release came closer and closer. Tremors ran through her body and she clenched around his fingers as they curled deep inside of her, drawing more from her. More sensation, more moans, more desire.

Seungcheol moaned against her again, sending more vibrations through her body. She gripped his hair tightly, whining when he pulled away.

“Do you want me to make you cum, babe?” He murmured.

Minji let her eyes flutter open as she willed the words back into her brain and tugged on him, pulling him up. Seungcheol followed easily, capturing her in a sweet kiss that still conveyed his own fire, his own desire for her.

“Not yet, love,” she hummed. “I’d rather cum with you.”

He smiled against her lips, kissing her again as she reached down to the waist of his shorts. Her fingers undid the buttons despite being a little shaky still. He was patient, enjoying the feeling of her lips until she pushed his shorts and boxers down his hips.

Seungcheol sat back to take them off properly. Minji took the moment to unashamedly admire him, biting down on her lip and seeing the way it curled his lips into an almost shy smile. She knew how much he loved being admired that way, even if he didn’t like to admit it out loud.

His hands rummaged in his short’s pockets until he found a condom. Minji followed the motion of his fingers as he rolled it on before he moved over her again, kissing her and grinding his hips down into her. Both of them let out moans at the feeling, Minji wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him as he moved an arm between their bodies.

A gasp fell from her own lips and a groan from his as he pushed into her smoothly. Their lips brushed against each others, open lips turning to open kisses as he bottomed out, one hand bracing himself against the mattress while the other held her hip firmly. He squeezed her hip, fingers pressing into the skin as he started to roll his hips into her.

Minji let her head fall back as she moaned. How wonderful it was that they were so well matched. That he fit with her like a perfect puzzle piece. The movements he liked were the movements she liked. He was just the right depth, just the right angle, just the right speed. Everything was so right with him.

“Right there,” Minji breathed. “Perfect.” Her fingers curled into his hair and scratched a little at his back, something that always made him buck his hips into her a little more roughly from the sensation, something nearing a whine falling off his lips. It made her back arch off the mattress and her thighs press in around his sides.

It hadn’t started so perfectly. She barely remembered the first few times. A few moments stood out, bordering on mortifying at the time but funny now. She wondered where along the way it had become so perfect, when they started to match so well like this. When did he learn to read her body so well she barely even needed to ask for what she wanted? Was his perfect rhythm always the same as hers or had they grown together?

“Every time,” he groaned. “You always feel so good.” His face dropped into the crook of her neck, he managed to leave a few kisses along her skin. His hand moved from her hip, moving inwards between their bodies as he moved just a little faster, but just as smooth, just as deep, just the right angle still.

She liked to think that perfection takes time. Even in moments like these, where her senses were taken by him, his scent, his sounds, his movements and the pleasure they brought to her body and she could barely hold a thought, she knew the perfection was made. It took time to build to what they had and it made her hold onto him a little tighter, it made her never want to let him go.

Her moans climbed higher as his fingers reached her clit. She clenched around him as her legs pressed in around his sides. The tension in her body rose, every part of her pulling tight as he pulled him close against her body, the pleasure growing stronger and stronger.

She could feel him tensing too, but she knew he was close in other ways. The way he moaned against her skin, the way his hips moved as he chased his high, the feverish movements of his fingers to bring her to release along with him.

Minji grabbed Seungcheol’s face, pulling him up to kiss her.

“Cum with me, love,” she murmured.

Seungcheol’s hips began to stutter as he started to cum. His fingers moved a little faster, a little rougher and seconds later Minji was falling over her own edge. She moaned out his name as her back arched off the bed, an ocean of bliss sucking her under as every inch of her body released. His lips found hers again in a kiss and she returned it sweetly, holding him close.

Seungcheol was the first to pull away, though not by a lot. He looked down at her, pressing more kisses to her lips between taking in her beauty.

Finally, he brought a hand up to hold her chin gently. “Do you want to tell me what’s been bothering you?” He asked gently.

Minji sighed. “This is so perfect,” she said, running her hands over his shoulders. “I like this. I like us, like this. I’m worried too much is changing at once.”

Seungcheol gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am too.”

“Do you think we’re being silly?” She asked. “Do you think everyone is right that this will just come naturally to us?”

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her and flipping over until Minji was laying on his chest, his cock still nestled inside her. “I mean it would be dumb to think that there will never be challenges.” He said. “But we’ve handled challenges before. We’ve weathered fights before. We’ve gotten over being mad at each other before. It should be something we can handle.”

Minji could hear it in his tone, the way he tried to convince himself with his own words. His hand gently ran through her hair and she sighed. “What does that mean… for…”

“I don’t know.” He replied, holding her a little tighter. “I didn’t think we would ever revisit that question.”

“Neither did I,” Minji replied.

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maddiefriendlovesbilly · 3 years ago

Text

Back by literally zero request:

Once More, This Time With Feeling: Pt. 2

Rating: PG13 for violence and graphic descriptions, SFW

Ship: Ghost/Spooker

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of intense panic attacks and dissociation, derealization, depersonalization, implied traumatic events, similarities to alters switching (Jimmy and Gregory, not intentional but is still there due to the nature of the scene), Graphic Descriptions of violence, Major Character Death (temporary) and probably more (please tell me if there is anything else that needs to be tagged!)

Summary: Ghost learns that watching someone die in front of you is a very quick way to find out how much you actually care about them - even if you're not quite ready to admit it just yet. (Contains lots of fluff with a decent amount of angst mixed in! Could be considered hurt/comfort)

Wordcount: 2634

Nothing can be compared to the sound of an axe splitting a head clean open. Ghost can’t move. He can’t think. This can’t be happening. He’s gonna wake up now...Now...Now.

But nothing happens.

He glances down, numbly, at Spooker’s lifeless body on the ground. Blood spills from the crevice in his skull. Ghost’s stomach lurches, so he looks back up at the doorway, wondering if he’s next. It barely registers that there is no enemy. Just an axe swinging gently back and forth on a rope attached to the ceiling. A trap. It was a trap all along, and they fell for it. Distantly, he wonders if brains can be repaired once they’re split open like that. He thinks, Probably not.

Ghost feels like his world is sinking, crashing, burning. Why isn’t he getting up? Billy’s powers should still hold up here - they’re well within range of the Acachalla house, so why?

He realizes he’s been staring vacantly at Spooker for the past who knows how long, and when he looks up Katrina is standing in front of him, staring at him from behind her mane. She gurgles, sounding somehow both sympathetic and smug despite saying no actual words, and Ghost wavers between collapsing to the ground and sobbing, and strangling her on the spot. Something twitches inside of him, vile and immoral, waiting for its moment to strike. He considers indulging it just this once; doesn’t get the chance to decide whether he really will because Katrina pounces, claws digging into his ribcage like she’s searching for something - and in his last moments of consciousness, he watches something pulse in her hand, once, before all goes dark.

Even in death, it seems he’s not allowed to rest.

As soon as his eyes close, they blink open. He can’t see anything, but he feels a doorknob under his hand and feels his mouth finishing the words, “--what about the others?”

Behind him, Spooker’s voice replies, without a hint of caution or worry, “No luck over he-Woah!”

The door hits the wall and Ghost’s eyes widen with fear. He hears himself stutter out, “H-Hey, you good?”

He mouths the words as Spooker says them, glad at least that the room is too dark for Spooker to see it. “Yeah...yeah, I’m alright, just caught me off guard. Let’s go.” He pivots, lunging blindly for where Spooker’s voice came from, tackling him. Something sharp nicks his cheek, and he feels a slight breeze pass overhead. They hit the ground hard, but Ghost decides he prefers that over the alternative.

“Ghost! Wh-What was that for?”

He fumbles for his emergency batteries and reloads his flashlight as fast as he can, knowing Katrina could appear any second. He shines his light towards the doorway, where the axe takes a final swing inwards, before disappearing behind the door for good.

“Holy crap Ghost, how...how did you know that was there?”

“Instincts or something, I guess…” He pants, out of breath.

His mind buzzes and whirs, and he can hardly think through it, but he can’t just lay on top of Spooker forever, so he forces himself to stand, peeking around the corner cautiously.

Katrina is nowhere in sight. His chest aches with how coiled his muscles are - ready to spring at any moment.

Spooker dusts himself off and peeks over Ghost’s shoulder, searching the room and finding the exact same thing Ghost did — nothing. Ghost just barely restrains himself from putting a protective arm between Spooker and the empty room.

Cautiously, he steps inside, Spooker close behind. The only sound is that of their boots clicking against the tile floor. Despite everything, he finds time to thank any gods watching that Spooker has been too distracted by the new surroundings to baby him about the second cut across his cheek. It’s only a matter of time though, he knows.

Glancing around cautiously, Ghost takes in the decrepit machinery dominating the room’s layout. Most of it has decayed beyond recognition. In the far right corner sits a row of industrial shelves containing what at first looks to be scrap metal and wires, but as they approach them, turns out to be an assortment of batteries and other miscellaneous electronics.

“Score!!” Spooker shouts, and by some miracle Ghost quells his roaring panic into a tense, “Spooker, be careful, we don’t know if the entity is nearby.”

Spooker appears duly contrite, so he lets it go this once, if only because he doesn’t fully grasp the peril they are in. Hell, even Ghost’s not sure what the bigger picture is. If that entity is truly Katrina, then what are her motives? And if it isn’t, did the others see someone else?

Spooker is currently loading some new batteries into his flashlight, so Ghost feigns at inspecting some old flip phones on one of the shelves near Spooker and asks hesitantly, “That girl earlier, you saw her too right?”

“The one with the sharp claws and hair all in her eyes? Yeah, why?”

“Hm. Interesting,” is all he can say.

So if it’s something pretending to be her to toy with him, why did everyone see Katrina, instead of their own illusions? Is it just another layer to the deception? Why bother?

What is the point?

“Is that Nokia particularly thought-provoking, or are you gonna tell me what you’re thinking about?” Spooker had apparently appeared over his shoulder sometime while he was lost in thought, and Ghost jerks around, slamming into the shelf of Nokias, now behind him.

A loud CLANG resonates throughout the room, reverberating off the surrounding machinery in ways that seem almost staged -- it’s hauntingly ethereal.

Spooker’s hands fly out to steady him immediately, a look of concern clearly written on his face. For some reason, despite all logic, the first thing he notices is how close they are to each other. The second is the pain in his back. He hisses.

Spooker’s hands flit about nervously, from Ghost’s shoulder to his face before he curls his fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. “I didn’t mean to scare you like that -- okay maybe a little but-” Ghost’s mouth twitches upwards in amusement involuntarily. “-I didn’t think you’d startle that badly! Really! I’m so so sorry-”

Ghost realizes that Spooker could probably apologize all day if allowed to, so he cuts in, “I’m fine Spooker.” it’s mostly the truth, he’ll probably bruise like hell tomorrow morning, but other than that he’s okay. He’s been through much worse on a mission, so he tries to seem sincere when he smiles slightly and says, “Seriously, it’s nothing to worry about, I’m alright.”

Spooker seems placated for all of two seconds before he suddenly squints at Ghost with heavy suspicion. “Are you saying that because you’re actually fine, or because your pain-rating scale only has the options of ‘not bleeding out or missing limbs, so doing fine,’ and ‘currently bleeding out or missing limbs, might need assistance if the situation is truly dire?’”

Ghost glances away, he’s not exactly wrong - not that he’ll admit that. “It’s actually fine, just a small bruise.”

“Uh huh.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Turn around, let me see it.”

“Wha-Why? I told you it’s fine!” He is not whining right now, that would be childish. He’s just...objecting loudly. Yes.

“Yeah, and I totally believe you. Turn around.”

Ghost eyes the space under Spooker’s arm, calculating possible escapes. “We have much more important things to do than play doctor Spooker. Like finding a way out of here perhaps? You can swaddle me in bubble wrap when we get out of here for all I care, but right now I’d like to keep moving forward.”

Spooker seems to debate this for a few moments before blinking a few times and replying, “Fine, but if you start struggling to keep up I’m not going to be so nice.” He moves back, letting Ghost slide past him and out from between the shelves. Ghost has to push aside the very strong feeling that he’s had that conversation before.

Ghost ignores the inexplicable heat in his cheeks and starts scanning the room for an exit. For some reason it feels like the temperature has risen quite a bit since they entered, maybe the next room will be cooler. It could be some sort of elaborate trap to slowly boil them to death without them noticing. Who really knows with ghosts.

The walls around the machines are solid grey concrete, smooth and uniform. Ghost searches for some sort of inconsistency, a flaw somewhere, and eventually he finds a small notch in the otherwise perfect walls, and moves to investigate.

As he starts to approach it the sound of something metal hitting the floor ricochets from behind the shelves. “S-Sorry! My...My bad....”

“You alright?”

“Fine! Fine! Everything is fine!” Spookers voice is an octave too high to be deemed truly fine, but Ghost chalks it up to being startled by the loud noise. He looks back at the notch in the wall. Suddenly, he realizes that engraved just above the notch is a long string of symbols he’s never seen before. He wonders how he didn’t notice the intricate carvings until now.

“ᚱᛖᛋᛏ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚨᚱᛗᛋ ᛟᚠ ᚹᚺᛖᚱᛖ ᛃᛟᚢᚱ ᛋᛟᚢᛚ ᛁᛋ ᚱᛟᛟᛏᛖᛞ. ᛒᚱᛖᚨᛏᚺᛖ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚺᛖ ᚨᚢᚱᚨ ᛏᚺᚨᛏ ᛃᛟᚢ ᛋᚺᚨᚱᛖ. ᛟᚾᚲᛖ ᛏᚺᛖᛋᛖ ᚲᛟᚾᛞᛁᛏᛁᛟᚾᛋ ᚺᚨᚹᛖ ᛒᛖᛖᚾ ᛗᛖᛏ, ᛏᚺᛖ ᛈᚨᛏᚺ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᛟᛈᛖᚾ.”

Squinting at it, he decides to call Spooker over. Spooker scampers up, yet again hovering just over his left shoulder. Ghost is starting to think he just likes being there. For some reason this doesn’t bother him. He doesn’t know why.

Spooker looks at the symbols for a few seconds like they’re familiar, before finally he exclaims, “Oh! I know what those are - Those are Nordic Runes - specifically Elder Futhark!”

“You just...knew that?”

“I’ve always been into occult stuff, y’know? Apparently people still use these for divination today! But it’s also a language - like right here...” He points at one that looks like a fancy M over Ghost’s shoulder, and he’s beaming so brightly that Ghost is pretty sure he’s found the reason it’s so hot in this room - the warmth in his smile as he talks could rival the sun. Spooker keeps talking, explaining what different runes mean and their individual names, and Ghost realizes he’s been staring at Spooker’s face instead of paying attention, so he looks back at the runes and hopes he hadn’t noticed. Spooker doesn’t mention it if he does, just keeps talking about runes and their meanings, and it settles a part of Ghost he hadn’t even realized was jittery until now.

Something in the notched section of wall clicks twice, and not a second later does the wall slide open in one smooth motion. Behind it lies a rather dull looking corridor, with plain, dark walls, and a sharp turn about twenty feet ahead. They both jump slightly at the sudden change, but just as quickly steel themselves and enter, unwilling to test how long it would remain open. “Do you know what opened it?”

Spooker’s eyes flick side to side like he’s debating with himself. “Well, the clue was really vague...So I’m not really sure..” He scratches his chin. He’s pretty sure Spooker is hiding something, but asking what the clue was when he probably said it earlier is practically announcing that he wasn’t actually paying attention, so instead he just replies, “Huh, weird. Well as long as we’re making progress it can’t be a bad thing. Let’s go.”

Spooker, for one reason or another, stays silent.

Oh. It seems he forgot where he was.

As they round the corner they are met with the one and only Katrina - or whatever it is that’s pretending to be her - standing about thirty feet down the hallway. Ghost could swear she’s smiling under her mop of hair. He wants to run, or scream, or just, at the very least, move, preferably somewhere where the blood red eyes piercing through her veil of hair can’t follow him. But he can’t. He’s stuck to the spot, like he’s been sautered to the floor. He feels a presence behind him - and it can’t be her because he’s staring right at her; so it must be Spooker hovering just over his left shoulder, just like always, and if he wasn’t frozen in place he might have cried with relief. He manages to drag a shaking hand backwards until it meets Spooker’s, intertwining their fingers with a bruising grip. Katrina observes this, before nodding her head in what looks like approval. She turns on her heel and shambles back the way she presumably came.

“Wh-” His voice cracks, forcing him to pause and gather himself. “What was that. Why did she-I don’t, I don’t understand. Why-Why would…I don’t understand-” The jittery fragment grows restless, feeding off of his panic. He doesn’t understand what it is, he doesn’t understand what just happened, he doesn’t understand anything at all.

The fragment is growing agitated now. He doesn’t know why or how or what it is. It’s hungry. It’s so hungry. How did he end up on the ground? When did he start laughing? There’s someone talking somewhere. They feel familiar, safe. Who were they again? He’s still holding their hand. A face has come into view, or maybe they lifted his head. He feels like he’s watching through a window. The face - so so familiar, yet completely unrecognizable - wipes tears from his cheeks. Is he crying? They look worried; it looks wrong on their face. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong--

It’s all wrong.

This isn’t happening. It can’t be. It’s not real.

Spooker - that’s his name - looks at him with a frantic, desperate, fearful look in his eyes. He’s still laughing, he realizes.

“I saw you die,” falls from his mouth, unbidden. He doesn’t know why. “The axe. It killed you.” He giggles hysterically, but it’s choked off by more tears.

“I know,” Spooker says in a soothing voice, like he’s talking to a caged animal, “I know, I’m sorry.” They’re still holding hands, even after all of this. He looks down to see that his nails have dug deep enough into Spooker’s hand to draw blood. He starts to pull away, but Spooker catches his wrist. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. You can hold on for as long as you need, okay?”

“Okay. Okay.” Everything is still so foggy, but the red haze is gone. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you okay?”

“But, normal....normal people don’t.” He swallows thickly. “Don’t do this.”

“No, no they don’t,” Spooker agrees.

“So why am I?”

“We’re gonna figure it out, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”

“Okay.” He feels very small. Vulnerable. Scared. He finds himself longing for a mansion he’s never seen before; tall and green and empty, so empty. Home.

He suddenly feels exhausted. “I-I can’t,” he blinks rapidly, trying to stem the drooping of his eyelids.

“It’s okay, you can rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Alright…”

The next time his eyes close, he drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

#jess writes #venturiantale #venturiantale pie #taleblr #ghost/spooker #ghooker #fred spooker soup #fred spooker #johnny toast #johnny ghost #chris colon ghostie #vt pie #paranormal investigators extraordinaire #fuck uhhhh #ill add more later prolly

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chroniclesinlacuna · 4 years ago

Text

A Rose by Another Name (read on ao3)

Pairing: m!detective (Dex DiBella) x Nate Warnings: scars, referenced violence Words: ~1.2k Rating: G Summary: Scars are discovered, and things get metaphorical from there. (aka exploring a developing relationship)

“What is that?” Nate’s voice is soft in the muffled dark of the training room - echoing off thick walls and yet not quite managing to fill the space.

Dex pauses, throwing a glance back after dragging a towel down his face, raising an eyebrow. “What’s what?” Nate’s staring at him - wait, no, specifically, he’s staring at his chest. He frowns, glancing down. Sure, their sparring had gone a little longer than usual - he had a few new bruises he’d be sporting for a couple days, but nothing too exciting… Hell, he’d only stopped to take off his shirt because someone had apparently decided the warehouse needed to be heated in the middle of summer. “What, my tattoo?” is about all he can think of.

Nate blinks at him, then glances back down, eyes now clearly drawn to the large rose covering most of the left side of his stomach. “...Huh.” Then he shakes his head. “No, not that.” And then Nate’s in his space before Dex can blink. Which. Dex would never protest, but the suddenness and the intensity with which Nate is staring at him is making him...not uncomfortable, if only because he wasn’t sure he could be uncomfortable in Nate’s space. But it’s making him...aware of himself, in a way that’s not wholly pleasant - not for the least reason because he’s still confused.

And then Nate reaches up and...hell, he doesn’t even touch him, and Dex knows where his hand is heading. He takes a step back without really thinking about it, some small, quiet part of his brain asking for space, glancing down himself to see the scar he doesn’t notice anymore.

It’s not that big, all things considered. Hell, the ones on his neck put it to shame. And, given it’s been...what, ten years? It’s healed rather nicely too. A neat, unassuming starburst, only a couple shades off his pale skin, and about an inch below his clavicle, and a little too centered to be comfortable.

“Huh. Forgot about that.” He’d been planning to get it covered, like the other one. Why hadn’t he done that yet? He vaguely remembers an intent, and then...nothing. He’d gone in for the first tattoo and just. Never went back for the second cover up.

“You...forgot?” And the question brings him back to the moment; the soft, almost tentative tone anchors him to it.

“Not like. Forgot it was there.” He’s quick to explain, offering a smile that Nate doesn’t seem to buy, where he’s standing still, arms crossed loosely over his chest like Dex can’t see his fingers curling to keep from reaching, “Forgot to get it covered.”

There’s something...wrong in the way Nate’s holding himself, away, and inward, Dex realizes, as the silence falls again. Something Dex can’t quite - he glances at Nate’s hands, and wants to smack himself.

He’d pulled away, and Nate wasn’t going to question it. Wasn’t going to assume. Sighing softly, he steps back into Nate’s space - doesn’t miss the minute twitch of fingers, the subtle resettling of weight back on his heels, like he’s ready to move in Dex’s wake. Give him the space he’d instinctively asked for.

But he doesn’t want that. Instead, Dex gently reaches out, offering a hand instead of taking.

There’s all these little...cracks, between them. They can’t see them when they look for them - but maybe that’s because they don’t look for them - not really, not if they can help it. But they trip and fall and stumble across them, and eventually...eventually they’re going to have to stop and figure out how to keep on going. But this one? This one Dex can fix, before it becomes a problem.

He knows Nate’s watching him quietly - those warm brown eyes watching him just as intently as he’s watching Nate’s hand. It seems a long moment before Nate takes the offer, but when he does, Dex tugs, gently, and pulls Nate’s hand to his side. Right at the center of the black inked rose.

It’s a much bigger scar than the one at his collarbone. Bigger, uglier. He knows why that one he didn’t forget to cover. It’s only saving grace? It was almost impossible to see if you didn’t know it was there, twisted and buried in thick black lines and too-soft shading.

“You know, if I’d known the agency back then? Probably wouldn’t have needed the tattoo. They worked miracles with this one.” He gestures vaguely to his neck with his free hand. He’s still loosely holding Nate’s wrist, but he can feel - muted and dull - fingers mapping out the hidden whorls and ridges of the scar.

Something about that catches Nate’s attention, dark eyes glancing back up to meet his with a frown. “Surely Agent DiBella could’ve pulled some strings, even if you didn’t know how.”

“Rebecca doesn’t know.” Dex says simply, half-shrugging a shoulder. “I mean, she might now, after all those damn tests those doctors ran. Or after she rifled through my job history, once it became important to her job. But, it happened well after I’d moved out of her house. Hell, I don’t even think I spoke with her in the year leading up to it, and the year after.” There’s some distant bitterness to the whole thing - a bad taste in the back of his mouth from remembered hurts, like weeds in his lungs - but it’s muted now. Because weeds may be hardy little shits, but they still need something to grow, and he has nothing for Rebecca anymore.

He pauses, blinking down at Nate’s hand, now splayed across his stomach, palm flat to the center of the rose. There’s a...familiarity to the touch, to the gentle pressure, and Dex can’t remember why he pulled away in the first place. But, it’s not until he places his hand over Nate’s, presses it into his skin like it belongs that Nate even seems to realize what he’s doing.

“I’m not asking now,” Nate starts, soft and aching, “But will you tell me, someday?” his other hand gently grasps at Dex’s waist, pulls them closer together with that confidence that Dex adores slowly but surely threading back into familiar movements.

Another crack, winding between them. Another mended before it can break.

“I will,” Dex loosely loops one arm around Nate’s neck, keeping him close. “Will you tell me yours?” he asks, into the starless space left between them, his free hand coming up to rest lightly over Nate’s chest.

Not ‘if you do’. Not ‘when you do’. There’s a dance they’re learning here, through the cracks and the shadows. A back and forth they’re still tripping on. But they’re learning.

And the smile Nate gives him is sad and oh so sweet. But there’s a small nod. They’ll learn this dance, one step at a time.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #n sewell #twc detective #my writing #my detectives #dex dibella #loooook scars and tattoos are a thing I very much enjoy so this was just a matter of time really #and while all my detectives have all manner of both Dex's are really the only ones that intertwine so hey #long post #declanxnate

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fatefulfaerie · 4 years ago

Text

Lost and Found

Offshoot from this. Might still do a direct sequel to that one but I’m not sure.

Last post before Linktober. Probably. I know I keep saying that and then my brain is like but what if this idea...

Also sorry for the lack of content before October 1st.

“Sarqso, young vai,” Furosa said, her arms dangling on the counter. “My usual ice deliverer is on vacation so this shipment of ice is a goddess-send.”

Link was standing casually, with his hand on the counter.

“Don’t worry about it,” Link said. “You don’t even have to pay me the regular rate.”

“Good,” Furosa said as she stood up straight. “Because we don’t even have the budget for that. But if I may say so, you do look a touch older than when I first met you. If you are so inclined, I can give you and your friend each a Noble Pursuit, our signature cocktail, on the house. How old are you two?”

“We’re both eighteen,” Link said as Zelda came up beside him.

“Give or take a hundred years,” he muttered under his breath in his normal non-heightened voice, which made Zelda smile.

“Great!” Furosa said. “Right on the rupee! I’ll get those for you right away!”

“Link, are you sure about this?” Zelda asked as they sat on the barstools facing each other, Furosa leaving to prepare the drinks.

“We are of age.”

“But I’ve never had alcohol before. Have you?”

“Not that I remember,” said Link.

Zelda tipped her head with a slight smirk.

“They’re free,” Link argued. “We may as well try them. One sip.”

“Fine,” Zelda said. “But for the record Gerudo consider themselves adults at eighteen. For Hylians it’s twenty one. You’re being a bad influence on me with your impulsive courage.”

“You don’t have to drink it.”

“No, no,” Zelda said. “Don’t want you going around saying I’m a coward.”

“Here we are,” Furosa said, Link and Zelda’s gazes shifting. “Two Noble Pursuits for two lovely Hylian vais.”

It was in an elegant, long glass, the liquid hued orange like a sunset with a hydromelon wedge on the edge of the rim and two ice cubes floating in each.

“Thank you,” Zelda said to the old Gerudo bartender.

“Fair warning,” Furosa said. “It doesn’t have much effect on Gerudo but for small Hylians like you, you could be hammered in no time.”

Furosa departed, leaving them to their drinks. Link and Zelda took a gentle hold of the short stems of the glass with their fingers supporting the long bowl of the glass.

“Do we toast to something?” Link asked, assuming his normal voice now that all Gerudo were out of earshot.

“My father always did that,” Zelda replied. “The toast, I mean. Some long monologue about Hyrule’s prosperity.” Zelda shook her head. “I can’t guarantee that in its ruined state, and I’m not even sure if I want to rebuild the kingdom. Everything we’ve been through...with Calamity Ganon and with Ganondorf’s corpse...I think I want nothing more than to indulge myself into just taking a break.”

Link’s eyes had melted and saddened with concern, blue eyes attentive and watching hers.

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Link said.

Zelda nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “But…”

She looked down at her drink, pondering at the thought and not thinking about the drink at all. The ice was surely gradually melting as they talked.

“I think I want a longer break than I let on,” Zelda said. “I think I want to wait even longer before I return to the castle as Queen.”

“How long?” Link asked.

Zelda paused. She didn’t know why she feared Link would object. He had always supported her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe a month, maybe a year and part of me.” She exhaled a sigh. “Part of me wants to forget it all together and stay in your Hateno house, living a simple life until we both die of old age.”

“That sounds nice,” Zelda heard Link say, looking up at him to see the smile she thought she heard. “But it’s ultimately your choice.”

Zelda took a deep breath in and out, closing her eyes before resettling them on Link.

“To something new,” she said, the words making Link smile more.

“To something new,” Link repeated.

Their glasses clinked, Link bringing the rim to his lips as Zelda decided to smell the beverage.

She immediately balked, coughing and feeling nausea rise up within her chest. Link, alarmed by the sound, didn’t meet the rim of his glass to his lips, stopping and setting the glass on the counter as Zelda teared up, noises from her throat similar to a cat’s hiss.

“Are you okay?” Link asked.

“It smells disgusting!” Zelda exclaimed. “I feel like I’m going to throw up!”

Link’s brow contorted. It didn’t seem that bad. He picked the glass back up and brought it to his nose.

It was sweet, with the slight bitter scent of alcohol.

“Smells fine to me,” Link said.

“I don’t think I’m drinking mine,” Zelda said, placing her elbow on the counter and her head in her hand, attempting to get over her nausea.”

She watched as Link took a sip, waiting for his reaction as his lips opened and closed. He looked as if he was trying to ascertain his own opinion until his eyes suddenly widened and the glass slipped from his hand, crashing to the ground with splattering broken glass. Zelda’s eyes had widened as her head came off her hand.

“Link?” she asked before Link’s eyes closed and he started to faint off the chair.

“Link!” she said, attempting to catch him, but only making it soon enough to be at his side after he crumbled to the ground with a thud.

“How much did he drink?” she heard Furosa ask. Apparently the commotion had attracted the worry of the bartender, who had come around to try and help.

“Just a sip,” Zelda said before shaking her head. She didn’t even look at Furosa, so concerned for Link she couldn’t afford the polite glance away, “but it wasn’t the alcohol. He faints like this sometimes.”

“He?”

Zelda panicked.

“Sh-she,” Zelda corrected. “Sorry, I misspoke. My worry must have jumbled my words.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Furosa asked.

Zelda finally looked over.

“No...no thank you...I know what to do. Thank you...I-I mean sarqso.”

Zelda returned her concerned gaze to Link as Furosa left, placing a gentle hand on his cheek.

“It’s been so long since you’ve gotten a memory,” she said quietly. Her hand changed so that the backs of her fingers grazed his cheek instead. She looked over at the sound of footsteps and saw some pedestrians.

As one of the pair said something indistinguishable to the other, Zelda thought upon how this must look, that Link resembled a very drunk vai. He picked the perfect time to remember something about a hundred years prior.

When Zelda looked to Link again, waiting for him to open his eyes, she wondered at what memory it would be, whether it was associated with Gerudo town or with her or even with the Noble Pursuit.

It was a couple minutes before his eyelids flitted open.

“Link!” She exclaimed, putting her hand back on his cheek.

“I’m okay,” he said with a smile and a hand on hers at his cheek. He sat up slowly. “I’m okay.”

“Are you feeling okay?” She asked quickly, her mouth running a mile a minute. “Did you get a memory? What was it? Did it have to do with your family? Or was it later? Did you--”

“Zelda,” he interrupted with a slight laugh. “I’ll tell you all about it, don’t worry. But first, let’s get out of the street. The Hotel Oasis isn’t far. I’ll pay for the broken glass later.”

“Okay,” Zelda said as they both stood up, each other’s hands clasping into each other. They walked along the street with swinging arms.

“One bed or two?” Link asked.

“Two, I think,” Zelda reasoned. “Being close to you is just so abhorrent.”

“All right, one it is,” Link said, catching Zelda’s sarcasm.

It wasn’t long before they faced each other on their bed, legs crossed and knees almost touching. The innkeeper had raised a brow when they asked for one bed and although the inference she made about their relationship was correct, Link and Zelda both reddened when she asked them not to engage in any “funny business”.

Link and Zelda were an incoherent mess explaining that they had never done that and that although they were technically dating, they preferred to wait until after marriage. It was obvious the explanation wasn’t needed, even as Link and Zelda explained that they just liked to cuddle in each other’s arms.

They stopped their rambling when the innkeeper was clearly unamused and sat on their bed. It occurred to them that the innkeeper more than likely thought of them as a gay couple, Link looking like a vai, but with their masks on and homosexuality just as acceptable as heterosexuality anyway, they didn’t really care.

“The memory,” Zelda prompted excitedly where they sat. “What was it?”

Link smiled, in fact, his lips curled inwards, as if he were trying to stifle a laugh.

“What?” Zelda said with an unrestrained laugh.

“You’re not going to believe me,” Link said.

“Of course I will,” she said. “Now out with it.”

He looked so excited to tell her, to see her reaction, his smile was brimming with impatience.

“It involved you,” Link said. “A bit after we went to Eldin. You were about sixteen. Your father had a banquet and...you got drunk.”

“No, I didn’t,” Zelda insisted.

Link raised his brow.

“Really, Link,” she insisted. “I didn’t. I know I said I would believe you but I’ve never been drunk.”

“Oh yeah?” He challenged. “What do you remember about that night?”

Zelda shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Most things from those times are foggy. You know how it goes.”

“Try,” Link said, Zelda exhaled a sigh and looked up at the ceiling for answers.

“I was at the banquet and then you escorted me back to my chambers when it was done...at least I think you did.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But I wasn’t drunk,” she said. “I told you I’ve never had alcohol. I know for sure you escorted me back to my chambers because the next morning I woke up in my bed with the absolute nastiest headache. And I was nauseous...”

Those last four words were slowed down as she figured it out. That’s why she had such a reaction to the Noble Pursuit. Her mouth popped open.

“I was drunk!” She exclaimed. “How did I get drunk?! Oh goddesses, did my father know?!”

Link shook his head.

“Urbosa told him you were sick,” Link said. “I escorted you back to your chambers after you mistook the Noble Pursuit for something non-alcoholic.”

Zelda brought a hand to her mouth almost smiling as she anticipated both the hilarity and embarrassment of what was to follow.

“What did I do?”

Link’s lips pursed inward.

“In my eyes, you suddenly went from a princess to be kept at a distance to a girl clinging to my shirt. You barely even recognized who I was and then you went on and on about how perfect I was.”

Zelda shook her head.

“Goddesses, I don’t remember this at all.”

“I took you back to your chambers and told you it was time for bed,” Link continued. “And then you...kissed me.”

Zelda’s eyes widened and she felt her face pale.

“On the lips,” he clarified, “before proceeding to throw up immediately after. I cleaned you up as we talked about the kingdom’s expectations and after asking me if you were drunk, I led you to your bed. I went to leave immediately after when you thanked me for the first time ever. I smiled and departed.”

Zelda’s smile had faded and her eyes were fixed on him.

“The next morning I would learn that you didn’t remember any of it and at the time I convinced myself the kiss didn’t matter to you because you were drunk.”

“So…” she made out, lowering her hand as she figured it out. “So that whole time...we had already kissed? And...and you said nothing?”

She searched nothing with her eyes.

“Because you were keeping it hidden, weren’t you?” she asked rhetorically. “To shield me from embarrassment, to shield yourself from my anger and...to shield us from a scandal that would take on a life of its own.”

Link nodded.

“I assumed so, too.”

Zelda shook her head.

“I just can’t believe you knew that whole time why I resented you, your perfection, my imperfection, I guess it makes sense why you so easily forgave me, how we so easily became friends.”

Zelda let out a chuckle.

“I didn’t think I had lost a memory, too,” she said. “This is just bizarre.”

“Welcome to my life,” Link jived.

Zelda giggled as she tipped her head, her eyes adoring him.

“I wish I could kiss you now.”

Link put on a mischievous smile, looking to his right, to his left, and back to lean closer into her.

“The innkeeper is gone,” he said. “No one will see if we take off the masks connected to our veils.”

Zelda peered around Link at the empty street outside before looking around the inn.

“I suppose.”

She took off her blue mask, but that wasn’t the dangerous part, Zelda concerned as Link took off his. She considered them lucky he was facing away from the street.

“See?” He asked rhetorically when no one seized him for being male. “No problem.”

He leaned forward and captured her lips with his, the hero and the princess kissing deeply and losing their focus on anything else. The “Sound the alarm!” was not regarded by either of them as they made out with each other, their hearts burning only to continue.

“A voe has been detected!” It was just white noise to them. “Capture him at once!”

Link suddenly felt himself pulled from her lips, from her all together by strong hands on his arms.

“Link!” Zelda exclaimed, coming to her hands and knees on the bed before hastening off it, two Gerudo dragging Link away.

She followed them through the town, racing to catch up with how swiftly they dragged him, only to toss him into the sands outside the entrance.

“You didn’t have to throw him!” Zelda exclaimed to one of the guards.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” the Gerudo guard said. “But you know the law. You know what we had reason to believe.”

Zelda furrowed her brow at the insinuation. Link would never do that, but Zelda knew she couldn’t overturn Gerudo law. Link had already sat up when Zelda approached him, Zelda kneeling in front of him and looking back at the guard.

“No voe are allowed within the town!” the guard exclaimed with her spear pointed at Link. “It’s a rule of the Gerudo! Do not come back here! Not ever!”

Zelda exhaled a sigh with closed eyes before turning her head and opening them to look at Link.

“I’m sorry, Link,” Zelda apologized. “I shouldn’t have suggested we kiss.”

Link shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he responded. “I probably would have kissed you anyway.” He released a chuckle. “I’ve actually never been caught before, at least not like this.

“Wait,” he said with a different train of thought. “You are still technically the princess, aren’t you? Can’t you do something about the rule?”

Zelda shook her head.

“I don’t want to disrespect their culture, it’s unfair.”

“Why do they even have that rule? Do you know?”

Zelda nodded in affirmation.

“It’s myth by now, one of those cautionary tales that speak of danger and are meant to elicit fear, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t justified.”

“What do you mean?” Link asked, his arms were now casually draped over his bent knees and Zelda had already repositioned herself to sit on her heels.

“It is said they used to allow men when the town was first built,” Zelda explained, “but a Gerudo woman was raped and conceived a child. The woman was regarded as ruined, and although she loved her child, she never found romantic love. Gerudo do not allow men because of that story, but also because they want to control the way in which they find a mate. They want to be ready for it, to have reached adulthood and have prepared for a pilgrimage to Hyrule. On this journey, they get to know themselves, and eventually, they find a mate who matches them. It is courting on their own terms, where the men don’t hold all the power. That is why they hold classes on courting, to prepare those who have chosen to undergo the pilgrimage for the challenge ahead.”

“Wow,” Link said. “I had no idea. So just now they thought…”

Zelda nodded at the inference.

“Zelda,” he said as he too sat on his heels, taking her hand. “I would never do that to you, I promise. I could never hurt you like that, betray your trust in such a manner.”

“Link,” Zelda said with her infectious laugh. “I know you wouldn’t. But they don’t.”

The sky had already started to darken with the sunset, but the approaching night started to bring a chill, especially cold considering their light Gerudo fabrics.

“It’ll be cold soon,” Link said, looking out at the desert.

“Maybe we can stay at the Bazaar,” Zelda said. “Head back to Hateno in the morning.”

Link sighed, looking in the direction of Gerudo town, the one he was just ousted out of.

“It’s just…”

“What?” Zelda asked, searching him.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

Link stood up to avoid suspicion and it wasn’t long before they started their walk to Kara Kara Bazaar.

But Link knew that they were walking away from the jewelry shop, where a special order was waiting for Link, a ring with a diamond in the center. He had planned to pick it up late in the night when Zelda was sleeping in the Hotel Oasis.

But if he could no longer enter the town, he would have to find a Gerudo who could pick it up for him.

And then, on an orange sunset like this one, at the top of Tuft mountain next to the lake shaped like a heart, Link would propose to his Princess.

“The men holding the power,” he said, the thought suddenly spurring him with worry. “Although the power should be equally shared, sometimes that is unfortunately not the case. Do you...do you ever think I hold that power?”

“Link, of course not,” Zelda insisted. “You’re the best boyfriend a girl could have. You let me speak my mind probably more than I should.”

“But...but what if I did something that steps on your power...made a decision that puts you in a place to...to choose one thing or another.” Link sighed. “Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

“The Gerudo are a race made up entirely of women. There is a great power in that and they wish to harness it. But that isn’t the case with our relationship, Link. As long as we approach everything knowing we both have input, everything will be fine.”

Link nodded, supposing there was a difference between asking her to marry him and forcing her to marry him against her will. Perhaps he was overthinking it.

“Right.”

He felt Zelda take his hand and his worries were soothed. Link smiled with a warm heart knowing the love of his life was beside him, safe from harm, and may even choose to be by his side forever.

#zelink #breath of the wild #botw #botw 2 #breath of the wild 2 #breath of the wild sequel #gerudo town #hyrule #zelda #link

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unholyplumpprincess · 4 years ago

Text

Necessary Calibrations

Inspired by art on Twitter that can be found HERE

Summary: Pathfinder asks Ramya to make him a special little mod, and well, how can she refuse such a cute bot? On one condition, of course. She gets to be the one who gives him a test spin. Or!!!! In which Ramya rides the life out of Pathfinder and effectively makes him glitch out into a mess.

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog but makes my day :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Pathfinder/Rampart

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, mutual pining, uhhhh pretty tame except for overstimulation and wire play?

Words: 2.7k

_________

Modding was her thing.

And Pathfinder was her mate.

Put the two together with a lovely, tall robot shyly asking for a certain modification and how could Ramya refuse? Truthfully, she would have done it without the sweetness of him offering to buy her pizza. Or of the screen on his chest lighting up with a pink emoji with hearts and two index fingers pressed together. But it certainly did ease the small bit of nerves she had about pausing her current project.

He wanted something to get off? Sure, she’d give him something to get off. “But on one condition,” She had told him, flipping up her face shield and wiping at grease on her cheek as she leans back on her desk, gesturing at him with her shut off welding torch. “I get to take you for your first ride. What better way than to see if I’ve got it all calibrated?”

~Rest under the cut~

The joy on his screen had been rather heartwarming. His legs had bounced from one to the other, his hands clapping and the screen flashing yellow with bright joy. “Of course, friend! I wouldn’t think of anyone else I’d like to be ‘taken for a spin’ by!” And like the good boy he was, he’d leaned down, allowing Ramya to pat his ‘cheek’ fondly before shooing him on his way with a reminder he owed her pizza.

Perhaps calling out to his retreating form ‘With extra sausage!’ went right over his head, but it made her laugh so that’s what really counted.

Simulacrums had a line of attachable toys that had fancy little names for them. Ramya would disagree that saying ‘phallus module’ or ‘Vaginal attachment’ was anything horny sounding- she preferred ‘Homewrecker module’ and ‘Finger blaster 9000’ but okay. She wasn’t the one coming up with the brand names, just hunting for any of use ones. Turns out the compound had a few, and she couldn’t help but wonder who could have ordered these.

So, the murder bot was getting it on, ey? Probably with his own left hand and fat tears. Poor sod.

Modifying either to be able to be wired for a MRVN unit isn’t difficult- well, as long as your name is Ramya Parekh, she humbly thinks to herself. The wiring for Pathfinder’s unit isn’t on any blueprints, so she has to call him in during it to do a fitting. Mostly with the poor bot lying on his back and legs spread while she unhooked the paneling at his front. Whoever made him wanted to make sure he could have these attachments, the wiring was dead similar to a simulacrum’s, just needed a bit more adjustments.

It takes maybe three days to complete it, and each day Pathfinder comes trotting in with a pizza in hand and a bounce in his step with excitement written all over his little screen. Normally, Ramya doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing someone come in to check out the work, let alone stay with her. The entire time he expresses his excitement, bouncing around her and well...Ramya can’t say she hates the company.

When the project is complete, Pathfinder is lain out on the ground on a blanket she has folded for him. Damned bot was too tall to put up on a table. Ramya is sat between his legs, carefully clicking the module into place and checking by his hip where a hidden panel was to ensure everything was in place. “Alright, Path, you should see somethin’ about connection establishment. Hit that green button for me, will ya?”

“Can do!” He responds as chipper as ever, hands folded politely at his waist with his screen going from its classic emoji to a bright green screen showing ‘Download’ on the front. Ramya pats his leg affectionately, sitting back between his thighs as she tosses her shirt and sports bra clean over her head as casual as ever.

What? Could you blame a girl for being excited to hitch a ride on a heavily sensitive bot? Not to mention she made that cock gorgeous, if she does say so herself. The cock itself was a deep blue to match his paintjob, ribbed and made of a heavy silicone to feel every bit like a hard cock. The head was smoothed into the shape of it, all the same girth and about a good seven inches long with a girth thick enough she couldn’t quite circle her fingers around it. It was to die for, really, even if it was beautiful in its simplicity.

A slit at the head area would allow his lubrication reserves to act as cum as well. She’d opted to give him options, flavored lubricants to more natural ones. Pathfinder had gleefully picked up the white lubricant, excited it looked like ‘real cum!’ all in that cheery little tone of his as Ramya had fit it within that panel for him.

“Oh!” Pathfinder exclaims suddenly, drawing Ramya’s attention to him as she kicks herself out of her overalls. Little LED nodes on the side of the cock light up a soft pink, some ‘pre-cum’ leaking out of the tip and letting her know he’s all good to go with the bright ‘100%!’ on his screen.

“Alright, mate, before we get you all sorted out, how about you get me all sorted out? Would hate to make you bust too soon.” Ramya teases, patting his thigh and moving to take his spot as Pathfinder moves with her. She doesn’t expect Pathfinder to be so enthusiastic about foreplay, but damn if he doesn’t go ‘Woohoo!’ as he sits up to take his spot between her thighs.

His hands are cooler as they press at her strong thighs, pressing them apart to expose the dark hair between her thighs and undoubtedly how wet she is, or how her large clit peeks from her lower lips. Ramya wasn’t embarrassed at what she had, she knew she was hot. All her piercings exposed across her body including the one on her clit. Pathfinder seems enamored with them, tracing the dermals on her hips, up to the one on her navel then up to her breasts where he cups them and smooths his thumbs across them. A sigh falls from her lips, tossing her head back with a smile lingering on her lips. “You’ve done this before, mate?”

“Yes!” He practically vibrates with joy with his voice module reflecting the tone. His screen is hot pink with a heart emoji on the front drooling with a dazed expression. Flattering... “I just have not had the right attachment to do anything besides touch- but! I don’t mind. Especially when they’re as pretty as you!” It’s a coy flirt, one that makes Ramya laugh with her head throwing back to hide a flush on her cheeks. Falling into a soft gasp when he pinches both her nipples, rolling the buds until her hips press upwards into nothing.

“Less talking more stretching, yeah?” It’s probably the last full sentence she’ll get out for the rest of foreplay. Pathfinder’s letting out that little laugh he does, happily grabbing one of the set aside lubricant bottles to coat his fingers.

Ramya learns rather quickly he wasn’t in the slightest bit kidding about having done this before, not when she’s got two fingers curling inside of her and pounding into her with his other hand pressing on her mound. Using his index and middle to lightly jerk off her clit and massage it, making her cum multiple times all whilst she arches off the blanket and swears the entire time.

Again, and again, he wrings out her orgasms. Twisting his fingers inwards and letting her hump up against his palm with her fingers twisting into the blankets when three fingers now spread inside her. All while the bastard hums a happy little tone to himself, clearly leaking his own lubricant reserves onto himself in arousal.

A third orgasm hits her with Ramya’s own hips humping against his hand and practically riding his fingers shamelessly with her back arched and her legs trembling. Her head falls back with a loud cry as Pathfinder keeps slamming into that same spot, until she’s twitching and grabbing his wrist with a shaky, almost whiny sound. “Uncle-- okay, uncle, uncle —P-Path!”

His name catches his attention, his hand pausing and sliding out of her. ”Oh! Are you alright, friend?” His screen is blue, the emoji yellow and looking alarmed up until Ramya waves a loose hand at him, panting heavily as her other hand grabs her own hair to keep herself grounded.

“Yes, yes, yes- don't look at me like that, I’m fine. Just need a minute. Supposed to be calibrating you, mate, not having you rail my brains out.” Ramya laughs out breathily, wiping sweat from her brow as she sits up shakily on one arm. Helped up by Pathfinder gently resting a hand on her lower back and making tingles run up her spine. Hm. Feelings. Gross. Didn’t need those.

Ever so softly Pathfinder gently winds his arms around her, bringing her head to his screen and pulling her ponytail free. Ramya’s about to complain, but when his fingers are running through her hair and soothing where her hair had been tugged at, well, can’t really complain. Instead, Ramya sighs hard, pressing her cheek to his screen and winding her arms back around his waist to lean into his side. “Alright ya big softie, you win your cuddling this time.”

“Yay! Go me!”

Ramya snorts, patting the plating of his thigh fondly and hearing the soft hum of static under her ear to signal his screen changing. She can only imagine his own little imagery on the screen with the flashing ‘go me’ across it. Silly bot.

She can’t help the soft sigh from her lips when his hand tucks strands behind her pierced ear, cursing herself mentally for the fluttering in her chest. Instead, she presses at him, urging Pathfinder to lie down on the blanket in her stead just so she can get a good look at him to stop these damn fluttering feelings in her chest. Perhaps not the best course of action when she’s biting her bottom lip and trying not to smile.

Pathfinder looked a mess without even being touched yet. His screen is hot pink now, a pastel pink emoji on the front with star eyes and his hands folded politely just under his screen. His legs bounce from one to the other as if he would when standing and excited, his cock standing to attention and drooling the white lubricant onto his own waist plating.

A quick run of two of her fingers along its ribbed texture and his hips jerking upwards immediately gives her a hint already of how well it was attached. Ramya can’t help herself, wrapping her fingers around and giving two quick strokes from base to tip. Immediately, Pathfinder lets out this high whining sound littered with static in his vocal module, his head turning to the side and an arm going over his optic as if embarrassed. “O-oh! That feels great!”

“Don’t need the confidence boost, mate, just lookin’ to see if it’s working is all. Of course it is, though, I modified it after all.”

“A-and it’s always great if it has ‘Rampart’ on it!” He agrees in that ever so chipper tone, even if it does waver and shake when her thumb slides over the slit of his ribbed cock. Her grin is lopsided, soft and holding back the fondness in her heart.

“Ya damn right it is. Now,” She pauses then, moving on top of him to straddle his waist. Letting her weight settle there, fingers wrapped around his cock to keep him sat upright. “Shall we give you a proper go?”

With how well Pathfinder had stretched her out, sliding down onto him is like a dream. Ramya is a bit overstimulated from earlier still, a small quiver and tightness to her thighs. Pathfinder lets out this surprised ‘oh!’ as she slides onto his girth, his hands finding purchase on her thighs and squeezing hard enough to leave bruises. His screen flashes hot pink, a wave of glitches shooting across it in a wave as the emoji flickers back and forth from drooling with hearts to having its eyes rolling back and tongue lolling out.

“Atta boy. Feelin ’ alright?” Ramya practically croons out, rolling her hips against his just to watch his screen glitch again and his voice module shake with a moan in reply full of static. ”I’ll take that as an enthusiastic yes!”

One hand rests lightly on his screen to keep her balance, splaying her fingers to make sure to monitor it if his ‘expression’ went sour. As soon as her hips start bouncing, Pathfinder’s voice module comes out with mostly static and glitching of his moans, his head turning to the side and his hands shaking on her thighs. Small sounds leave Ramya’s own lips, watching how well behaved he is under her and just how sensitive this poor bot was. Sheesh, remind her to help him turn that down--

Or well...maybe he could leave it up that high for now. She’d love to be able to do a bit more calibrations on him later.

“R-Ra— aaaa -mm-y- ya- ” His poor voice glitches and shakes, practically jittering when she starts bouncing her hips on him. She mimics the sound with a low moan, using her hand not balancing on his screen to reach up towards his neck, finding the exposed wiring at where his shoulder meets neck and quirking her fingers inside and lightly tugging.

Pathfinder immediately starts shaking, his legs kicking underneath himself until he can gain purchase and trying to hold Ramya still. She can’t help the grin spreading across her face, slamming her hips down harder and focusing more on him. His screen is a glitched mess of rainbows, flashing an emoji with its eyes rolled back and tongue lolled out and doing two peace signs. She’d ask later where he got that one and for what purpose.

“R-Ramya! My systems a-are overloading!” Poor sod sounds like he could cry if he had the tear ducts to. Pathfinder’s hands slide up along her waist, squeezing as a laugh falls from Ramya’s lips breathlessly.

“Dope. Ya gonna cum for me, baby boy? Let’s see it." She sighs out, resting both hands on his glitching screen as his voice dissolves into static when her hips pick up the pace. Pathfinder is cumming not long after, hands shaking on her waist, screen a glitching mess and the only sounds she can make out from him sounding like cut off, distant audio of him crying and whining out. His lubricant reserves feel like cum inside of her, thick and warm and bring Ramya to her own fourth orgasm. Weak and quieter than the others but still making her sigh out in satisfaction.

By the time her hips settle, he’s still shaking and overheating. Concerned, Ramya’s brows knit, stroking a hand over his optic’s cheek and yelping in surprise when suddenly his grapple comes shooting out to the side, hooking into her work bench and grounding him.

Loud laughter flies from her lips as Ramya rests on his cock, one hand covering over her mouth to muffle the snorts falling from her lips as Pathfinder’s screen starts to settle. His overload seems to reboot his systems, his screen flashing pastel blue with a yellow emoji blushing and looking surprised. “Oh dear! I did not mean to do that.”

“Ey, no sweat, Path. Got a laugh outta me. Let’s get you cleaned up and check out the data we collected, yeah?” Ramya laughs faintly throughout speaking, going to move off his lap but quickly stopped by his hands on her waist. Much gentler as he makes a soft, sad sound.

“Boo! Do you think we could cuddle a little before you get up?”

“You want MORE cuddling?! Didn’t I give you cuddles not fifteen minutes ago? You’re gonna get spoiled at this rate, mate.”

Immediately, his screen flashes to a puppy dog eye emoji with begging hands. Ramya groans, rolling her eyes dramatically as she flops down on top of him instead. Instantly hearing the ‘yay!!!’ erupting from him as his arms wrap around her and her cheek lies on his warm screen.

Damn bot was going to be the death of her.

Seems like her weak spot would always be machines, hm?

#Rampfinder #Pathfinder x Rampart #Rampart #Pathfinder #Apex legends #apex lemons #nsft #lemon #princess writing

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years ago

Text

Moments with mini-angel; Roger Taylor

*Author’s note*

Here we go guys I managed to FINALLY finish off the last part of my Moment’s with mini-angel chapter and here we go with the most lovable member of them all, ROGAH TAYLAH!!!!!! Now this was is prob. my FAV part of the series but also the toughest to write cause I had established throughout the entire Rock Angel series, that Roger and you reader-chan as the RA have this SPECIAL bond and I knew I had to try and top that w/baby Kelly (so I HOPE I delivered to long time fans of this series)

So not really any warnings just make sure you bill me your dentist bill by the end lol cause trust me you WILL get cavities from the sweetness that’s in this chap. Enjoy my lovelies ;)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@psychosupernatural

@waddles03

@simonedk

@platawnic

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@geek-and-proud

@kairosfreddie

@onebigfangirlworld

@bohemiansweede

@5sos-wdw

@labessieisallama

@naturalswifty89

@starswin

@dj-lowkey

@isabella-bby

_________________________________________________________

*New lion cub; Roger Taylor. 4 months old. Surrey, England*

I was rushing around the house trying to get myself ready. I don’t know why I agreed to do this interview in the first place? I wasn’t ready nor in the ‘physical condition’ to make a public appearance yet.

I was still trying to lose the post-pregnancy weight I had gained, now all the critics are gonna call me out on even more curves.

“You’re muttering again.” I heard Jack’s voice say.

“I don’t mutter.” I sassed at him.

“Yes you do. You always mutter whenever you get extremely insecure.” Jack came up behind me from the bathroom door and wrapped his arms around me. “Now c’mon, what’s going on in my Rock Angel’s mind?”

“Just…….insecurities.” he sighed heavily.

“This is about the TV interview today isn’t it?”

“Could I possible call in and cancel it? Plus we can just stay here with Kelly.” I suggested.

“No we can’t. Look, I know you’ve been trying your best to lose the post-pregnancy weight but baby you look just as beautiful as before. Hell you look even more beautiful with them. And if some asshole wants to poke fun at them then he clearly has no life than to bring others down. And that is literally a shit way to live.” I looked up at him as cupped the side of his jawline.

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because if I wasn’t then I’d have the hottest rock band beating my ass all over the world three times over.”

“Well Rog would beat you till the end of time.”

“See there we go!” I giggled softly as he kissed the side of my face up and down. “Funny and sexy. I really hit the jackpot with you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere Jack Kline.”

“Not true, it got me you.” I turned towards him and wrapped my arms around his neck. Before I could say anything back to him, the phone rang. I stepped out of the bathroom and picked up the phone connected to our nightstand.

“Hello?”

‘Hello (y/n) dearie, this is Trudy calling.’

“Oh hi Mrs. Cushing, how are you?”

‘I’m afraid not good dearie. I suddenly fell ill with the flu so I’m afraid I can’t come over and babysit for you.’

“Oh no, I’m so sorry to hear about that Mrs. Cushing.”

‘I really hate to drop this on you at the last minutes but—’

“No, no it is what it is. I’m sorry but it would be better if you stayed home and rest.”

‘Oh thank you so much for understanding dear. I would hate to give the sweet little one what I got, especially with her recent colic recovery.’

“Absolutely yes. Well I hope you feel better Mrs. Cushing, take care.”

‘You too dearie, goodbye.’

“Bye.” I hung up the phone and I turned to Jack.

“Is Mrs. Cushing sick?” he asked me.

“The flu. I told her it’s best she stay home and rest.” He sighed heavily and came out of the bathroom and sat down at the foot of the bed.

“So what do you wanna do?”

“What can we do? Deacy and Ronnie are in Bali, Brian’s busy with his own producing, I can’t even get a hold of Chrissie these days, Freddie said he didn’t even wanna come near the house till she was 6months after your little wake up fiasco.”

“You’re never gonna let that go are you?” he said to me with a quirked brow.

“Hell to the no. And today Rory has a doctor’s appointment and Dominique is busy with that.”

“Well you do realize that just leaves…….” Jack trailed off.

“I know. I can’t ask him to do it last minute. He prefers to know ahead of schedule.”

“(Y/n), you know that man would fly half way across the world if something ever happened to you. Remember when that bastard plastered our faces on the front page of every tabloid when we first met. The whole band actually cancelled the rest of their Japan tour just to interrogate you.”

“Your right. I just hope he’s up for it.”

“He is. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he’s waiting outside across the porch right now.” Jack teased as he went up to the phone. He picked up the receiver and dialed Roger’s number while I continued to get ready.

About 15 minutes later, we soon heard the doorbell ring and we both looked at each other.

“Speak of the chaotic blonde devil.” Said Jack.

“Just be thankful Fred isn’t here to back him up, then I’d really be worried.” I said grimly.

“You wanna answer it?”

“No you go ahead, I wanna say goodbye to my baby real quick.” Jack nodded and pecked my cheek and headed downstairs while I headed towards the nursery room.

*3rd Person POV*

Jack walked down the stairs all the while hearing the doorbell ring frantically as well as the loud banging at the door.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I’m coming Roger, coming!” the second he turned the lock, the door suddenly swung open and in came in Roger Taylor. Wearing his usual prescription shades and the shirt that (y/n) had named ‘the dad shirt’. The blue with yellow and white lines across it, white pants, and his usual favorite brand of shoes.

“Sorry I’m late Jack, hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“No not really.”

“Where is she?”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

“Up in the nursery—” before Jack could even finish his sentence, Roger immediately charged upstairs and trudged towards the nursery room. He entered in a calm manner to see (y/n) standing over her daughter’s crib, and baby Kelly cooing up at her mother.

*My POV*

“Hello lovie.” I looked up to see Roger standing there.

“Hey dad.” I said softly. “She’s literally just waking up now. Latest she’s ever slept even though she went to bed at her normal time.”

“Well that’s another thing she got from her mother.” He teased as he came up and stood beside me. I gawked at him and slapped his shoulder he chuckled softly. “Nah, nah, nah I’m kidding. Well—”

“Dad!”

“I’m kidding. But I do admit you do look adorable when you sleep. Freddie says you look like a cat when you especially curl yourself inwards on the tour bus beds.” I lowered my head and I said down to Kelly.

“My darling baby, don’t you dare listen to any stories your godfather tells you.”

“Yes Kelly bear. Do listen to the stories I tell you. I’ve got loads of embarrassing stories in regards to your mummy.” He cooed down at her and he gingerly bopped her tiny little nose. “And you missy, need to head out and get to that TV studio for that interview.”

“Okay but not until I give you the list of Kelly’s instructions—”

“No need I know everything this cute dovie needs.” He interrupted me.

“No dad please you need to listen…..”

“I did. I remember where you have all the emergency numbers, who to call, where the food and milk is at, how to prepare it. Love I’m not the chaotic young drummer I used to be 12 years ago.”

“No. You’re just older.” He glared at me and that’s when he suddenly tossed me over his shoulder. “Whoa Roger what the…..”

“Ah-ah-ah-ah! No swearing in front of the baby. Now you’re going to that interview and I will take care of everything.” He walked out of Kelly’s nursery with me still hung over his shoulder.

“No stop it! Put me down!”

“Nope not till you get your butt out that door and go that interview!”

“Put me down this is humiliating!”

“Oh come on it’s not as humiliating as New Orleans at Mardi Gras back in 82.” As we reached the front door, he opened the door and set me down and gently pushed me out the door. He then grabbed Jack’s wrist and shoved him outside. “Alright now both of you go. Leave and we’ll see you on TV lovie. See you later this afternoon you two love you my lion cub, bye!”

He slammed the door shut and we heard the click of the locks. Jack and I looked at each other shaking our heads.

“It’s like he wanted to get rid of us.” said Jack.

“Like I said, he’s bonkers for our baby girl. But he is right, my interview starts in 30 minutes.” Jack and I walked towards the car and got inside. I started the engine up and soon we took off out of the driveway.

*Roger’s POV*

I peeked out the window to see them finally drive off and as soon as they were gone, I shot my fist in the air.

“Finally! I thought they’d never fuckin leave. The three other guys get their one on one time with baby Kelly and I don’t? That is a crime in itself.” I said as I raced back up towards the nursery. “Well no more, this time it’s just us. Me and my little Kelly-belly.”

As soon as I reached the nursery, I could hear the faint sounds of her sad little cries. Poor little thing must already miss her mummy, well time for god-papa to come to the rescue. I walked over towards her crib and reached down with one hand and stroked her head.

“Shhh, shhh. Now, now Kelly dear, mummy and daddy will be back soon.” Her crying ceased as soon as she heard my voice, her eyes that once cried small crocodile tears, now looked up at me with curiosity.

Her small brain must’ve soon connected the dots because with the snap of a finger she went from sad to happy as she reached out towards me happily cooing.

“Oh is all that joy for me?” I teased down to her. Her baby laughs echoing throughout the room as I talked down to her, “Is this happy baby all for me?” I reached down and picked her up and held her close to my chest. “God I swear every time I see you, you’re growing like a weed, much like my own little girl. You both need to stop that.” She babbled on. “No you do. I swear before you know it you’ll be walking, talking, graduating school and university, and god forbid marriage. God why can’t you girls just stay small and young forever like this?”

Kelly continued to coo at me and she even gave me that adorable gummy smile. I smiled down at her before gently readjusting her in my arms so that her head rested up against my shoulder.

“What do you say we fill that tummy of yours up with milk? Hmm? I’ll bet you’re hungry aren’t yah?” she squirmed in my embrace and I took that as a yes. The two of us walked out of the nursery and I prepped her bottle.

I looked at the instructions that (y/n) had written down when it came to prepping her bottle and as we waited for the bottle to warm up in the warm water, Kelly soon started getting even fussier.

“Oh I know lovie, I know it’s coming though.” I soothed her as I gently bounced her up and down. After checking to see the bottle was all done, I took it out and walked over to the rocking chair in the living room. Right as the nipple of the bottle touched Kelly’s mouth, she opened her mouth and proceeded to inhale her milk. “Now, now not so fast. Oi you little piggy, you’re gonna end up sick if you drink too fast you know that.”

I took the bottle away from her for a second to soon hear her do a small and very tiny but adorable hiccup. I pulled my shades over on top of my head just as I gave her back her bottle.

God if this is what (y/n) looked like as a baby, then she must’ve been the cutest baby in all of Leicester.

“My sweet little Kelly, you are every ounce of your mother aren’t you? Same eyes, same nose, and I can tell you’ll have her same fighting spirit. You know; when I first met your mother she was a shy one. But she had a kind soul. Even though I’ve always said this as a joke just to piss your uncles off, she actually gave me 1 and 3/7th sugars in my coffee. She really believed that it was for a health problem cause a friend of hers dealt with the same thing. From that day on, I knew I had to protect your mum. Because if she was willing to look after me, I knew I had to do the same for her.”

When she was finally done with her bottle, I set it down on the table and proceeded to burp her. I had her over my right shoulder and I gently patted her back till finally she let out a burp. And I’ll say I won’t deny that I was proud to hear that man-like burp come out of her.

“Nice one!” I praised. I held her out in front of me so that I could get a good look at her. She softly cooed before she soon started making bubbles come out of her mouth with her spit. I shook my head at her and asked her playfully, “What? You think you’re a soap dispenser?” she just looked at me with those wide, curious eyes of hers as she continued to make more bubbles come out of her mouth.

I popped her bubble spit when she raised her hand and proceeded to touch my face. Her tiny hand which felt like the same size as a cat paw, soon began trailing down from my cheek to my lips. She gently gripped my lips into her tiny fist which made me laugh.

“Excuse me Missy, those are my lips.” I said in a smooshed up voice. She began to laugh thinking it was funny. “So now what, hmm? You think you can just own my lips huh? Is that it?” she babbled a short response. “Oh you do own them huh? Okay then, you can have them.” I then took her tiny wrist between my thumb and index finger and moved them away from my lips so that I could proceed with a kiss attack.

I first kissed all over her tiny hand, before moving up her arm, to her shoulder before finally reaching her face. I then followed through by making sure that I as I kissed her, I made those obnoxious kissing sounds with each kiss and giving her the occasional raspberry or ten.

You know they say there is always something that can be precious to us. In my life I’ve had many precious things, but out of everything I could ever have or own, there is nothing more precious to me than the sound of a baby’s laughter.

The first time I made Felix laugh, it was—god it was indescribable. It was like—a bell had rang off, but it was so soft and melodic, nothing like from the hard rock instruments I’ve surrounded myself with. In fact his laugh was the one light musical ring that I would always love and cherish.

And now with my two girls, my daughter and goddaughter their laughter’s are just as melodic if not even more so than Felix’s was.

“I told you. You wanted my lips, then you get all the wet, slobbery kisses you can imagine.” I told her in-between my kisses on her chubby cheeks. She laughed heartily and I swear it was like my heart was soaring at hearing that adorable little laugh. “You’re a silly girl. Do you know that?” I told her as I held her up in front of me.

She cooed at me as her hand once again reached out to touch my face, this time she rested it against my cheek. I smiled at her and nuzzled against her tiny hand.

“Do you know just how cute you are?” she looked at me with awe. “Yeah, you are adorable. Just like your mother. Ohh let’s see if her interview has started yet. You wanna watch mummy on the TV?” at hearing the name ‘mummy’ she let out a coo. “Yeah that’s what I thought. Let’s see if mummy is on the telly yet.”

We moved over to the couch and I switched on the telly and turned it to BBC1. There on the couch was Sally Fields, the young woman who I’ve been in an interview with a few times, charming woman and she asks good questions compared to male interviewers.

“Right thank you to Timothy Dalton for his onset interview for his next upcoming James Bond film, up next we have a young artist who has been making a name for herself in such a short time. The Rock Angel (Y/n) Kline will be here right after these messages.”

“Bloody commercials.” Kelly let out a soft ‘bah’ and I replied to her, “You said it lovie.“ the BBC station played commercial after commercial after commercial. It just seemed to drag on forever till finally Sally came back on the screen.

“Welcome back. Our next guest rose to fame back in 1981 when she performed in the middle of a Queen concert in Madison Square Garden. For the next 5 years she proceeded to be one of the youngest female rock stars ever to have #1 hits in both America and Britain. (Y/n) Kline the Rock Angel is here with us today, welcome (Y/n)”. The camera cut to (n/n) sitting right there on the couch.

“Hello Sally, thanks for having me here.” At seeing her mummy on screen, Kelly reached out her tiny hands cooing in awe.

“Yeah you see mummy? Yeah she’s on the telly.”

“Nice to see you here, now I was told you were on a brief hiatus for a while.” Sally told her.

“Yes because just 4 months ago I had given birth to my beautiful baby girl. My first child.”

“Which congratulations by the way.” The audience clapped and she thanked them.

“Can you clap baby girl? Hmm? Clap for mummy?” she reached her hand out and tried to point out towards her mum. I chuckled and took her tiny hand in mine before taking her other one, “Like this baby girl.” I gently allowed her hands to come together before quickly separating them and then making them come back together again.

She eventually caught on and as soon as she heard her hands make that clap sound, she was in awe as she began giggling that sweet baby giggle and clapping her hands rapidly (just to hear that sound again).

“That’s it baby girl Yay!”

“Now your recent album ‘Mother love’ is quite different from all the other albums you’ve done previously.” Sally said to (y/n).

“Yeah, yeah. But isn’t it always good to mix things up a bit?” That’s my girl.

“Tell me how long it took you to record this album?”

“Well given the fact that I did want to try and get it done before I went on my maternity leave I wanna say—about 2-3months.”

“Now explain the title of your album, where did that come from?”

“Well as I said and from what everyone saw when I made my first public appearance back at Live Aid, I was five months pregnant at the time, and right after the concert I dove right into making that album. I really wanted this album to reach out to mothers everywhere whether they’re senior mom’s with grown up kids, the mothers who have many kids or first time mothers like myself.”

The interview continued on with the same old boring questions so I turned my attention down to little Kelly. She continued to stare at the telly in awe and she would let out a soft coo every time her mum came on screen.

“So what’s next for you once your maternity leave is finished?” asked Sally.

“Well there’s a summer tour I’ve got planned out and then maybe a new single, not quite sure about that just yet but you can expect me on the road this summer.” Of course she couldn’t reveal it quite yet cause this tour she was going on was a Queen+Angel European summer tour.

“Well (Y/n) it was lovely speaking to you and we can hear in the background your latest song ‘Protecting me’. Now let’s not just hear it but also check out the music video for it.”

“Yes, lets.” It was then the telly showed a funny little edit to now show (Y/n)’s music video for Protecting me (which I helped produce).

The morning went by and soon it was time for Kelly’s schedule naptime. After feeding her second bottle and burping her, we sat down in her nursery and I was reading her one of the many books that Veronica and Deacy had donated to them that they once read to Robert, Micky, Laura, and Joshua when they were just babies.

As I read to her, she didn’t seem at all tired. She just kept looking at the book then back up at me with them doe like eyes of hers.

“Right, I know. Boring isn’t it?” I closed the book and tossed it aside back towards the reading pile. “I think—you deserve a lullaby, hmm? Want papa Roger to sing you a lullaby?” I adjusted her so that now her head rested against my chest, right over my heart. “Your mummy told me of how when you were still in her tummy, you kicked along to Radio Gaga. Did you know that I wrote that song?”

She cooed up at me as her tiny little hand reached out for me. I softly laughed and said as I nuzzled her cute button nose with mine.

“Yes I did. You want me to sing it to you?” I slowly rocked the chair back and forth as I softly began to sing ‘Radio Gaga’ to her. Her eyes were locked right up at me as I sang her favorite song. She was so invested in my soft voice but I could see her eyes slowly drooping down.

Softly tapping my socked foot on the furry carpet beneath me for the two beats that the audience would usually clap to. Just before I could even reach the second chorus, she let out a yawn before cuddling herself into my chest, gripping the placket of my shirt. I looked down at her and couldn’t help but smile warmly.

Like mother like daughter.

I sat up and gently placed her back in her crib so that she would sleep more comfortably. It was then I felt someone take my hand, of course I didn’t need to look down to know just who it was because the moment I felt the palm of my hand being kissed I knew it was (y/n).

*My POV*

After a long morning of interviews (both TV and radio) Jack and I finally arrived back at the house. Already I could see some of Kelly’s toys out and some bottles hadn’t been washed yet.

“Dad.” I shook my head.

“I’ll take care of the bottles, you go see if he’s at least putting her down for her afternoon nap.” Said Jack as he kissed the top of my head and went to pick up the two bottles left on the table.

I slowly walked up the stairs and as I approached the nursery room, I heard Roger’s soft singing. I crept quieter towards the nursery and peeked through the door to see Roger rocking my baby girl to sleep as he sung Radio Gaga to her (in a ballad type way, which really surprised me since he was such a hard rock and roller).

Seeing my surrogate father rocking my baby girl and being so domestic it—made my heart melt. Roger always tried to put up this hard wall and be this ‘heart of stone rock and roller’ the ‘bad boy’ of Queen what with his reputation with the ladies (especially back in the 70’s).

But now—he’s more mellow, especially when it’s involved either me or his own kids, and now he’s added Kelly to the list of those who can see the true soft-and-fluff Roger Taylor.

As I watched him put Kelly back in her crib, I felt like I could make my move and let him know I was home. I silently walked towards him then once his hands were free, I took his left hand and lifted it, palm up, and kissed it before clasping my hand over his.

“We saw your interview with Sally.” He whispered to me.

“You proud I didn’t spoil the combined summer tour?”

“Honestly, I don’t care if you admitted it or not. But you should’ve seen your baby girl. Her eyes were glued to that screen the entire time you came on screen.” I felt my heart melt once more as I looked down at my baby girl.

“Thanks again for watching her dad. Especially at such short notice.”

“Hey, you know I’m always here for you. Both of you. I told you the day she was born that I was always, always gonna be there. Even cross an ocean to help you take care of your baby.”

“And give Jack fatherly advice?”

“Meh.” I playfully punched him but he raised his hands in surrender. “Of course, of course. Deacy can give the lovey-dovey side of being a father. And I can tell him how to be wary of the boys that’ll come in the future.”

“You mean boys like you were?”

“Oh now that…..”

“Shhh. Don’t you dare wake my baby girl up.” I shushed him. The two of us looked down at Kelly to see her still asleep. I gestured him outside and the two of us walked out to the hallway. After I shut the door, he said to me.

“Now about that comment…..”

“I’m messing with yah. Now go on and head back home, Jack and I can handle this from here now.”

“You sure you don’t need me to stick around?” he gave me those famed blue eyes puppy dog eyes. I crossed my arms and quirked my brow at him. “Fine, besides Dominque is probably back from the hospital with Rory. Might as well see how my baby girl did on her checkup. And kiss her boo-boo’s if they gave her shots.” I softly giggled. “What?”

“You said boo-boo’s.”

“Oh grow up!” he said as he walked towards the stairs.

“No dad I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that as a compliment. I’ve—never really seen you like this other than with me. This whole domestic side of you, I love it.” He stopped just as he reached the last step and had a soft smile across his face.

“I only reserve that for only the most important people in my life.” I smiled at him and walked towards him and the two of us hugged each other.

“I’m—I’m so glad that I got the internship. You guys have literally been the best thing to ever happen to me in years.” I felt him embrace me back and he said softly in my ear.

“And you’ve been the best thing to ever happen to us. We love you (n/n). So, so much. We’re always here for you. I’m always there for you. Now and forever, my little lion cub.” I snuggled deeper into his shoulder and squeezed him even tighter as he did the same for me.

After that, Jack and I bid him goodbye and he drove off back to his family. That Roger Taylor, he can be a handful at times, even to a point where he’s the ultimate helicopter dad. But—his heart’s always in the right place, especially in times like this.

I’m sure after all this, he’s found himself a new lion cub of the Kline clan to call his own. Of course, I don’t really mind because that’s what the three of us are. A strong coalition of lions.

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impala-dreamer · 5 years ago

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Nightmares

SPN FanFic

~The Mark isn't just killing Dean...~

Dean x Reader (ish), Sam

2,500 Words

Warnings: Angst. Physical Attack. Fighting. Sads. MOC!Dean Angst.

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Come on, Sam!” you yelled above the crowds, tugging on his arm. “I don’t wanna go by myself!”

“No way, Y/N/N,” he replied with a loud laugh, stumbling over a curb as you pulled him along. “I’m not riding an elephant.”

Spinning around, you gave him a childlike frown of annoyance. “It’s Dumbo! You have to ride Dumbo!”

Sam yanked his arm from your grasp, still smiling, but not budging. “No.”

“Dean! Sam’s being mean to me!” You peeked around the taller man to find Dean with his lips wrapped around a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar. Melted chocolate was smeared on his cheeks like an edible Joker mask.

“What’s that?” He looked up from his treat but his eyes did not land on you. They went further down the path, towards a pretty lady in a golden gown, surrounded by flashing cameras and eager children.

“Dean!” You tried again, but he was already pushing passed you.

“Sorry, Y/N/N, I got a date with a Princess…”

Chest filled with a sigh, you shook your head and turned back to Sam who was suddenly closer than before. He smiled and bent his knees when you crooked a finger at him, leaning his ear to you.

“You're going on the ride with me,” you said firmly, “or else-”

“Y/N!”

Dean’s scream broke through your dream.

Sunshine began to fade; Sam’s smile melted into a tight line. Balloons broke free from tiny hands, clouding the blue Floridian sky, and the hot pavement beneath your shoes gave way, churning your stomach as the world pulled away from you.

“Sam! Y/N!”

You jerked away, pulling in a deep breath as you sat up, blinking into the darkness of your room, ears waiting, straining for his voice.

All was still.

You lay back down and tried to recapture the dream, but it was no use. Also, quite ridiculous to think you’d ever get the boys down to the Magic Kingdom. But that was the thing about dreams, you had no control and they did what they wanted. Sure would be funny to see Sam smushed into a cartoon elephant though…

“Y/N…”

It wasn’t a scream but you could hear him clearly.

Dean’s room was just across the way from yours and the hallway acted like a tin can some nights, bringing noises across the tiles.

“Y/N!”

That one was a bit louder, so you jumped back up and cracked your door open. It wasn’t unusual for wayward sounds to transverse the airwaves, but for privacy’s sake, you mostly ignored them. This sounded nothing like Dean’s usual moaning. Something was wrong.

“Y/N! Please!”

He was in pain.

You leaped across the cold tiles and pushed his door open, not really knowing what you were walking into.

Dean lay flat on his back, fists and jaw clenched, twisting in pain. He was out cold, locked in a nightmare that seemed more real than anything you’d seen in a while. He punched the air as he yelled again, this time for help, and you rushed to his side.

His face was covered in sweat, eyes sealed tight, lips shaking with shuddering breaths. His right arm was pressed to the bed, the Mark burning bright in the darkness.

“Dean.” You lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he would not calm.

“Y/N, no! Somebody help!

You shook him firmly. “Dean! Wake up, dude.”

He roared in his sleep, battling some unseen thing, and it broke your heart. Nightmares weren’t uncommon for any of you and most times a gentle shake could break the torment. Not this time.

“Dean!” you yelled in his ear, reaching over to grab both of his arms and hopefully jar him awake.

You never saw it coming.

Dean’s eyes popped open but he wasn’t really all there. His right arm shot up, fist connecting with your chin, sending you flying backwards off the bed. You hit the dresser, head cracking painfully against the antique.

“Dean! Wake up!” you gasped, calling to him as he jumped towards you, eyes red, hands out, reaching for your neck.

You tried to move, to kick him away but he was too big, too fast, too lost. His huge hands locked around your throat and you managed one final shout before he began to squeeze.

“Sam!”

A scream ripped him awake. Sam sucked in a deep breath of worry as he grabbed his pistol from the nightstand and bolted from his room.

“Y/N!”

There was no answer but his own echo and the slap of his bare feet against the tiles.

His gun lead the way. His breath was quick, chest heaving, heart racing.

“Y/N!”

Your room was empty, door slightly ajar. He looked inside quickly, confused by your absence, but a crash from across the hall pulled his attention.

Dean's door was open but his bed was empty as well. Sam ran inside and dropped his gun, seeing a nightmare come to life.

Dean was crouched over you, his hands tight around your throat, the muscles of his arms and neck tense and pulsing. Sam shouted as he raced to pull him back, terrified that he had come too late.

“Dean!”

Sam grabbed his brother's arm and Dean woke, inhaling deeply as if rising out of a pool. His hold on you relaxed and he blinked up at Sam, startled back into himself.

“Dean! Let her go!”

Sam pulled him away, practically knocking Dean onto his back as he dove to check on you.

“Sam, I…” Dean looked down at his hands, still shaking from the nightmare, fingers red from the tightness of his grip. His gaze lifted an inch and focused on you, your eyes closed, jaw slack, bruises already forming on your delicate skin. “I didn't…” His heart was thudding wildly, raging against his ribs, his vision still foggy as Sam tried to wake you. “Is she…”

Your eyes fluttered and Sam’s shoulders relaxed, curling inwards as he exhaled. “She’s OK.”

A deep breath shook you fully awake and you coughed hard, body shaking as your lungs struggled to catch up. “Sam?”

“I’m here,” he said quickly, forcing a calming smile. “You alright?”

You nodded and he patted your cheek; your eyes locked together in silent communication. It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up from unconsciousness to find Sam above you, nor you both knew, would it be the last.

Dean’s weak voice pulled you both apart. “I’m so sorry, Y/N/N.”

Managing a smile, you sat up, helped by Sam’s offered forearm. “‘S’ok, Dean.” Your voice was rough and you hated it. “I’m fine.”

He backed up across the room, shaking his head as he watched you try to stand. “No.” His eyes were wide and empty, flooded with guilt and lingering dream phantoms. “Y/N…”

A wave of dizziness overtook you but Sam was there to hold you up. You looked to Dean, tears pricking your eyes as you saw the guilt paint his face. “It’s OK, Dean. Really.”

“It’s not!” he yelled, suddenly back in a rage, but this time at himself. He cursed the Mark, he cursed his choices, cursed Sam for bringing him back from the darkness.

The door slammed against the wall as he tore it open.

The hallway echoed his wordless growls as he rushed into the dark.

“Are you really OK,” Sam asked once Dean was gone. “Your neck is bruising pretty bad.” He pressed two fingers into an indent beneath your jaw and you cringed, tossing up a hand to knock his away.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Another round of coughing took you down and Sam helped you to sit on the end of the bed. “It’s getting worse,” you whispered when the air returned.

“You wanna go to the hospital?” Sam asked, leaning down to inspect your throat. “May have crushed something-”

“Not me!” You sighed and looked up, hoping you didn’t have to say it outloud.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“So what do we do? He can’t keep going like this and we all remember what happened last time.” A shiver lit your spine as the memory of green eyes turned charcoal flashed through your mind. “We can’t go through that again. Any of us.”

“So we get rid of the Mark.”

You laughed bitterly. “Just like that?” You shrugged, mocking his simple answer. “Just… poof! Rid of the Mark? Brilliant. How?”

Sam grit his teeth. “I’m working on it.”

He would give you no more, stepping away and ending the conversation.

“Great. Secrets work so well with you guys.” You rubbed at your neck and stood slowly. “Well, you let me know if you need any help with your mysterious plan, Sam.”

He watched you walk away. “Where are you going?”

Your hand lingered on the doorframe. “To help your brother.”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “but I’m gonna try.”

“Ah, beat me to it.”

Dean turned when your voice filled the Library, decanter of whiskey clutched in his hand as he poured a glass. “Want one?”

You nodded and he poured, leaving the tumbler on the table next to him instead of handing it to you. He barely looked at you, afraid to see what he’d done, afraid he’d do it again.

“Thanks.” The first sip burned as it always did but you were grateful for the numbness it brought. The second was heavenly, warming you from the top down, taking away the shiver creeping up from your bare toes on the cold stone floor.

Dean drank his ration in one swallow, then went back for more. You watched the level in the crystal bottle dip with each drink he took, wondering how much was enough.

“How many have you had?” you asked softly, placing your glass back on the table.

His back was to you as he poured another. He lifted the glass to his lips and gave a bitter laugh. “Not enough.”

“Dean…”

Crystal slammed down on the tray. “What?” His voice was rough and low, more of a growl than a question.

You lifted a hand to his arm but he spun away, leaving you hanging midair. “Talk to me, please.”

He dropped down into a chair by the bookshelf and opened his arms in sarcastic surrender. “About what?”

You tried to ignore his harsh tone, but it stung. “Oh, I don’t know, Dean,” you spat, “you almost killed me back there so I kinda feel like you can cut the bullshit and talk to me for once.”

His brows raised in surprise and then turned inward as his eyes narrowed. “About...what?” he asked again, drawing out each letter like a hiss.

Your stomach flipped as a spark of the Demon peeked out of his eyes. It was just your imagination, but your brain would never let you forget that night Sam brought him home, you’d never be able to unsee the violence in his gaze or unhear the blood that dripped in his voice.

“Your nightmares are getting worse,” you whispered, choking down the fear. “I’m worried about you.”

Dean laughed and sat back. “Aren’t we all?”

“Don’t be mean,” you snapped. “I’m trying to talk to you. I want to help.”

“You wanna help?” He smiled grimly and set his hands on the arms of the chair, pushing himself up quickly. “You want to help me? Help me what?” He rushed at you, heavy steps slapping the stone. “Stop dreaming? Stop reliving every fucking mistake I’ve ever made? Stop seeing every corpse I bled dry, every soul I carved?”

You stepped backwards but he countered, coming at you until you hit the table.

“You want to help stop the pain of this-this thing?” He yanked up his sleeve, forcing his forearm towards you. The Mark was enraged and glowing; red on pale skin. “Stop this anger inside of me? This need to rip something apart? You gonna help me? You can’t help me. You can’t do shit.”

His words broke your heart, the pain on his face tore you apart. “Dean!”

His fists balled and he lunged forward, raising his right hand high, ready to strike. You held your breath, body tensing, bracing for the strike but refusing to hide. He froze.

“Do it,” you yelled. “You wanna hit me? You need something to rip apart so badly? Do it!”

Dean clenched his fist tighter but his arm would not drop. The Mark burned bright. His chest heaved with strangled breaths.

“Do it!”

He flinched.

“Do it!”

Your screams echoed through him and his jaw fell, the rage melting as you came at him, fighting back with weak fists upon his chest. You beat into him, pounding against his heart as the tears broke free, flooding your cheeks and tightening your cries.

“Do it!”

Dean stumbled backwards and you went with him, forcing your knuckles into his firm flesh, hurting yourself more than him.

“Do it!”

He grabbed at your sleeve, marked arm dropping to cling to your shoulder, bunching the thin fabric between his fingers as he pulled you close. “Y/N/N, please…”

“Do it!” You raged, pushing when you could no longer punch, howling when you could no longer find the words.

Dean wrapped himself around you and you both went down, crumbling at the knees into a mess upon the cold floor. His tears fell silent into your hair as he hid his face; arms tight around your back, breath hot on your neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried. “So sorry. I-I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t.”

Shuddering against him, desperate to breathe, you pushed your face out from the cave of his arms and clung to him, one arm sneaking up around his neck to lock him to you. “It’s OK, Dean. It’s not you. I trust you, OK? I do. This...it-it was just a nightmare.”

He calmed, breath slowing, grip loosening slightly. He shook his head as he ran out of fight, body going slack against you. “No, Y/N,” he said, voice shaking and soft. “The real nightmare is hurting you.”

Sam was awake, lamp by his bed on and casting shadows on his empty walls. He lay in bed, one hand tucked beneath his head, the other resting on his stomach, counting each breath as if they were failures. Every breath he took with Dean in pain was a defeat.

You didn’t knock.

“He OK?”

You shook your head, eyes down on the floor. “No.”

Sam sat up, waiting for you to speak, explain yourself.

“Listen, whatever secret plan you have brewing-”

He started to get out of bed, ready to defend himself again. “Y/N, just hear me out-”

“No.” You raised a hand, stopping him cold. “Whatever you’re up to… Do it. He can’t keep this up any longer.” A tear rolled but you beat it away with a flick of your wrist. “Neither can I.”

2019 Forever Tags:

@akshi8278 @amanda-teaches @arses21434 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @because-imma-lady-assface @burningcoffeetimetravel @colagirl5 @cosicas-cuquis @cosmicfire72 @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @dean-winchesters-bacon @deansenwackles @deansgirl215 @deanmonandnegansbitch @dolphincliffs @dubuforeveralone @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @eternal-elir @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @gayspacenerd @hella-aj-the-trickers-son @herbologystudent252 @hobby27 @ilsawasanacrobat @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @lastactiontricia @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mysticmaxie @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @peridot-rose @risingphoenix761 @roonyxx @roxyspearing @sandlee44 @shadowkat-83 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnficgirl @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-took-me-over @thehardcoveraddict @tmiships4life @wegoddessofhell @winchesterprincessbride @winterpoohbear

#spn fanfic #angst #dean winchester #sam winchester #MOC!dean #one shot

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photiniainsummer · 4 years ago

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A Little Audience Participation Can Tip the Scales (2/?): Hunting Blind

Genre: GenFic - Action, Mystery, Humor Rating: Teen and Up Story Summary: There’s a strange group living at the old Markiplier Manor. They’re the villains of their tales, they’re looking for information, and they need your help putting Mark’s scattered egos back together to get their lives back. And stop Mark and the Entity breaking reality. Small goals. (Second Person POV, vaguely fem-coded Reader) Chapter Summary: The one where you gin up the courage for some minor trespassing Word Count: 5810 Author's Note: Decided to cross-post from my Ao3! The next three chapters are already up, and I try to post every Tuesday. :3

Interested?

Read on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30510852/chapters/75668213

Hunting Blind

With the Manor’s heavy gate behind you, you tug your shirt back into place and loop your bag to hang securely across your body before beating a quick path up the driveway toward the Manor. There’s no real point in trying to be sneaky about it - with the dusk wrapping around you and the nearest neighbors seemingly out, there isn’t much to try to sneak around. Regardless, your nerves push you onward at a steady pace up to the large front plaza, your thoughts roiling. Jonah had seen to that, giving you just enough to be suspicious of, to drive you onwards in his absence.

What could be bad enough that a decade after Mark’s death, and even longer after whatever might have happened actually happened, that the boards of practically every paper in the state would nix any mention of him? What could he have possibly left behind at what was likely the scene of his crime that would unveil the truth?

Most importantly, what or who would you find when you made it inside?

Shaking off the thought, you dig out the little collapsible nightstick your parents had insisted you carry when you’d moved into the city proper. Thankfully, you had never been in a position where you needed to use it, but many where you had been grateful for its reassuring weight. You hold it now in your hand, thumb on the release as you make it up the annoyingly long and snaking driveway to the silent plaza. Shrouded by trees, the space is even darker than the rest of the grounds, all awash in strange, late evening shadows. It had clearly been meant for welcoming in guests, for hosting a number of their vehicles at a time, but now, overly quiet with the added dampening of the trees and without even a security light to cut through the shade, it was eerie. Lonely.

Again, you have to focus on the task at hand and keep your mind off these wandering asides. You’d always had an active imagination, but now was certainly not the time to let it run wild. You gather your wits about you (really, you just take a really deep breath and hope that’s what that looks like) and approach the large, wooden double door entrance. A built-in eaves houses it, and even in the gloom, you can see a family of spiders have made the nicely sheltered spot their home. Reflexively ducking your head just in case there are any low-hanging creepy-crawlies, you press close to the doors. They still gleam despite their disuse, well-burnished dark wood carved in elegant yet simple patterns.

It’s only when your hand finds one of their brass handles that you consider the Manor could be locked. You try it anyway, pressing on the latch with your thumb. It makes some downward progress but sticks halfway before popping back up to its original position. You curse quietly to yourself and try again, but the latch repeats its stifled motion. You start clicking the latch repeatedly, tugging on the door for good measure. You lean your weight into it, and a particularly good press-and-push combination sends the latch snapping suspiciously like you’ve broken it, and you stumble into darkness.

Catching your weight on the swinging door, you pull up short in the entryway, stunned by the sudden reveal of the yawning belly of the Manor. Although your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, you don’t need them to be able to tell that the place is massive. You can feel it. A cool breeze of emptiness strokes your face, and you straighten up to get your bearings. Out before you is a massive room seemingly a little lower than the tiled entryway where you stand. Along with the vaulted ceiling directly above you, your stumbling footsteps echo back loudly.

“....christ on a cracker,” you breathe, then reflexively cover your mouth as you remember you’re meant to be sneaking around. After your entrance, though, you’re not sure if that’s a totally viable strategy. Regardless, you drop your hand from your mouth and retrieve your phone, turning on its flashlight and casting a somewhat shaky light around the core of the Manor. Just as Jonah had said, it’s still full of… well. Stuff. The massive room you felt before is filled with what seems to be heavy furniture, ornate shapes covered in white sheets and pushed around at strange angles. You swing the light around, catching yourself in the eye with it as it falls across and is reflected by a massive, cracked mirror directly to your right. Thankfully, you manage to stifle a hiss of surprise before it slips out between your teeth. Blinking through your self-injury, you move the light to the side, allowing you to see the rest of the surrounding area more clearly.

The mirror there is uncovered, spotted with age and covered in a thin layer of dust. You can see a few handprints on its gilded frame, but the massive, multifingered, spiderweb crack running along the center demands your attention. It looks as if it’s dented, almost, the rounded crack pressed inward from the force of impact. Your inwardly warped expression stares back at you - do you always look so much like a deer in the headlights?

The feeling of being watched strikes you again.

Lifting your unextended nightstick, you instinctively shine your light up to the second floor, illuminating a landing with dark wood to match the floors of the house. Emptiness is all that greets you, although you can feel a shiver hiding down in the muscles of your shoulders, now. There’s nothing enough to shiver at, but something in you knows, instinctively… something. You aren’t sure what to call it, but there is something there.

All the more reason to stop standing around like an idiot and look for what you came here for, your brain helpfully supplies.

Resolving to speed this process along, you shut the door somewhat behind you before easing across the tiled floor to keep your steps from echoing so loudly. An imposing statue of a woman in flight welcomes you to what seems to have been the main sitting room. Now, it seems more like the main workspace for whatever restoration crew was here last. The wooden floors, likely once as burnished as the exterior door, are dim with dust, cut through with work boot footprints. Your light falls across a far alcove, home to a dustcloth-covered piano that fits so well in its corner that you wonder if the house was built around it. Everything about the place feels intentional, if a bit over the top - the walls’ dark wainscotting connects to the interestingly arched ceilings above with intermittent, delicate strips of wood, drawing your eye up into its inlaid patterns. They feel designed to capture your attention and hold it, demanding of your gaze and keeping it there to let it dance through complicated tiles and curling designs that disappear as soon as you try to intentionally follow them.

But there’s nothing here along the lines of what you’re looking for, so you almost reluctantly pull your gaze away from the craftsmanship of the Manor and keep searching. The sitting room connects through to an intimate dining area and further on to a large kitchen, as far as you can see, so you turn back toward the main entryway. The passageways here, apart from the grand entrance to the sitting room, feel horribly narrow despite the size of the rooms they lead into. You wonder idly if it’s the size of the occupying furniture eating up space as you carefully move your weight across the old wooden floors, cautious of traitorously creaky spots.

Mindful of the cracked mirror, you swing your light to either side, realizing the entryway sits almost at the midpoint of the house. With the sitting room behind you, a narrow hallway to the right opens onto the dining room and kitchen and ends in a staircase. To the left is the cracked mirror and a winding bit of hallway that seems to open onto another, larger room. Unsure of what you’re looking for but knowing Mark’s personal possessions would very likely not be in the kitchen, you opt to head left, winding around the sharply angled walls and their shadowy corners. You realize, then, that the narrowness is intentional. It’s meant to make the rooms feel bigger - the hallways squeezing you before releasing you suddenly into a wide open space.

All it does is make you claustrophobic.

The larger room you’re let into is a bit of a let-down, clearly also meant for entertaining and barren of anything of note but another cloth-covered couch near the far wall’s fireplace and a sizable bar to your left. There are a few dusty bottles on the mirrored wall behind it, but some have been knocked over and most seem empty, their contents long evaporated. The barroom feels larger and emptier than the others. Although you’d think you’d feel less closed-in here, the air feels heavier. That creeping sensation of someone watching you only grows. You don’t feel much desire to linger - it’s already starting to feel like you’ve been in the house too long, even though it’s probably only been minutes since you broke through the door. You wonder if the realtor has a silent alarm on the place, the thought settling more of that desire to shiver in your muscles. Come on, come on. Just keep moving and stop getting all squirrely.

The hallway continues past the bar room, tight and dark except for the light of your flashlight which sends strange angles of shadow twisting across the walls and floor. It ends in a door, about where the far wall of the barroom seemed to end, but you find it locked tight. Because of course it is, you gripe. A massive suit of armor looms to your right, standing guard over a staircase that draws your eye up its tight spiral. The top isn’t immediately visible, and dread settles into a pit in your gut as you crane your neck and light in tandem to peer up its length. Of course the first abandoned house you end up exploring is absolutely massive and endlessly creepy. Not that you necessarily want more experience exploring abandoned houses, but. You shake the errant thoughts away, just pushing your feet to take you up the stairs, its once-rich carpet beaten thin and worn with age.

Where could his office have been? you wonder as you climb, assuming Mark might have left some suspicious letters or blank checks, maybe even a diary if you’re lucky. You reach the top of the quietly creaky steps to find that the landing here opens onto yet another sitting room -- really, how much sitting did people do back in the day? Putting your bewilderment aside, you notice it’s much darker up here - all of the curtains you can see are drawn so even the rising moonlight can’t creep in. It’s quieter and stiller, too, warmer as you check your surroundings. Another door to your left, which you test and also find to be locked. Swearing softly to yourself, you try to ignore how your breath shakes as you exhale. You’re starting to feel like this is all pointless, that you’re just scaring yourself for no reason or benefit to either you or Jonah. How did he even know the house was still full of stuff? Even if the historical society had left the furniture behind, surely they would have removed books, papers, things people could easily steal long ago. You had no reason to believe there would be anything useful here, beyond, what, Jonah’s hunch?

You kick the old door out of frustration, still leaning on it and rattling the handle. It immediately strikes you as childish, especially after your explosive entrance to the Manor, and you let go with a quiet mix of embarrassment and frustration swirling in your throat. You wish Jonah was here, he’d have some crazy idea about how you could get in, he’d break all this skin-crawling tension that threatens to suffocate you. He’d make you laugh, at the worst possible moment, and it would be just a stupidly big, dark, empty house and not the imposing darkness that felt like it was watching your every move. He’d…

Suddenly, a bone-chillingly loud creak comes from back towards the stairs. You turn in a rush, heart leaping into your throat. But as you do, you fumble your phone and lose your grip in your panic. The device uselessly flings light across the walls around you as it clatters to the floor. You’re thrown into darkness and your free hand reflexively scrabbles on the wall for a lightswitch while you shakily raise the night stick in your other. The release jams when you press it, and your chest tightens as you hunt in a blind panic. Finally, you feel a smooth metal casing and its switch under your fingers, and you snap it up sharply.

The switch was, apparently, connected to more lights than you had thought - practically every light in the hallway and stairwell bursts to life and briefly blinds you. You blink through the spots dancing across your vision, driven by fear to find whoever was creeping up on you. The hallway you’re standing in seems to follow that of the first floor, running the length of the front of the house - you can see clear down it even from your far position.

Or you could, if not for the man standing about twenty feet away on the other side of the narrow, cat-walk-like landing that winds around the entryway below. In a beige coat and dark pants, he occupies most of the hallway’s width with his broad shoulders, and is staring directly at you with...

… a thick, fabric blindfold, deeply stained with blood.

Suddenly, he’s advancing on you, catching the crooked railing to guide himself. He moves so quickly it startles the breath out of you - how can he see me? But you jerk into motion, scooping up your phone from the floor and rushing to the staircase between you. The man is fast, his mouth twisting in rage, but you’re closer to the stairs. In your rush, though, you stumble and almost throw yourself down the steep flight, only narrowly catching yourself against the heavy banister pole. The impact manages to shake loose a nearby picture from the wall and it crashes to the floor with your bum nightstick. None of this does anything to slow the man closing the distance between you, and you thunder down the stairs in what feels like broad daylight compared to the gloom you’d been in, begging your feet to stay underneath you where you need them.

He hits the stairs shortly after you, taking them quickly with heavy steps, so close behind that you can hear him muttering gutturally to himself as he goes. His voice makes that deep, horrible shiver that’s been building in your muscles all night finally burst to the surface and send your skin up in goosebumps. But you just push your legs harder, rushing down the hall toward the entrance. Finally able to see where you’re going with the ambient light from behind you, you clear the barroom and can just see the tiled entryway - your escape - when you hear a dull thwack and pain blooms across the back of your head and neck. Your balance lost, the floor rushes up to meet you and sends you back into the all-consuming darkness.

---

It’s darkness to which you awake, too, head pounding. Your ears ring, dully, and everything hurts - your neck, jaw, the side of your face… The memory of your skull bouncing on the Manor’s black and white tiles forces a soft groan from you.

“Oh, look, our little spy finally decided to finish her nap.” A deep voice echos around you, and you feel like you’re somewhere… low. There’s a distinct chill and stillness to the air that makes you think ‘basement’. You don’t immediately sit up, the effort of trying to lift your head feeling like too much all at once. Its weight isn’t something you’ve ever really considered, but now it’s all you can think about - it might as well be a sack of rocks. A firm tsk breaks the silence. “Come on now, we know you’re awake. No point in playing dumb,” the voice comes again.

It’s strange, a man’s voice, vaguely British although impossible for you to place. Stranger still, it’s as if he’s rather poorly practicing his enunciation, both overworking and mashing his syllables together into a dizzyingly paced patter. And despite its warm timbre, it’s clear this man has precious little patience to afford you.

“Sit up, little spy.”

You blearily blink your eyes open, although the darkness you’re swimming in is only slightly less than that behind your eyelids. You’re slouched forward, staring at your legs and sitting in a chair supported by some kind of restraint wrapped around your chest and arms. Your hands are bound behind you, tied together themselves for good measure. You can feel that whatever your captor used is digging into your skin the longer you stay curled over. When you lift your head and try to scoot yourself up in the chair, though, you only succeed in awkwardly bumping it around as if trying to escape. The motion messes with your balance and makes you sick, and you fall still, firmly secured. “Ah, ah, ah, none of that, stay right where you are… we’ve got a few things to ask you, don’t we…”

“Indeed, we do,” a second voice agrees. If you thought the first one was strange, this one defies explanation. Although it speaks as one, it is complicated, multi-throated, reverberating. It bounces off the bare walls of the darkened room as easily as it does around those of your mind. Like an agonizing accompaniment, the dull ringing in your head rises, as its owner seems to approach you. The sound of his steps across the floor partners with the ratcheting up of your throbbing headache. More pressingly, though, the voice’s tone is terse, focused, and has none of the lilt and implied smile of the first. A clammy, cold sweat breaks out on your neck. Fear coils in your stomach for the first time - whoever had spoken, whoever is so near you that you can feel how he displaces the dank air of the basement is not human.

You feel horribly small in the dark with these… beings. But you force yourself to look deeply into the shade and try to make them out, to know their faces should you get the chance to escape - as unlikely as that possibility seemed. Your throat is dry, and you croak out, “What… what do you want?”

“It would be simpler to ask you the same,” comes the multi-voice again. Despite its many layers, it is steady, assured. “Tell us - what, exactly, brought you here tonight.”

The ice it carries makes your mind seize up. How weak you realize your story will sound, in your creaky voice, in the face of such sharp intensity. You try to begin, anyway. “I. I can explain, it’s just. Weird…”

“Well ‘weird’ is pretty much our constant bedfellow at this point, my dear girl, give it a shot,” the first voice goads. Against the tight restraint of its companion, it’s like if a rainbow bouncy ball had suddenly stood up and spoken. It’s hard to tell if its lilt is earnestly playful or just hiding a crueler edge. You try to focus despite the whiplash between the two, pushing through the throbbing of your damned head.

“I… This friend of mine, he asked me to check the place out with him. We’re reporters, and he’d heard on his police scanner last night that a neighbor had seen, just, someone wandering around… Which isn’t super weird by itself, but when an officer showed up, there was nobody around and there were lights on inside, despite… I mean, it’s been basically abandoned for years. And… we just thought we’d look around, but he couldn’t come and he asked me… He really wanted to check it out, so. So I came in.”

You’re surprised you even got to finish your jerkily delivered explanation with how quickly the first man interjects. “Oh, a very likely story, ‘just simple curiosity, that’s all!” His voice goes a bit falsetto in a crude parody of yours before dropping sharply back to his original range and practically roaring, “You really expect us to believe such hogwash? For all we know, you could’ve killed this so-called friend of yours before breaking your way in here!” He’s so close to your face, you feel his breath across on your skin and despite your best efforts, your legs shake against the hard wooden chair beneath you. What is he talking about?

“Wilford, please, she isn’t one of your interviewees,” the second man sighs. “Control yourself.”

The first man, Wilford, retreats with a muttered exclamation, apparently trying to calm himself. “Let’s just get rid of her quick, Dark, she’s no better than the last one.” The tell-tale click of a pistol hammer being drawn back is bright and sharp in the close room, clearing your foggy head. Pain replaced with cold fear, your feet scrabble slightly on the smooth floor. From the sound of it, the whole room is tiled in stone.

Would anyone hear you if you screamed?

“N-No, I mean it, I’m serious, it,” your voice is strangled, too obviously panicked. You struggle to swallow, steady yourself. “It really was just… just curiosity, he’s so nosy, and… and he wouldn’t let it go, he practically twisted my arm, but I only came t-to keep him out of trouble. He just, we… please. Please, don’t kill me, I won’t tell anyone you’re here, that I ever came here--”

“Stop.” The being’s tone is slightly less terse than before. He allows silence to fall for a moment, only broken by your damnably shaky breathing. You try to calm it, but your body’s panic switch has fully flipped, short, ragged breaths echoing in the darkness. The ringing in your head reasserts itself, sharper in the silence, and you squint against the way it so easily exacerbates your wounded head. You wonder if you’re bruised, if you’re bloodied. Finally, he speaks again. “Nobody is going to kill anybody. Not yet, at least.” Somehow, that’s not as reassuring as he seems to intend it to be. “Who sent you here tonight.”

A weak groan creaks out of you unconsciously, although whether from pain or dread you’re not sure. “Nobody, I mean, Nobody but. But my friend, like I said, he was the one who wanted to come here, but, h-his car, it. Something happened, it practically exploded on him. He couldn’t afford a ride over, so. So he just asked me to come in and look around. That’s all…”

“And your friend, who is he, again.”

“Another reporter, we work together, we basically share a desk… He covers crime, I’m. I do politics…” Another pause, another almost unbearable moment with the ringing. Your stomach churns, everything awash in pain and just feeling… too much. The ringing is either steadily getting louder and that much worse, or your tolerance is rapidly declining.

“Nobody asked you to come here, apart from him? And nobody asked him to come here?” You shake your heavy head. “Answer me,” he suddenly growls, the ringing rocketing to excruciating heights. Your head feels like it might split open.

“No!” you cry. “Nobody asked us to come here! Nobody told us… nobody told us to…” After a brief moment where it sustains that splitting frequency, the ringing begins to recede, and your pain along with it. Although the pounding remains, it feels more appropriate to the blunt force trauma you’d been through. The relief is like sinking into cool waters and you do your best not to sob.

“She is telling the truth.” The first voice groans, clearly unconvinced.

“And how can we be so sure someone else didn’t put the idea in her little friend’s head and she just doesn’t know it! Someone up the line from them pulling the strings for Mark. We can’t trust her, Dark, and you’re just going to let her go-”

Wait. Mark?

“You forget yourself,” Dark interrupts, his voices losing focus, thundering in the small space as their unity unravels. He echoes, pitch dipping as if intentionally warped before returning to normal. “Did you not say yourself that you are a part, not the leader? I believe it was me you foisted that title on. So when your leader tells you that she is honest, I expect you to trust me.” Silence reigns for a moment. Dark seems to be putting himself back together in the silence, corralling. He sighs, quietly, then speaks, unified once more. “I did not say anything about letting her go just yet. Possess yourself with patience.” Wilford settles with a not-so-subtle harrumph, but seems appropriately chided for the time being. Shoes scuff quietly on the floor as Dark turns back to you. “My apologies. We are all a little… tense these days.”

Realizing he expects a response, given his pause, you look in what you think is his general direction. With how long you’ve been here in the dark, your eyes can make out a faint figure of what appears to be a man, standing tall with his arms clasped behind his back. His head tilts in your direction. You work your brain for something to say. Play along, keep them talking, don’t panic too much. “...It. It’s all right… I mean, I did break into your house.” It’s hard to tell with him, but it seems for a moment like Dark chuckles, albeit without humor. An acknowledgement more than anything.

“Yes. You did…” He pauses, considering you. “But I believe that you did not do so for any ulterior reason… apart from your own curiosity. Or, rather, that of your friend’s. However, you do now know of our presence here, and you’re somewhat of a… liability to our continued residency.” You swallow thickly. In the dark, you can see him twist, as if craning his neck to one side to crack it. It’s a tortured gesture, demanding its performance. Is he in pain? He returns his attention to you, moving on. “Now… Why should we allow you to leave? Alive, I mean.”

It’s you now, who pauses. Your mind is spinning, lost in the darkness and overwhelmed with new information. What had Wilford meant, ‘pulling the strings for Mark’? He was dead, why would a dead man need strings pulled on his behalf? Did this have something to do with whatever the actor had done and its cover-up job? More pressingly, what could you possibly give some… nonhuman entity and his paranoid partner to earn your freedom? And was his name really Dark? It felt too cheesy to be true.

It all seems beyond belief or explanation, but the silence between the three of you is only growing longer, and now you really feel watched. You push your mouth to move, to just start speaking - your brain promises to catch up.

“Well. Apart from me… not having anything to do with… whatever you’re doing here. I. I’m a reporter, I have connections. I can get you information that… that you might want.” You pause, letting the offer hang. The other two are silent, but they’re still watching you. They’re not disinterested, and that’s the best you’ve got right now. You swallow, trying to get your dry mouth to cooperate. “I. I heard you mention Mark.” The air in the room seems to go tight, but you soldier on. “Part of why my friend wanted to come here is because he’s been… paying attention, I guess. Any stories about Mark, even now, they. I mean, our board, at the paper, they kill them, nothing ever gets to print, not even puff pieces. Other papers have been doing the same thing, too. The most famous guy from this place, and we can’t even write about him. That. It’s weird.”

“I am failing to see the purpose of this explanation,” Dark presses, as if through gritted teeth. You keep going, your voice coming out in even more of a breathless rush than before.

“Our. Our editor, he keeps all the stories we put up, even the rejected ones. There was a big one my colleague did, nearer the anniversary of his death, I know she did a lot of work on it, did a lot of research into what happened after… after he basically became a recluse. I. I could get ahold of it for you. And more, if that… if that’s something you’re looking for. Or something else, just. I can get you something about anything. I swear.”

Again, the room falls silent with you. Your pulse thrums in your throat, rushing in your ears. It’s a thin connection, barely there, but it’s what you have. Jonah might kill you for offering to basically be a mole for god knows who these people are, Walker might have questions about why you suddenly want everything about the man, and, hell, this might put some invisible target on your back given how the board’s been treating articles about Mark... but that would just have to be a bridge you cross when you get to it. You have to be alive to approach that metaphorical bridge, and for now, this is the one card you can lay that you know has any value to your captors.

It was like the two men began communicating telepathically in the dark, debating back and forth the value of your offer. You can see them staring at each other and shifting ever so slightly, but they never speak. Time creeps by, and after what feels like an eternity, Wilford makes an irritated noise while Dark decidedly turns back to you.

“By when could you have these articles.” Yes. You feel light enough to float on the ceiling. You’re going to get out.

“The earliest, tomorrow evening, but it could be two or three days, depending on when my boss is in. The cabinets are in his office, and he locks up when he’s out.”

Dark hums. “Two days, then, to return with what you find.” You open your mouth to agree to the terms, eager to be freed, but Wilford interrupts again.

“You are letting her go. How do we know she won’t just skip town on the first train out of the station?” His tone is still blistering, but his ire is a shadow of its former self. “We don’t even know if she’s a real reporter. You know, little missy, I’m a reporter myself, and I’m just not sure you’ve got the--”

Thankfully, Dark asserted himself once more, sounding as if he was physically restraining Wilford from re-invading your personal space when he spoke again. “We will just have to trust her, won’t we. Something you seem to need a little practice with. Besides, something tells me she’s honest about that part, as well.”

Wilford rounds on him, then. “And if she’s not?” Dark however, doesn’t take the bait, maintaining his chilly smoothness.

“If she’s not… well. You always say you prefer a moving target, don’t you.”

A beat passes wherein all of Wilford’s suspicion and frustration seem to melt. He chuckles in pure glee. Although it doesn’t have a drop of malice in it, that sound makes you shiver in your restraints. “Ahh. You’ve got me there, old boy, you know I live for the hunt!”

Dark gives that barely-there chuckle again. “But we will handle that… business if and when it comes to that. For now… see her out, Wilford. Carefully, this time, she doesn’t need a concussion.”

“Fine, fine… All right now, dear girl, up you come.” Two solid hands take hold of your forearms and draw you up from the chair. You start to exclaim, but the ropes binding you fall away, like they had only been loosely draped around you. They had been digging into your skin only moments before, you were sure of it… Wilford places you back on your feet but stays close, and even in the gloom of the basement you can make out snippets of him - a loose mess of curly, dark hair hangs over a strong brow. Similarly dark eyes crinkle with a mirthful, massively mustachioed smile as he registers your surprise at being so easily freed. “No peeking for this part now, close those peepers for ol’ Wilford.” Before you can formulate any kind of response, one of the man’s hands covers your eyes.

“And… voilá!”

Suddenly, a cold night breeze swirls around you, and you can see again. Moonlight illuminates the quiet neighborhood street before you. You realize, blinking against even the dim light you’re now washed in, that you’re back to where you started: standing alone outside the locked gate to the Manor, bag hanging from one shoulder, cell phone in hand, staring up at the imposing building. The stars shine down brightly on you without the city’s light pollution to hide them, but the Manor is all dark.

...what?

If not for the remaining dull ache in your head and the ghost of Wilford’s touch on your face, you would be certain you had just had a very violent and vivid hallucination. But your head does ache, and you can still feel the callused touch of the man’s hands on your arms, on your face, clear as anything. Dumbfounded, you stare at the Manor for a moment before you hear the crunch of gravel. You jerk and look towards the sound - the Manor’s neighbors are home, a sleek car pulling into the driveway. Quickly, you move behind one of the trees ringing the Manor’s massive grounds and unlock your phone. Your rideshare app is still open, still waiting for you to select your driver. Without hesitating, you pick one and press the confirmation button.

You wait until the neighbors are well inside their similarly opulent house before you make your way quietly back down the street. Even with your head swimming like it is, you try to fix every detail of the experience in your mind, just as it had happened, fighting the blurring tides of adrenaline and, now, exhaustion. It’s hard to hold on to any one thing, especially with how much time you spent in semi- to total darkness, but by the time your ride pulls up, you are keenly, yet strangely, aware of one detail for certain.

Although his hair was dark, Wilford’s mustache was tinged with a rich pink.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #markiplier lore #actor!mark #actor mark #wilford warfstache #darkiplier #who killed markiplier #mad market pliers ramblings

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