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dcandmarvelimagines · 4 months ago

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sweeter than you ever knew. (pt. 2)

Series: pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5 Pairing: Wade Wilson x Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: AFAB reader (uses she/her pronouns), 1st person POV, non-mutant Reader, Oral sex (f! recieving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, Wade breaks his nose so a bit of blood, Wade is an absolute pervert Logan is too, voyeurism, Logan puts his cigar out on his hand, Logan is also very emotionally stunted but we'll work on that Author's note: Holy shit guys?? This blew up in a way I totally didn't expect. I seriously thought this would just be something I uploaded and would get like five notes. You guys have been so sweet! Thank you so much! I hope you like this next installment. Things take a bit of a turn at the end and in the next chapter, but fear not besties, we will make it out of this and to a happy ending I swear! ao3 Tags (if you would like to be included or removed, just let me know): @fallout-girl219 @xolosimp @o0aligoth0o

Early that Monday, I met with my supervisor. When I explained that I was becoming attached to Al’s roommates and it would most likely affect my working relationship, he just sighed. Apparently, Al had requested that I’m her only caretaker and said she would refuse anyone else. “So keep your head on straight around them. Don’t make me regret it.”

When I walked into the apartment later that day, I knew Wade would make me fail. He instantly wrapped me in his arms, covering my face in slobbery kisses. But I was able to keep him at arm's length while I was on the clock for Al. He was allowed one kiss when I got there and nothing else. Despite his protests, he respected my boundaries. With Wade forced to behave, it allowed me to start talking to Logan more. There was some sort of tension between us that had eased. The crease between his eyebrows whenever he saw me had slowly faded. I saw him smile more often. He was surprisingly nice to be around once I got past his gruff exterior. I kept myself an open book, answering any questions he had, but he kept his life close to his chest. I didn’t expect him to spill his guts and I accepted the little crumbs he gave me. But sometimes he was broody and quiet, keeping his responses short, a distant look in his eyes.

Nevertheless, it began to grow into something more. It started off small, little touches to the back, him forcing me to sit when I had been rearranging Al’s furniture. Then it was a gift of delicious chocolate when they came back from France and a home cooked meal when I was too busy to make it myself. I found his eyes tracing my body more often, lingering in certain places. He sometimes stood just a little too close to me while I did the dishes. He wore a shirt less often and I greedily drank in his body when I could. None of this escaped Wade’s notice. I knew he was scheming.

It was a crisp autumn night when I climbed out on the fire escape to settle next to Logan. The cigar smoke was a comfort now, earthy and sweet. We sat in silence for a few moments. Sometimes that was enough for me, just to be in his presence, but not tonight. I shoved my chilly hands deep into the pockets of my jacket. I titled my head, watching his cheeks hollow around the cigar, the ash skittering across his forearm. He didn’t so much as flinch as the hot ash touched him. “Could I try?” I had tried smoking before but had just ended up coughing for a minute straight. He shook his head, watching a bike roll by.

“Last thing you need is lung cancer.” I tentatively laid my head on his shoulder. He would still sometimes jerk away like I had burned him. This time, he allowed me to sink closer, our thighs pressed against each other. I could feel the heat of him sinking through my clothes.

“Mm, it smells good though.” He takes a long drag, letting the smoke linger in his lungs before letting it out in a puff. A long moment of silence passes. We’ve been slowly circling each other for weeks, all lingering touches and heavy glances. How would he react if I finally did something? Pull away? I knew he and Wade still slept together, Al complained about it enough that I couldn’t escape it. Wade and I hadn’t really gone beyond our kisses. Despite what he called himself on my phone, I didn’t want this to be a friends with benefits situation. He seemed to know that and hadn’t pushed for more. Wade made it very clear to the both of us that he has no qualms about sharing. If anything, I think he wants Logan and I to have sex more than he wants to have sex with me.

Steeling my resolve, I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Can I try a taste?” Logan glanced down at me, that crease reappearing between his eyebrows.

“What?” His voice is dry, a touch on edge. I wanted to apologize for my flirting and run but I can’t allow myself to. My fingers trace the corner of his lip, the edge of his jaw. He turned just an inch closer to me and I’m able to take in his lined and handsome face.

“Just one taste?” It comes out breathy, barely audible. But he hears it, he always does. There’s the faintest tick at the corner of his lips like he was going to smile. “I promise to be gentle,” now that got a smirk out of him.

“You don’t scare me sweetheart,” his voice was a low rumble.

“Then why haven’t you kissed me yet?” He pressed the still burning cigar onto his palm. The smell of burning flesh floated up to me and my nose twitched at it. “Why would you-“ but the words are cut off as his unburned palm cupped the back of my neck and dragged me closer, our lips pressing together. The kiss is chaste. My eyes fall shut, a surprised gasp leaving me. His beard scratches lightly at my face as we move our heads. But then he nudges my nose, tilting his head back. “No, please,” I whispered, chasing his lips. I felt his sigh ghost across my face before he cupped both cheeks and drew me back against his mouth. I moan against him, clutching at the front of his sweatshirt, wanting him closer, craving it. Then his lips are moving against mine. My hands slide into his hair and give the strands a tug. His mouth parts on a growl and I take the opportunity to lick my way in. I can taste the tang of whiskey, the sweetness of the cigar, a hint of mint. I want to crush myself against him, to feel his body against mine, to explore his skin.

Just as I’m reaching under his sweatshirt, hungry for the feel of the torso that’s been haunting me, he withdraws. His breath still coasts across my face and my nose was full of the scent of him. My breath was ragged while his was perfectly even. Embarrassing. My eyes are slow to open. I found him only a few inches away, a smug expression on his handsome face.

“There,” he whispers, “got your taste.”

“Asshole.” Now he smiles, perfect teeth glinting in the streetlight.

“Yeah, get that in your pretty head now.” His calloused fingers tapped at my temple. “I’m not someone to get attached to.”

“Well she’s sticking around me and I’m about as much boyfriend material as sandpaper.” I jumped nearly out of my skin at the sound of Wade’s voice. Logan just smirked and circled his hands around my wrists, squeezed once to make me let go of his sweatshirt. I had half a mind to refuse, crawl into his lap and kiss every inch of skin I could find. But I let my hands fall weakly to my lap. “When you two fuck, can you record it? I’ve tried finding look-alikes on pornhub, but it’s just not the same.” I huffed, glancing down at where Wade’s head was, a spark of annoyance at him interrupting Logan and I. He’s half laying on the metal grate, his legs dangling off the couch beneath the window.

“Ain’t gonna happen dickwad.” I can hear Logan’s lighter flicking before the smell of the cigar is back. I hoped he had just meant recording and that gruff tone wasn’t for the idea of us having sex. But he let me remain close so I took that as a good sign.

“Don’t listen to him, baby bunny. Look, he literally tried killing me and we ended up fucking in the end.”

“Was still trying to kill you,” Logan growls. Wade gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like Logan actually succeeded.

“Don’t lie peanut! What’s more romantic than stabbing me in the neck? That Honda Odyssey was shaking all night.”

“I hope that’s not how you plan on being romantic with me,” I laughed, reaching down to tug at Wade’s cheek. “I can’t snap back like you two.”

“Of course not darling,” he covered my hand in sloppy kisses, sucking a hickey on my wrist. “I’ll let you stab me in the neck while you fuck me. Would never want to hurt that sexy face.”

“Ugh, get a room you two,” Logan snapped, nudging my knee with his. I glanced back at him but found his face reserved again. As much as I wanted to linger and force my time on Logan, I knew he wouldn’t appreciate it.

“We should take Mary Puppins out, yeah?” Wade nodded, wiggling free of his awkward position. The decrepit dog came bounding around the corner. She wiggled her naked butt as Wade grabbed her leash. I looked back at Logan. He was determinately ignoring me, eyes locked onto the dark apartment across the way. “I’ll probably head home once that’s done.” He nodded and brought the cigar back to his lips. “Why did you put it out on your hand?”

“Didn’t want to drop it on you. It’s a nasty burn.” There was something fleeting and tender that passed over his averted face. A little smile spread across my face.

“Thank you, you’re my hero.” I pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek, lingering just a beat too long, before I pulled away. “Goodnight Logan.” I didn’t wait for his reply, if he even intended to give one.

Wade was happy with the progress me and Logan had made.

But it wasn’t fast enough.

Which is how I found myself locked in their shared cramped bathroom, Wade’s head buried between my legs, while two of his fingers plunged inside me. My legs were shaking, my heel pressed against his shoulder to spread me open more. “Wade,” I whimpered as tears pricked my eyes. He had already drawn one orgasm from me with his rough and agile fingers before he dropped to his knees. “I c-can’t.”

“I know you can honey bun.” His breath was hot against my tender skin and I gasped. “Just one more for me, yeah?” I nodded, hips grinding against him. “There you go. You’re close again aren’t you?” I nodded again, eyes rolling back. He kitten licked across my overly sensitive clit. I knew I was making a mess of his face but he seemed to revel in it. He left a trail of sticky kisses along my bruised and bitten thigh. “Do you hear yourself? Got that WAP.” I smacked his head before pushing him deeper to keep him from running his mouth more. He latched back onto my clit, sucking harshly, and a third finger wedged into me. My back arched and I had to bite my lip hard to stay quiet. My eyes fell closed. His spare hand moved from my hip where it had been holding me.

The sudden sound of the door opening made me freeze. Al had laid down for a nap which was the only reason I allowed Wade to drag me in here. But instead I found Logan framed in the doorway. He had the look of a deer in headlights. “Now peanut,” Wade cooed, his head laid against my thigh. to look at the other man. He didn’t stop fingering me, the squelching sounds suddenly too loud. “Don’t you know it’s rude to eavesdrop.”

“I wasn’t, you two are too fucking loud.” Logan’s nostrils were flared, heaving chest straining against his thin tank top.

“Uh huh,” Wade teased, his tongue swirling around my clit. My hand clamped over my mouth as a sob caught in my chest. “That massive tent in your pants has nothing to do with you hovering.” Logan growled, palming at himself, seemingly angry at his body. “Come on handsome, look at her.” Wade pushed my thighs farther apart, his free hand spreading me.

“Oh god,” I mumbled, embarrassment making me cover my face. I couldn’t hear Logan’s steps, he was always so light on his feet, but I could feel him examining me. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end.

“Don’t hide from us gorgeous,” Wade chides. “Logan Ioves to watch orgasm faces. I can feel you fluttering, I know you're close.” When I don’t remove my hands, Wade sighs, the exhale of air making my hips jerk. “Come on, you can be brave for us.” I take a shaky breath and remove my hands, curling them around the edge of the counter. Wade smiled while Logan’s dialated eyes were glued to my pussy. I watched his Adam's apple bob and he shifted from one foot to the other. “Good job,” he kissed my clit, popping obscenely. “Now make a mess on my face.”

He dove back between my legs. With Logan there, Wade seemed determined to force me to come as hard and as fast as he could. His fingers drove into me with firm thrusts, tongue flicking cruelly at my clit. My leg was trembling so much it slipped from Wade’s shoulder, only to be caught by Logan. I struggled to focus on him, my vision blurry from prickling tears of overstimulation. His calloused palm traced up my ankle and calf before notching behind my knee. With my pussy covered by Wade’s head, Logan could only look at my face. I wanted him closer, to feel his mouth against mine again, that scrape of his beard. His eyes fastened to my neck, watching my erratic pulse.

“Logan,” my voice tilts up at the end, hands reaching for him. Before I was able to even breathe, just as the orgasm was rushing through me, Logan’s lips crashed against mine. I clung to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and locking both of my shuddering legs around his waist, moaning wildly into his mouth. Wade groaned as his head was pinned between our hips and the vibrations made me cry out. Logan was kissing me like a man starved, biting at my lips, grunting like he was the one coming. A combination of our spit collected at the corner of my mouth and he licked at it hungrily. His blunt nails dug into the tender skin behind my knees as he clutched me closer. Tears streaked down my cheeks as Wade kept working me into near painful overstimulation.

Logan separated first, his forehead pressed to mine. My breath was ragged, sweat collecting along my hairline. I wanted more, to lose myself between their touches, their bodies. Wade finally stilled, his fingers still buried deep. His mouth released me and I gasped as his harsh breaths coasted across me. “You okay down there?” My voice shook. I reached down and ran my nails across his scalp.

“Broke my nose, but it’s okay.” I bolted up straight and Logan stumbled back to avoid my head cracking against his. Blood and my slick was smeared across his face, staining his white teeth as he beamed up at me. The tip of his nose was bent at an odd angle.

“I’m so sorry,” I cupped his face, panic rushing through me. “Are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” Logan said. One of his big hands braced on Wade’s head before he grabbed the broken nose with two fingers. With a pop and a grunt from Wade, the nose slid back into place. “There,” he tapped Wade’s sticky face, “good as new.”

“You’re always so nice to me,” Wade grumbled, itching the rapidly healing bump. His drenched fingers slid from me, glistening in the harsh bathroom light. Logan glanced between Wade and I, one finger twirling in the drawstring of his black sweatpants. I wish I could read his mind, be able to tell his emotions from one glance, or a touch. I wanted to understand this unsure look on his face. He almost seemed nervous to be in here now that the haze of lust had passed. He swallowed thickly before he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

“See you tomorrow sweetheart.” My arms, which were about to latch around his neck to keep him close, hung limply in the air. I blinked as he walked away, disappearing into their dark bedroom. Wade shook his head as he stood and closed the bathroom door.

“Did I do something?” I whispered, knowing Logan would hear me anyway. Wade’s hands went to my thighs, kneading at the tight muscles, leaving behind wet handprints with his right one.

“No, he’s just a fucking idiot who doesn’t think he deserves happiness. I’ve been trying to ease him into this but he’s stubborn.” He turned his head, “and he’s stupid!” I heard their bedroom door snap shut. “He’s worried he’ll scare you off. Just give him time. He’s just…just had a lot happen to him.” I nodded. “Don’t take it personally, okay?”

“Okay,” I mumbled.

“Are you two done in there?!” A cane hit the door. “She needs to read me my mail!”

Never more in my life have I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. Only compounded by Wade wiping the door open, cocking his hip to glare at his roommate. I knew she was blind, that she had completely lost vision almost twenty years ago. But that didn’t stop me from stretching my shirt down to try and cover myself, crossing my legs. “I see Miss sleepy granny pants is awake. What do you need? A diaper change?” Al scoffed, her cane clicking along the floorboards of the hallway as she moved to the kitchen. Once she was out of our sight, Wade plucked my panties from the floor.

“Why?” He shrugged, an evil glint in his eyes.

“Maybe I need to get him used to your scent, like a dog.” I rolled my eyes but bit back a hiss as he dragged the coarse material through my wet folds. “Need a lot of it I think, yeah, nice and soaked.” I shoved his hand away and he tucked my panties into his pocket. Wade helped me off the counter, his hands braced on my waist to keep me steady. My jeans had been tossed carelessly to the side and I dreaded putting them back on without the barrier of my underwear. “Don’t worry, I won’t make you wear those pesky jeans, even if they do make your ass look so good I want to rip them off you every time you wear them.” He passed through the bathroom and into his and Logan’s room. I peeked around the edge of the door frame and nearly fainted at the sight.

Logan was splayed across their dark sheets, body bare, hard cock in his hand. While the room was dim, the beams of light from the hallway were able to reach in. The shadows played over his muscles and I watched as they flexed. I wasn’t able to see his cock well, both his hand and the poor lighting limited my vision. But I was able to see a long, thick vein along the underside. My face heated at the sight of him. “Knock, asshole,” his voice was husky. The sound of him made my toes curl. If I hadn’t just had a mind melting orgasm, I would have been striding into that room, ready to do anything he wanted me to. His stomach fluttered as his strokes became more rapid.

“Here,” Wade said as he tossed my drenched panties on Logan’s face. His hips jerked, knuckles flashing white around himself. Wade searched through a drawer before pulling something from inside. “Now be good and keep those right there for when I come back.” Logan growled, removing the fabric from his face but kept it clutched in his fist. Wade blew him a kiss and a wave before closing the door again. He offered me a pair of sweatpants. I tugged them on with a mumbled thank you, having to roll the waistband down multiple times so I wasn’t swimming in them. Wade pinched my chin and our eyes locked. “I’ll get him to warm up, promise.” I nodded. “Now go take care of Miss Migoo. Remember to text me when you get home.”

“Of course,” I stood on my toes to kiss his healed nose. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry babykins. If it makes you feel better, I was near suffocation. So a busted nose was the best case scenario.” He laughed at my horrified expression. “Hey, I’d much rather die from pussy smothering than my heart being ripped out.”

“You know, that doesn’t make me feel much better.” He smirked and drew me closer, his lips connecting with mine. I could taste the tang of me coating him. But I pulled back first. I needed to keep my head on straight for the last hour of my time with Al. “Keep it down with him, please? It’ll be too distracting.” His expression turned wicked.

“Trust me, I have a way I’ll shut him up.” His hands coasted down my hips, grabbing a handful of my ass. “I’ll send pictures of what happens to your cute little panties once we’re done with them.” My face flushed and I pressed my hands to his chest.

“God, you’re such a pervert.”

“Mhm, you like it though.”

“Will you two stop! My vision isn’t coming back anytime soon.” We reluctantly broke apart. Wade slipped into the bedroom. I was only able to catch a brief glimpse of Logan’s back arched, heels dug deep into the mattress, before my sight was cut off. I grabbed my discarded jeans and stuffed them into the tote bag I had brought with me. The last bit of my shift ended in mostly silence, minus the occasional creak of the bed frame from the guy’s bedroom. I helped Al sign a few checks, read through her mail, and took out Mary Puppins. I said my good night and left the apartment. My mind conjured up thoughts on what could be happening behind that closed door all the way home on the train. Wade, clad only in my stolen underwear, bouncing on Logan. My panties stuffed into Logan’s mouth as Wade pounds him from behind. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stop my imagination from getting too wild. It wouldn’t help anything to get turned on now.

If my mind hadn’t been so filled with dirty thoughts, I would have noticed the man watching me from the other end of the train car.

I made it to my apartment. The key fob scanner was broken again. “Advanced security my ass,” I groaned, trudging up to my apartment. It was Friday and I felt like ordering something in. I knew I shouldn’t, the delivery fees were astronomical, but I just wanted to relax. After placing my pizza order, I grabbed a fresh pair of underwear and a shirt stolen from Logan by Wade, then gifted to me. It always felt illegal to wear it, but it was easily the softest shirt I had. His scent lingered on it and it always soothed me. I had around an hour before my pizza was going to arrive. I made a little nest for myself on the couch and tucked in to watch some mindless reality tv.

A knock woke me up. At first I was confused, rubbing at my eyes and looking around to locate the sound. Then my mind caught up. “Oh shit,” I mumbled, scrambling to the door as the poor delivery guy knocked again. “Sorry! Sorry!” I called. I unlocked the door and swung it open.

I froze.

A man, with no pizza box, stood before me. “Um, can I help you?” The man had ice chips for eyes, cold and lifeless. A tattoo peaked above his collar. He took me in, tracing each inch of me. I felt my skin break out in goosebumps at the cold calculation on his face. My arms curled over my chest, hiding it from him. “Can I help you?” My tone was stronger, a small snap to it. That horrible gaze found mine again. Then he said my full name. Fear oozed through me.

I heard something from my bedroom, a little thump, but was too terrified to look away from the man in front of me. “Get the fuck out of here,” but the words lacked conviction, a slight tremble to them. “I don’t know who you are. Leave or I’m calling the cops.”

“Why wouldn’t you call your boyfriends?” My heart stuttered in my chest.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” I heard the creak of my floorboard. I cast a wild glance behind me and found a wall of a man emerging from my bedroom. I went to scream but the man at my door latched his hand around my mouth. I kicked and thrashed, biting wildly. He didn’t react. There was a pinch in my neck.

My elbows tried to find his face, but he was able to easily deflect them. The man in my apartment was searching for something. My eyes were blurring, limbs turned to lead. I saw him hold my phone up.

Then I slumped to the ground.

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yoditopascal · 4 months ago

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Like A Prayer (Part 4)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: edited by the ever so lovely karmiccc on ao3! Comments and criticisms are welcome!

tag list: sorry if you weren’t tagged I tried tagging everyone that asked but some usernames didn’t work! @allmyn1ghts @blooket-scares-me @amararosesblog @talanyra @spideybv28 @sadslasher13 @night-spectrum @eveieforeve02

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

On Your Left Babygirl

Wade watches from the corner of his eye as your feet drag behind you, the now limp Wolverine was pressing his full mass into the two of you, and you were clearly struggling with the newly added weight.

“One Anchor Being coming right up, on your left, baby girl!”

“This Logan has everything! He can do pretty much anything the old model could plus he even sings musicals! And he’s actually wearing a costume like he’s not embarrassed to be in a superhero movie for once!”

“I don’t understand.”

“You said my universe is dying, because this sad sack of nuts got himself killed. Well, problem solved!”

“Y-you actually think you can replace an Anchor Being with this?” Paradox says between laughs pointing at Wolverine still on the floor. “I wouldn’t have accepted any other Wolverine bee tee dubs, but you’ve brought me the absolute worst Wolverine there is!

“What do you mean the worst one?” Wade asked, walking closer to Paradox.

Just as Wade was less than an arm’s length away from Paradox, you saw the off brand Mr. Darcy reachout and grab something behind his back. You jump forward placing yourself in between the two men just as Paradox drew his weapon.

“Wade watch-!” You don’t get to finish your sentence as Wade watches in absolute horror as you disintegrate into nothing in front of him.

Wade falls to his knees as if trying to catch your particles that were still floating about in the air before disappearing entirely.

The distinct snikt of Wolverine unleashing his claws breaks Wade out of his trance as he watches the Wolverine, now back on his feet, lunge for Paradox with his claws in pure rage before disappearing too.

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Logan groans as he sits up, cracking his neck back into place. He raises a hand to shield his face from the harsh rays of the sun above him as he lets out a sharp hiss from the incoming headache he was starting to get from the combination of the fall and all the alcohol he drank earlier.

Barely starting to sober up, he looks around himself with a grunt as he stands, taking in the environment around himself.

If he had to guess he’d had no idea where the fuck he was. The scene around him was dry and arid like a desert, only this one didn’t seem familiar to him at all. There was all kinds of trash and debris around him like it had been dumped here and forgotten. Taking in a few greedy inhales, Logan scented the air, coming back with only faint traces of smoke, dirt and something else, something sweet and fresh and familiar but still different at the same time.

Turning his head to follow the source of the smell Logan spots you, laid out face first on the ground. He walks up to you apprehensively, not knowing if he could trust you or not but as he approaches he realizes you’re out cold.

Getting a closer look at you now he’s able to take in your features up close. If you were a shapeshifter of some kind like he previously thought, you were a hell of a good one. At first glance you looked just like her, the same hair and big doe eyes that used to look up at him. You were even dressed the same way.

Squatting down to your level Logan’s able to get a much better whiff of you from here. There’s no mistaking a scent, even when Morph and Mystique used to try and trick him back in the day but it never worked because they could never change their smell.

There was no doubt about it, the smell was definitely yours. Shamefully Logan found his eyes wandering down your frame slowly as he drank you in, eyes lingering on your ass for a few seconds before turning you over onto your back, and God, even your face was the same. The longer he looked at you the more he realized you really were her. Only, you had less pronounced smile lines, and were less muscular, having probably only known peace in your life, you had appeared more softer than she had been. Just as his gloved hand was a breath away from caressing your cheek, he’s ripped from his inspection by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground behind him.

Standing to his feet, he looks back at you one last time before looking at the disfigured body of the guy in red from before as his bones snap back into place. He sniffs the air again, realizing the man that had just fallen from the sky. He smelled absolutely rancid to him, stinking of blood, gunpowder and a distinct sickly cancerous smell.

Definitely a threat. Logan concludes as he starts to walk up to him.

Wade coughs as he rolls over onto his back, looking down between his legs as Wolverine walked up to him, stopping right as his feet, “Don’t just stand there, you big ape. Give me a hand!”

Wolverine stared down at him, his hazel eyes swirling with contempt and silent fury as he unsheathed his claws.

“No, I’m actually okay, thank you,” Wade barely finishes his sentence before he’s being stabbed through both his sides, letting out a sharp curse as Logan hoists him in the air like a kebab.

“Where the hell are we?!” He demands.

“I don’t know! It all looks kinda Mad Maxy but that would be copyright infringement, wouldn’t it?!” Wade cries out as Wolverine harshly drops him to the ground.

“Fucking jokes,” Logan scoffs before turning his back to him, walking towards your still unconscious form.

“Hey hey! You stay away from my pookie bear, you hear me?” Wade warns as he cocks his gun pointing it at the back of Wolverine’s head.

“Or what?” He dared the man to continue.

Wade lowers his gun as he realizes how fast the situation was starting to escalate, his eyes dart back and forth between you and the very ready to rip his guts out Wolverine before he curses to himself. After putting his gun away, Wade raises his hands up in the air as a way to appease Logan as he began to warily approach him.

“Look, we don't have time for this alright? If we don’t make it back to that Paradox asshole. Everyone I know is going to die,” Wade starts to explain the situation to him but Logan rolls his eyes as he turns back around, continuing to walk towards you.

“No, my fucking problem,” Logan replies coldly as he waves him off.

Wade felt his blood boil. He was never a patient man, nor a very nice one, but compared to this guy? He was a fucking saint. It was an insult to everyone that his Anchor being replacement had to be such a dick.

“Is that what you said when your world went to shit?” Wade shoots back to Wolverine, stopping him in his tracks again.

“Come again?” Logan growls, turning back to face him.

“Yeah, I heard all about you.” Wade began as he turned around, becoming increasingly exasperated by the situation at hand, ”You screwed up everything, but you really should be thanking me for pulling you out of that bed you shit-“

Wade let out a scream as searing pain shot through his body. Looking down he sees the infamous adamantium claws of Wolverine protruding through his chest.

“Oh, you backstabbing son of a bitch!” Wade grunts in agony as he’s hoisted in the air again, this time on his back.

Fighting back against the pain, Wade uses his own momentum to flip himself behind Wolverine, throwing them both onto their backs on the ground, the blades of the Wolverine’s claws tearing more of his flesh and bone on their way out as he did so. Without missing a beat Wade pressed his guns against Wolverine’s sides and shot out several rounds as the older man let out a guttural scream of pain.

“Are you ready to be calm now?” Wade asks almost mockingly, guns still pressed to Wolverine’s ribs.

He’s met immediately with a headbutt, no doubt breaking his nose underneath the mask.

“Fuck!” Wade swears in pain as Wolverine rolls off him.

Not giving Wade any time to gather his bearings, the older mutant grabs him by his ankles before throwing him into a wall. Wade heard the bones in his arm snap as he crashed through the cement wall, tumbling backwards against a sunken monument that seemed familiar to him. Wade groaned as he stumbled back up to his feet, his arm snapped back into place painfully as he reloaded his gun.

“I don’t want to fight you, Peanut! Doesn’t matter what you did. I just need your help.” Wade called over to Wolverine as he stood across from him in the wasteland.

“I don’t fucking care,” Logan snaps back as he spits out a smoking bullet, the rest falling from his torso, his healing factor working over time to push them out.

“Fuck, this is gonna hurt,” Wade says more so to himself than anyone else, “Alright! Fuck it! Let’s give the people what they came for!”

“Let’s fucking go,” Logan says as he crouches down to his knees, readying himself for whatever Wade was about to throw at him.

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

You take a sharp much needed inhale through your nose as the final bone in your spine snaps back into place. Sputtering out a cough you sat up bltrying to block out the blinding light of the sun with your hand as a headache pulsed through your skull. Looking around you slowly take in the dilapidated scenery around you.

Where the hell were you? You thought to yourself as you looked down at your watch to check the time.

The screen was broken, a crack having spiderwebbed across the screen. You weren’t exactly sure when it had broken but from what you could tell from when it had stopped working it was well beyond midnight.

“Oh I’m so fucking fired tomorrow,” You say with a groan as you rise to your feet dusting yourself off.

The sound of shouting and rapid gunfire drew your attention in the distance. Approaching the sound as cautiously as you could, you peek over a mound of rubble to find Wade being held down by an enraged Wolverine with Wade’s katanas and baby knife sticking out of him, reminding you of a human pin cushion.

“Let’s see you grow your fucking head back!” He shouts as he goes to sink his claws into Wade’s throat.

Picking up the first thing you see laying around you run up behind the Wolverine hitting him in the head as hard as you could, breaking the branch in your hands on impact. With a heavy grunt, he stumbles off of Wade onto the ground.The Wolverine clutches his ear as he snaps his head up to glare at his assailant. The rage in his eyes shifts to shock as you stand over wade protectively, glaring down at him with your broken branch raised high and at the ready for you to swing at him again if need be.

Snapping out of his daze, Wolverine gets to his feet and with his claws sheathed going to strike the red suited clown again, when hastily Wade rises to his feet, immediately moving you behind him with his hands raised up in surrender.

“Wait, wait, I can fix it! I know how to fix it!” Wade shouted at the Wolverine not willing to put you or himself in the Wolverine’s wraith.

“Fix what?” Wolverine asks has he slowly starts to lower his fist as he looks back and forth between you two.

“Whatever it is that you did that made you so bad! Those freaks in the TVA, they have the power to end our universe, but they can also change yours!” Wade says pushing you further behind him, not liking how the man was eyeing you.

Logan looks between the two of you incredulously as if trying to understand if what Wade just told him was true or not.

“Well?” He asks gruffly, eyes now completely focused on you.

Realizing he was talking to you and that your answer might be his deciding factor on whether or not to help you, you take a deep breath as you walk out from behind Wade who looks at you skeptically for a moment.

“We just traveled the multiverse trying to find you because of the TVA,” You began with a surprised chuckle still reeling in that fact that you actually did do that as you returned Logan's intense gaze,“Until today I didn’t think any of this kinda stuff was possible… But it is so I believe him,” You said exchanging a look with Wade as you finish, he nods his head to you almost in thanks.

Logan stares at you a bit longer before letting out a frustrated huff as he looks away, sheathing his claws. You nearly let out a beath of relief at the sight until the older man resumed his attention on you two again. The Wolverine looked back and forth between the two of you as he felt his nerves starting to grate again.

“How the fuck do you know this clown?” Logan asks annoyed, his fists were down at his sides but still balled up ready to fight again if he needed to.

Peeking over Wade’s shoulder, you part your lips about to answer him when suddenly you're cut off by a new voice.

“Hey! We fight each other, we lose,” Said a voice from above you all.

Puzzled, you all look up in the direction the voice came from.

“Who the hell is that?” You asked scrunching your face up in confusion as you use a hand to block out the harsh rays of the sun from your vision.

“Dear God its him…” Wade said, astonished.

“Who?” You asked as you and Wolverine share a confused glance.

Above you, on a worn down billboard, stood a man. He was covered in loose fitting dark clothes with a hood draped over him, blocking his face from view.

“That my little chocolate drop is the One. The superhero equivalent to comfort food or molly. White guys’ answer to all the disappointments in another A-lister,” Wade went on rambling as the cloaked man jumped down and landed before the three of you.

“Now that’s a superhero landing!” Wade clapped as the cloaked man turned to point out into the desert

“They're coming,” The man said.

Alarmed, you all look in the direction of his focus. On the horizon you all could see three cars speeding towards you, all three of the giving off serious Mad Max vibes.

“Well they’re definitely driving angry,” Wade joked, though you could tell by the drop in his voice that he was assessing the entire situation very much aware of the danger you two were about to be in.

“I got this,” The cloaked man said pulling down his hood to reveal a familiar face, “Stay close.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Wade says walking up behind him to wrap his arms around the man before he pulls them off of him awkwardly.

As the cars neared they circled around the four of you a few times, some of the men blew out crude whistles making you cringe in disgust as you clutched your broken branch to your chest. Finally they stopped, their vehicles parked around you, caging you four in.

“Cassandra is going to be giddy when she sees what we caught!” A man with stringy greasy hair grins, showing off his filthy teeth to the group, “You know you can’t run.”

“You see anyone running, dick for brains? You’re not gonna love what happens next,” The cloaked man retorted.

“Oh my god, he’s going to say it!” Wade says smacking one of his katana’s that still protruded from the Wolverine’s chest.

Logan stumbled back a bit with a weak ‘ah fuck’ as you instinctively reached out to steady him. He turned his head to look at you as soon as he felt your hands on him. You held his eyes for less than a second before abruptly removing yourself from him, now focusing on looking at anything else but him.

“Avengers Assem-!” Wade begins to shout as if anticipating what the cloaked man was about to say, however that’s not what he said at all.

“Flame on!”

“Sorry, what now?”

The cloaked man shot out into the sky in a ball of fire. He hovered over everyone for a moment before blasting out a stream of fire directly at the greasy man that had spoken before. The greasy man grins as he holds his hand out, absorbing the flames before he twists his fingers cutting off the cloaked man’s power like a faucet. The man barely had a second to register what happened before he began his miserable descent from the sky. He hit the billboard he was standing on before twice before flopping on the ground, completely unconscious.

“We don’t know that guy,” the Wolverine was quick to say.

“We thought we did,” Wade agreed as he looked over the unconscious man before turning back to the group of thugs.

“Oh but I know you,” A beastly looking man with pitch black eyes said as he dropped down to their level from atop a car.

His dark orbs were fixated on Wolverine, who returned his glare with his own as he bared his teeth at him with a growl.

“Holy shit… Sabretooth… your brother,” Wade said, a hint of excitement in his voice as he looked between the two.

“Ready to die?” Sabertooth asked as he stalked towards them, eyes never leaving Wolverine.

“Wait! Wait! Wait! Time!” Wade calls out as he begins to remove his weapons from Wolverine’s body giving him a long winded nonsensical pep talk in normal Wade fashion.

“Shut the fuck up!” Wolverine growls out, shoving him back into you.

What an asshole you thought to yourself with a scrunched up face.

The Wolverine lowered himself into a fighting stance before the two mutants lunged for each other. The two collided briefly in the middle as the familiar sound of metal tearing against bone and flesh rang through the air, before sliding past each other entirely. Both brothers stood on opposite sides of the dry field.

“What is it, girl? Is there trouble at the well?” Wade mocked with an innocent tilt of his head.

You might’ve laughed at the Lassie reference if it wasn’t for the fact that not a second later Sabretooth’s head rolled off his shoulders and right at your feet. You scrunched up your nose again, turning your head away in disgust as Wade picked it up.

“Behold! The head of your precious Queen, Furiosa! I have the Wolverine! I alone control her! You come for me! You come for her!” Wade declares as he raises the head in the air like a prize before he leans over into Logan’s ear, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s pronounced him. I’m gender blind. It’s my cross to bear.” Logan simply rolls his eyes at him.

“Who’s next?” He challenges looking around at the men who were left, waiting for someone to step up to him.

The greasy man let out an amused chuckle before calling out to one of his partners “Toad! You’re up!”

You look towards the other mutant and resist the urge to cringe again as he shoots out his slimy green tongue and pulls a lever. Instantly it activates a giant metal magnet that drags both Wade and Wolverine off their feet and into its pull.

“Wade!” you called out, unaware as a giant sentinel leg comes flying at you from behind, stunning you as it flies towards your companions, carrying you with it.

“Oh fu-“ Was all Wolverine had managed to get out before you and the sentinel leg crashed into him and Wade, knocking out the three of you on impact.

#logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine imagine #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #platonic deadpool x reader #deadpool x reader #hugh jackman #like a prayer

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sytoran · 2 years ago

Text

accidental or not | teom part iii

Westview happens to have a gay bar. You give it a visit.

──── PAIRING. sub!milf!wanda x dark!player!reader

──── CONT. smut, one-night stands, vouyerism, exhibitionism, you'll understand later i swear, choking kink, breast play, vaginal fingering

──── WORD COUNT. 1.6k

series m.list | main m.list | join the taglist | AO3

The first time was an accident.

“Fuck, right there,” she moans, hands twisting themselves into your hair as your mouth finds the sensitive spot on her neck, licking and sucking and marking.

You try to remember her name — Natalie? Nicole? — as you push her up against the wall, mouth hot and fervent and lusting and needy. Natasha, you finally settle on.

As it turns out, you couldn’t quell your desires, couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. It had been a grand total of three days since you moved into Westview, but then you found out about the bar located about a fifteen minutes drive away.

At the silhouette of a promise coming in the shape of a pretty woman, you couldn’t not go, could you?

All it took was a black collared shirt and shiny rings on your fingers before you had a woman pressing up against you on the dancefloor — effectively humping your thigh, by the way — and the two of you somehow made it back to your place without giving the taxi driver a free porno.

“More,” Natasha growls into your neck as you work on undoing the buttons of her blouse. Her nails scratch at the expanse of your shoulder blades, as if trying to leave imprints. You hum in response, sliding up her pretty skirt, hands going into her panties.

Your fingers find the wet slit easily and slide in, awaited with an immediate clenching. “Fuck,” you pant, unable to focus with her ripping off your belt and unbuckling your pants.

“Stop it,” you grunt, taking her wrists with one hand and pinning it above her head. You lean closer, warm breath on her neck, delighting in the visible shiver that runs through her body. “We’ll take that off when I’m done, yeah?” you ask slowly, eyes darkening in arousal at the breathy moan Natasha lets out.

“Words, darlin’,” you murmur, running a finger down the curvature of her face, to the delicacy of her neck, to the line of her sternum. God, you loved women.

“Okay,” she managed to say, words spilling out from the sides of her mouth like an unstoppable dam, breath coming out in ebbs and flows that you drank up. “Please. Please, just fuck me.”

Sooner than later, you have your rough fingers exploring her wet cunt to mark out every crevice and every sweet spot. You gauge her reactions, calculate her pleasure, want to make her feel more-

“Upstairs,” you say in a low breath, cutting off your own thoughts, picking Natasha up as she lets out an exhalation of surprise.

She tilts her head inquisitively at your spontaneity. “You seem more fit than the regular gym goer,” she mentions, legs swinging as you climb up the stairs. “Athlete?”

You stiffen, and perhaps she notices it too. “Nah,” you answer, the lie tasting dry on your lips. “Seems like a rather stressful.”

It’s a one-night stand. No strings attached, no validity at stake. And that means no truths, either.

Before you can make it into the bedroom, the redhead twists out of your grasp once again, lips meeting yours in frenzied chaos. “Impatient,” you mutter dryly, left hand cinching around her neck and placing pressure on the pulse point. Natasha lets out a filthy moan.

When her bare back presses against the cold glass of the full-length window, your body follows dutifully.

Your knee goes in between her legs to provide a semblance of friction and a surface for her to dry hump on. “Shit,” she gasps, a hot cunt finding the muscle of your thigh in no time. “Feels good.”

The eager response to your ministrations only spurs your hands to get more busy, going behind Natasha’s back to unclasp the bra. Your knuckles brush against the cold glass of the window.

The moment her bra drops, you're quite sure you start drooling.

"You're definitely a tits over ass kinda gal, huh?" she teases at your ogling, using those hands to push up her breasts and make them look even more mouth-watering. Your eyes are hungry, devouring, scanning over the cleavage and her nipples and her mounds– god, you can feel the redhead get wetter on your thigh and it turns you on to no end.

"Ya think?" your response is hoarse, late, but you can’t feasibly care.

When your mouth wraps around a hardened nipple all caution is thrown to the wind. The mocking lilt in her voice simply breaks off into a high-pitched moan.

You just love the feeling of her tits in your hands, massaging and kneading and squeezing as your mouth works on the nipples. Lathering your hot tongue over the tip then swirling around the areola, taking your time.

Natasha tugs on your hair, pulling your mouth closer around her breast. Her trails of soft praises and cries of pleasure are a surefire sign you’re doing a good job.

It's only after a good five minutes of heated sucking that you get the faint feeling of someone watching. eyes, on you.

Natasha doesn’t seem to notice, pressing up against the glass of the window, in disbelief that she’s about to orgasm with only breast play.

The caution you threw to the wind earlier falls back into your grasp. You take your mouth off, albeit begrudgingly, and rise to your full height again, towering over the smaller woman.

Despite Natasha’s furious cries of denial, your hand goes back around her neck, and the woman melts in your hands like putty. “You wanna get off on my thigh, or you want me to help you out?” you ask, low in her ear, once again reliving the thrill of seeing her goosebumps raise.

“Help,” Natasha gasps in a choked whimper, when your fingers begin pinching her taut nipples. “Help me, please.”

You don’t deny the woman this time, setting her on your thigh properly as she undulates her hips against your muscle. Your hands go to play with her tits again.

Taking Natasha’s distraction as a sign, you finally look up, across the window, attention now diverted.

The first time was an accident.

But when your eyes lock with those sacred green ones again, you almost lose all your breath. There’s Wanda Maximoff, your neighbour, the married woman, the ethereal being with the viridescent eyes. And her eyes are trained on you and Natasha.

She had been watching, the whole time, from her own bedroom window.

Your heart was rising, soaring, lighter than it had ever been but heavy with a twisted sense of arousal. Wanda stood, shell-shocked, a slow blush overtaking her face at having been caught.

The first time was an accident, because you didn’t mean to notice the way her eyes fluttered over the both of you, the way her hands fidgeted, the way her thighs deliciously clenched-

Oh, it had been so long since you felt like that.

You loved that reaction. you wanted more.

No, you needed it.

So, against all sense of moral compass, against all hitherto goodwill — you don’t break apart in embarrassment, or stop fucking the pretty girl in front of your neighbour — you just smirk.

You actually smile, lips curving up dangerously, dripping with venom, eyes darkening impossibly more, pupils dilating even further. You feel those dark desires taking over you like it had so many times before, and this time you know you won’t be able to stop.

And in front of wanda, you continue. “Let go, baby,” you say to Natasha. You grab her hips, she's putty in your arms. Tossing her around and pressing her tits right up against the glass, you meet those green eyes again.

The opposing woman is rooted to the spot, eyes widened with fear and arousal.

Your experienced fingers easily find natasha’s clit after a good minute of finger-fucking, pinching the swollen clit between your long fingers as your hot breath runs down her bare back.

"I can't! I can't! Oh, I'm gonna squirt," Natasha cries, throwing her head back, and you finger her pussy open, still looking across the window, directly into the eyes of your watching neighbour.

“Please!” Natasha’s cry is sweet as she reaches her climax. She squirts, as she kindly mentioned earlier, and it goes all over the glass. “Pretty girl,” you whisper into her ear, and you don’t know if you’re talking about the woman in front of you or the one in the next house.

The first time was an accident.

Speaking of said woman, she’s still standing there, mouth open slightly. Wanda’s tongue darts out to run over her tantalizing lips, and you get the criminal urge to do it for her.

Tearing your eyes off hers, you avert your attention to Natasha once again. Her knees have buckled, and the only supporting weight is your forearms. “That was amazing,” Natasha breathes, and you smile, giving her a small peck on the top of her head.

“Another?” you ask, softly, and Natasha lets out a breathy laugh and then an eager nod. She jumps and wraps her legs around your torso, and you bring your face closer to steal another kiss.

When you leave a last look at the neighbours’ house, the curtains are shut, yet again.

===

After hours of worshipping Natasha in your bedroom, desperately trying to think of her and not your neighbour, you collapse into the bed. Natasha’s already fallen prey to the temptation of sleep, her cunt thoroughly wrecked.

With a shuddering breath of release, you close your eyes.

You had just properly fucked a woman in front of your hot neighbour, who happened to be very married. On…… accident?

The first time may have been an accident, but the next time you weren’t so sure if it still would be.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @girllcver @natashaswife4125 @godsfavouritelesbiann @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @kellyc30-blog @eatkobi @cqllarbones @lovelyy-moonlight @diannaswhore @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen @Cooldogs02 @jedi-athen-orion @alyciaddict @blackqueensforeva @lovelyy-moonlight@gingerninja1993@yourfavdummy @iliketigobities @scarlttolsn @blackbirdv98 @mxxnligxt @riomiyawakisstuff @alex4424 @0DeadandCold0 @mr.romanoff @mandy-asimp @idontwannabehereatm @daenerys713

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#marvel women #wanda maximoff x reader smut #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #marvel smut #wanda x reader smut #sub wanda #bottom wanda maximoff #dom reader #top reader #gxg smut #wlw smut #wanda maximoff smut #sub wanda maximoff #teom series #wanda maximoff #x reader

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deberiaestarescribiendo · 2 months ago

Text

Beg the sea for mercy (Sailor!Joelx Mermaid Reader)

They say the sea has some power over souls. It understands something that lies underneath flesh and bones, and it sings a song that appeals to those who are wounded.

Pairing: Sailor!Joel MillerxMermaid Reader

(The mermaid is described but it is a humanoid creature and for the most the aspects of her described are the more "creature" parts of her than physical description, once she's a human, she is not described except for being curvier and having hair) Joel calls her "girl" and she has her own POV in some parts

Themes and warnings: sea (a little bit of talasophobia I guess), depression, alcohol and drug comsuption, bodily horror, breeding "kink" not to give much away but the mermaid needs Joel for something. Smut but not super detailed, blood and violence.

This came to me a few years ago with Florence+The Machine Mermaids ( final chapter is actually a verse of the song)and watching The Lighthouse. "Future Days" is included here and actually checking the lyrics it fitted perfectly but I know it can be controversial since in the game is a very important between Joel and Ellie.

Also on AO3

They say the sea has some power over souls. It understands something that lies underneath flesh and bones, and it sings a song that appeals to those who are wounded.

Far from the land and the people, its roars and constant changes remind humans that it cannot be controlled. The crashing of the waves and the boat fighting its way over them is like the sound inside his body: the blood running, the heart beating, the bones cracking, soft and constant.

Joel needs those sounds to believe that his heart is still beating, that he is still alive, even if it feels he had died many years ago.

The sea is a welcoming mistress for lost souls. At land, all he did was bury himself in pills and alcohol. He numbed his head so his thoughts would stop being of his daughter last breath, how fast she was breathing, her cries, his shirt wet, warm and sticky over his chest.

I know, baby, I know.

I gotta get you up, babygirl

He remembers getting her corpse up of the ground, and all Joel Miller was, was left in the puddle of her daughter’s blood on the grass. The man that lived after that was dead, a zombie.

Joel found the fact of having to get back to his old life unbearable. How would he be able to do the same things he did when Sarah was alive?

And after trying to kill himself and failing, he ran away. Doing dodgy works here and there, using his rage and muscle for whomever paid the most so he could get enough pills and whisky to pass out every night.

In the dark loop that his life had become, he found Cap. Nobody could tell how old he was or from where that thick accent could come from or even his real name. He called Joel kid which implied an older age, but he couldn’t point out if he was that much older than him.

He told him about his boat and their route to the pacific all the way down and back.

“8 months out, open sea and more money you will make in any other place”.

He got on the Perseus on Sarah’s birthday after swallowing a pill and a bottle of Jack. Cap looked at him up and down:

“Whatever you do after your shift is up to you. But on duty hours you stay sharp, kid”.

He did. Soon enough he didn’t feel his hands shaken and he could sleep almost soundly every night. The sea sang its song, the low hums of the machinery and the gentle waves, and he was rocked like a baby in a crib. He still drank each night. Sergey, part time cook and fisherman, served every meal with a shot of vodka.

“To keep you warm, strong.” He flexed his pale arm under the bright yellow overalls.

The nights at the edge of the world were long, too far away from land, any land, that Joel thought the sun would not rise again. For days he would wake up at 2 A.M and work up until midday, but the nets were coming empty.

“Fucking shit” he muttered after another day of nothing.

“Don’t curse at the sea, son, she will give her share when she’s ready. We just have to keep on begging”. Cap said and patted his back.

They were so far away; the radar never showed any passing ship.

The sky was so bright, Joel saw the Milky way for the first time. That white spur of cosmos full of stars brighter than any artificial light he had never seen before.

The sea was so calm the light drew silver lines over the soft waves, the soft push of them crushed against the boat, when he saw it.

A shadow, barely a head above water. If it weren’t for those silver lines, a glitch on the reflection of the sky above, he wouldn’t have seen it.

And as soon as he stepped closer to the edge, it disappeared.

That night the nets were once again empty. Before they let the machinery rewind them and throw them again, he found it. A perfect seashell, the conch turned on itself in a mix of pink like roses and white as the seafoam.

He grabbed it and put it on his pocket and didn’t get it out until he was on his bunk bed.

Joel touched its coarse exterior, the small waves made of years of the ocean’s erosion. The seashell had an opening on its middle, bright pink and soft to the touch almost like flesh. His calloused fingertips got over the opening tracing from the tip to the end. He could hear the sea coming from it and he fell asleep with it on his hand. Then the dreams started.

He dreamt he was underwater, as deep and black as the universe. His lungs were caving in, the water of the ocean filling him in its cold arms.

That’s when he saw her. His eyes searched for the moonlight that pierced the water on the reflection of her fins. They were silver with a shade of black. In the darkness he could distinguish her shape, long, longer than any animal he had seen. She propelled herself with her tail and pushed the water with her arms. She danced around him ignoring that he was dying, for a moment he thought that maybe that was what she e waited for. She turned and spin almost like she was having fun of his suffering.

In his dream, he reached for her, beg even if words could not come out of his mouth. She came, a cloud of silver and darkness of her hair. She grabbed him from his waist, hard so hard Joel expelled all his oxygen. He screamed but she grabbed his jaw, sharp nails scratching his skin.

She was a vision. Something human and not at the same time. Her eyes were all black, bigger in her head, her skin was cold and soft even if a bit viscous, her lips were pale, and she opened her mouth. Was it a smile? And her teeth where sharp, white as pearls. She sealed her lips to him, and he tasted blood. He fought against her, but she was stronger. Her hand pressed against his nape when he felt her nails scratching his scalp.

He was too tired, too close to hypoxia and then he felt the air, sweet and cold, that she was transferring, under her ears, her gills opened and closed.

She held him, her nails didn’t pierce him anymore but cradle his head, he felt his heart slowing down and then the siren woke him up. It was time for another shift.

The dream came to him every night, and every night he had to get through the agony of dying before he could touch her, each night he fought less and less, until weeks after finding the conch, he submerged himself in the depth of the sea fearlessly, open arms waiting for her to come save him.

“You got your head elsewhere, kid” Joel had read the captain lips, but he signed his cancelling noise headset.

The captain repeated the same sentence until Joel rolled his eyes and he knew he had understood him.

The red light on top of the ceiling and the deep siren alerted them to step out as the boat open its vault to welcome the nets. For weeks they had come empty, but that night the cables were tense teasing that they had a great catch for once. From the black waters, the bodies of thousands of fish jumped in silver.

Sergey and the captain cheered.

“She blessed us, I told you, kid” “We just need to keep on begging and now we thank her”.

The captain stepped on the nets over the slugs and small conches. He got close to the edge, Joel crossed fast to stop him, but the old man kneeled on the edge, getting a knife from his boot, he slashed his hand and raised to the moon, the blood fell black as if they were tears from the sky above. Joel heard him pray.

Thank you for providing us with such a bounty. We are thankful for your gifts, let us go back safely to shore.

Sergey shook his head and muttered “Crazy”

After all the fish were put on refrigeration, they gathered in the kitchen, the guys from the AM shift too as Captain had granted a day off for everybody. Sergey took the opportunity to cook a special meal and open his best vodka, the one he kept on a locked cabinet. “For special occasions only” he poured the shots and served each man a generous ration of a fish stew.

“Who did you thank back there?” Joel asked, the captain had cured his hand with badges that had an already a faint maroon stain on them.

“The sea, son, who else?” he chuckled.

“You cut your hand for the sea?” Joel raised an eyebrow and pointed to the wounded hand.

“You are new, you will learn. The sea is not made for us to stay and pillage. You have to give something back if you want to be blessed “

“Is some kind of religion or what?

“Don’t be a fool. There are many gods on the land, and none will show their power as the sea does. She will teach you quickly not to bother her or mock her, son”.

“Is a she then, a goddess?”

“Are you mocking me, kid?” the captain through his spoon on his plate and the rest of the men looked at them.

“I’m just curious as to why you will cut your hand”.

The storm arrived two days after. Joel tried to control his fear, his trembling hands when the sea turned grey and the waves covered the ship, again and again they hit higher. They had to get back to shore but the currents were too strong, they kept sending them deeper. There was no signal on the radio or radar. Isolated the days seemed eternal, they were completely covered most of the time, but sometimes, Joel could see the sky opening and the thunderstorm lighted up the stars. At night, for the briefest of time, the air was on fire when the lightnings stroke, he could see the dark waves coming as they hit the ship when it was pitched black.

One of those dark waves swallowed the ship whole eventually. When Joel fell in the dark waters, the waves made impossible to hear the rest of the men or even to see them in the dark, once he was over one wave, another would drown him. The life jacket made him float up, but he could just take one small breath and the sea would push him down.

He was tired, exhausted in minutes and so He let go. And unlocked his lifejacket.

Let the sea take me. I want to go with my babygirl.

Sarah.

Sarah

He heard her, laughing, saw her killer smile in the stars calling back to him. For once all he remembered was not her dying and he knew it was time.

It wasn’t like in his dreams. The ocean was dark and cold. The currents too strong for him to even know what’s up and down. And soon he let the water in invade him with violence and somehow peace.

He remembered dark eyes glittering in a dark cave. If it wasn’t for the sand he touched and the air he felt, Joel would have sworn he had died and was falling still in the dark pitch of the ocean.

When those eyes approached him, he heard her crawl, creeping her wet and cold body over him. She reached for his chest with long nailed hands, each finger connected to the other by thin skin.

Joel heard his voice break when he tried to scream, but nothing came out but a pathetic whine.

The siren reached his head, those black pools staring at him, her mouth opened with sharp teeth. And then she posed her head on his chest and began singing. It pierced straight to his heart, through skin and bone and then his world in that tiny cave went silent. Only her voice could be heard, not his cries, not his heart or blood still running, not his pain or Sarah’s last breath, just the creature signing.

He woke up when light hit his eyes, bright and white against the clear stone. Sand on his feet and his hands, cold and grounding. He was alive.

“You are awake”.

He turned his head to his feet, scared to find the creature, instead a girl sat next to him. Naked if just for a thin throw she had tighten with a piece of rope. Joel tried to lift his body but his vision blurred and when he tried to speak his throat was dry and hurt.

“Here. Drink”

She kneeled before him and poured water on his lips. Sweet and cold, when the thin dribble stopped, he tried instinctively to raise for more.

“Not so fast”

“Please” he begged, when she raised her hands again, Joel saw she was holding his shell, that one he found on the boat. Its perfect pink spiral holding fresh water to his mouth, it was a dream. Maybe he was indeed drowning still, his braincells dying little by little with the lack of oxygen.

But the sand on his hands, the pain on his limbs felt so real.

“Rest” she pressed her palm on his chest “I bring more water”.

She raised, the white thin cloth hanging around her body, she went inside the cave where he could not see her. Joel tried to raise again this time, slower and surer, his arms finally feeling strong enough to press his palms on the ground. His vision was still blurry, and the light hit him too hard.

He inspected the cave, empty if it wasn’t for the improvised bed he was on, a pile of clothes, fading and harsh for the saltpetre, he found his shirt and pants and his fishing overalls, an another one, an another, an another. All from the Perseus.

“Here” the girl followed his gaze and put his hand on his shoulder “You need to rest”

“Where are the men from my boat?”

“Water” she said, her hand on his chin turning his face to the shell. Joel didn’t know if she wanted him to drink or answering his question. He drank again.

“I need to come home” he said, maybe it was a prayer or a wish, he hadn’t called anything home since his daughter. “I need to call somebody; they must be searching the ship”.

The woman squared her shoulders.

“Nobody is searching”

“Please, you need to help me, I have to come back, they must be looking for me…my family”.

“Sarah?” she kneeled again suddenly less tense.

“What? How?”

“You speak in dreams, call her..cry for her” she spoke softly, tilted her head awaiting a answer.

“My daughter…she…” he couldn’t say, she had been trying for years to tell, my daughter was, Sarah was my daughter, he couldn’t bare speak of her in the pass.

“My brother must be worried, we need to call the coast guards, somebody to bring me back to…”

“Nobody is coming” she pushed him firmly to the bed again, for a moment her eyes grew dark as those he saw in his dreams under water and in this cave after she had saved him.

Joel accepted her care for a day more. She brought her water and fish. The fish still moving and trying to escape its fate until she slapped them against the rock. Hair and body dripping cold water from the sea, the girl gutted the fish for him, tearing away their spine and head and presenting him their still fresh body with bloody nails. She ate one herself but with less pleasantries and bite the half of its body while blood dipped from her chin.

After he could get up by himself the next day when she was gone to get food, Joel made an expedition out of the cave. His hope sank when he saw how small the isle was. A piece of dark rock and steep hills, with thin trees with black roots and dark green leaves. The sea crushed against it violently, its roar was astounding, on the small coast, he found pieces of the ship. He climbed, almost out of breath, to the highest hill he found.

The sky was cloudy, big masses of white dust and wind over that remote corner of the world, and all he could see down was a never-ending sea, no ships, no continent, nothing but water.

He felt the waves crushing his ribs again, his heart. He would never leave this isle, he would never be home, never see his brother and explain so many things. How the world crumbled when Sarah died, how he could not see a future, the person he became, the fear of looking and the mirror and see his soulless eyes. He wanted to come back home, he wanted to be able to call something his home once again.

He felt the rage coming, like bile coming up his gut, and he screamed, he screamed, and he kick the rocks until he was tired.

When he came back to the cave, she was waiting.

She frowned at him, she had already gutted her catch and sat on the clothes of the dead men with dead fish on her hands.

“You need to rest” she repeated.

“This can’t be real” he ignored her

On his way down, Joel had convinced himself he was imagining her, that finally the drugs, the alcohol and the depression combined with a concussion was making her up.

She looked at him and tended her hand “Eat” the fish was blue as dark as the blood that pooled on the siren’s hand.

“Leave me alone” he slapped her hand away. He wanted a whiskey so bad, he wanted to swallow the pills one by one, they probably thought him dead anyway. Tommy must have been informed by now. What was the point.

He hadn’t heard the girl standing and taking the fish back, she cleaned the sand as much as she could and presented it again, this time with a serious look “Eat”

“Leave me the fuck alone!” Joel tried to push her away, but she grabbed him by his throat and smacked him to the pile of the dead men clothes. She was stronger than him, much more. She straddled his lap and pressed her dirty nails on his cheeks.

Her breath was warm and her body cold and wet. He blamed his addictions and completely fucked up brain, that all his thoughts were about her body on top of him. He was aware of her nakedness, of the slump skin of her hips and thighs pressing his hips of how she was barely covered and how he could see her perked nipples under the damped fabric.

“eat” she repeated, and he opened his mouth.

She tore a small part and pushed the meat on his lips, softly, her fingers tasted of salt and blood.

When he had eating enough, she smiled. A beautiful, sweet, almost innocent smile, if not for the blood on her teeth.

“You will get strong soon”

The days fell and came, and he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to face the outside and small world of that minuscule isle.

He cried most of the time, sometimes the tears will just run on his cheeks, sometimes he would loudly sob while the siren was away. She brought him different food: octopus that she shredded with her bare hands, crabs and oysters, she also started bringing shells and showed them to him.

“beautiful” she said presenting another one, and she would look disappointed every time he didn’t react.

And so, she started singing.

She cradled his head on her lap, her sharp nails scratching the greying hairs again and again.

Her voice was soft and deep. Sometimes it was just a hum, other she would vocalise and others she would sing in a language he didn’t understand. Long syllables and soft words. Even if she used unknown words or just sounds, Joel understood. She sang about love and longing, about death and loss. Sometimes he started to cry again in the middle of her song, and she hushed him like a baby. With her voice and her hands, she caressed his wounds and his heart.

In the night, they lay together, and she tangled herself to him. She was soft and warm and smelled like salt and sand. Her heartbeat steady, mouth softly open, features relaxed, if she noticed that sometimes he caressed her leg, from ankle to thigh, the one she tossed over his body, she didn’t say.

Sometimes she turned and grabbed his arm cuddled herself under him, as if he was a blanket over her. She placed his hand between her breasts, her slow and steady breath should have calmed him. But she pushed herself against him, her back against her belly, her hips between his hips.

If she noticed that he was painfully hard, she didn’t say.

Sleep would find him eventually, but that’s when the nightmares started.

“Do not cry, Joel” she kissed the tears running on his cheeks, and she started singing, and he’d cried more. He cried until he was empty and exhausted, until he could fill the sea and drown.

The siren sang every night, and he began to forget why he was crying and that he should think about coming back.

He indeed felt stronger after a while, his body had forgotten the effort of fighting the waves and drowning, his mind nonetheless was tired, lazy, he woke up without any will of getting up, the exterior of the cave was a minuscule and harsh natured place, the cave was warm, the girl fed him, sang and took care of him.

Most times he didn’t want her to move, and he would protest when she said she got to go.

That’s how they kissed the first time.

“Don’t go, I’m not hungry” he begged, hands on her hips, kneeling before her.

“I need the sea” she smiled softly and bent down, her hands on his face like a child, she kissed her frown and then his lips. They were warm, soft, Joel had never felt something so soft as her lips and her skin in years. After so much hardship and pain, then there was her. But she walked out of the cave, leaving him on his knees still marvelling of the kiss. Joel shook all the thoughts that were spiralling on his head and followed her.

The day was covered in white fluffy clouds leaving the waters in a milky blue colour. The girl breathed deeply and took out the cloth that covered her. He watched her as the waters kissed her feet and she giggled. She looked at him just once before running to the depth.

Joel waited and waited; the sun was almost setting. The clouds were the colour of ripe orange, when she came back.

That silver and black tail splashed on the coast, and she let her body be carried with the waves.

For a moment she was limp on the sand, the long tail he remembered, her hands and digits connected with a thin and see-through tissue. He approached her, worried, what if she had died, what if he was left alone in here. The loud noise that invaded his heart and mind years ago when Sarah died, came back, he couldn’t move, not even say a word.

But the siren shrieked, loud and high, her long nails digging in the sand. Her body trembled, her spine curved upwards, like an invisible current went through her, he saw her skin tear from the inside out. Her silver scales breaking, blood covering the sand and the white foam of the waves became a faded pink. From the mess of her skin tearing a human leg came out, her feet stuck on the meaty mess of her former body. She crawled out of the parts of her tail when she cried out again sounding like a wounded animal, Joel had to cover his ears, the skin between her fingers melted, her bones shrinking to a delicate size, her hands pushed upwards, she raised with splatters of her old body still attached to her human skin. Her eyes were still dark and all black pupils. She stepped on wobbly legs towards Joel before collapsing on the ground.

He picked her up from the sand and carried her to the cave.

“Please tell me what to do” Joel whispered, desperate “do not leave me here”.

The siren smiled softly, tired.

“I will stay” she muttered before falling sleep.

Joel waited hours, watching her chest going up and down, checking her pulse. Cleaned her from her fish flesh and blood and cuddled her body when the moon rose white and full in the night.

His eyes were heavy when she started to move in her sleep. Her eyes were now human when she looked at him.

“I thought you were about to die”.

She frowned.

“What happened to you?”

“I need the sea every full moon, I need to be me”.

“Does it hurt?”

She nodded.

“I thought you were to leave me alone” he whispered, eyes closed, and heart opened, the words came out of his lips like a confession. You’re the only thing I got now, I won’t survive without you, why did you kiss me?

She cuddled next to him, he felt her warm body against him and her hand on his cheek, collecting the tears he didn’t know he was crying.

“Joel” he didn’t open his eyes” I’m here”.

When still hid his face, she came closer, search for his face and his eyes until he did. The siren, now girl, was as beautiful as the moon, perfect and warm smile, under him, naked. He felt his cheeks burn in thoughts he should maybe not have. But she closed the distance even more, rose on her elbows to be face to face, lips so close he could feel her breath. “I’m here”

The kiss was innocent as first, as sweet and pure as the one she had given in the morning. But soon he was biting her lips, invading her mouth with his tongue, biting her chin and her neck, her breasts.

He kissed her stomach, reverently caressing her new skin, the human skin she had changed for him, grabbed her hips, the bones she had cracked for him, to walk with him in this forgotten place and he opened her legs and kissed each of her knees before kneeling between them. She let her legs fall on the clothes of the dead men, revelling her sex. Joel kissed and drank from her opening pink lips. The siren sighed, tugged his hair hard and harder the more he kissed and sucked at her, he felt her legs tremble and shake and smiled. He had forgotten the beauty and the taste of the pleasure of a woman, not only a random woman in nameless bar, drunk on pain and whisky. This girl was made for him, was only his, they were alone in the world.

He kissed her blissful face still gasping and heavy breathing. Joel pushed her legs around his hips and penetrate her with a shallow push, held her head in his hands. Mine, mine, he thought the more he felt her cunt pulling him in.

————————————————————————

Mother said they love differently than us, that men take and take until soon they were kings in the land. My sisters that had already passed through this warned me about their fear: “Fear will turn them violent” they said. And so, I tried to make him delicate with me. I sang when he was sad, I hugged his body with mine. I saw how his eyes roam my body and how they shine when I say his name.

How he cried because I hurt, how he awaited on the shore for me. How he touched my new skin and how his hunger started.

But they didn’t tell me about what was going to happen to us, to our bodies. Joel kissed me and at first his beard, coarse on my skin, was all I could think of, but his lips were soft, he bit my lips and it awaken something in me. His hands were not soft either, and this new body is too delicate, this skin too thin and sensitive, I felt my hairs tensing on my arms on my legs and my nape when he kissed my breasts. I felt elated, floating in the air, spiralling so fast when he kissed me between my legs. He pushed me to the feeling when I tried to flee. I tried to get him off me, but my hands wanted to ask for more. Such sweet contradiction.

I felt my legs tremble, my stomach tight, so tight I thought this body was again turning into something new. And then, he let me fall. His eyes were dark when he grabbed my face, pressed his weight over me, I couldn’t move and was so tired and expectant. He pierced my body, and it was harsh and sweet as his kisses. He pushed inside of me, again and again, touched something inside that hurt and made my belly tight again, my legs ache on his hips. His warm breath on my neck, the sand harsh against my back as shark’s skin and I just tried to focus on the white walls of the cave, to centre myself before falling again. I heard him say something over his moans, but I couldn't tell.

He spilled inside me with two finals hard push and fell to the side, one of his hands still on my cheek.

When I rose, I felt tired and my body ached, my thighs were sticky, his sweat and mine, his semen and my blood. I touched my cunt, swollen, sensitive and full of him. My fingers gathered some of my wetness, reddish and warm still from us.

“Oh no” Joel rose immediately when he saw my hand, turned my palm to him. “Oh no, lord, I’m sorry” I didn’t know why he apologise, but he kissed me again, on my shoulders and on my face “I hurt you” he said when I looked at him puzzled. “Does it hurt?” He placed his palm over my sex and I flinched.

“I didn’t think… you have just turned I” his cheeks were red and he brushed his wet hair back “I didn’t mean to hurt you, honey”.

He grabbed my bloody fingers and kissed them. He didn’t care it stained his lips and his face.

I kissed him how he did to me. Open mouth, tasting him with my tongue. He cleaned me softly and threw his shirt over me.

I slept tired, aching, sedated and wanting him more. Joel woke me up with a shell, a purple one, just like I did days ago when he stopped talking.

“It’s for you” he had pierced in the middle and passed a cord of fibre of the black trees of the isle to make a collar. Joel slept beside me that night, covered me with his body, at first, he didn’t move, he didn’t try to do it again. But the moon was clear and round in the sky. I could see the shadows it created on his face, and it was beautiful.

I touched him, his bare chest, golden for the sun, he had scars, the skin whiter and taunt there. He had sparse hair there, thicker on his belly and over his cock. I touched him without knowing how and he sighed, I followed on his legs, strong the muscles under his thighs were evident even if he was asleep. I wished my legs were like that, see what they can do, how fast I could be, how other grounds will feel on my feet. I was mesmerised by him, and I didn’t realise he had woken up.

“Can you walk fast?” I asked.

“Do you mean run?” I nodded. “Well, not like I used to, honey.”

“What is honey?” I wondered

“Honey? It is something sweet, like you” He smiled and let me roam his body, his calves until his feet.

“Why did you save me?” He asked after the silence had filled our cave

I looked at the moon, it was as full as it was the day I saw him. Why him? I don’t know, he found the conch, he was stronger.

“The tides brought me to you” I answered to let it rest, as it was much happenstance as it was fate, his and mine.

“But now, on this isle… why?”

I looked at his dark eyes fixed on mines

“ I wanted to know “

“To know what?”

What would my mother do? My sisters? Did they allow these questions? It was a full moon already, recovering had already taken so much time, and I hadn’t completed the mission

“To know you” it was a almost a lie, a half truth.

“Have you met another man?” I saw the answer he wanted in his eyes.

“No. The other men were dead” I saw his gaze dropping to their clothes

“Did they make it to the isle?”

I shook my head as he did when he refused eating. “They were dead, their bodies floated to the coast I sent them back to the sea”

“Why?”

“They do not serve a purpose here” you and me, we do, I thought. You were barely alive I could save you, you could save me.

He looked at me as if he was trying to dissect me, I know my mother and sister told me that humans need to understand that they ask too many questions and they can hurt anything just trying to understand. I knew Joel could tear me apart. But I wanted to know too.

“How did you learn to speak to me if you haven’t met other people?”

“We learn fast” I said, we need to survive, we do what we can. I’m young and there are so many things I don’t know and my family told me to come here, and I do not know if it’s working.

“You certainly do, honey” his hand touched mine, he intertwined his fingers to mine, his skin was rugged and scarred, mine was too new I could feel the difference texture of his, that spoke of hardship and the life on earth.

He took my hand and kissed my palm. He rubbed it on his cheek, how soft he could be being so harsh and bigger than me. I took his hand and did the same, he kissed me then, much gentler than before, he let me open my mouth to him at my own pace, he let me touch his body and his scars. I found one near his left temple, the only one that he refused my hand “does it hurt still?” I asked and his eyes shone in the dark of our cave

“Yes, it refuses to heal”

I kissed it softly waiting for him to push me off, but he didn’t. Joel closed his eyes, his skin wrinkled around them, I trailed down to his mouth.

He caressed me with the tip of his fingers, down my back, my thighs and legs as I had done.

“I will teach you how to run if you wish to “

Joel let me discover his body pulling me on top of his, how his muscles flexed, how his skin tasted. I felt him harden under me, and he let me go at my own pace, he just showed me how to touch his sex, how the stickiness I felt was needed for us to joint, how my body tensed and the fever started by rubbing the top of mine, I let him in slowly watching how his eyes closed and his sighed relaxed. Joel put his hands over my hips and softly moved me like the waves. It was slowed this time, I wanted to see every moment, every breath he took, how his eyes grew dark and feverish, his hands were impatient the more I took, I crashed in him and our breaths resonated in our cave, my body tremble but now I knew I was not falling that Joel will catch me and he did. He kissed my temple and my face caressed my back and my hips, I was sweating, shining and it felt like a dream.

“You’re so sweet to me”

Sweet.

“You’re so beautiful, honey”

Beautiful.

I didn’t know what they meant, but I knew he was also sweet and beautiful to me. I didn’t not want this to end.

She slept on top of him for half of the day, her skin was softly covered in sweat and his. He had thrusted his hip to hers for a few more times. She let him grab her hips open her more. He fucked himself deep into her and she watched him, brow furrowed and lips ajar.

“So sweat, such a good girl”

Joel avoid thinking that she wasn’t exactly a girl or she wasn’t at first. All that existed was this cave, the sea and the heaven between her legs.

He was so drunk in her he had pushed her hips to him, a hand to her back to pull her to his chest as he could carved his chest open and let her nest inside. She bit his chest to control her whines as he pushed more and more until he spilled once more, not thinking, not even minding that she had cut his skin. With bloody lips she smiled satisfied.

He had tried to push her to the side or get out of her but she slapped his hands when Joel tried to.

Once the sun was high in the cloudy sky, she woke.

“Hungry?”

“Yes, but let’s find something else than raw fish?”

Joel though about putting back on the warm sweatpants and undershirt he had wore the night of the wreckage but the girl had just got out naked of the cave and he thought it was silly to cover. They walked around the island. Joel found fruits he hadn’t seen before once he explore being so focused on a way out. On the top of the hill he had once climbed he found a tree with long roots that look strong enough to thread.

He created a small bundle with leaves and carried the food he had found.

“We’ll eat and then I teach you how to run”

She made a grimace when she tasted the fruits, Joel would agree they weren’t the best one, he would’ve loved to give her strawberries and grapes, maybe oranges and sweet peaches.

“Fish is better” she said agreeing to eat but still making a disgusted face.

“I agree this is not the best”

Joel wanted to know more about her and also keep living in this fantasy where she was real and he was somehow the happiest he had been in years, Joel has casted the world away but it had kept coming back now the world had finally let him out. But thinking about knowing more about what she was about how she could even exist made all this dream crumble down.

“What’s your name?”

She looked confused.

“Mine is Joel. You must have one”

“I don’t know “

“You don’t know it?”

“I think we don’t have one”

“On how you call…” he left the words roam in his tongue. Were there more of her? Did she have a family?

He looked at the immense sea before him, the shades of blue and white foam kissing his feet. There must have been more.

“You can give me one” she finally said “call me how you like”

“ I will think about it” he agreed “come on up, it’s time to run”

She lighted up, smiling widely.

Joel started walking on the firm sand faster and faster and she followed watching intently his legs when they started lifting the sand as he grew faster. She giggled though she had less control of her legs at this speed.

She tried to keep up to him grinning widely, chest heaving.

“C’mon, are you going to let an old man win?” He joked

She tried to rush but stumbled with the dry algae on the shore. Joel stopped and came back to her worried. But she laughed still, a delicate hand on her chest.

“Are you okay?”

“I like running” she giggled. Joel thought his heart exploded. It’s been years maybe an eternity, maybe another life or world since he had made somebody else happy. He felt his own smile on his face like dormant muscles waking up, finding new places in him that were dead.

The air carried the salt from the sea, the scent of it everywhere from the sand to the algae and the trees and her. His girl, all new and made for him, an apparition in the darkness, his savior in so many ways he could not explain.

Joel thought she had never been more beautiful that in that moment, the sunset shining on the transpiration on her skin, her joyful laugh, from her belly to her lovely teeth.

What was miles away wasn’t real, this was, his broken life and heart had drowned in the sea.

the mermaid had picked up a corpse of a man, a carcass and she had breathed life into him.

“We will run as much as you want then”

The girl stood and threw herself into him, still smiling and heavy breathing she let him hold her by the waist back to their cave.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joel taught me so many things. Running was the happiest I’ve felt, my body fills with air and it burns my chest, but I feel my legs hitting the ground carrying me farther and farther, and this laugh it comes all the way up and I cannot stop.

Joel taught me that he likes to eat other things rather than fish. Every thing here taste too much like earth, warm and sticky. The fruits Joel found were sweet, they get stuck on the back of my teeth and its juices stay for hours on my lips, Joel taught me that’s exactly how sweet things are, like honey, like me. It stays with you.

He is gentler with me now, delicate, he insisted in carrying some of the trees’ leaves, he split them to threads and took the fishes bones to thread them. When is not working on whatever he’s doing, we lay together.

He talks to me about his life on land, told me he made things, houses.

What are houses?

Like this cave, he answered

A place to live.

He told me about Sarah.

It was an accident, she was just on our yard and then…she was gone. I could not be home anymore.

I sing when he gets sad or I kiss him. The way he taught me. I open myself to him.

I’m not afraid of falling anymore, I embrace this body and how sensitive it is, Joel knows every place he needs to touch to make me spiral and he shows me what I can do for him too.

I kiss his face, his chest, listen to his heart as he falls asleep. And the moon is starting to disappear, I do not have time.

The most amazing thing he has showed me it’s fire. He collected some black stones that cut the flesh of fish so smoothly and he showed me how smashing them together, heat appeared. He blew air into it and the light emerged. I gasped and he laughed.

No more raw fish, he promised although I don’t know if that’s good.

He took my hand and at first I pushed him away.

Don’t you trust me?

I was brave and I let him guide my hand to it, it was warm, as warm as Joel. I know I understand.

Joel is fire and I’m water, Joel is the ground where I ran and the sun that hit my skin and I’ve been cold my whole life, the colours here are brown as his eyes and hair, golden as the sun and the embers of the fire he creates, my skin was cold and slippery as a fish until he got me. This body was made for him, in his image and one day I’ll be back to being cold and being water, slippery in his hands.

“Do you like it?”

We made love in a no longer dark cave. The cold light of the moon mixed with the warm of the fire just as the two of us were joined, I sat on him, hugged his body, him so deep in mine, he grabbed my head and kissed me, blew breath into my lips in words of love I don’t understand but feel.

My sweet sweet girl all mine

The next morning I felt it.

Joel said that fire was the thing that made humans evolve. It birthed society and power.

And now I felt it, inside of me, growing fast as we learned to do, to survive. My mission is completed. And mother and sisters warned me, once it is done, I have to get back.

I let him sleep for a few hours more, wondering how to cut this thread in my new bones and organs that tights me to him. He wakes up, no longer in nightmares but with a smile looking at me. He sees my tears and holds me immediately. His eyes search mine his big hands holding my head searching for the answer to my sorrow.

What’s wrong my sweet girl?

I cry harder, I wail for my fate, for the ocean and its rules, for my mother and sister and for him. He tries to calm me, rocks me softly as the sea. And then

“If I ever were to lose you

I'd surely lose myself

Everything I have found dear

I've not found by myself

Try and sometimes you'll succeed

To make this man of me

All my stolen missing parts

I've no need for anymore

I believe

And I believe 'cause I can see

Our future days

Days of you and me

Back when I was feeling broken

I focused on a prayer

You came deep as any ocean

Did something out there hear?

All the complexities and games

No one wins, but somehow, they're still played

All the missing crooked hearts

They may die, but in us they live on

His voice is deep as the ocean roars, I feel the air coming out of his lungs and his heart beating.

I stopped crying and he hums in my ear, I feel his smile “better now? You sang to me on the first day, you healed me”

I said yes, but I lied. I never felt this, just the opposite of being made so full as he has done. I feel empty, a dark and cold pit has opened inside of me as the ones in the sea bottom.

He tried to let me down and I held to him fiercely. “I’m not going anywhere, just going to finish our bed”

“Do you know what a bed is?”

I shake my head

“ we are going to sleep somewhere comfortable, soft and not on sand and some dead men clothes. Maybe I can thread enough of this roots and leaves and make clothes, or a blanket. I don’t know if the weather will always be like this here”

“Do you want to stay here?” I asked

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you want to come back…home?”

He looks puzzled, his eyes wondering around my face.

“I have no home but here, but you “

I hold my breath, push back the tears until my eyes burn.

Joel doesn’t understand what has come over her. But she holds her body over his while he’s threading and when he lights the fire. He calls her little monkey but she doesn’t know what they are.

She is kissing him deep as soon as the sun sets, lays on the sand and opens her legs “please Joel”

He feels his knees cracking, his back is killing him but he lays on top of her, kisses her from her forehead to her breast, bites her soft skin as he did the first day, open her pink lips, drinking his sweet girl until her legs closed around his head trembling. Joel sighed as he was pull inside her.

“So perfect” he praised, his hands roam the body of his savior, of his lifeline. Words of love got stuck on his tongue, not yet forming he kissed her.

The slumber found him fast as each night since he was stranded in this island, a deep dream of water and peace.

He woke up when the light of the first rays hit his eyes. He was cold, the weight of her not as usual on top of him, curled under his arm. He touched the bed around him, she was not there.

He waited, maybe she grew hungry. But she didn’t come back. Joel started pacing around the beach, the footprints of her feet disappeared with the waves and Joel wondered if she had to be back temporarily. But at sunset, she was not there. He screamed and howled at the moon, he then knew she would not be back, Joel knew she cried for that, he was alone again in the dark far away from anybody. He cried for her until the sun came back.

“Please come back” he whispered, he cried and howled.

Joel waited until the next sunset until he decided that what the bullet couldn’t achieve years ago, the mighty cliff in the island could, he climbed as the lights of day were dimmed, when a white bright light shone in the vast darkness of the sea.

A ship.

He ran, his feet bleeding for the climb on naked feet, cuts on his face from the foliage. He got shore when they were close scanning with lights on the beach.

The survivor of the Perseus 2 was a miracle. Every newspaper, tv news and video on social media talked about it. How Joel Miller, 45 years old, was found almost two months after the wreckage and disappearing of his ship. The coast guards of many countries had already abandoned the search when a similar boat that went through the same route started finding signs of the wreckage like small bread crumbs on the sea till a tiny isle appeared in the middle of nowhere. Despise being labeled inhabitable centuries back, Joel miller survived and was found in great condition. He didn’t speak for days in the ship, he only insisted in getting in the boat after he had returned to the cave where he had been taken refuge, he didn’t let any other man in. He came back with a pink conch and it is the only thing he carry with himself from that experience. He was left in Texas and didn’t give any interview even if every body wanted his testimony.

Tommy miller picked his brother from the port after years of having no news of him. He found out his brother was officially missing once the Perseus didn’t make it to the next port they were expected to. For two months he wondered how he could go on knowing he had never made peace with him. Until the sea opened up and returned his brother. Tommy Miller didn’t say the things he had rehearsed:

Why did you leave me?

Why didn’t you call me?

Tell me where you went

How did you survive?

He just hugged him.

Now he receives a postcard each month and presents for his baby and his wife Maria, his brother goes to Wyoming for holidays and it’s getting use to texting, e-mails and social media.

Tommy hasn’t asked why but his brother decided to live by the sea. On a cliff to an open ocean, build a house with big windows that only look at the deep blue. And what’s weirder, he has boat, and sails, even has gotten back to sea to that remote part of the world from time to time.

But he’s happy, open and that’s what counts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He is somebody in that little town, he has made a name for himself, he made the bar counter at the pub he goes every night, a bright and big wooden bar that has already some beer stains prove of so many fun nights of the people’s town. He caresses the wood feeling a sense of pride he has not felt in a long time. He gets a pat on the back and warm smiles from his neighbors, Chris and his little brother who needed a new roof, Tess that needed help with her house repairs after her husband left, bill and frank the pub owners that invite him every night even if he was paid generously for the job.

But every night Joel Miller walks by the sea alone, listening to it and sleeps with the windows open to it, wondering if she will be back. Not in flesh as he mostly thinks now she was a vision, a way of coping, he survived by himself, his brain created that perfect creature to save him, to cure his loneliness. But he still wonders if he can conjure her back to life in his dreams. But nothing comes but the sighs and waves of the sea.

Eventually, he almost forgets and gets a little life, a shop where he sells his wood art and guitars, and offers his hands to whoever needs it. Invites Tess from time to time to coffee and takes her to proper dates. Flights to Wyoming and holds his niece, only sometimes he finds himself by the window touching without realizing it that pink shell that it’s almost now just a decorative item.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometime when he dreams he feels itm the dark fingers of the sea creeping in his lungs, being lost inside the dark mouth of the ocean and a silver ray swimming towards him. A smile full of blood and flesh of fish, a supple body under him, the sand on his feet. Can it be true?

It was a dream that fade away with the last sip of coffee every morning, sometimes he wouldn’t even remember that he dreamed of it again passed a few minutes. Sometimes he finds himself lost looking at the sea, the waves crushing furiously close to his house. Why did he want to live here? Why was he so adamant to leave the sea?

He had lost something he thinks but he cannot quite put a word for it and the shell lays in his hands without noticing he has pick it up.

Sometimes the sea brings a song with breeze, a murmur so soft and sad, and when he doesn’t realize it he walks up to the beach beside his house. Since Tess moved he doesn't roam around the beach like that that much and he doesn’t hear it often.

“Joel?” he feels Tess hands embracing him from the back

“Hmm?”

“I asked you where do you find it?” She has the pink shell in her hand, inspecting it

“I…”

He tries hard to remember, the boat, the men that died, the girl, was it a girl? He remembers a laugh, shiny and delicate like tiny bells, he remembers the cold and chewy flesh of the fish still on his tongue and her kiss, the first one when he was dying biting his lips, no, it was not a girl then, it was…that couldn’t be true. He must have lost oxygen after the wreckage, he must have been dehydrated and disoriented on a tiny isle. There was no girl, he was alone.

“Are you alright?” she looks concerned at him and puts the shell on its place where it serves as a reminder of his survival, how did he do it? He dares not say

“It was a gift” he finally say

His eyes wonder on the horizon searching for something he does not even have a word for. The old Joel died on that isle, tore his flesh and bone to become something new, when he arrived at this town he was empty now he had a full house of life and love. His eyes become glassy looking at the waves crushing and although he doesn’t remember what he looks for he is thankful for it.

Deep in those waters, oceans away where the light of the sun does not reach, a siren sings a song about the man he met and had to abandon about the miles she swam to try to save him even her mission was already completed, a baby was inside of her that would ensure the future of her species, she had, as mother had told her, just to make sure the conception happened the soul of the man was irrelevant. But she saved him in more ways than she knows in the deep sea.

Author's note:

This is sooo long I'm sorry, if you've arrived here first of all thank you, I know this is a weird fic but I hope you like it, if you do, please reblog it's the only way this site works.

*Mangata : the glimmering, roadlike reflection of the moonlight in the water.

#joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #Sailor Joel Miller AU #Sailor Joel Miller x Mermaid Reader #pedro pascal characters fic #the last of us #the last of us au

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stew-skys-husband · 2 months ago

Text

Don't let me wake up just yet

[Sodapop x male reader request]

I turned over in bed, facing away from the light peering in from the window, the movement waking up a nausea in me, accompanied by a ringing headache. Soda had a leg pressed against mine, one arm dangling from the bed and the other draped over me. I always woke up before him, the only reason why he’d wake up before 10am being a shift at the gas station, and would try to go back to sleep. The mornings were incredibly lonely without him.

We went to a party the night before, the two of us and Steve and his girlfriend, and I might have drunk a bit too much. I tried counting how much I drank but gave up after the sixth beer. Memories of the night before flooded in, like the impromptu wrestling match between the other guys that ended with Soda getting a nasty bruise on his forearm.

I listened into the kitchen and heard Ponyboy cooking eggs. Everyone did their own things differently: Darry’s breakfast was often simple because he didn’t have a lot of time before going to work, Soda was always listening to the radio or had the TV in the background and usually made a lot of noise and Ponyboy hated cooking and would do it as little as possible. Whenever I was sleeping over, I’d eat a bowl of cereals or some chocolate cake and that would be it. I always tried to be as little picky as possible, but if there was one thing I couldn’t live without it was my cup of coffee. Soda, who couldn’t stand the bitter taste even with heaps of sugar and who didn’t need the extra energy, drank his cup of chocolate milk.

I was still laying in bed, wondering if I’d fall back asleep or not when I felt Soda move. He stretched and turned over, wrapping his arms around my middle and pressing his face against my shoulder. I pressed a kiss on the top of his head and he answered with his foot rubbing against my shin.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked me, his eyes already wide open.

Soda, characteristically, was already all awake and would even be ready to take a math exam, if he had been any good at math. He had a lot of strengths: school just wasn’t one of them. He knew his way around cars like nobody else in the neighbourhood and had a heart like no one else. He once got very sentimental when he found a miniature orange inside of his orange. He refused to eat it until he had shown it to everyone and gave it to Ponyboy in the end.

“Slightly better than yesterday,” which sadly was the truth. I ended the night getting real personal with the toilet bowl before getting carried to the bed, “but like shit.”

Full version on ao3:

thanks @massivecreationdinosaur for the request

#the outsiders #sodapop curtis #sodapop x reader #sodapop x y/n #sodapop x male reader #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders sodapop

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dracoandthehounds · 11 months ago

Text

White Noise - One-Shot

5.1k | Drarry | AU | M | also available on AO3

Draco had nightmares.

It was something Harry had noticed immediately upon his arrival to their safe house. Even though they’d managed a whole room to spare for Draco and all the space they thought he must have wanted, Harry was still woken in the night by the sound of bleary shouting, and gasps, and, once or twice, broken sobs. It went on like that for the first month, with a sort of quiet agreement that fell into place at once that nobody would speak of the nightly ordeal Draco suffered with. Afterall, they all had nightmares, with all the horrible things they’d seen, all the horrible things they’d done. So it was definitely nothing to be embarrassed about.

But Harry learned that with Draco it was different. Because Draco had them every single night.

And Harry became sort of obsessed with fixing it.

Hermione said that Harry was just getting stir-crazy, having to wait for word from the Order about their next mission, and that was why Harry had become so determined to find a way to fix Draco’s sleep, despite the fact that Draco told them all that there was no point, and he’d been having them for years, now. And maybe it was boredom, exhaustion borne from having to pace the old decrepit house in the middle of some forest in Ireland, the exact location known only to Remus Lupin, their secret-keeper. Maybe Harry had gotten tired of watching Hermione pour over books that he knew she’d already read, or of playing chess with Ron, who always, always won, no matter how hard Harry tried, no matter what clever move Harry pulled. Whatever it was, Harry didn’t really care. Because all he saw was a problem that demanded a solution.

His first tactic was simple. After dinner, and just before they all ticked off to bed, Harry brought Draco a mug of warm chamomile tea with a dash of milk to encourage deeper sleep. Draco stared at the mug for several moments, as though waiting for it to explain Harry’s behaviour, before he looked up, eyebrow raised, at Harry, himself.

“To, erm…” Harry stuttered, “help you sleep.”

“Right,” Draco said, looking back down. The muted candlelight caught against the scar that now stretched, jagged and forked, across Draco’s cheekbone. A weird part of Harry couldn’t help but think about all the times Draco had given him shit over the years about his own scar.

And now they matched.

Harry shook the thought from his head.

“Cheers, Potter,” Draco said, sipped the tea, then split off toward his bedroom.

Harry awoke, just a little past two in the morning, to the sound of a strangled gasp coming from the wall that separated their two rooms. And he couldn’t fall back asleep with the sounds of Draco’s panic so close, echoing in the still of the night.

The next morning, after he’d heard Draco leave his room and go turn on the shower in the loo, Harry snuck into Draco’s bedroom. In short order he found the mug from the night prior, and found, to his delight, that the mug had been drained. It gave Harry two answers.

The first was that the tea hadn’t worked to quell Draco’s nightmares, since, obviously Draco had still had them, despite having clearly drank the tea.

And the second was that Draco was willing to accept Harry’s help.

The next thing Harry tried was his muggle wireless. He showed it to Draco the following night.

“And I think we should try two different things with it,” Harry explained. “First, some muggle music, and if that doesn’t work, we can try turning it to a static station— for white noise, alright?”

“White noise?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry explained. “It’s like a steady noise that you can tune out, and then you won’t be bothered by, like, random sounds. Muggles use it all the time, I think. I read this article in a muggle magazine about it, once. When I couldn’t sleep, summer after fourth year.”

Draco stared at him, then held out a hand. Harry gave him the wireless.

“Are you going to show me how it works, or am I meant to just jab at it until something happens?” Draco asked, eyebrow raised.

Harry huffed out a laugh, then stood up, so he could sit beside Draco. He spent the next twenty minutes explaining the different knobs, and cycling through the different radio stations, until Draco got the hang of it. And he tried to ignore the warm press of Draco’s leg beside his, or the gentle smell of spearmint and lavender that seemed to come from Draco’s white-blond hair. From this close, Harry could see a few small freckles along the back of Draco’s neck that he’d never noticed before. This new knowledge felt like gold.

That night, Harry could hear the gentle sounds of classical music, a bit fuzzy from how far off they were from civilization, as it filtered through the wall separating them. There was something peaceful about the muffled sound. It gave Harry a strange feeling of a far off peace. The lie that maybe, somewhere, things were working out okay.

But, again, it didn’t work. Harry woke to Draco screaming, some choked and pleading cry. He was begging that his mother be spared.

Harry’s heart felt heavy and broken all throughout the next day. Draco’s skin, which had always been pale, did little to hide the growing dark shadows underneath his eyes, as each restless night stacked against each other. It made Harry feel as though he were losing some sort of battle, right at his homefront.

“So, the white noise tonight?” Harry asked Draco over lunch, right after Hermione had shown them the results of her past week of research, some new theories as to why Voldemort hadn’t died after Sirius had hit him with the killing curse last year, during their battle in Diagon Alley.

“Alright,” Draco said, a quick nod. “White noise tonight.”

That night, after dinner, Draco had turned to the three of them, and asked the question they knew was inevitable. “Dumbledore really didn’t tell you? Before he died?”

Hermione sighed, her face falling.

“No,” Harry said. “We think… we think he meant to—”

“We’re not even sure if he knew, Harry,” Ron said, sighing.

Harry shook his head. “I know he was onto something, alright? He’d written me, remember? The night before. That he had an idea how Voldemort came back after that night in Godric’s Hollow.”

“You’re not convinced?” Draco asked Ron.

Ron sighed. “I was, for a while. But… to leave us so in the dark… I don’t know anymore.”

Hermione sighed. “He was caught by surprise. We all were. He didn’t have time to explain.”

“And that’s even if his theory was right,” Ron argued.

Harry rubbed his forehead. They’d had this conversation plenty. He wasn’t sure if it was doing them any good.

But Draco was the one to break it. Draco coughed, mouth tight, then spoke. “I didn’t even know, you know,” he said. “About Barty Crouch Jr.— I had no idea he was still alive.”

Ron looked back up, and Harry could see his strategizing mind running behind his brown eyes. It was like the few times he’d seen Dudley at the computer, and the way the machine would cycle through its programming, its lights beeping as it thought. Harry could sense the same sort of hidden calculations now running behind the neutral expression of Ron’s face.

Right before they’d rescued Draco, the three of them had agreed to not immediately pester him for information, no matter how vital they knew it was. They’d all agreed that giving him the space to answer and to settle was what mattered most, and that if they tried too hard too soon, then the only thing they’d ensure was Draco clamming up, surely assuming that they’d only saved him for information. If they acted like all that mattered was Draco’s insight into Voldemort’s inner circle, then Draco would never trust them enough to realise that they’d saved him for a far simpler reason: that he deserved to be saved.

The inside knowledge was just a bonus.

“We thought,” Ron said, each word slow, “that you-know-who found a way to restore Crouch’s soul. Either that or Crouch never received the kiss in the first place. But, well, if that’s the case… then that would mean that Fudge had been compromised, too.”

“Which, of course, we can’t know either,” Hermione said quickly. “With Fudge dying so shortly after.”

Harry nodded along, but kept his mouth shut. He was no good at this sort of thing. Gentle interrogation, basically, if he were being honest. And they really were lucky that Ron could manage it, as Hermione didn’t have the patience for it, either. She didn’t know how to change tactics in real time, to adapt to constantly changing information. Like a game of chess. What Ron excelled in.

Draco frowned. “I don’t know, either. I only found out that Crouch was still alive after Dumbledore died. I tried to ask my mother, but, well…” he trailed off.

Ron’s eyes flashed quick to Harry and Hermione. A sign, Harry could read, to not say anything more. This was all they’d be getting for the night. It wasn’t much, but anything helped, Harry thought.

At the very least, it seemed to mean that Draco was finally beginning to trust them. Maybe.

Through their shared wall, Harry listened to Draco fiddle with the wireless that night. It clicked past station after station, until Draco seemed to find one that was static enough to his liking. Harry heard a small thump, Draco putting it down, he assumed, then listened as Draco settled into bed.

Another failure.

Harry awoke just past midnight, and the sounds he heard had him choked up before he was even fully conscious.

This time, Draco was crying. He was saying, through tear-choked sobs, that he didn’t know where Potter was, he didn’t know who was in the Order, and he didn’t know how many times he had to tell them the same thing, over and over. He begged and begged until Harry couldn’t stand it, and shoved a pillow over his own head, desperate to stop the pain building in his chest from the misery in Draco’s voice.

After half an hour of this, Harry couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood up, took a deep breath, then tip-toed to Draco’s bedroom.

When he creaked open the door, Draco didn’t wake. In the muted moonlight streaming in through the boarded up window, Harry could see streaks of tears down Draco’s pale face, shimmering like dew on grass. Harry sighed, then walked over to Draco’s bed. He sat, as quietly as he could manage, as Draco continued to thrash, mumbled and unintelligible pleads spilling from his mouth like broken prayers.

And with all the gentle measure he could manage, he reached up and put his palm against the side of Draco’s face, hoping to gently wake him from his nightmare.

Draco didn’t wake.

But he did calm.

Harry watched, in frozen shock, as Draco turned his head toward Harry’s palm. At once, his face softened, as he pressed harder against it, breathing in Harry’s skin like it had been the answer all along. Harry stared, not daring to move, as Draco continued to sleep soundly for the next ten minutes. He didn’t stir, or thrash, or mumble. He only slept. His face was still and content.

When Harry’s arm went numb, and he couldn’t justify staying any longer, he removed his arm as gently as possible, stood up, then walked as quietly as he could back to his room. And from what Harry could tell, Draco slept through the rest of the night in complete silence.

When Harry saw Draco the next morning, his face heated immediately, as though something far more scandalous had happened between them in that shadowy room.

“How’d you sleep?” Harry choked out.

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed. “Differently,” he said after a moment. “I think… I think I still had nightmares, but maybe not as many…” He looked up. “I suppose the muggles might be on to something with that ‘white sound’ of theirs.”

“White noise,” Harry corrected automatically.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He walked off, and Harry considered telling him about what might have actually helped. But he didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know if he could stand the look on Draco’s face as he did.

Around midday, it began to rain. It started as a dull drizzle, but really began to pick up around dinner, with thunder and lightning to boot.

“Rain is also a sort of white noise,” Harry explained as he picked his way through the bland vegetables that Ron had cooked. They’d run out of spices months ago, and were meant to get a package from Katie Bell a few weeks ago, but it never showed up. Harry was trying very hard not to think too much about what that meant. It could only be bad, afterall.

“Should I not use the wireless, then?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Might be worth testing the rain instead. Maybe it will work better, I dunno,” he said, looking away, so he could hide in the truth he wasn’t admitting.

“Alright,” Draco said. “Whatever you think is best.”

Harry laughed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s your experiment, isn’t it? Don’t want to mess with the results.”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Harry said, smiling.

“That’s a muggle thing, isn’t it?” Draco asked. “I think Blaise once… he explained.”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Draco watched, as though expecting him to continue.

“Er— Another time, maybe. It’s complicated,” Harry said, shrugging. Afterall, he still hadn’t found a good way to manage his rudimentary knowledge of science against the existence of magic. He definitely didn’t have enough that he felt confident to explain it to Draco. All of that sounded like something he ought to leave up to those Ministry researchers in the Department of Mysteries.

If there were any of them left, that is.

Harry heard Draco open his window that night. The wireless was off, just as Draco said it would be, and with the sound of rain falling outside of his own window, Harry felt himself pulled to sleep even quicker than usual.

He woke to the sound of Draco yelling. For a moment, Harry’s heart thudded, as Draco sounded more lucid than usual, but only a moment later, Harry realised it was only another nightmare. They weren’t under a real attack. At least, for now.

And like a true scientist, Harry felt he had to test this new theory of his.

He walked, as quietly as he could manage again, to Draco’s room. With a gentle touch, he opened the door, and Draco’s shouts got louder as he moved in, and the space between them cleared of walls, and doors.

And then, a sudden clap of thunder, and a flash of lightning that was far too close, and Draco was shooting up, shouting, eyes wide-open and wild.

“Potter?!” he demanded to the open air, hand over his chest. “What on— what on earth…”

“Sorry!” Harry said, gasping, staring. “You were… you were having another nightmare, I’m sorry, and last night, damnit, I’m sorry—”

Draco’s breaths finally settled, as he continued to stare bewildered at Harry. “What?” he asked again, shaking his head, eyes darting around the room, as though looking for more assailants hidden in the corners.

Well, Harry figured. The ruse was up. He began to explain.

“Last night, you were having a nightmare, so I came in, and I tried to wake you up, but, I dunno, when I touched you… you actually slept soundly, for once, and I wanted… I wanted to see if it worked again… I dunno, I’m sorry,” Harry admitted, his cheeks heating hot and strong. He felt embarrassed, and horrible, and very, very stupid.

Draco only stared at him, mouth still parted.

“Right, well, sorry, again. Goodnight,” Harry said, turning on his heel and walking toward the door.

“Wait.”

Harry’s heart thudded. He turned around to Draco staring at him.

“What?” Harry asked.

“If that… if that worked,” Draco said, speaking softly and slowly, “we should test it, again, shouldn’t we?”

“Are… are you sure?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, though he still looked scared, as though waiting for the trick surely just around the corner. And Harry could only stare at him, struck into a bit of awe, as Draco, in small little movements, edged to one side of his narrow bed.

He was making room for Harry.

Saying nothing, too afraid to ruin this momentary miracle, Harry walked forward, then climbed into bed beside Draco. And, still staring at him, Harry lied down, laying his head on Draco’s other pillow, as Draco mirrored him, staring right back. All movements that might, in any other scenario, be simple and common, but, in this exact scenario, couldn’t be more improbable. Couldn’t be more miraculous.

“Where, er—” Draco asked, his voice hoarse, likely from the yelling, “did you… where—”

“Here,” Harry answered, bringing his hand up as slowly as he could manage, trying his best not to startle Draco. He laid it against Draco’s cheek, the exact way he had the night before. Draco’s cheek felt just as soft to the touch.

And at his touch, Draco’s eyes widened, then flicked to Harry’s hand, where it cradled his cheek. And then they shot back to Harry, who could really see how grey they were in this close proximity. They were the same shade as the stone walls of Hogwarts, or maybe they were more like the gentle grey clouds that covered the English sky in the winter. They seemed to have that same sort of diffused glow, as though sunlight lingered behind them.

And Harry could smell the spearmint again.

“I don’t think I can fall asleep like this,” Draco said after a moment, the corner of his mouth creaking up into a smile.

“Oh!” Harry said, a small breath. “Right, of course,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Maybe, um,” Draco said, before pausing.

And Harry watched as Draco turned over, facing away. For a moment, Harry was confused, until he felt Draco’s hand, his sharp narrow fingers, grab his own.

So they could pull Harry’s arm up and over, so that it would wrap around Draco’s waist.

Even with the thunder and rain outside, there was no way that Draco couldn’t hear the sound of Harry’s heart, as it hammered in his chest.

“This alright?” Draco asked. “I think this might be the only way we can fall asleep, if you’re supposed to be touching me, and all.”

Harry coughed, his mind like fuzz. “Yeah… this, er— it works.”

“Alright,” Draco said. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Harry said, wondering if maybe all of this was a dream. A really, really good dream.

And Draco was mad if he thought Harry could fall asleep like this.

But Harry didn’t exactly mind. He was more absorbed with marvelling over how different Draco was now, how easy and pliant he had become. Harry couldn’t imagine the Draco of his younger years ever entertaining this sort of thing from Harry. Ever agreeing to sleep in the same bed with him, with Harry’s arm laying curled around his waist. Ever trusting Harry to only want what’s good for him.

But, Harry supposed, war tends to do that. Change people. Soften their edges. Or harden them, sometimes. Harry was glad that it hadn’t broken Draco. From the stories they’d heard, the visions Harry had seen, through Voldemort’s eyes, of what had been done to Draco, that too was a miracle, all of its own. A miracle that Draco was still alive, beneath Harry’s arm. That that good heart of his, that he’d spent so long pretending didn’t exist, still beat inside of him.

Beneath Harry’s arm, Draco’s breaths seemed to deepen.

Harry realised that the tosser had actually fallen asleep. He huffed out a silent laugh, then closed his eyes and tried to sleep himself. And despite how impossible of an idea it was, to think he could relax with Draco only a few inches from him, with the warmth of Draco’s waist, pressed tight against Harry’s arm, the gentle rumble of Draco’s magic, teeming beneath his skin… There was also the sound of rain, a constant patter against the forest around them, and the smell of ozone and wet dirt that blew in with every breeze, and all of it together began to culminate into Harry actually succumbing to the sweet quiet of sleep.

Harry awoke to the stream of sunlight, and something tickling his nose.

He wrenched his eyes open, and in the blurry haze without his glasses, realised something very quickly.

During the night, Harry had somehow managed to shift even closer to Draco. So close, in fact, that Draco was now pressed entirely against him, still breathing slowly, still asleep. But his back was tight to Harry’s chest, and their legs were tangled up together beneath the sheets, and he could feel Draco’s arse, pressed right up against him, and—

Immediately, Harry’s heart set to hammering again, at the feeling of Draco’s warmth, now basically surrounding him.

And Harry, unable to help himself, could only pull Draco even closer, dipping his own head forward, and pressing his face against the back of Draco’s neck.

Harry fell back asleep, surrounded by the smell of lavender.

When Harry woke up the second time, he was alone. Ignoring the weird thud in his heart at that realisation, Harry got up, and trudged back to his room to get dressed.

He nearly walked straight into Hermione on the way.

She stared at him, her mouth opening and shutting, as though cycling through a hundred different things to say.

“Were… were you in Malfoy’s room?” she asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Er— yeah,” Harry said, scratching at his head, feeling his cheeks redden. He looked everywhere but Hermione’s eyes. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do that.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “Okay.”

In surprise, Harry met her eyes.

She smiled.

And that was all they said of it.

Harry eventually found Draco, crouching in their back garden and surveying over their collection of recently sprouted herbs.

“Hi—”

“The basil doesn’t need to be in this prime of a location,” Draco said, at once.

“Oh.”

“In fact, you could probably swap it with the rosemary— they usually like a bit more sun than I think the one you’ve got here is getting,” he continued. “Rosemary is Mediterranean, so that means they like pretty much all the sun they can get, but basil is tropical, so all that sun it’s currently getting might be drying it out, I think. At least, from what I remember.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “You can, er— take it over, if you’d like. I’m sure Hermione would like the reprieve.”

“Okay,” Draco said, standing back up. “I’ll talk to her.”

Harry watched as he walked stiffly past him, and, as though on instinct, couldn’t help but shoot his hand out, to grab at Draco’s thin wrist.

Draco startled, before staring back down again at Harry with those big grey eyes that Harry was getting to know so well.

“How did you sleep?” Harry asked.

Draco scanned over Harry’s face before responding. “Better.”

“Good,” Harry said, nodding. He released Draco’s wrist.

And Draco took a step inside, and Harry wasn’t sure what any of it meant, but then, just before he’d walked away entirely, Draco turned back around.

“Again, tonight?” he asked, over his shoulder, refusing to meet Harry’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “We ought to be thorough. For the experiment, I mean.”

And, miraculously, Draco laughed.

That night, Harry spent a good twenty minutes sitting on his bed. It was one thing to sneak into Draco’s bedroom in the middle of the night, heralded in by a nightmare, but it was another thing entirely to go off to bed with him. Like they were… like they were something else.

But ever the brave Gryffindor, Harry managed.

He crossed down the hallway, wondered briefly if Hermione ever did this with Ron, before he knocked on Draco’s door, just twice.

“Come in,” Draco said.

So Harry did.

The only light came from a flickering oil lamp on the rusted metal bedside table next to Draco’s side of the bed.

Draco’s side, Harry repeated in his head, accompanied by a weird, almost painful, thud of his heart.

Draco was holding a book between his slender fingers.

“What’re you reading?” Harry asked, as he forced himself to continue forward, climbing into bed with Draco like any part of this was normal. Like it was routine.

“A muggle book,” Draco answered. “The Great Gatsby. I found it in the cellar.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “How is it?”

“A bit sad.”

“Oh.”

Draco sighed, stuffed the ripped bit of paper he must have been using as a bookmark back inside the book, then placed the book on the bedside table. Immediately after, he blew out the lamp, sending them into a sudden darkness.

Harry lied back down, but couldn’t bring himself to pull Draco back into the position they were in last night. It was too much, he felt. He’d need Draco to do it, or else he’d never allow himself something so unbelievable.

“Potter,” Draco said, still sitting up, and not looking at him.

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “Yeah?”

“Is this… is this part of your whole… saving-people-thing?” Draco asked.

“What?” Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“I heard Granger call it that, back in sixth year, after you told Pansy that you’d find a way so she wouldn’t have to go back home for Christmas… you know, after you heard about her family, and how terrified—”

“No,” Harry said, interrupting him. “I, er— I know what you’re referring to, I mean.”

“So?” Draco asked again, still not looking at him. “Is it?”

Harry paused, bit at his lip. How was he supposed to tell Draco that no, it wasn’t? It was something far, far more than that. Something that Harry might not have had the words for yet. Something that Harry wanted all to himself.

“No,” Harry finally said, after a moment.

Draco didn’t respond, continuing to stare forward.

So Harry reached his hand out, graced his fingertips along the cotton back of the t-shirt that Draco was wearing to sleep. Draco once wore silk pyjamas to bed, Harry knew, but he didn’t have them anymore. He didn’t have anything of his own, really, since he had no idea he was to be rescued, and therefore no clue to pack any sort of bag on that night that Harry and Ron had broken into Malfoy Manor like thieves, coming for his rescue.

Instead, Draco wore a combination of Harry’s and Ron’s clothing, along with some other bits and pieces they’d managed to collect in the long time they’d spent on the run. A flannel shirt Oliver Wood had forgotten to pack when he’d left, after only the one night with them. A thick heavy sweater that Lavender Brown gave to Hermione after Hermione had mentioned to her how cold the nights were getting, back in November.

A wool beanie that now had one or two holes, but that Harry still treasured deeply, because it had come from Colin Creevy, on the last time Harry had seen him before he’d been murdered in cold blood by Alecto Carrow.

Harry thought Draco might have shivered at his touch, as his fingers trailed along the ridges of Draco’s spine. Draco turned around, and Harry could only just make out his eyes in the heavy dark of the room. In the momentary silence, Harry could hear that the rain had started up again, just barely.

“Then what is this?” Draco asked.

Harry sat up fully. He placed his hand back against Draco’s cheek, and felt the warmth of his skin beneath his palm. For a moment, Draco looked at peace.

“It’s me being selfish,” Harry said, then leaned forward and kissed him.

He felt Draco gasp beneath him, and waited, unmoving, so he could allow Draco the space to choose for himself what he wanted next.

And Harry really did feel selfish, as he sat there, in the middle of all that tragedy and war, because, in that moment, he’d never felt so lucky. No, all he could feel was unbridled, selfish relief, as he felt Draco kiss him back.

Draco’s lips pressed firm against Harry’s, and Harry’s hands fell to Draco’s waist, where he pulled him in tighter, finally succumbing to something he’d always wanted and never thought he’d have, never thought he’d be lucky enough to find.

It felt like everything Harry had always dreamed it might, yet somehow more, somehow brighter, and stronger. As Draco’s lips slid against his, and as his tongue glided out, soft against Harry’s lip, Harry wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing. If he still needed to, at all.

Draco pushed him by the shoulders, until they were lying down, Draco half draped across Harry’s chest as he continued to kiss him, demanding, yet soft, almost like those fights they used to fall into like clockwork, but with the need, raw and scorching, that underscored all of them.

Harry doesn’t know how long they laid there, kissing, praying into each other’s bodies like they might never see the sun again. He felt as though they’d slipped into some pocket of time, far away from the world surrounding them. Because it no longer felt like war.

At some point, they fell asleep, Harry’s arms around Draco, holding him, enveloping him, like the promise Harry wanted to make him, that he’d never let Draco suffer again, the way Harry knew he had. It was an impossible promise, Harry knew that. But he wanted to make it all the same. He wanted to make it to Draco every night. He wanted to find a way to hold this fragile incredible thing safe in the palm of his hand.

He knew it was impossible. He knew everything around them was as temporary as the frost that lingered in the trees during the dark morning hours, before the sun rose to melt it all. Harry knew that, at any moment, he could die, he could be captured, he could finally meet the death he was famous for evading. He knew they were all living on borrowed time.

But in that moment, with Draco’s lips on his, and the feeling of Draco’s heart beating against Harry’s chest, Harry felt, for the first time in quite a while, the bright flicker of hope.

And that night, Draco didn’t have a single nightmare at all.

#harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy #harry x draco #fanfic #one shot #drarry fanfic #snippet

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sovengardeswag · 5 months ago

Text

You Poor Unfortunate Soul

Summary:

Raphael collects the esoteric, the rare, and the lovely. He has recently come into a spell that lets him take voices. No ripping out tracheas, no bloody messes.

Astarion wants the sun. Doesn't want to get on his back for a dead rat. Wants to be free of Cazador in every way he can be.

The two strike a deal, the voice of a spawn for the sun. And a soul as well. After all, true love's kiss doesn't exist.

A little mermaid inspired fic about Astarion giving up his voice to walk in the sun (AO3 link in replies)

Chapter One: In Pain, In Need

Baldur's Gate smelled like fish guts and cat shit on a hot summer's day, making winter nights a much more pleasant time in the city. That's what Astarion told himself, at least, when he found himself missing it and cursing the cold. His padded doublet offered little protection but, even if it did, he wouldn't be warmed, undead flesh unable to hold onto heat the way the living did. Thus, there was an equal measure of relief and dread when he entered The Blushing Mermaid, the air within much warmer than the air outside.

Astarion's goal this night was to get in and get out. No long flirtations with the shy ones. No, the last thing he wanted was to drag this out. That was why he had chosen this place. Tired, lonely sailors from far away? They would follow him home with a wink and a kiss after months at sea, no one would ever miss them either. As he took a look around at his choice of prey, he sat at the bar and asked, "Have you any good wine?"

"We've got red wine and, uh, white."

"Red then," speaking of, his eyes fell on a table with a lone tiefling. A man with dark skin and one red eye, the other a false eye that was stony grey. His hair was tied in tight and neat cornrows that were framed by his elegant, curved horns. He seemed peaceful, just people-watching as he drank his ale. And there was a noble quality to him, despite the surroundings. His scars told a story of adventure, of experience in combat. And yet they did not greatly age him, he looked 25 if his reckoning of human ages was accurate. In short, he was beautiful. Cazador would be pleased indeed. This man wouldn't earn him a place in the favored spawn room, but Cazador would find no reason to put him in the kennels at the very least. Little wonder then that he strode up to the man as he sipped his disgusting glass of wine, "Well hello there. Is this seat taken?"

The man seemed mildly surprised to have been approached and told Astarion, "Not at all. Please." He gestured for Astarion to have a seat. "I'm Wyll by the way." He then gave a little knightly salute, "The Blade of Avernus at your service."

Astaron wracked his brain for some sort of recognition, some sort of knowledge about him, and came up empty. Never had he heard of this man in the taverns. "I'm sorry darling, I'm afraid I'm a bit behind on my adventuring news."

"Ah, that's alright. I used to have a different title. I earned this one when I was at Elturel. I was there when it was released from the hells and helped the people there."

"Well, aren't you quite the hero, then?" Certainly explained the name. In his experience, most decent tieflings avoided names like The Blade of Avernus. "You simply must tell me more." He leaned forward, sipping his wine once more. Maybe he could get more drinks in this man. "Were you from Elturel? Was the experience as utterly shocking as I've heard?"

"Actually, no, I wasn't even at Elturel when it fell. I was sent into Avernus afterward to hunt a devil."

"Sent in? How?" There was only one way he knew that people got sent to the hells and came back. "Are you a warlock?"

"Was. I was a warlock. I assure you, I am beholden only to the Sword Coast now."

"And you were named The Blade of Avernus after felling your quarry."

"On the contrary, when I arrived at Elturel, I found this was no devil trying to further terrorize the poor people of Elturel, but a tiefling, the same as many of them. A hostage in Zariel's court who was conscripted to fight in the blood war. When Elturel fell, she ran away and hid among them. And when I learned this, I couldn't bring myself to kill her. I had been deceived."

Astarion, feeling this was getting a bit heavy, broke the tension with a giggle, playing the part of a tipsy admirer, "You naughty thing you. All it took for you to disobey your patron was a pretty face?"

Wyll chuckled a bit, just the slightest bit of fluster to his face, "No, no, nothing like that. You see, while she was with the tieflings, she had taken to protecting them. Making sure they survived the hells. There was one child, Mol, despite being injured and small, who tried to protect Karlach. She said she would take my eye if I so much as laid a hand on Karlach. And I knew then, from the child and the look in Karlach's eyes, that I had been deceived. And I paid the price for it that very night."

"Is that how you lost your eye, darling? Tribute to your patron?" He laid a comforting hand on Wyll's, his voice full of sympathy and awe.

"Oh, no, I lost my eye long ago. But that's a story for another day, perhaps. It's a proud moment, to be sure, but not exactly one to be told to charming voiced strangers in a tavern."

Astarion took a look at Wyll's stone eye, then. It seemed to be made of bloodstone, with an adorable heart-shaped pupil carved into it but there was something else there. Something magical. It hit him, that this was a sending stone, no doubt still sending news to his former patron. Ah. well, it wouldn't be the first time he performed in front of an audience. "Well, there's no need for us to remain strangers. Perhaps, after a bit here, we can go to my home for a nightcap. I've always dreamed of being swept off my feet by a hero." Truth be told, Wyll was just his type, a sweet face, but just a bit rugged.

Wyll flustered again, pulling his hand away, "Look, you're lovely, you truly are, but I don't do... that. I'm sorry."

Shit. Shit. He had miscalculated. Most adventurers weren't like this. They were only happy to take what they wanted from Astarion. Why, oh why, did he have to run into a virtuous hero? "Ah, there's no need to apologize, darling. I should have realized you were the chivalrous sort." This would have to be a long game and he'd have to try his luck at a different tavern.

Just as he was about to ask Wyll how long he was staying in Baldur's Gate, there was a crash from the kitchen, some swearing, and a burning smell. A grease fire, no doubt. And before Astarion knew it, he was trapped in the building, the fire burning all around him. Watching as it consumed all in its wake. He should have been outside, watching the scene with the poor sods who were mourning their favorite watering hole. Yet here he was, walking through a burning wreckage, looking for that beautiful fool who had insisted on getting people out. If Wyll perished in this blaze, Astarion wouldn't stop thinking about it. It would be just another death on his tally of sins. So even as the flames licked at him and burned him, he pushed through. His only relief was that he didn't need to breathe.

Eventually, feeling nothing but pure heat on his body and ash falling upon him, he found him. A support beam had fallen on him and the smoke inhalation knocked Wyll out. Astarion pushed on the beam with all his might, his hands catching splinters as he pushed and readjusted and pushed again. Nevertheless, he just barely managed to push it off of the man's leg. He then picked Wyll up and hauled him out of the burning tavern.

But he didn't lay Wyll down at the front for the fists to take care of. No, it wouldn't do for Astarion to be spotted. He snuck to the next alley over instead and sat Wyll down on a crate. He pat Wyll's cheek as he spoke, the hero of Elturel finally taking in some clean air. His eyes fluttered and opened and Astarion knew that the first thing the tiefling saw was him. He coughed and Astarion told him, "Shhh, it's alright, lovely. Don't stress yourself."

Wyll nodded, taking deep breaths as Astarion assured him, "Don't try to yell for the fists, you'll only hurt yourself. I'm going to make a racket and they'll heal you and you'll be good as new but I have to go. Do you understand?"

Wyll nodded, his good eye scanning over Astarion, trying to memorize his face.

"There we go. You'll be alright, darling. Now, I'm going to make that racket and leave you.” And with that, Astarion lifted a discarded milk can and slammed it as hard as he could into the ground, slinking off once it had made an ungodly noise.

Covered in soot and ash, sporting a few minor burns, and with his hands covered in splinters, Astarion was in no state to continue his little hunt. He needed to change and get these damn things out. He just hoped his master would see it as a pause and not a failure.

As he returned to Szarr Palace, he decided to go in from the tower connected to the wall. Climbing up was a bit of a pain with the splinters, but far less terrible than what was in store for him if he got caught. He walked past the half-asleep fists with no issue, the charmed guards merely said, "Welcome home, Master Astarion," as he walked past them. Jumping onto a balcony afterward was practically trivial.

He thought he was home free as he crossed the threshold, walking one, two, three meters away from the balcony doors before he felt a chill and heard Cazador's voice. "You're home early. And what a state you're in."

Astarion flinched as he turned around, "Ah, Master, I assure you this is merely a delay. I just need to clean up and be on my way to catch you a morsel tonight. I know that I shouldn't come home without one but I just wanted to make sure that today's was of good qua-"

Astartion immediately shut his mouth as Cazador grabbed his wrists, the ancient vampire having noticed that Astarion was trying to not gesticulate. He looked at his hands and asked, "What manner of nonsense did you get into, boy?"

Astarion tensed further at that. Of course, Cazador would notice his property had been damaged, however temporarily. "I-I assure you master. I just wanted to ensure that-"

"Cease your prattle!" Cazador commanded as he bent Astarion's wrists, a small whimper coming from the spawn. "Tell me why you have these splinters."

Astarion felt the pull of the command like the pull of a leash upon his brainstem. His eyes glowed in response and he spoke loud and clear. "I pushed a beam away when I was caught in a fire at the Blushing Mermaid. I was with a target there at the time."

"Were you spotted by the flaming fists? Be truthful."

Another pull, his eyes continued to glow, "No."

"And what gave you the audacity to believe you had a right to break the rules, to come back completely emptyhanded? Speak true!"

"I thought I could sneak past you and wanted to change my clothes."

Astarion felt the sharp sting of a back-handed slap then, right across his cheek. Cazador had seen disrespect in his honesty. Astarion's jaw clenched, and the command lifted.

"You little idiot. You cannot ever get anything past me in my home. Not ever. And to think, you were so close to earning the favored spawn room this month. It's as if you throw away every opportunity I give you. Every single time. I do not begrudge you for trying to survive a fire, but I will not tolerate disrespect."

"You're right master, I'm sorry. I should have checked into the flop house and found clothes, I shouldn't have done this to you. I shouldn't have gotten hurt. I promise to be good from now on. I promise." He was tempted to yank his wrist away but knew that if he did at this angle, it would likely snap. "I'll take care of my splinters before going back out. And I'll bring you back the most beautiful virgin I can find in the lower city."

"Oh Astarion, you always did beg so sweetly," Cazador stroked Astarion's cheek gently, "But you'll just have to save that for later. Your actions need to have consequences, lest you grow arrogant again."

Shit, shit. "But Master, I've already injured myself! I've learned my lesson! You don't need to waste Godey's time!"

"Oh, but Astarion, what use are consequences with no follow through, hmm? You'll start to believe every threat is a bluff." And with that, he started to drag Astarion to the kennels. The spawn trying to dig in his heels like a dog dragged on a leash.

Godey was there when they arrived. Of course, he was. Where else would he be? He stopped cleaning his scalpels and watched as Astarion was thrown on the ground like scraps to the dogs. "Here so early, child? It isn't even midnight. No matter, Old Godey is ready to play."

"Stay your hand, Godey. I have something specific in mind for him."

"Oh? Is that so, Master?"

"Indeed. Keep an eye on him as I find the implements. You are free to strike him if he tries to leave."

"Of course, Master. I won't lay a hand on him a moment before."

But that wasn't true, as soon as Cazador was gone, Godey started to run his bony fingers through Astarion's hair. He told him, "You must like playing with Godey, being such a naughty child. What did you do to anger the master this time?"

"I hurt myself in a fire. And then I tried to sneak in to get clean and healed."

"Oh, such a shame that you got in trouble for that, and such a shame you escaped those flames. You would wear scars so prettily."

Astarion instinctually covered his face at that. Oh gods, Godey was going to give Cazador ideas at this rate. The last time that happened, the skeleton ripped his fangs out of his mouth, let them grow back overnight, and yanked them out again for a straight ten-day. He couldn't even remember what he had done, only that Godey had said he should keep his fangs to himself and it had given Cazador the idea.

Speaking of, though, he returned. But he was not baring Rhapsody or some horrific tool. No, he was holding a set of tweezers. The kind a nobleborn lady would use to pluck her eyebrows. And Cazador was holding it while wearing a glove. “I want you to remove the splinters yourself. And then, when you're done, Godey will, shall we say, give you a manicure."

Astarion hardly saw the point in getting rid of the splinters if Godey was going to rip out his claws, each time Godey readjusted the grip would surely cause shooting pain with the shards of wood in his hands. But he wasn't one to make his own life worse, so he reached an open hand out to Cazador.

But as soon as the tweezers touched his hand, the spawn hissed in pain, a rash blooming on his skin. The tweezers were made of silver. Bastard.

Cazador smirked at Astarion's pain, telling him, "Do think on your actions, Astarion." He then looked to Godey, telling him, "I'll come to check on him, come dawn. Have fun, old friend."

Thus was the beginning of Astarion's newest torment. He had been forced to hurt himself before, this was nothing new, but it was no less humiliating and terrible. At first, he tried to be delicate about the process, keeping the tweezers at the very tips on the most shallow splinters, hoping to reduce the burning sensation and hives to his fingers. But Godey gripped his hair and pulled, "Trying to pull one over on Old Godey, eh? Do it properly, child, lest I do it for you."

Astarion grit his teeth and adjusted his grip on the tweezers, more hives blooming as he squeezed and gripped the splinters, perhaps with a little more force than strictly necessary. Some of them needed to be dug out, the burning smell of silver actually piercing his skin faint but present, the tiniest wisps of smoke when they came free. Pain radiated through his hand through the entire process. He wondered if his hands would scar as his back did.

The same thing happened with his other hand. With each pinch, each pull, each squeeze, he shot agony into his palms. By the end of it, his hands were an ugly red color, they felt warm for the first time in 200 years, and they were utterly covered in blisters, itchy and burning. Panting, he threw the tweezers aside, his hands shaking.

Godey kicked Astarion in the gut. "Naughty thing, don't go throwing away the master's heirlooms around like mere stones! Pick it up and put it where it belongs."

"Fuck you, Godey," Astarion managed, despite the wind being knocked out of him. Though it earned him another slap before he picked up the damn tweezers and put them on the table.

"See, was that so hard? Now, give Godey your hand. I want to hear you scream."

Astarion couldn't help but wonder if, despite the fact that he was completely bones, Godey was getting off on this. Either way, he gave Godey his hand and watched as Godey clamped the pliers over his pinky claw. He gently tugged once, twice, trying to build up the dread in Astarion before he blinked out of existence in a flash of red light. What?

He heard a smooth voice then, almost sing-songy. "There now, we wouldn't want those lovely claws of yours to be ripped out, now would we?"

Astarion scrambled to his feet and turned around, seeing a human man just standing there. Cazador wasn't with him, "What is this? Did Cazador decide to put me to work for my transgressions? Did you banish Godey for some privacy?"

The man chuckled darkly and told him, "No, little vampling, nothing so base. I'm not another guest of your master's but a savior. Now, you can come wih me or be a good boy and wait for the skeleton to come back and do your little manicure."

Astarion looked at his blistered and red hands before looking back at the stranger. If this was a setup, then it was certainly an elaborate one. "Fine."

The man snapped his fingers and they were suddenly elsewhere. A dining room laid out with food of all sorts and several goblets. The man told Astarion, "Drink your fill, vampling. I ensured that you have only the finest of blood."

Astarion picked up a goblet and sniffed it. No poison. But this place, "Where have you brought me?"

"This, Mr. Ancunin, is the House of Hope. Where the famished come to feast and the desperate come to deal. And I know you, pretty spawn, are both. Come, drink your fill."

Well, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the blood on the second sniff, so he took a drink. "Why is this spicy?"

"Why, it's cambion blood of course. I also have incubus and hellhound, even demon. All watered down with tiefling for your palate. Though I also have more mortal fare."

Astarion gripped his goblet lest this strange man take it from him. Though this clearly wasn't a regular human man. "Who and what the hells are you?"

"What an appropriate way to phrase that question. If you'll allow me..." And then, in a spiral of flames, the man became a devil. "I am Raphael, at your service."

Oh gods, a cambion. He should have known. He vaguely wondered if the blood he drank was Raphael's. He drained the goblet and said, "Well, you've wasted your vintage then, devil. I'm not keen to trade one master for another."

"Who said anything about your soul?"

Astarion, having gone to sniff at another goblet of blood, paused and said, "Go on."

"You see, I'm a bit of a collector. I seek the rare and esoteric and I've come into possession of a rather unique spell. I won't bore you with the details, just that it's derived from hag's magic and that you are the perfect test subject for it."

"I'm not hearing an offer."

"Patience, I was just getting to that. In exchange for your cooperation with the spell, I can offer a partial cure to your vampirism."

Astarion simply drank what he determined to be tiefling's blood as he listened. And then, he spoke, "Well then, we should be going over the details of this, shouldn't we?"

Raphael smirked and gestured for Astarion to follow him, "Let's."

Instead of an office as the spawn expected, Raphael led Astarion to a richly furnished boudoir with many chaise lounges and a bathtub that smelled of lavender and mint in the middle. On the far side of the room, he spotted a bed where a skimpily dressed devil that looked remarkably like Raphael lay. "Another client?"

"No, just another part of the House of Hope. Please, sit."

Astarion sat on one of the chaise lounges as Raphael spoke, "I can give you a potion that allows you to walk in sunlight. You would still need to avoid silver lest your allergies act up, still need to slake your thirst, but never would you have to worry about anything more than a sunburn."

"What's the catch? Surely a potion like that would have every vampire lord breaking down your door."

"Nothing gets past you, does it? No, vampire lords don't seek it out. Not because they relish in scampering through the dark like rats but because the sensation of the sun is still there."

Astarion felt what little bit of hope he had crumble to pieces then and there, "So, it doesn't work."

"Ah, that is where you, Strahd, Cazador, and every other vampire misunderstand. The potion negates all the damage from the sun, just not the pain. But what's a little pain when you can take a stroll with a pretty thing on your arm, when you can sniff roses at noon, and when you can hide from your master in plain sight."

Astarion still didn't give an answer, but he did ask, "What does the spell do?"

"It takes voices. Don't worry, your pretty throat will be left unharmed, but the voice that had brought a thousand people to their doom? The giggle that makes virgins fall into a stranger's bed? It would be the perfect display of the spell's use and the perfect addition to my collection."

One thousand. One thousand. He knew the amount of people he had brought to Cazador had been high but never past the hundreds. He suddenly felt a little sick. A thousand pairs of hands had touched him, a thousand mouths had kissed him, and a thousand people had died after having him. But with the sensitivity to sunlight removed, he would never have to do that again. "So all I have to do to ensure my master can't touch me is lose my voice and be uncomfortable while standing outside." And yet, somehow, it sounded too good to be true. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Just two little things. The first is that you must refrain from drinking the blood of thinking creatures for three days. The other is that your voice by itself isn't all I need from you."

"Spit it out, devil."

"The young man you saved today isn't any old tiefling. He was Grand Duke Ravengard's son."

"Don't lie to me. I know that Grand Marshall Ravengard's wife was a human and the Grand Duke doesn't exactly have a pair of horns."

"There's more than one way to make a tiefling. Let's just say that Mizora gave him a bit of a makeover."

"So you're saying he's hells touched."

"Indeed I am."

"I fail to see what my flirting with a prince has to do with any of this."

"I'm saying that he's valuable. Eventually, daddy will succumb to some malady or other as all humans do and little Wyll Ravengard will become Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard."

Astarion finally caught on to what Raphael was implying, "You want me to bring him to you."

"Not physically but yes. Woo, seduce, enrapture him. Wrap him around your little finger and whisper my words into his ear, putting him around mine."

"Bit brazen to steal another devil's warlock, isn't it?"

"On the contrary! Wyll was freed from his contract when Elturel sas spat back out of Avernus. This is simply filling an open position."

"I see, so live in the lap of luxury where Cazador can't touch me at the expense of my voice and some discomfort." There was just one problem, "How do I stop Cazador from compelling me back at night?"

"That's your problem. Steal a ring of mind shielding or tie yourself to your bed. I'm sure you'll think of something, you're a resourceful spawn."

"And if I fail? What's to stop me from running to Athlacka or Kozakura after realizing he only likes the company of maidens?"

"Then the potion incurs fees and I retain ownership of your soul."

"Fair enough."

"Now, don't speak so quickly, Astarion, I have a reputation to uphold. There are certain guarantees I need to decide you've taken serious steps in this endeavor. You need to get him to kiss you in three days."

"Ha! You're joking! I'll have him eating out of my palm by then."

"Not a regular kiss. True love's kiss on his part."

"You're joking, you're joking, that doesn't even exist!"

"Oh come now, where did that bravado go? Do you truly believe that you can't make a man fall in love with you in three days?"

Astarion clenched his jaw and thought about it. Here was an opportunity to get away from Cazador. And he was going to throw it away because a devil wanted him to whisper into some prince's ear? "Where do I sign?"

With a sweep of his hand, Raphael summoned a contract and a quill. Astarion read it and found the terms were laid out as described before signing it.

When it disappeared, Raphael told Astarion, "Now then, let us get to the fun part.” He led Astarion to the bed and had him lie down. The devil who had been there moved and asked, "Shall I go, Master?"

"No, I have need of you Haarlep."

"Oh, I didn't know that spell had a naughty component."

"No, just hold his wrists."

"How sad, he looks like he would be fun to play with."

Astarion freely gave his wrists to what he now knew was an incubus. He told Raphael, "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"I have no idea, but we can't risk you clawing my eyes out, now can we?" He straddled Astarion's waist and opened the spawn's mouth to pierce his finger, drawing runes on Astarion's throat with blood while speaking an incantation.

Suddenly, Astarion felt a pulling sensation in his throat, painful, like a fishing hook had been lodged in his larynx and an angler was trying to yank it out. His instinct was to reach for his throat and check that he hadn't been stabbed but Haarlep held firm, eerily smiling down on him. When he looked at Raphael's hands he saw a red rope of light coming from his throat. "Now, speak, sing, do everything you can to get your voice active."

Astarion nodded, saying, "My name is Astarion Ancunin. I am two hundred and forty years old and I was born in Baldur's Gate."

He felt another tug at his throat and once again tried to pull his hands away as he screamed, Haarlep holding on tight. Raphael had pulled on that magical cord and told him, "That's it, little bat, keep going."

"I was a magistrate, once, but am now a vampire spawn, hunting pretty morsels for-"

With another tug Astarion found himself silenced. A scream from that last, savage pull, dying in his throat. Haarlep let go of his hands and Astarion sat up, seeing Raphael holding up a glowing orb like a prized fish. There weren't sounds coming from it, despite what Astarion would assume. And Raphael was looking at it as well, almost amazed that it had worked, "My, isn't that lovely?"

Astarion tried to speak but no words came out. He huffed through his nose and pointed to the voice.

Raphael caught on quickly, telling him, "Oh, it's going behind glass. Protected and safe and labeled in my archive."

Astarion nodded in understanding. Yes, that made sense. Raphael would want to show it off.

Raphael then set aside Astarion's voice in a jewelry box, the magic rope disappearing as he closed it, before pulling a potion bottle out of his nightstand and uncorking it. Going to tilt Astarion's head back, he said, "Drink."

Astarion did not hesitate as the bottle was pressed to his lips. The mixture was warm and oddly fungal tasting. He was surprised that he was able to taste it at all. But as it was downed, he felt... different. Warmer. Though not quite body warm.

"Now, we can't send you out with your hands like that. Your prince charming would think you contagious. Go clean up in my bath."

Astarion nodded once more, getting up and going to dunk his hands in the pool. He found that in an instant, he was energized. All of his aches were gone, his hands were no longer covered in bumps and hives but merely slightly red. Even his minor burns were gone. He also took the opportunity to wash what little remained of the cambion's blood from his throat.

"Your clock starts at sunrise and runs out on the sunset of the third day. Nod if you understand."

Astarion nodded once again.

"Now, I'm going to send you into his path. Just do what you do best." He gestured for Astarion to follow and the spawn obeyed.

As he followed Raphael, Astarion felt as if he had, perhaps, made a mistake. He saw all manner of debtor now that he cared to look. The tiefling woman staring into the boudoir, another woman running around like a dog, and, gods, was that a man cradling and praising a full chamber pot? What was to be his fate if he failed to make Wyll fall in love? The removal of his tongue, his past under Cazador used against him? There was hardly any time to ponder though as they came to a room full of mirrors. "Ah, here we are."

They stood before a portal to Baldur's Gate. It was time to fulfill his mission. "I'll put you in his path, don't worry, just walk in."

So, Astarion did just that. He stepped through the portal, its light not harming him as he stepped into the pre-dawn of Wyrm's Rock, the home of the Grand Duke. Astarion felt rather confident if he was honest. He had saved Wyll, after all, making him fall in love should be easy.

Then the sun began to rise.

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction #bloodpact #wyllstarion #Astarion #wyll ravengard #raphael bg3 #cazador szarr #bg3 godey #sam writes #sam speaks

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estrellami-1 · 2 years ago

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Soft Touch Baby

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Eddie’s POV | Song | ao3

(This one was a bit harder to get out… I had a buffer until now (and now I have a little bit of a buffer again but it was hard to get there), So most of this I wrote yesterday/last night. Paired with the fact that I’m Seriously Considering I might have SAD… I’m doing great 🙃 anyways I hope y’all enjoy!!!)

Steve looks down as he feels color rush into his cheeks. "She found so many books it's almost embarrassing. It basically boils down to one of our fundamental human needs is touch. Any touch. Holding hands, a hug, doesn't matter. Supposedly helps with a buncha stuff, anxiety, stress, shit like that. Can even help with sleep." He raises an eyebrow at Eddie, who toasts him with his water before taking a sip. "So she started touching me more. And it really does help." He bites at his lip for a second. "It, uh, didn't help for sleeping until last night."

Eddie nods slowly. "I understand, I think, but I see you touch the kids all the time."

Steve shrugs helplessly. "Ask Robin. Something about a difference between touching and being touched."

Eddie bites his lip. "You know I'm ignoring the being touched. That's too low a hanging fruit."

Steve snorts. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

Eddie nods like it's settled. "Well, good then. And, uh. You want touch... you can come find me.”

Steve smiles. Doesn't remark on the color on Eddie's cheeks. "Thank you."

Eddie nods, dipping his head once, focused on his pancake. His leg starts shaking. He doesn’t look up. “What we said earlier,” he begins finally. “About… needing it. That goes both ways?”

It’s somehow both a question and a statement. Steve nods, takes his empty plate over to the sink, turns on the tap. “Yeah. Course.”

“Cool,” Eddie murmurs, almost lost underneath the spray of water against the plate. Steve hides his smile as he squirts soap onto the sponge.

Eddie leaves not too long after, stating something about the band and songs and tuning. He hesitates in the doorway. Steve very carefully doesn’t say anything.

He leaves. Steve very carefully doesn’t feel anything.

He tells himself it’s stupid, that they’re not even together, that he couldn’t realistically hope Eddie would stay longer, with no real reason to-

He calls Robin. “Hey, dingus.”

“Come over?”

He knows the face she’s making, trying to figure out the tone he tried not to have. “Yup. I’m bringing ice cream and The Princess Bride.”

Steve chuckles softly. “I expect nothing less. See you in twenty?”

“Yep.” The line goes dead.

Steve chuckles again as he replaces the phone back in its cradle, looking around. Eddie had helped him clean up last night, so the only thing left was the pan Eddie had used for pancakes. Steve very carefully doesn’t feel anything.

“Stefano,” Robin greets twenty minutes later, waltzing in like she owns the place. Doesn’t even bother knocking. He just smiles at her.

“Hey, Robbie. Still not my name.”

She moves closer, grasping his chin between her fingers and moving his head to one side, then the other, like a grandmother would do. She hums. “You don’t look awful.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes at her bluntness. “Gee, thanks.”

She flaps a hand in his face. “You know what I mean, shut up.” Ice cream is suddenly pushed into his stomach. “Here. Rocky Road, it’s freezing my hand off, you hold it. Ready for the movie or not yet?”

He considers, knows he’ll have to tell her one way or another, decides. “Not yet. Couch?”

“Grab some spoons!” She calls over her shoulder, already halfway there.

They sit facing each other, the ice cream slowly dripping condensation onto the couch cushion between them. “So?” Robin starts. Steve looks away.

“He stayed the night.”

“Knew it.”

“Christ, Robs, nothing happened,” he says, laughing. “We drank, we smoke, we talked.” He swallows. “He… he didn’t know, but he said, um…”

“Steve…”

“Yeah. I, uh. Shut down.” He shrugs, looks away. Remembers. Smiles. “He got me to open up pretty quick again. I told him. He said the word’s no longer in his vocabulary.” Robin giggles. “Told him about all the head shit. Just… talked. Went to bed.” He bites a lip. “I had a nightmare.”

“Christ, Steve-”

“Yeah. Think he woke me up. Maybe I woke myself up, I dunno. He was there. I was still halfway in the dream, still freaked out, couldn’t see him. Didn’t know it was him. Didn’t do anything, thankfully. He didn’t either, just stood there, slowly came to sit on the bed, kept…” he ignores the crack. “Kept sayin’ how I was safe, it was just him.” He takes another bite of ice cream. “I, uh.” An incredulous almost-laugh. “I didn’t shut down. Kinda the opposite.”

Pt 10

Taglist:

@thegingervulcan @snapshotmaestro @the-redthread @tiny-enthusiast @thatonepotatochild

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #robin buckley #soft touch baby #Ngl i kinda forgot this started out as #touch starved Steve Harrington #oops #we’ll get back there eventually #maybe #we’ll see

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kadajsbitch · 1 year ago

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Fresh Air (P.t Two)

Pinocchio x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst, slight gore but mostly having to do with the puppets

A/n: BRUH. So much shit has been happening in my life atm so I apologize for the hella late update but I decided I want to make this a story so yeah 😭 I might upload this on Ao3 and Wattpad, idk yet but here’s part two!

(P.s: if you read this earlier, I fixed the typos and changed up some words and stuff but that’s all!💀)

•*•*•*•*•*•*•

After he had shut the door behind them, she felt her shoulders begin to physically relax. A tension beginning to ease that she hadn't known her body had been holding…

The doors intricate locks began to whirl, clicking in place and causing a slight echo in the empty entry hall. She gave a sigh of relief, moving her gaze from the floor to meet him.

He kept his eyes on the door for a moment, starring at it almost owlishly as if expecting more… whether that be of the door to suddenly open and allow the mechanoids to infiltrate the hotel, or whatever thoughts he had towards it swirling through his mind, she didn’t know.

However, she watched rather awkwardly for a moment before adverting her gaze, as his wandered to look at his robotic arm as it made a slight noise before it went silent and still. She had noticed it twitching slightly while they had been talking to one another outside, but she hadn’t commented…

Instead, she cleared her throat lightly, the action garnering his attention as he turned his head to look in her direction. "Thank you... I think I'll be smoking from inside from now on." She smiled, joking lightly as he turned and began to walk towards her, a gentle smile on his lips as he nodded in the direction to the stairway that led to the lobby.

"Those are bad for you, you know. Why do you think the men who smoke them are constantly hacking up something before they can properly talk?" At this, she raised an eyebrow, turning her attention away from the door that would lead them to the stairwell.

“That’s not true! My mother smoked all the time back when I lived with my parents. The only problem she got from smoking being the breathe.” She chuckled, looking up towards him catching the way his nose subtly wrinkled before turning to grin at her.

"Well if it comforts you, I don’t plan to be a chain smoker. I just saw the box lying on the ground and chose to take it because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about…” a half truth… and a half lie. She found it yes, but it wasn’t on the ground. It was on a corpse... while it was true she grabbed it out of curiosity, as well as her own excitement at the prospect of doing something she knew her family would have a fit had they been able to see, she wasn’t going to tell him that.

She was surprised when he suddenly chuckled, a light yet almost practiced sound to her ears, and she turned to look at him as they began to ascend the stairs. “And did you indeed see what the fuss was about?” He asked.

She shrugged, shaking her head slightly with a look of disillusionment as she spoke. “Honestly? No. I thought it’d be like alcohol but without the unpleasant taste and feelings you get after drinking it. The first time I ever drank, I got the worse headache after only a small glass. Plus the taste is god awful.” She replied, wrinkling her nose.

He still wore his smile, but it seemed a bit practiced now as he stiffly nodded, his blue eyes turning to stare at hers. “Yes. Very unpleasant. I take it your a drinker then?” The question was harmless and she playfully rolled her eyes but mentally she found the question odd considering she had just described feeling negative towards drinking due to the effects it came with.

“No, I’ve only drunk once in my life, and it was only for the experience. If I’m being honest, I hope it’s the last time though… I would say it will be the last time but I’m indecisive. I take it you’ve never drank before though?” His face was relaxed, and in the stairwells lighting, the shadows danced over his eyes, which in turn held a sharp look as his gaze was directed to her... for a second, he looked uncomfortably uncanny but not threatening… She pushed the thought to the side however as she focused on the steps ahead of them.

“No, I haven’t.” He stated simply. “But if I could I probably would for the experience as well.” he replied back but this only caused her to frown, before a slight smirk found it’s way on her face. “Why? Too scared to sneak a sip from your parents cabinet?”

At this, he raised his eyebrow at her giving her a questioning look and for a moment, she was worried he was genuinely one of those people who were too much of a moral martyr and would look at her oddly for the joking suggestion. But to her surprise, he cracked a quick smile before laughing lightly, a genuine sound as he looked down at his shoes, crossing his arms.

“No, not at all. Other reasons though. I don’t think my father would care much if I did. Matter of fact, I feel he’d be quite intrigued if I ever showed interest to that sort of thing.” He admitted, and she crossed her arms, leaning on the opposite wall he stood against chuckling lightly.

Mentally, she was giving herself a clap on the back because it had taken her a week to muster enough courage to talk to Antonia and Eugenia as she was talking to him. She was so used to moving from place to place, and not seeing the same faces around her that it was almost a bit of a shock when she’d go to sleep, only to wake up hours later, and see she was still in the hotel. As well as the people she had seen the day previously, were still there. It’s because she had to move around so much, her people skills were a bit rusty to say the least but she couldn’t help but to feel relaxed whilst she talked to Pinocchio…

Pinocchio’s eyes scanned her face for a moment, studying her before clearing his throat and proceeding to walk ahead towards the doors that would lead them to the lobby, the amused smile still playing on his lips. “Come. It’s late out and its better to be in the lobby than to be here. There’s a draft.”

She couldn’t help but to feel a bit disappointed that their conversation seemed to be coming to an end, but considering how late it truly was, along with the fact he seemed mad enough to walk around Krat far from the hotel, she assumed he was rather exhausted.

She nodded, pushing herself from the wall before walking alongside him into the hotels lobby.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

While it was true that most of society had given to buying puppets to replace human workers, there were a select few companies that all but banned puppets from entering their facility's even with their owners beside them.

Therefore it really was no surprise that many people in the anarchy ridden city, paired up and had buildings much to their own liking, where they'd enroll those who had survived seeking refuge in bigger groups, to support their cause to abolish puppets. It helped that present day events gave them a broader reason to expand on their reasoning...

A good example of their work would be some of the puppets they managed to dispatch and re-arrange their now unanimated bodies in positions that were eerily similar to what a human might look like after being violently slaughtered…

A good example of this she could think, of was the puppet who had been hanging by the neck over the bridge she had crossed days previously to get to the hotel.

Y/n wrapped her arms around herself, her right hand coming to rest on her left shoulder as she stared out of one of the hallways windows, thinking back to the puppet as she stared at the unmoving one that lie on the outside ground floor… it unnerved her how he looked almost human despite the clear robotic jaw and eyes as well as wires that stuck out from his chest cavity… the puppet equivalent of innards like a humans, and the black oil that it lie in reminded her too much of a humans blood despite the clear difference in color.

The sound of soft footsteps approaching her, brought her from her thoughts however, as she turned away from the window to see who was approaching her, worried that whoever it was would find it odd she was spending her morning staring out at the dead lifeless puppet but then again, there wasn’t like there was much of anything else to stare at scenery wise considering Krat was in ruin.

She relaxed as she came to see it was only Pinocchio and she felt herself becoming happy that he was approaching her considering they’re previous conversation the night before. Finally there was someone her age other than Sophia and Eugenia she could talk to, not that she talked much with Sophia due to her having to constantly focus her powers on patrolling the city of Krat for survivors and other key issues.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well.” He greeted her, coming to stand beside her with a slight smile on his face that she returned happily.

“Good morning to you as well, and I did. Slept well too, I presume?” He shrugged, turning to look outside the window she had previously been occupied with, his eyes scanning the outside area.“Adequate.” He replied simply, and seemingly honestly.

The corner of her mouth lifted into a subtle smirk as she now fully grasped his appearance. Unlike the clothes he wore the night prior, today he wore something a little more formal… He wore a simple chemise white shirt only this time, he adorned a cravat with a gold ruby pendant in the center. This was followed by a red buttoned vest, that seemed to have a pocket watch tucked within, perhaps in a hidden pocket on the other side she presumed.

As for the rest of his outfit, he wore a simple blue long coat with gray breeches and white socks and flat black shoes… He looked quite studious, like the few men from the academy’s she used to be forced to greet when her parents had been looking for a husband for her sister.

“Ah, you’re dressed properly today it seems.” She said, teasing him lightly. He broke his gaze from outside, turning to look at her with a smirk of his own on his face. “You are as well it seems. Better than your nightgown, robe and slippers…” At this, she scoffed in mock offense, before playfully elbowing him, chuckling lightly as she looked down at her shoes.

Antonia had kindly let her borrow some of her old clothes due to the fact the only ones she had were the rags on her back she had wore when she arrived to the hotel… they weren’t literal rags of course, just old and tattered clothes she managed to find once she outgrew her old tattered ones, with uneven patches on them from times she had to sew them when they developed holes… Today however, she wore a simple high collar black dress with slightly baggy sleeves that slimmed down towards her forearms making it easy to perform task without the sleeves being too much of a nuisance. It was a modest dress, stopping at her ankles with nothing else much being special about it. But it was enough. After all, it had been years since she’s been able to wear a dress so it was a welcome change.

There was a sudden small silence between them, a comfortable one albeit, as they stood in front of the window beside one another. Their small smiles still gracing their features as they looked at the ruined scenery before them.

However, her eyes had found the ruined puppet’s body once more and her smile began to fade as she stared at it… or more so him considering it was a male model as was most working puppets.

Pinocchio’s eyes glanced toward her, his own smile faltering as his eyes found what had made her suddenly appear pensive. “That puppets been there since I arrived. There’s no need to worry. Once they’ve been destroyed to the point that this puppet has been, there’s no chance of it being able to turn back on.” He spoke blandly, as his eyes glanced at her for a moment before looking back towards the puppet.

Her frown deepened and her eyebrows furrowed slightly at this. “But I thought it was possible to fix any puppet once they’ve been subjected to damage. It’s head doesn’t seem destroyed. And after all, the head is where their artificial intelligence and memory are stored, right?” While she didn’t understand the full anatomy to the puppets, she knew what little scraps she had read in papers and heard in idle gossip when she would pass through towns.

Pinocchio shook his head, his eyes darting back to the mangled robot. “Due to the virus, they no longer garner the memory of their purpose as well as control over themselves. Even if they were to magically stop their rampaging, the virus has destroyed much of their cognitive abilities to function so they’d be useless.”

“So there’s no way to fix the rogue bots.” She stated plainly, as her eyes found his in which, they were still glued onto the unmoving puppet. He was quiet, his robotic arm emitting a slight noise as he moved it to cross his arms over his chest.

“No. Once Geppetto pinpoints the cause of the virus, these puppets will most likely get sent to be destroyed fully and if there’s a slight possibility that more robots are to be manufactured after all of this, their scraps will be re-used to make more.” Y/n didn’t know why she suddenly felt the urge to shiver at his words but she repressed it. Keeping herself together. She didn’t even want to imagine the process of how they destroyed or dismantled them… while they may be objects in a sense, it seemed morbid to think of a pile of parts that resembled a humans, that were stacked ceiling high, and torn apart.

“Wow…” she said suddenly after a moment of the morbid thoughts flowing through her mind. “That’s kind of macabre to think about.” She admitted, as her right hand played with the collar of her dress.

He seemed to find this interesting as he tuned to face her fully now, his head coming to rest on the right side of the window frame as he gazed at her unblinking with a look of contempt. “Macabre? How so?”

“I mean… look at the situation? Do the puppets even know their being possessed by a virus right now? And if they do, are they aware of what they’re doing? How do they even feel about it? And then imagine, being brutally torn apart because of something you couldn’t control? That’s scary of you ask me.” She replied. She had to advert her gaze from his mid conversation due to his unblinking eyes… she wondered was he aware of his lack of awareness to his expressions.

“Does it upset you?” He asked, his face calm and stoic but his eyes held an unknown emotion she couldn’t properly grasp as they locked eyes with one another, once again. If anything, she assumed he was going to ask her why she thought the puppets held a conscious or their own moral input other than what was implemented in their systems.

She broke his gaze once again, feeling uncomfortable with his unmoving eyes as she looked to her side. She was focused on nothing in particular but her mind tried to process how to properly get her words out as she thought to how to respond.

“It does. I know… that the answer to my questions are probably no, they have no feeling, and they’re made to perform the specific duty they were created for, but you’ve got to admit it’s upsetting seeing something that resembles us humans, even with their clear signs of artificially being created such as their speakers, joints and clothing, being mutilated like that.” she paused for a moment after saying her piece, trying to decide if she should expand more on what she truly wanted to say. Pinocchio seemed to have guessed she had more on her mind because he simply nodded, a subtle gesture offering her to continue.

“…What upsets me the most is not knowing how things will proceed from here on out… The anti-puppet regime’s and groups are now at an all time high, and while I do understand their reasoning for wanting to annihilate them, I can’t help to be disgusted by their methods. We get it, you don’t like them, and now they have further reasons to prove why but to go as far as hanging them, ripping them open and placing their bodies in very humiliating conditions to prove your point? It’s funny… the way they’re going about slaughtering the puppets they can get their hands on, is the same way the rogue puppets are slaughtering us. Only difference is, the human side who are reporting their anti-puppet cause, are going further to treat them more inhumane than they are us.” She finished, still starring down at the ground, whilst her hand played with her collar.

She hadn’t meant to rant, but as much as she was angered by what the puppets were doing, at least they had a reasoning. One in which that by Geppetto’s words, they can’t control.

Prior to the outbreak, the anti’s were already trying to make an example of their dislike for puppets by destroying them and leaving their slogans painted around the scene in which they had committed the crime at... It also didn’t help that some people who neither supported nor disliked the puppets, thought to find benefit in them by buying, altering and using them for things less than what their pre-made purpose was for… almost every paper had an article about underground rings doing less than human things to these puppets or having them do illegal work for them.

Honestly, she wondered if Geppetto was partially lying about it being a bug that was possessing them, and the reality of it was they were fighting back for they’re treatment, but she didn’t voice this.

“Hm…” Pinocchio hummed, the sound causing her to bring her eyes from the carpeted hallway floor, to his attention as he gazed down at the puppet outside once more. “That’s an interesting perspective. No surprise that everyone here in the hotel feels the same. I assumed you’d lean towards the humans who support getting rid of them due to their slaughtering and violent destruction of Krat.”

She shook her had, grimacing slightly. “While the puppets more or less unnerve me, prior to them going rogue I honestly managed better with their company more than I did with other human beings.”

In all honesty, that wasn’t necessarily the truth. The reality of it was ever since she left home, she had to be extremely careful in puppet dominated spaces due to the fact if they recognized her from the many sketches of her on wanted posters, they’d immediately alert those around them as well at the police puppets to come arrest her.

While the sketches and photographs of her were old and she no longer resembled the wealthy, upperclass little girl in the photos, puppets such as police ones had built in facial recognition. All they’d have to do is look at her, scan her face and they’d know exactly who she was and she’s had more close calls than she could mentally count…

Prior to her leaving home however, when it came to the puppets, she was familiar with the puppet servants of her home. One puppet in particular, being her full time nanny from the time she was a babe, up until the day she ran…

She cringed subtly pushing the memories of home from her mind, the action not going unnoticed by Pinocchio who studied her intensely, as his eyes all but scanned over her features, his face a stoic mask of his own. “Um, do you mind us stepping away from the window? It seems there’s a bit of a draft coming from it.” She rubbed her arms slightly, not even waiting for his answer despite asking as she stepped away from the window.

He followed pursuit, walking beside her as they walked down the hall. She glanced at him as the lobby came into view, feeling uneasy by his sudden aloof demeanor as they walked silently beside one another. “What do you think?”

She suddenly blurted out, causing Pinocchio to halt in his tracks while his gaze still remained ahead of them. An action she found rather robotic in itself, but she thought nothing of it as his face turned to meet hers.

“I think… we should focus on the task at hand. If you’re returning my question, than I think the task at hand needs to be dealt with and that’s that these puppets must be stopped.” She frowned, slightly annoyed by his seemingly practiced yet bland response.

“Well of course they need to be taken care of, but what do your really think? About the puppets? Prior to them going rogue and all?” She asked, her eyebrows furrowed as she stared at his unreadable expression.

She was worried that maybe her views had offended him. She tended to stay neutral when it came to politics and things that usually had people torn apart, but when he had questioned her, there was no indicator in his tone or body language that he had been uncomfortable, not to mention, he had explicitly asked her how she felt about them.

She internally cursed herself, wishing she hadn’t over shared. After all, he had approached her on his own accord, and prior to their conversation the mood had been light until her focus fell to the mangled puppet outside…

“What I think about my kind doesn’t matter.” His answer was quick, and despite his same calm tone of speaking, she couldn’t help but to feel like there was an underlying sharpness to his tone as his eyes all but bore into her now, unblinking.

She stared at him, her eyes scanning his face for any hint of humor or lie yet she couldn’t find anything behind his stony stare.

He broke his gaze from her, before walking deeper into the lobby, heading towards Sophia who had been pacing in her usual spot, but she had stopped at Pinocchio’s arrival.

He was a puppet…

#lies of p #pinocchio x reader #kadajsbitchlol #angst #idk what else to tag

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marmorafarms · 2 years ago

Text

Gridball Jerseys and Cigarettes Ch. 4

The update schedule has changed to once a week instead of having a set day. Having a set day was kind of stressing me out.

Pairing: Sebastian x Alex

Rating: M for Mature

Word count: 2502

Warnings/Content: masturbation, dirty thoughts

Enjoy! You can also find it on ao3 right here:

Ugh.

Alex woke up, head pounding. Damn his stupid hangover. He really shouldn't have drank so much last night. Sighing, Alex grabbed his phone to check the time.

It was 12:30 pm. Shit!

Alex's grandpa wanted him up at 7:30 am sharp and ready for the day at 8. He knew he was going to get yelled at, and with his current hangover, he was not prepared for this. The numbers shone brightly in his face, and his cheery yellow lock screen seemed to be mocking him with it’s happiness.

Your focus determines your reality. –Qui-Gon Jinn

Alex groaned. He usually loved his “inspirational quote a day” app, but not today. Even though it was Star Wars quote, he found himself resenting it. His reality was going to truly suck if his focus had anything to do with it.

He jumped at the soft knock on his door. Judging by how gentle it was, it must be his Granny.

“Xandy?” he heard. The name that used to bother him so much made Alex smile. His Granny was at the door, sounding concerned.

“I’m up!” he called out, and stood up. He crossed the room and opened the door, smiling at the frail woman before him. She looked up at him with eyes the color of the sea, her hair looking like cotton candy, hanging loose instead of up in its typical bun.

“Good morning Granny,” he said, and she gave him a sweet smile.

“Your grandfather is wondering where you are,” she said, smile faltering slightly before she plastered it back on her face.

“I figured. I’m sorry I just…don’t feel great,” Alex mumbled. His Granny frowned and got up on her tip toes, trying to reach his forehead with her hand. He dutifully bent forward, allowing her to test his temperature with the back of her hand.

“You feel okay,” she said slowly. “But it’s possible to be sick and not have a fever. Hmm.” She looked him over critically.

“I think I just need an ibuprofen a something to eat and I’ll be fine,” Alex said.

“Well, we can make that happen!” Granny said, patting his arm.

Alex followed her to the kitchen. His grandfather was sitting at the table but surprisingly said nothing. What was going on? Grandpa George was never one to hold back, but he seemed surprisingly fine with the whole situation. It wasn’t until Alex was dressed and ready to face the day that his grandfather spoke.

“That delinquent stopped by while you were asleep,” he said gruffly. Alex paused at the door and turned to face him.

“Who?” Alex asked, though he had a pretty good idea of who Grandpa George meant.

“Robin’s boy. Sebastian,” Grandpa George said. “Couldn’t believe he was out of that cave that Robin allows him to stay in. He wanted to see you. Are you hanging out with him again?”

Alex bit his lip. There was no good way to answer this. Grandpa George wouldn’t be happy if Alex said yes, but he didn’t want to lie either. He took a deep breath in.

“Yeah, we thought we’d give being friends another shot,” Alex said quickly, as though saying it fast would make his grandfather take it better.

There was a silence, and Alex tried to read Grandpa George’s face with little success. That man had the world’s best poker face, and was simply staring at Alex. What was he thinking? Was he angry? Alex was beginning to panic, wondering if he should say “just kidding!” or stand his ground.

“You’re a grown man,” Grandpa George said. “You can make your own choices. I trust you’ll make the right ones.”

Alex blinked, surprised. He nodded at his grandfather who snorted.

“If you have to hang around men like him, that’s your business. But don’t let that change you,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

If only he knew.

Alex smiled awkwardly and left the house. Holy shit. All things considered, that had gone incredibly well. Grandpa George hadn’t even mentioned the fact that he woke up late! Was it opposite day today? Alex wasn’t sure. He was absorbed in these thoughts when his phone buzzed. Alex looked down, his eyes going wide.

10 missed texts.

What?! Who was texting him? He scrolled through them. 3 from Emily wanting to know if his hangover was as bad as hers. 4 from Haley teasing him about Sebastian and asking for details. And then 3 from Sebastian.

Alex swallowed thickly, reading through Sebastian’s texts.

wanna chill today? there’s something I wanna show you.

it’s 11 and you’re asleep lmao ok i’ll just send a pic

And the last picture was…goddamn.

It wasn’t like last night, not at all. In fact, Sam and Abigail were in it. Sebastian was in the middle of his two laughing friends and had his tongue stuck out all the way. And on his tongue was a brand new piercing.

Alex refused to let his mind wander, not in public! But wow. The things that piercing could potentially do were making Alex’s face heat up. With shaking fingers he tapped out a response.

new piercing? that was fast

A buzz signified Sebastian had responded. Alex felt warm inside, knowing that Sebastian had responded so quickly because he’d been waiting to hear from him. It was so nice feeling wanted, especially by this man. Sure Sebastian was hot, but he was also a genuinely great guy. And the fact that he was giving Alex attention? Insanity.

yeah it was a dare. we decided to play truth or dare and I got dared to get my tongue pierced.

Alex stared wide eyed at his phone. What?!

you seriously did that on a DARE?

Buzz

i’ve been wanting to for a while. just needed a push. you like?

Alex stared at the sky. He didn’t want to admit just how much he liked the piercing. The thought of what it might feel like gliding up and down his–

He shook the thought from his head, trying to get his mind out of the gutter. What the hell was wrong with him? Honestly, it was an odd feeling having these thoughts about another guy. Alex had never felt this way about any man other than Sebastian. He wasn’t even slightly attracted to other men, but Sebastian? Whew. That man sure did a number on him.

Alex was about to type out his response when he heard his name called out. Surprised, he looked up and saw Léo standing a few feet away. The farmer was quickly approaching him, and Alex shouted a greeting his way. Ever since he realized Léo wasn’t his competition, he had grown to like him quite a bit. Léo was laid back and friendly, and Alex was always glad to see him.

“What’s up, farmer boy?” Alex said good-naturedly. Léo smiled and clapped Alex on the shoulder.

“Not much, not much. Wanted to know how the concert went! Sam invited me, but I was dead tired after working the fields all day.” He looked annoyed as he said that, and Alex understood. It must be hard having to give up things you want to do because your work places so many demands on you.

“Oh, it was great!” Alex said. Then he paused. “How did you know I went?” he quickly looked around, making sure they were alone.

“Sam mentioned it when I texted him this morning,” Léo said. “Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah,” Alex said. “My grandparents don’t know I went. They’re not huge on me going to the city.”

“Oh,” Léo said, a look that Alex couldn’t place flitting across his face. “I guess…well, I was hoping you might want to come clubbing with me, Sam, Abby, and Seb,” he said.

Alex bristled at the nickname Léo used for Sebastian. He never shortened Sebastian’s name, why was Léo? But wait, hold on. His friend wasn’t his competition. In fact, he had just called Abigail “Abby.” Nicknames were probably just his thing.

“Well…I mean I could,” Alex said slowly. “Grandpa George said something about me being to make my own choices this morning. Maybe he’d be okay with it now?”

“That’s cool of him,” Léo said, looking thoughtful. “You should ask, and then let me know. Do you have my number? I should add you to the group chat with all of us.”

The two men exchanged numbers, and Léo left with a smile on his face. Alex felt his stomach do a flip as he thought about going clubbing. He’d never been before and wasn’t sure what to expect. Pop culture dictated a certain vibe, and Alex wasn’t quite sure it would be his thing. But then again…

Sebastian would be there. Potentially dancing. Potentially winking at him, showing off his hip piercings, and sticking his tongue out. The tongue piercing would be there, tantalizing him and…

Okay, yeah. Alex was down with the idea.

It took the entire day before Alex finally got the courage to sit his grandparents down and ask if he could go to the city. The two were silent, neither of them saying anything for a while. Alex squirmed in his chair, worried about what was going to be said.

“Do you think it’s safe?” his Granny asked.

“I’ll be with friends,” Alex said. “Safety in numbers, you know?”

“Who?” Grandpa George asked.

“Léo, Sam, Sebastian, and Abigail,” Alex rattled off. “We’re going to go hang out.”

Grandpa George huffed. “You’re going with them?” he scoffed. Granny shot him a look, and he looked down at the floor. Alex’s jaw dropped. A simple glare from his Granny was insane. He’d never seen her challenge anything Grandpa George said, not even with a look.

“I suppose you can,” Grandpa George said after a while. “You’re grown now. You step one toe out of line though, and there will be hell to pay. I don’t want you coming home as drunk as Shane and Pam get.”

“Of course,” Alex said nodding. “I won’t.”

“You can have fun,” Granny said, “But stay safe. I don’t want anything happening to you. I promised your mother we’d take good care of you.”

Alex’s face softened at the mention of his mother. He took his Granny’s hand into his own and looked her directly in the eyes.

“You’ve raised me right,” Alex said. “Mom’s proud of you, I know it.”

Granny began to tear up, and Alex wiped her tears away with his thumbs. Grandpa George seemed a little emotional as well, so Alex shot him a comforting smile.

Once Alex was sure they were doing well, he left for his room and flopped down on his bed, getting his phone out. He quickly found the group chat and let everyone know he was down to go clubbing.

they let you???

Alex chuckled at Abigail’s text, and explained what had happened. A few moments later he got another message, this time a private message from Sebastian.

glad you’ll be able to come. you seem like you’d be a good dancer.

Alex snorted.

jokes on you, i have two left feet. never done club dancing before either, just the flower dance crap.

Well then you can just stay still while i do the work

Alex choked on his saliva. He knew what Sebastian meant. He would stand, and Sebastian would dance against him. But the double meaning was there, and Alex’s mind was wandering. He had no idea Sebastian was such a flirt! If you had asked him a month ago if he thought Sebastian would be tossing around innuendos and sending him sexy pictures, Alex would’ve laughed for ten minutes straight before saying hell no.

But here they were. Talking about Sebastian doing all the work.

The tongue piercing came back to Alex’s mind, and he felt a jolt of desire go straight to his other head. God, what he wouldn’t do to feel that against him. The ball would add another sensation as Sebastian licked a stripe up him from base to tip.

There was no hiding it now, there was a massive tent in Alex’s pants. He’d only ever gotten off to a guy once, and that was years ago. He had been thinking of Sebastian and had felt so guilty about it. Alex had been sure that Sebastian would be disgusted or angry if he ever found out. But now, Alex had a feeling that wouldn’t have been the case.

So it’d be okay if he did it now, right?

Alex bit his lip, hand cupping himself over his jeans. Was this actually okay? God, he was overthinking this. He never felt this way when it came to girls. Whoever popped into his mind worked for him, and he never stopped to consider how they might feel. Did that make him a jackass?

This train of thought was cut short as images of Sebastian in between his legs and unzipping Alex’s jeans were flooding into his mind. He wasn’t going to be able to not do this, was he? The thoughts would stay there, even if he took a cold shower. With a deep breath, Alex shimmed his pants down, reached for his lotion, and took himself into his hand.

While the thought of Sebastian pleasuring him was amazing, he wondered what it would be like to make little whines and moans come out of his friend’s mouth. The idea of taking Sebastian into his mouth wasn’t as weird as he thought it might be, and his hand moved faster as the man in his head moaned and called out his name.

He lifted his shirt up a bit as he got close, not wanting to ruin his shirt. He tried to keep his panting to a minimum, but it was hard with his current thoughts. Alex bit his knuckles as he finished, not wanting any sound to come out. The last thing he needed was for his grandparents to know what he was doing alone in his room. He closed his eyes as he came down from his high, chest heaving. What he wouldn’t give to have the real thing happen.

Alex reached for his tissues and cleaned his chest and abs up. He didn’t feel the horrible shame that he had felt before and peeked over at his phone. Should he tell Sebastian…? Alex bit his lip, but decided not to. They hadn’t been on their date yet, so it would probably be crossing a line if he brought this up. Even if Sebastian did enjoy the idea, it still might be weird.

He felt his eyelids grow heavy and tried to fight off sleep for as long as possible. It was only 6 pm, and if he went to sleep now, he’d never be able to fall asleep when it actually made sense to. Alex gave in eventually, drifting off into a deep slumber. His last conscious thought for the night was of holding Sebastian’s hips while they danced in the club.

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv fanfic #sdv sebastian x alex #stardew sebastian x alex #sdv alex #sdv sebastian #stardew alex #stardew sebastian

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mourntheantagonist · 2 years ago

Text

day one: lingerie

requested by you

read on ao3

He found himself always circling back to the little club on fourth avenue every Friday night without fail. It wasn’t even on his route home, but Steve would call it a scenic detour, because in all essence, it was. He’d tell himself, as he put on his signal to move into the turn lane he didn’t belong in, that he just wanted to look through the windows just for a second. Just a peek. Just a glance. He’d lie to himself and say he admired the lights on the sign out front—he didn’t give two shits about the sign out front.

He’d drive past, and some days he would keep driving straight until he finally pulled into the parking garage under his building. Those days he’d sit alone in his empty apartment, watching whatever was currently on television and stuffing himself with microwaveable popcorn and drowning himself in beer, trying to forget about the little glimpses of red lace and golden skin he’d caught in the corner of one of those windows.

Other days—the weak ones—he’d stop, or turn around at the light just twenty feet down the road, and pull into one of the parking spaces out front. He’d try to see whatever he could through the highly tinted windows, and that cash in his wallet would scream at him to man up and walk inside. He wouldn’t. He’d just sit there smoking a cigarette letting his heart beat out of his chest at just the thought of walking through those doors, and drive home when the night took over.

It wasn’t like he’d never been to a strip club before. Hell, his buddies at the office liked to host their monthly meetings at one of the sleaziest strip clubs in town where they drank whisky on the rocks and stuffed singles in whatever article of clothing the girls had left on. The difference was, Steve had never been to a strip club like this, and he sure as hell had never wanted to go to one so bad either. It was the combination of uncertainty and desperation that kept him glued to his driver’s seat, and his wallet full of cash.

Until the day he actually grew a pair and walked through the front doors. It was after a particularly frustrating night at the office. Everything seemed to be going to shit with his accounts and to top it all off, it was time for the monthly “office meeting” and Steve, well, if he was going to any “office meeting” he’d have to choose a different venue.

So, he feigned illness and drove directly to the club on fourth—for once it was a destination and not a detour. It took him a moment of sitting there, and smoking through the rest of his pack to finally get the courage to walk inside, but what made this time different from all the other times before was the fact that he actually walked inside. No more living inside the fantasyland of his own head.

He walked in and was instantly blinded by the bright blue stage lights. He made a move to walk forward, shielding his eyes as he did when he bumped into something large.

“Sorry.” Steve muttered upon the realization that something large was actually a human being.

“Can I see some ID?” Oh fuck it was the bouncer.

Steve felt so out of his element, shaking as he reached into his pocket for his wallet and slipping out his ID, not paying one single look to the bouncer, but rather trying to see past the blinding lights to remind himself of why he walked into the club in the first place.

The bouncer’s laugh pulled him out from his trance. “First time, kid?” he asked, and Steve didn’t answer, he might’ve rolled his eyes at being called a kid considering he was encroaching on thirty, but mostly he just stood there. The bouncer handed his ID back to him and ushered him off with no more than a “Don’t touch my dancers!” as a farewell.

Steve had been hoping it would become less nerve wracking the further he walked into the club, but when he finally could see past the lights enough to see the dancers on the stage, the first things he laid his eyes on was a man on a platform wearing nothing but a speedo that was two sizes too small. If that wasn’t overwhelming, the sheer amount of people inside and all the noise was. It was nothing like the ones he had been to before—the mostly empty bars filled with sleazy old men who were drunk off their asses. The inside of this club was clean, and the crowd of people was largely young, and it was all so different from what he was used to.

There were also the dicks. Those were also very different from what he was used to when it came to strip clubs.

Steve maneuvered around the club until he found himself a stool up by the bar where there were even more scantily clad male dancers, some dancing, some laying flat on their backs and letting people pay to take body shots off of them.

All Steve learned from watching that scene was that the no touching rule could be forgotten for the right price.

He was still beyond on edge, so used to quiet and quaint, so used to Friday nights spent on his couch alone. He raised his hand and called the bartender over, excited to order himself a gin and tonic rather than the whisky on the rocks that was always forced into his hands. Steve glanced around the room as the bartender started pouring his drink, and he caught a glimpse of one of the strippers giving a lap dance in the corner.

The way Steve’s stomach dropped could only be attributed to one thing and one thing only, and that was how badly he wanted one for himself.

“Make that two.” Steve said to the bartender, who just gave him a knowing look as he pulled out a second glass.

Steve basically chugged the first glass, and sipped the second. He was trying to get himself as drunk as possible as quickly as possible because fuck, there was shit he wanted but damn if he had the courage to ask for it.

So Steve sat there. He drank, he looked around, and he drank some more, and even more. Time passed and Steve kept looking—kept trying to find a speedo-wearing man he was willing to empty his wallet for—but he kept coming up empty handed, and wallet full.

None of the guys seemed to be his type, which was odd considering no two looked even remotely the same—the only commonality being the metallic blue speedo’s that they all wore like a uniform. Steve was beginning to wonder if that was just it, what they were wearing. Steve wasn’t passing by the club every day after work because he was hoping to see some guys dancing around with their junk one tug away from hanging out. If he wanted that, he’d go to the beach.

What Steve wanted was what he saw hanging out outside of the club that one late night, cigarette in between lips painted red with a lace getup to match, legs bare in the cold night air, huddling for warmth inside an oversized denim jacket. He wanted the blonde curly hair and the mean look and the soft edges of floral lingerie he knew he’d seen in the corner of the window where the tint had peeled off.

Delicate. Soft. Gorgeous.

Where was that?

Steve waited, and waited for the speedos to disappear. He looked, and looked for the pretty little thing he just knew he could feel the presence of. Steve had nearly a grand’s worth of cash in his wallet, and he knew exactly where he wanted to put it.

It was getting late, and he was beginning to think he was going to end up dropping more on the alcohol than on the dancers. He slipped a few twenties to a couple of the guys who walked across the bar in front of him, but only as a way to keep him from getting kicked out for attempting to catch himself cheap glances, of which Steve wasn’t even the least bit interested.

It was getting late and he was starting to wonder if he should have just stayed in his car. Hell. He should’ve just gone to the “office meeting” because at least there he wouldn’t look like a loser sitting by himself surrounded by five empty glasses and having the poor bartender pour him a sixth.

Hey, at least Steve was a good tipper.

It was getting late and Steve was about ready to throw on his jacket and walk out when suddenly, the lights dimmed and the blue hue of the club had gone pink. In his slightly drunken stupor, his hearing was muffled and he couldn’t quite make out what the DJ was saying over the loudspeaker. But, fortunately for Steve, his eyes still worked and that’s all he needed to enjoy his night.

His eyes followed the spotlight to the stage behind the bar that for the majority of the night housed not a single dancer. There were poles that were going completely unused and that was the glimmer of hope that had kept Steve in his seat all night. Surely someone was going to use them, and Steve would be damned if he wasn’t going to see it.

Behind the curtain, in between the gaps where it didn’t quite reach the floor, Steve saw a pair of wildly shimmery heels.

He recognized those heels.

They were the same pair of pleasers he’d seen that curly blonde bombshell wearing the night before.

Steve was practically holding his breath waiting for the curtain to finally open. Eyes locked on those silver heels ready to blind him like the stage light had when he first walked in…except, he’d happily be blinded by something that gorgeous. He could honestly say if it was the last sight he were to ever see, he would be grateful.

Steve was literally on the edge of his stool. He was more so leaning than he was sitting with his feet on the floor doing most of the work to hold him upright. He stared and he stared until the music finally started to blast through the speakers and the spotlight not longer shone on a blank curtain, and rather the gorgeous lace-clad body that had been haunting Steve’s dreams every night since the moment Steve first saw him.

Him. Steve would only manage to make that distinction when the man in question had bypassed the curtain in his eight inch pleasers and red lacy lingerie. The bulge in his little panties became a much more pleasant sight than all the dicks he’d been looking at earlier wrapped in too-tight swimwear.

And by god, Steve was right, he really was gorgeous.

He had cherry red lips to perfectly match the lace, long and dark eyelashes that made his eyes look so big Steve could see the blue so clearly even from the unfortunate distance they had between them.

The man took the stage and walked over to one of the poles. There were other dancers on the stage, but Steve was too focused on just one of them to notice anything more than that there were other bodies there. Steve let his eyes trail down the man’s chest, seeing a gold necklace dangling from his neck that read ‘Honey’ and that was when Steve’s ears finally began to work and he could start hearing the other patrons in the club saying the word.

“Hey Honey!” one of the men at the bar with him called out. Steve turned his attention over there for just a second to see the man waving a single around in the air.

Steve rolled his eyes, and it appeared the man on stage did also, taking his leg around the pole and looking anywhere other than in the direction of the cheapskate.

The gorgeous man was suddenly looking at him. Steve felt all the blood rush to his cheeks as the man—Honey—began spinning around the pole, never taking his eyes off of Steve for longer than a second of time. Steve was hardly the gentleman in any of it because while Honey was giving him intense eye contact, Steve’s eyes were trailing everywhere else. Trailing down to his legs that adorned sheer black stockings held up by the straps of his garter belt. Back up to his chest, the bralette top covering what needn’t be covered, and Steve could only be thankful. Somehow the lace coverage felt far more erotic than all the practically naked men that had been surrounding him all night long.

Steve remembered the money in his wallet, and remembered the guy who got shot down for taking out a one dollar bill, so of course, Steve knew what he had to do.

He quickly pulled his wallet from his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill, holding it in between two fingers and finally making eye contact with Honey.

Honey looks back, noticing the hundred in his hands and Steve doesn’t fail to notice the way the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly. Honey does a few more moves on the pole before climbing off the Stage and walking across the bar over to where Steve is sitting. Suddenly, Steve’s got an up close and personal view of those pleasers, and he can see every single little detail in the lace that’s just a foot from his eyes.

Honey squats down to get closer to Steve’s eye level, and he’s honestly impressed by just the balance alone. Honey plucks the bill from Steve’s fingers and tucks it into his bra, not letting his gaze leave Steve’s for even one second.

Honey then took a thumb and a decorated finger and pinched Steve’s ear lobe, tugging gently, and leaning down even more until his mouth was almost pressed up against his ear.

“If you’ve got any more of that in your pocket, wait for me in the back over there.”

Steve shuddered, and he wasn’t totally sure if it was from the heat against his skin or the suggestions Honey was making, but Steve just nodded, smiled, and left Honey to continue working that pole.

A half of an hour went by and Honey and the other dancers left the stage. Steve had tried not to be jealous whenever another person gave Honey a tip, but it was helped by the fact that Honey was constantly looking over at him, not for even a second of the routine forgetting he was there.

Steve felt a wave of…something…come over him when Honey was finally out of the room. It was like the high of everything had suddenly disappeared, and he was left with his own thoughts rattling around inside of his head. He needed another drink.

He ordered another gin and tonic and then walked himself over to one of the tables near the back of the club, right over where he’d seen that guy getting a lap dance earlier.

Steve sat there and counted the bills in his wallet, he had six hundreds and a couple of twenties left, and he was hoping that he’d end the night with an empty wallet, and when Honey had whispered in his ear, that reality seemed promising.

It took roughly another fifteen minutes before Honey finally emerged through the same door that all the other dancers had been walking in and out of—the door Steve had his eyes glued on since he’d sat down and started waiting.

Honey was still wearing the exact same getup, heels and all, the only difference was that his bra was no longer drowning in filthy cash. Honey found Steve quickly, and Steve couldn’t be so sure if it was because Honey had just remembered that face of his so well, or if he could just smell the scent of a hundred dollar bill from a mile away, and could see Steve waving it around like a treat.

Honey came over to him and took the hundred and stuffed it into the waistband of his panties. “You lookin’ for a lap dance pretty boy?”

Steve felt like he was a kid again, so shy he could barely speak, caught in the bright light of this man’s beauty. He just nodded his head.

“Imma need you to say it out loud baby.” he said, and god, his voice was like music.

“Yes.” Steve choked out, nodding his head even harder. “Please.”

Honey smiled down at him and placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders, walking forward with a leg on either side of Steve’s chair until Steve’s had a face full of Honey’s torso.

God, he was really a dancer. Steve found himself gripping the underside of his chair the whole time, the friction of his ass rubbing against the front of Steve’s slacks was making it hard to breathe and Steve knew he needed to touch something—himself, Honey, he just needed to grab hold of something.

So he grabbed his wallet and handed Honey another hundred. Steve didn’t say out loud what he was asking for, but that didn’t matter because apparently Honey could read minds.

Honey took the bill from Steve and responded by pulling Steve’s hands up and bringing them to rest on his hips. “What’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Steve,” he said, “um, what’s yours?”

Honey smiled at him and took a seat in his lap, no longer moving around, just looking at him.

“Around here they call me Honey,” he said, “but you can call me Billy.”

Billy. Steve smiled, mouthing the name to himself, feeling so nice on his tongue. “I like that name.”

“I like yours too,” Billy said. Billy said. “very moanable.”

Steve felt his cheeks go pink, and his heartbeat skyrocketed and he was so sure that Billy could feel it with how hard it was pounding.

Steve traced his hands up and down Billy’s back, loving the way the lace felt against his finger tips. The texture almost had a calming effect to it. Which he needed, because he was back to staring into Billy’s eyes, deep blue, and he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander away, down, down to those bright red Cherry lips that looked like candy…

“How much for you to let me kiss you?” Steve asked, the first bold thing he had done all night since walking into the place. Steve was pulling out his wallet, ready to count out the cash when Billy placed a hand on his, pushing it away, and Steve felt so stupid…Billy was a stripper…he wouldn’t kiss him for a lousy hundred dollar bill…what was he thinking—

Steve’s little self deprecating train of thought was rail roasted by the feeling of lips suddenly being pressed to his, and Steve felt his breathing stop completely as he sunk into the softness and relished in the sweet taste of whatever Billy had painted his lips with.

Steve felt like he was living for the first time in a very long time. Kissing Billy made the world finally make sense, which was ridiculous, because Steve never pictured himself falling for a pretty male stripper, especially so fast. But there he was, falling hard, and Billy was so pretty that he couldn’t exactly be all that bothered by it. He’d let the illusion play out for as long as fate would allow him.

The taste of Billy’s tongue was like a drug, and something about it gave him a newfound sense of confidence that he never once thought he could possess. Steve pulled back, and traced a finger through that gorgeous mane of blonde curls, looking deeply into those ocean eyes.

“Think there’s a chance we could take this somewhere more private?” Steve asked, pointing his eyes back to the wallet on the table.

Billy smiled and laughed. “You know I’m not a hooker, right?”

Well, that drained every bit of confidence Steve had sequestered from the kiss. There he was, red faced, blushing like a tomato, heart beating out of his chest, sort of wanting to die.

“Shit, sorry, I just—” Steve’s rambling was cut off, just like his thoughts before, by another kiss. Steve was weak, so he sunk into it, seeking comfort in the softness of his lips.

Billy pulled back too soon, which left Steve leaning forward, chasing more of Billy’s kisses. Steve opened his mouth to speak again, but Billy placed a finger to his lips.

“I’m not a hooker Steve,” he said, and once again, Steve wanted to die. But then Billy smiled something devious. “So that just means this is something I gotta do for free.”

Steve’s heart was no longer racing. No. It had fucking stopped.

“Yeah?” he asked, and he felt like a little kid asking it.

Billy stood up and held out his hand to Steve. “Think that thick wallet of yours can buy us a fancy hotel room?”

Steve just nodded his head aggressively and let Billy pull him to his feet.

“Good, cause I got some other outfits I’d like to show you.”

God. Fuck.

Yeah, Steve was glad he skipped out on the “office meeting.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #mandi writes tresh

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mothonfire · 3 years ago

Text

Pink Petals in Blood Vessels

read on ao3 || this masterlist

Adrian Chase // gn!reader

Warnings ; mentions of injuries, descriptions of smut (explicit blowjobs and handjobs).

Sipnosis ; According to Adrian, kissing is cheating the body to allow your mind to dive into a sea of clear pinkish honey full of foam and flowers.

4.6k

The first time they saw you, you were picking him up from work. It was late at night, last shift of the week, you invited him over and he gladly accepted.

You two had been seeing each other for a few months now, hanging out at his place or yours, watching movies, going for coffee or dinner, walking or partying together, occasionally. He was sweet and spoke a lot, really strong and somehow cute at the same time. He was quite lovely.

It had taken him a bit to adjust to you but once he told you his name he settled into your life and had no plan to get out.

You had saved his life, or at least you liked thinking you did. Found him in a mask, sitting on an alleyway close to your apartment as he bled out his upper back. You took him because you knew none else would, you knew him, from the news. You knew a hospital would be worse. You took it as a sign.

He became brutally obsessed with you. He stalked you, found out where you worked, where you were studying, your routines and usual places. He appeared at your window sometimes, with some minor injuries, and told you he was doing you a favour by letting you take care of his wounds, saying it was the best way to practice for med school. He always came in excited to show you a new wound "You've never done this one before!" he said every time he got a new type of injury.

"You need to stop getting hurt on purpose" you put ice on his leg after repeating to him that no, it wasn't broken and no, you were not going to practice on his leg for your cast-making exam because it would just be worse. "It's getting ridiculous"

He scoffed "I don't do it on purpose,"

"You mean to tell me you are just that bad at crime fighting?" You got up, leaving him and his bruised thigh sitting on your couch.

"What? No! No, I'm really good!" He sounded almost childish, like really trying to convince you and you smiled, taking two beers from your fridge, opening them on your counter as he spoke "I'm the best hero in town! Well—now that my best friend is out of prison, I'm the second but I've been the best for like four years! That's like, really impressive"

You handed him his beer, always gave him one even though you knew he never drank it, an excuse to hold him around, "Sure," you leaned on the bookshelf next to your tv, right in front of him "I just," you played with your beer in your hands "really like you, you know? I don't want you going around getting your shit beaten"

He stared at you "You like me?" You sipped your drink and smiled.

"Of course I do," you slowly made your way to him, leaving the can on the small wooden table and kneeling in between it and the couch, looking up to him from the floor "I care about you"

"Oh," he was so hard to read when he felt silent, no facial expressions to give him away "what are you doing?" you had a hand on each of his knees, taking the space between his legs but not really, far enough to not be directly in between them.

"I want to check on your leg, if it really hurts that much" you pressed a hand under his right thigh and got the ice off, putting it on the table. He tensed all over and inhaled sharply, your head darted up "If you don't mind," you looked up at him, not depriving him from your touch. He nodded.

"No, no it's okay," you smiled down at him, pulling his leg up and touching, digging down to his knee.

"Does that hurt?" he shook his head and you went on, leaning in and going up, pressing your palm down and softly rubbing your fingers, he hissed when you touched his inner thigh and you pulled away "there?" he nodded "well, that means you didn't sprain it, probably just a nasty bruise but that's it"

"What if I have internal bleeding?" His words stopped you from standing back up. You raised your brows at him and grinned.

"I can assure you, you do not have internal bleeding" still you didn't stand up, just looked up at him.

He took a beat "I could,"

You eyed him and pressed your lips together. "Do you feel weak? or numb? Like, could you fight right now?" you spoke slowly, one hand on each of his knees again.

"Never! I never ever feel weak, I'm ready, always!" he didn't move either.

You smiled "Then you definitely don't have internal bleeding," he looked down and sighed, comically, with a hint melancholy "what is it?"

"No, what? Nothing" you tried to read him, looking at his entire body, not only his covered face.

"If you want to stay just say that," he shook his head "then what?" he wasn't looking at you when he reached for your hands. He brushed his fingertips against the back of them, lightly grabbing them as you watched amused. He pulled them to him, hesitantly, and let them rest at the end of his waist, then held them there. "Oh…" you pressed your thumbs against the soft part of the suit above his belt, looking at your hands, then at him. You took his waist in your hands, pinning him down, then you stood a bit, still on your knees. You went further down, feeling him breathe heavily. You looked up at him when your hands landed at the bottom of his hips, palm against his thighs, thumb rubbing in between his legs. "Is that what you want?" you couldn't help the smile.

He nodded and murmured something that sounded like “touch”, he was not touching you, just staring into your eyes, still and warm. You slowly raised, unfastening the armour around his shoulders, tossing it to the side. You grabbed the mask on his neck and he pulled away with his entire body "Sorry," you mumbled "I'm not gonna take it off, I just wanna kiss your neck" then a small though started growing at the back of your mind and your stomach dropped a bit “unless you only want me to… You know,” you gestured down, vaguely “just that”

He shook his head “No, no—please,” he sounded impossibly soft, hands making their way to your waist, sinking down and pulling you with him. You smiled, gripping the mask and pulling it up with one hand, standing to sit back down on his lap, one leg on his right and the other between his legs, kissing his skin for the first time. The mask stayed on, as your other hand creeped through his suit, trying to find a zipper or buttons. "It's a two piece," Vigilante sounded like he was melting down, as if he was about to become one with your couch. He breathed deeply and slowly, moved carefully and he sounded yours. He made noises that came desperate out his throat, you were pressed against him, feeling him hard under you. You wanted to make it all wet, cover him in your kisses, show him some care.

"What 'd you say?" you barely raised your when you were done with the hickey on his clavicle.

"The suit," you kissed him again cause it was driving you insane, his little whines and the way his words came out half broken by them "it opens in the middle, there's—mg, there's a belt?"

The thought came back "Oh," that maybe he was just using you to get off "okay" that you had to be just that, quick.

"No that I don't love this, I do, it's just," he breathed in "just so you know,"

You put your hands down on his little utility belt, unfastening it "No, yeah, I know," you weren't looking at him. "I've taken the top part off a thousand times," to patch him up.

"Yeah, right" he said, some of that sweet tone missed.

You sank to the floor once again, knees against the coldness of it. You touched his stomach, pressing a hand and slowly going down, fingertips against the harsh fabric. Your hands met in the middle, one pressed against the inside of his thigh and the other one unzipping his pants. His breathing fastened when you started pulling down his pants.

Once they were off, forgotten next to your knees, you kissed up, what was visible of his stomach. You felt it rise and sink again under your mouth, he put a hand on your head, not quite touching you but keeping you there, and you spread his legs more with one hand and gripped at him with the other. He groaned with his throat and rested his head on the back of the couch, "Oh, fuck, fuck shit—" you kept your mouth on his stomach, small kisses as you stroked him, slowly and deeply. "okay do that, that's really—yeah, fuck," you looked up at him, going a bit faster, with your other hand still opening him as much as he allowed his legs to be.

He looked at you and you wished you could see his face, just to know if he was liking it. It was all you wanted, didn't quite matter if he was just using you to get off, him feeling good, whining and trembling under your touch, was all you wanted.

"God, you are beautiful" his words came out fast and in between shaky breaths but they made your eyes widen. He gripped at your hair and you took it as a sign, burying your head slowly in between his legs. "Mnh… Oh, fu—ck…" he relaxed and you closed your eyes, filling your mouth with his soft taste. His hand guided you, pulling your head down as his hips gave unsteady rolls and his grip tightened.

You pressed with your tongue and he said something that got drowned by a small whine, his other hand over yours on his leg. You rubbed his thigh when you felt him tense again as he hit your throat, hand pulling slightly at your hair and his sounds became shorter, way more constant. It was so obvious how he tried to hide them. You gave some quick thrusts and then slow ones, glancing up at him as you pulled almost all the way out, licking his head, trying to recover your breath before pulling him back in, making him tremble, going faster and deeper, grabbing under his thigh and holding it up, bent a little bit.

He was close to screaming now, murmuring how long he had wanted this in between lovely high sounds as he tried to catch his breath and small incoherent words. "Fuck! Fuck! s—motherfucker, god you feel so fucking…" he took your head with both his hands, his hips forcing him inside your throat, he squirmed and whined failing at behaving himself, "look at me, look at me please…" a sound made its way from the very bottom of his stomach and hit the roof of his throat as it flew out, moving his entire body with it as you pulled away.

"You okay?" you felt warm all over, sweaty on your face and somewhat out of breath. He nodded and let out cut-off moans, sounding like an absolute mess and you wished you could see his face once again.

He pulled you up by your face, one hand still gripping him, stroking slowly; you followed his lead "I like your face so much…" he swallowed "I want more… giveme more," you moved one knee to each side of his torso, sitting in between his legs, staring at him, face still trapped in his hands.

You pressed your thumb against his tip and smoothed down, palm wrapping the body of his dick as you worked on the head, your other hand on his thigh. "You like it like this?" he nodded, head falling down, staring at your hand, consecutive small wet moans matched your movements "you like me close like this, don't you?" he hummed in approval and his hands fell to your hips, under your shirt, fingertips burning into your skin "baby…" he whimpered at the name "you are so needy for a superhero"

He fumbled under your shirt, "off… take it off," you tightened your grip on him, going faster, "please, please… pl—ease" you allowed him to slip it off and he took his gloves off to touch you, pulling you closer, trapping his dick in between your stomach and his. You took him again, rubbing his tip with the skin on top of your belly button "ah… mnh, yes, please…"

You rolled your hips faster, getting all your torso wet with his precum, hand moving fast in between the two of you. His hands were strong on your back, they gripped and moved, squeezing your ribcage, then down as he let out desperate little sounds, grabbing at your pants, pulling your hips as he tried follow your ease, coming off sweetly painful to feel him bruise your skin as you saw him try to resist humping your stomach. You started to allow some sounds come off you, the feeling of his agonizing palms pressing your body being just enough.

"Faster, faster, harder," he kept murmuring "please, you are so fucking…" he couldn't finish, the feeling of your skin been too much and he muffed a scream. You were amazed you could do so much with just your hands and half his body dressed, you wondered what sounds would he make if you had him spread under you on your bed. A sweet feeling hit your stomach just thinking about it and you gave it even faster. "'m close… I'm so close, I'm gonna," you smiled, deepening your thrusts.

"Go on, beautiful, make a mess," he did. He whined and pressed you against him and used all his strength to arch his back and pull up his hips, getting your chest all wet, thrusting against you as the come slid down your stomach and hand. He was shaking all over, desperately pulling you down and brushing himself against your stomach, high sounds hit his throat and he couldn't breathe. When his still masked face fell to the crook of your neck his hands had relaxed but his hips were still giving unsteady small thrusts and his chest was heaving. You let him rest, slipping your hand to the side. "Breathe baby,"

"I like you," his voice was muffled against your skin, really weak and almost broken in the best way "I like you a lot, like, a lot lot, fucking…" he pressed what would have been a kiss against your shoulder if the mask had been off.

"I like you too,"

Next time, he fucked you.

It was messy, not really planned. He had knocked on your window and it was a warm night; he was excited, something about a mission going really well, he had so much energy, talking fast and moving around as he told you all about it.

"Uhg, I'm so happy I could kiss you right now!" he took you by the shoulders and you stared up into his visor.

You blinked. "Well then?" you licked your lips fast and wished you could see his face once again.

He stood silent for a while "Oh, but I can't," he swallowed "I want to! but I can't," then his hands moved to your hips and he lifted you up, sitting you on your kitchen counter. "I can do other things," you had never heard his voice like that, it was low, filled with desire.

He was good with his hands, really good. Then he was good with his dick too, holding your thighs up around his torso, talking to you, about how good you were, how he liked it. He wasn't too harsh, it was almost sweet, as sweet as a counter-shag with no kisses could be. You finished before him and he left after making sure you were alright.

"I want you to kiss me"

He had come over almost every night for a week. Sometimes with a small wound, other times with a few beers and a movie. You had fucked him on your bed and on your couch, you had hang out with him, showed him your lego collection and invited him to stay over for the night, though he never wanted to. You got home from work, took a nap, studied, ate something and waited for him, every day for a week. You wanted to wait and have dinner with him, make him something nice. You also wanted him to shower with you after or stay in bed for a while, maybe for him to hold you in his arms or fall asleep beside you. He never did, he came in, waited, got naked for a few hours and then left.

“What?” he asked incredulously with his hands under your shirt, skin to skin, only with his pants on, and his mask of course. Matrix was playing quietly on the screen in front of you but apart from it silence filled the room entirely. You were spread on your couch, one leg on his lap as he traced your body with his hands, he had started at your thighs and was going up, glancing at the movie every now and then when a sequence was really good.

“I want you to kiss me,” you repeated. You were not touching him, resting on your elbows with your head down and your stomach exposed. “I can't keep going like this”

He must have seen something on your face because he moved back just enough “What?” he sounded concerned, really concerned “am I doing something wrong?” You couldn't tell him that he was, you would have, but the way he got his hands off your shirt immediately felt so genuine and after his voice trembled you knew whatever you told him would hurt him “Cause if I am you have to tell me, doing things without consent it's a crime and it's disgusting and I don't want to—do that, to you” he waited for you to say something.

“It's not that,” you did not move, only bit your lip. He waited.

“Tell me” He moved away entirely. “Communication between two people that have sex it´s really important, I´ve read it” He sat back. “You said you wanted me to kiss you?”

“Yeah,” you started sitting too, your legs still resting on his lap.

“Why?” he tilted his head.

You swallowed. “It feels… impersonal,” he just kept looking at you "like, the first few times it was okay but now," it was stupid, you sounded stupid "it feels like you only come here to fuck me," you glanced at him "I know, it's idiotic, I thought I could be mature about it but I guess not,"

"No!" he said, "Absolutely not!" he almost sounded concerned again "That's a feeling you shared and that's really impressive, and helpful because, sex is about communication and like, learning stuff to make it fun because sex has to be fun," sex, its only sex, you thought with a small bitter feeling on your stomach; that's all that’s happening “And to be honest, I think it´s fair to say that you are fucking me and not the other way around,” you looked at him “I like getting fucked, I like the get fucked situation, I don’t want to stop”

“Yeah, no this is nice, I just,” you wanted to kiss him and stroke his hair and bake him breakfast. You didn't know what had gotten onto you, it was an odd feeling and you hated that you couldn't just do what he wanted.

“You want me,” he started “to kiss you”

“Pretty much,”

“But I can't do that, you know that,” he spoke almost childlike “for your own safety,”

He put a hand on your leg and you bit your lip, “What if I couldn't see you?” He tilted his head.

“Oh?” He looked at you for what felt like forever, thinking, then got closer again, slowly, and he took your hands. You let him guide them to the back of his head as you stared into his visor, focusing on what was visible of his eyes under the red. “Okay, take it off when I tell you, only when I tell you” You nodded and he let go of your hands taking his to your face. You took a grip of his mask and he pressed his palms against the side of your eyes, curling his fingers over your eyes, covering them. You couldn't help the smile. “Okay, now”

You pulled up and the mask came off. You felt him sigh as you left the mask in the space between you. Your fingertips traced his skin, he had a strong jawline and small lips. Soft hair was curled around his head and it smelled different than the rest of him. This touch was smooth, he felt like cotton candy.

He laughed a bit “You are tickling me,” his voice was kept low in volume, he sounded somehow different.

“You are beautiful,” you breathed out.

“What?” you felt his brows frown under your hands “are you cheating?”

“No, I can just feel it,” though you already knew he was beautiful even before putting your hands on him.

He hummed and you stroked his cheeks with your thumbs.

You dove into him, your nose pressed against his cheek and the all so sweet, sweet, touch of pink petals around your mouth. It was closed but somehow deep, he was warm in a way that made your ribcage feel too small. He breathed out, a few inches away from you now and you thought he was looking at you. “Wow…” It came out of him on a breath and he stared a bit longer before moving his hands. You pressed your eyes closed when his fingers left them to take a grip of your head, pulling you in, crashing into your lips again. He was almost furious this time but, still as deep and sweet as the first one. When his tongue met your lips you let it in, leaning more, getting closer. You opened your mouth to breathe and he let out a noise, wet with all of you all over him. He kissed you neck next and your eyes remained closed “I like this a lot,” he said against your throat.

“Told you so,” you smiled a bit and he raised up to kiss you, murmuring about liking the way your lips tasted and how good it was and more stuff you couldn't really make out due the incoherence of his words against your lips. It was long after that when he pulled away, his hands exploring the small of your back as you sat closer on the couch and buried your head on the crook of his neck. “ ´m not looking,” you said sleepily.

“I want to do this every day,” he spoke in a way that made him sound lost, like if he was feeling something he had never felt before “I want to do this tonight and tomorrow morning and every time we watch a movie and I want you to do this every time I come over, I want to hang out every day now, I want you to do that every time you see me I want—” he went under your shirt once again, hugging you with his hands skin to skin “fuck, I want, I wish I could live under your skin, I wanna live under your skin inside your chest and be all warm and I, I also want you to keep me like that all the time,”

You breathed a laugh. “I´m not that good of a kisser,” he pulled away fast and grabbed your shoulders and you almost saw his face before closing your eyes and darting your head to the side “Dude, give me a warning, I almost saw you,”

“Can we do this every day?” He had so much energy.

You reached for his face, tasting his jaw with your palm. “Yeah, I mean I wish but, I can't see you.”

“So that's a problem?” you thought about it.

“I guess, long term? Yeah, like, now it's okay but, I dunno, at some point, I don´t know,” you didn't want to think about it. It had been so nice kissing him, it had felt so fucking good, now you only wanted to listen to the end of the movie and fall asleep with him on your couch, think about the future later, live with him now.

“If I let you see me, can we do that every day?” he tightened his grip on your arms.

“What? Kissing?”

“Yeah,” he sounded determined.

You did want to, you had always wanted to, have him every day, have him wake up in your apartment, have him beside you every day. “I guess so, if you want to”

“Open your eyes,” you felt his face closer to you now. You questioned him, slowly, as if you didn't understand “you can see me, open your eyes, come on,”

You did. He smiled when you did. It was a wide, beautiful, boyish smile. You stared at him, his green eyes, the lines on his cheeks. He had two brown freckles on his left cheekbone, one much bigger than the other. He was stunning, beautiful in a way that felt untrue. He apologized and murmured something when he looked away, to his utility belt. He took a pair of glasses from it and shoved them into his face.

“There I am, me,” his mouth moved as he spoke, his lips were kind of bruised in a pinkish shade, “my name is Adrian Chase, now you know me, and now that you know the secret identity of the second-best hero in Evergreen you are gonna be in so much danger so, as this is my fault, I will stay here some nights, if you don't mind, and I will protect you. You will do that thing that you do, the kissing I mean, as a sign of gratitude”

He was so fucking sweet. “Sure,” you said with your hands back at his face, kissing the side of his mouth a few times “that sounds lovely to me”

So, the first time they saw you, he had been staying over for something close to two months. You had seen his apartment and you had kissed him there. You had taken him out for dinner and to movie reruns and he had driven you to the outskirts and you had kissed him as he sat on top of his car, under the stars. You had kissed his forehead when he got hurt on patrol, you kissed his cheek the morning he made you breakfast, you kissed his neck and his jaw and his thighs and his shoulders. You kissed him every day because there was nothing that could compare to the look on his face when you did.

First time they saw you, you kissed the corner of his mouth and you took his red hat off. You had come to pick him up from work, to surprise him. He had kissed you inside the restaurant, it had been small, in a corner, before he walked to the backrooms to change out his work uniform.

#adrian chase x reader #adrian chase x gn!reader #adrian chase x gender neutral reader #adrian chase #vigilante dc #peacemaker #peacemaker fanfiction #gender neutral reader #this was.... def smth..... not the best thing ive written ngl

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deada55 · 2 years ago

Text

Mothering

crossposting: ao3

synopsis: Molly and Calvert discuss disciplining their son, Pickles.

for kloktober day 8

“Dooya think we were too hard on him?”

He’d been crushed, and he cried hard enough to make her doubt he ever had asthma. Still, he managed to look suffocated, so red that he looked like an alien, twice as bad compared to the first round. They’d caught him again once he’d come back, but Molly felt she was justified. He couldn’t get away with running off, even if they’d let him have it about burning down the garage.

Her youngest had always been a little baby bottomless pit. The second baby should be easier than the first, or at least the second birth, but the opposite had been true. The bleeding led to a hysterectomy, and along with her uterus went away a light that she couldn’t identify. She couldn’t care less about him, about either of them. The day she realized he had red hair was the day he became bearable again for her. He was hers. He was different. He was special. Hell, he even looked like her.

How special was it that his first word was so hysterical that it became his name? No one knew exactly why it made them laugh until they cried. Initially, it was “Daddy’s” joke, then you used it, and then Seth wouldn’t let it go. You all named him Pickles. Isn’t that sweet?

But he didn’t make her all that happy. Just something about him brought her back into the darkness of her room and her polyester housecoats, staring out the window while he cried, bathing the house like white noise. Dishes swam in the murky kitchen sink for days. By the time she could get out of bed before noon, he was two months old.

Calvert held things together well enough. All the diaper duties he shirked with Seth came back with a vengeance. Who else would feed the baby and potty train the toddler and find something to eat? He drank after the dinner was on the table, when all there was left was to clean up and tuck everyone in. He took a sip of the water on his bedside table and sighed.

“Do you?”

Pickles pulled every trick a six-year old could have to get out of this mess, insisting that it was Seth through every sob. He tried to prove it, he tried to beg, he even tried to leverage his toys as a bargaining chip for them to believe them. He swore to “Gosh” and he promised to be better and he’d stay up late and clean the dishes so she wouldn’t have to.

It took thirty minutes before he’d slowed down enough for them to feel like they’d done enough. Pickles got into a pattern. He’d listen to his father with his eyes wide with fear and his bottom lip incompetent, showing his doll teeth perched on top of his tongue. Eventually, a couple tears would fall and he’d pinch his lips and whine until he wiped his face and started the whole process again. His reactions kept the whole thing going. More and more kept coming up about his behavior and Molly found herself lecturing about Thanksgiving. It was July.

By the bony grip of her husband’s hand on the seam of his pocket, she could tell he wanted to pull out the belt. They’d agreed never to belt the kids, not like what they got. They’d be modern. They could be parents without it. Seth tempted them from time to time but she’d never seen Calvert get that upset, that disgusted… If he felt that strongly, she was more than justified.

“Now you stay there until we come back and tell you to move!”

She stuck by Calvert and left shortly behind him, long enough to see the anxious hope in Pickles eyes. They walked slow, and she heard him whimper into his hands, too.

Now, in bed, she didn’t feel so proud of the parade they’d put on. Of course, he ran away. Anyone would run away, but understanding wasn’t the same as guilt.

“No, I don’t. I don’t regret a damn thing.”

Calvert lit a cigarette. “I think it’ll be good for him.”

He’d sent Molly and Seth to get a hamburger so he could pick at the remains of the garage, start calling insurance, and empty his scotch cabinet for shits and giggles. Pickles was missing when Molly came home but came back twenty minutes later with wet hair and alumnimum marks on his teeth and an uncharacteristic, beaten scowl.

Round two went just the same. Whatever hadn’t been said came flying out. How could he walk off like that, like a coward, after ruining the garage? Again, they laid out the cost, faster now that they’d had a run-through, but Pickle was only six and couldn’t keep up the tears all day. Instead of exhausted, he got sour and silent.

She could handle the tears, but his new face was making her fingers stiffen. Just when she was ready to slap him, Calvert let him be dismissed to walk robotically into his bedroom for the night.

“I hope so, I was starting to worry.” Her own mother called Pickles spoiled for the first time when he wouldn’t eat green beans, but between the inhalers and the doctors visits and the constant ringing of his toy piano she’d started to believe her.

Pickles didn’t go out as much. He didn’t scramble to go ride bikes, but he clamored for the movies. He spent too much time at home, wanting to be tucked into bed and asking to watch Julia Child with her. It wasn’t healthy. Seth could care less for his parents’ company. He had a couple years’ advantage, but already he looked like a better bet than his little brother.

Molly went to sleep thinking about making scrambled eggs and cream of wheat the next morning.

When he was thirteen, Pickles thought back to the days when his father would drive him around and nothing felt awkward about being seen by his father. Every time they hugged, almost every time they spoke, something brought him back to his father’s face grabbing his chin and the smell of burnt insulation. Bulging, red eyes flashed in front of his face and speaking to either of his parents stopped feeling good altogether while they rebuilt that garage and planted new cypress trees by the fenceline. His chest ached for weeks and he went through both of his inhalers. He almost missed the start of first grade to a swollen pain in his eyes, and his Christmas was spent wearing eyepatches. It made him sick, it absolutely made him sick.

When his grades slipped, it got worse, but when he pulled them up, they started to yell about his room. When he cleaned his room, they yelled about the scrapes on his elbows. When he healed, they screamed about his backtalk. When he stopped talking back, he realized they didn’t want him to speak at all.

The shit you see as a kid must get rehearsed over the years, and that’s how it stays closer to the spirit than anything you could do in the meantime. Maybe what he wanted didn’t exist anymore: His mom’s changed. She’s got wrinkles and thick knuckles on her right hand and he’d spend his whole life trying to run back to her softer clone hidden in a warm opioid haze. Her lips on his cheek haunted him while his hair fell out and his face got sallow the morning after, no matter how much money he made.

Someday, he had to stop running, but today couldn’t be that day.

#pickles the drummer #metalocalypse #kloktober #kloktober 2022 #metalocalypse fanfic #my writing #mtl

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ghostly-cabbage · 3 years ago

Text

Party In The Graveyard (Shiptember 2021 : Drunk)

It’s a day late but heres the Danny x Wes fic I wrote for @ghostgothgeek ‘s Ship Event!! Rating: Teen and Up Warnings: Language, Underage Drinking, Mild Suggestive Themes Additional Tags: Post-Reveal, Aged Up Characters, Mutual Pining, Flirting, Getting Together

Summary: So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay? This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea. Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class. And it's just getting better and better. Why? Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

Or a fic in which Wes sees Danny getting shitfaced and says, "Is anyone else gonna take care of him, or?" and then doesn't wait for an answer.

Words: 6,233

Ao3

“I take back all my poor words. Talk is cheap, but my mind is rich When I close my eyes You grab my wrist, And pull me in to your cold dead lips”

So, here’s the thing; Wes never wanted to have a fucking house party, okay?

This was all stupid Kyle’s stupid idea.

Kyle isn’t even in highschool anymore. He graduated last year. But he invited his whole college freshmen class, and just about everyone from the senior Casper class.

And it's just getting better and better.

Why?

Because about half an hour ago, Danny Fucking Fenton walked in.

He walked in like he owned the goddamn place and the reaction went through everyone like a Whoop—like some kind of synchronized celebration of a miracle.

What, just ‘cause everyone knows he’s Phantom now?

Give him a fuckin’ break.

Currently, Wes is standing adjacent to the fridge, nursing a god-awful drink Kyle shoved into his hands before disappearing back into the throng.

Lighten up, bro, he’d said.

Yeah.

Sure.

The music pounds through the house—a heart beat—a fucking jack-hammer.

People talk and yell and spill their drinks on just about every surface that can stain.

A cheer goes up from the dining room and he rolls his eyes.

He slams his drink and focuses on the outdated calendar on the side of the fridge to keep from shuddering. It makes his mouth water, burns the whole way down and Jesus, seriously, what the fuck did Kyle put in this?

He throws his cup at the overflowing trash can.

His cheeks feel warm, but not even a buzz touches the wound up feeling in his chest.

He passes through the dining room, stops to watch Danny and Dash shotgunning sixteen ounce Mike’s Harder cans. From the looks of the table, they've already gone a few rounds.

Danny finishes five whole seconds before Dash. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crushes his can.

“Slowing down already, Baxter?” he says, a smug grin plastered across his face. His shoulders are slumped and he talks just a bit too loud.

Dash finishes his and tosses it over his shoulder, which—cool. Fucking nice, what, does he think they have a fucking maid?

“In your dreams, Fenton. We're just getting warmed up. No way I'm getting out-drank by a twig like you, half-ghost or not.”

“Guess we’ll see.” Danny shrugs. He talks like he’s one of those people, has always been one of those people.

Wes rolls his eyes and is just about to slip out of the room when—

“Ohhh shit! If it isn’t the one and only Wesley Weston!”

Fucking hell.

He turns and levels as unimpressed of a look as he can manage at Danny.

“Imagine that. It’s almost like I fucking live here.”

Danny swipes up a plastic cup and then proceeds to walk through the table towards him. People act like they’re finding out all over again.

“Oh come on, Wes. You’re not still mad are you?” He comes up to him and slouches against the archway’s frame.

Wes scrapes his tongue along his teeth. “Mad? What could I possibly be mad about?”

Danny looks at him like a puzzle.

When he talks his voice is quiet, hard to hear over the music. “I dunno, the fact that you knew all along but no one ever listened? They thought you were crazy and you weren’t but no one's even said sorry?” His lips quirk up at the corner and Wes can smell the artificial black cherry dancing on the top of the alcohol in his breath.

He wrinkles his nose and it has nothing to do with the smell.

“I was being facetious, prick.”

Danny smiles bigger, and his eyes glitter, something doe-eyed.

“Right. So you are still mad?”

He pushes air through his teeth.

“Not like it matters,” he says, looking away from Danny, drifting over the room. “Where’s your chaperones? Weird to see you anywhere alone.”

Danny just stares at him for a few seconds before understanding sparks.

“Ah. Sam’s got a family thing. Tuck took a closing shift.” He waves a hand and his head lolls against the wall with a thunk. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a swig.

Everything about him looks heavy. It’s weird for Danny.

“Have you tried the jungle juice your brother made?” he says. “It sucks. You’ve gotta try it.”

Wes lifts a brow and crosses his arms over his chest.

“How many’ve you had?”

Danny looks down into his cup, swirls its contents. It’s silent for several seconds too long.

“I’m not really sure, honestly. Didn’t know I was supposed to keep count.”

Wes slides a hand down his face.

Jesus Christ.

“Listen, maybe you should slow down—”

“Yo! Fenton! Stop flirting with Wes and fucking get over here, we’re not done.” Dash calls across the room and—

Flirting?!

They weren’t fucking flirting.

What the fuck.

Wes’s face heats up far beyond the liquor in his veins.

Danny looks up and flashes Dash a thumbs up. And then Danny is even closer—grabbing his arm. The chill of his hand goes right through to his stomach.

“Hey,” he breathes, “come watch me outdrink Dash.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” He ignores the way his breath flutters in his lungs, the way he feels light all the way to his toes.

Danny smiles like what he’s about to say is a secret—like it’s just for him, and all of a sudden Wes wants to be as far from Danny as humanly possible.

“Isn’t watching Dash lose at something for once reason enough?”

Wes forces himself to keep breathing and he swallows.

“Fine,” is all he can force out and then Danny is dragging him towards the table. He ignores all the people looking at them.

The fragmented group of A-listers cheer again and Dash slams a bottle of Fireball onto the table, making people's drinks jump and slosh.

“Let’s kick it up a notch, shall we?” he says, grin just shy of evil.

“Where’d you get that?” Wes asks.

Dash cocks a brow. “Paulina found it? Duh.”

God, Kyle really wasn’t joking about getting people fucked up.

Wes is not going to clean up anyone’s puke this time. This shit is all on Kyle.

“Dude, is it even cold?” Danny asks.

“No, it wasn’t in the freezer long enough,” Paulina says. She’s drinking from a champagne flute for some fucking reason. He didn’t even know they had those.

“Gimme that,” Danny says, swiping it from Dash. “No way in hell I’m drinking warm whiskey.”

His eyes glow blue, and when he breathes out its a thin vapor. Frost creeps over the glass and Wes can’t help but shiver.

“Dude, fucking wicked. I’m still not over this,” Dash breathes, clapping his hands together.

How could Wes forget that Dash is Phantom’s number one fanboy after all?

But Danny isn’t looking at Dash—he’s looking at him.

Only it’s different this time. Because before it was always a taunt, blatantly rubbing it in Wes’ face when he used his powers and no one else noticed.

But the way Danny is looking at him now… like he’s waiting for something, thinking about something.

Danny hands back the Fireball and his eyes slip away from Wes and he feels like a fish wrenched from water.

What the hell was that?

“Fuck yeah, Fenton.” Dash unscrews the whiskey, flicks the cap off the mouth with a finger, sending it flying. He pours directly into their cups, the liquid glugging through the frosted neck of the bottle.

“Two shots of vodka,” someone says and everyone laughs.

“No chasers?” Danny asks, eyeing his cup.

Dash puts down the Fireball. “What’s the matter, you scared of the burn?”

“Not a chance,” he says, and holds out his cup to Dash. They cheers each other and then they’re throwing it back.

It sinks in his stomach like a rock. There’s no way this ends well.

It’s on the sixth round of Fireball that Dash starts to look green. He sets down his cup and leans on the table. He stares at the clear storage container of jungle juice and Kwan comes up beside him, pats his arm.

“Dude, maybe you should call it.”

“I’m fine, ‘s fine…” His words slur together. He tries to stand up straight and Kwan and Paulina both have to keep him up right.

Danny laughs. “Not lookin’ great, Baxter,” he says, his own words falling sluggishly from his mouth. Danny goes to lift his cup to his lips again and Wes puts his hand over it.

“Nope. You two are done.”

“Come on, Wes. Don’t be a buzzkill. I’m good!” Danny says. “Dash is the one that lost!” He flings his hand towards Dash and knocks the Fireball over, spilling it all over the table.

The group all crows at once, a choir of “oh shit” “nice one” and “duuuude noooo”’s. A few people rush to grab their phones from harm's way.

Danny blinks at the table. “Oops,” he says.

A smile splits his face and he starts chuckling. It builds from him, a laugh, something outside of him—beyond him.

He laughs until he’s doubled over, holding onto Wes to keep himself stable.

“Yeah, that’s it. You’ve had more than enough.” He grabs Danny’s cup from him before he can spill that too and drinks it himself. The cinnamon burns through his sinuses and he shudders. Ugh.

Danny straightens and sways just a bit, stumbling into him—their faces inches apart.

“Hey, that was mine,” he says, voice twisted in a pout. “Not cool.” His breath is cold, thick with the smell of whiskey.

Wes feels frozen, feels like he can’t breathe.

His heart pounds in his chest and he prays Danny isn’t so close he can feel it.

Around them the choir starts again, a chorus of suggestive “ooo”’s. He can feel their eyes on him and it makes his skin crawl.

Fucking dammit, this is all Fenton’s fault.

He pushes Danny away from him. Not fast or rough, just to arms length. He coughs.

“Star, you should go to the kitchen and get them both some water,” he says.

She gives him an annoyed look.

“I don’t see you doing anything else,” he snaps.

“I’m drunk too, you know,” she says, but gets up and leaves towards the kitchen.

Paulina and Kwan coax Dash into a chair, and he puts his head down on the table, groaning. A few others are sopping up the Fireball with paper towels.

Danny sags in his grip, goofy smile still plastered all over his face.

“I’ve never been drunk before, this is awesome,” he says.

Wes rolls his eyes, and maneuvers Danny into a chair. His head lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second before perking back up and trying to go for someone else's cup.

“Dude, I’m serious.” Wes moves the cup out of his reach. “Quit while you’re ahead.”

Danny groans, sinking down in his chair like he’s boneless.

“Come on, Wes,” he says. “You think I don’t know my own limits?”

“You just said this is your first time being drunk.”

Danny blows a raspberry.

Star walks back into the room and hands Wes a glass of water and then slides one across the table at Dash.

“Here. Wanna drink? Drink this.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says.

He’s a few swigs into it when he stops.

“God, it’s hot in here. Is anyone else hot?” And before anyone can answer his eyes glow that bright blue and a chill works through the air, plummets the temperature.

“Danny—” Goosebumps rise over Wes’ skin and his breath fogs from his mouth.

At varying levels of exasperation, the people around cry out.

“Dude, cut that out,” he says, smacking Danny’s arm.

“Ow, why are you hitting me?”

“Because you’re being a pain in the ass.”

Danny looks at him, blinks heavy eyelids. He smiles.

“What.”

“Nothing, you just… You’re cute when you’re all annoyed sometimes.”

The ground feels like it opens up underneath him.

His thoughts screech to a stop. It smells like burnt rubber, like cinnamon and black cherry.

It’s just the alcohol. No fucking way Danny of all people would say that to him.

“You really are drunk,” he says, but his voice sounds off kilter.

Across the house the last song fades out and Usher’s Yeah comes on. People scream and cheer.

“Holy shit, I love this song,” Danny says and stands up. He sways and catches himself on the edge of the table, starts laughing again. “Whew, that was close. The spinning is normal, right?”

Fucking Christ, how did he end up on babysitting duty again? He rubs his temples.

Is he really about to do this?

“You should lay down.” He heaves a sigh. “Come on.”

“Jeez, Wes, that's pretty forward,” Danny says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Heat flashes through him.

“Would you just shut up,” he hisses. “And stop making it cold. Jesus.”

Danny snorts and when he moves from the table he wobbles. Wes grabs him before he topples and slings Danny’s arm over his shoulder to keep him up.

Danny leans into him, almost unbalances them.

“You got a problem with the cold, Wes?” he says, this time his cold breath is against the side of his neck. It sends chills down his spine.

“I don’t have to help you, you know,” he says, voice thick. “You can get alcohol poisoning for all I care.”

“You’re a bad liar, Wes.”

Wes yanks Danny along beside him and out of the dining room.

“Shut up, Danny. You’re drunk.”

He hauls Danny past the living room and the knot of people dancing and singing. A few call out to them, ask them to come have fun. He steers them away before Danny can pull away and join them.

“But I wanna have fun, Wes,” he whines.

“Dude, you can’t even stand without my help right now, you really wanna try dancing?”

“Dance with me, then.”

Wes stops. He looks over at Danny and…

He—

He blinks, shakes his head.

“No, not—not right now,” he mumbles.

“There’s a whole reason I came alone, you know,” Danny says.

“What, so you could get fucked up and no one would stop you?”

“Yeah! I mean… well, that’s part of it.”

Wes guides them towards the stairs, ignoring the looks.

“Your house is bigger than it looks from the outside,” Danny says.

“Thanks?”

“Mmhm.”

God. This is so not what he thought tonight was going to be like.

“Where are we going?” Danny asks.

“Somewhere you can lay down and sober up.”

“Tha’s not vague.”

Wes starts pulling Danny up the staircase. The second floor is dark, and he gropes around to hit the light.

The first few steps are fine, which is to say the next steps aren’t fine.

What he’s saying is that Danny says, “oh shit.”

And then he’s falling—pulling Wes down with him.

More accurately, Danny trips and pulls Wes down on top of him.

They end up in a heap and Danny groans like someone does when they fall on the fucking stairs.

“Ow.” He reaches for the back of his head. Then he’s laughing, like it's the funniest goddamn thing in the world, what just happened. His face screws up, the face of someone who doesn’t know he’s in pain, just pretending.

“Seriously?” Wes snaps. His shin smarts—must have hit it on the stairs.

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughs each syllable. “You good?”

“No, I’m not—” And he looks down and he realizes how close they are. Realizes the way Danny’s hair falls into his face, the light catching the slope of his jaw.

Danny quiets at the same time and it’s like they get stuck there. Like nothing else exists other than this staircase and this moment and the way Danny feels cool and solid like a summer night underneath him.

“Hey,” Danny says—sounds almost breathless. “Come here often?”

Wes rolls his eyes and just like that the moment is over.

“Ugh.” He pushes himself up, detangles himself from Danny.

Danny reaches for him, that stupid smile back on his face.

“Oh come on, Wes,” he says.

“Quit messing around, dude.”

Danny pushes himself up, runs a hand through his hair and Wes tracks the motion with his eyes against his best wishes.

“You’re so mean. I could have a concussion and this is how you treat me?”

Wes stands up and straightens his clothes. “You’re fine.”

Danny gives him a look and then something sparks in his eyes. “I’m going to text Sam and Tucker and tell them how mean you are to me.”

Psh. He says that like they don’t already hate him.

“Would you just get up?”

“These stairs are actually kinda comfy,” he says, head rolling back, sinking back down and closing his eyes. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

Wes kicks his leg.

“You can lay down in the room. Get up.”

Danny heaves a sigh, throws an arm over his eyes.

“Fiiinnneee.” He pulls himself up by the handrail, stops in a sitting position. “Jesus,” he says, voice just above a whisper. His breathing gets weird. It makes Wes pause.

“You okay?”

“...Spinning,” Danny breathes. He’s quiet for a bit, and Wes just lets him sit there. Danny holds his head in his hands for a while.

Worry creeps into the back of his mind. Maybe Danny wasn’t kidding about the concussion thing. Maybe he should get someone—

Then Danny is standing up and Wes steadys his other arm.

“I got you,” he says. “Feeling okay?”

Danny sends him a weak smile. “Yeah. Laying down does sound good though," he mumbles.

They make it up the rest of the stairs, and Danny leans against the wall as Wes opens the door to his room.

It’s dark and quiet inside and he flips on the light.

He helps Danny in, and he flops face first onto his bed. He groans and rolls over.

“I’m thinking those last few shots of Fireball were a bad idea…”

Wes snorts and closes the door softly behind him.

“Oh, just the last few, huh?”

“I was havin’ fun, smartass,” Danny grumbles.

Wes leans back against his dresser and crosses his arms. “I said you should have stopped but noooo, no one listens to Wes.”

It gets quiet and he can feel the heaviness in the air. He clears his throat. “If you throw up in my bed, I’m kicking you out the window.”

“I’m not going to throw up.”

“Famous last words, Fenton.”

“Shaddup,” Danny says, and it gets quiet.

Wes can feel the bass from the music through the floor, the muffled sound of singing, laughing, talking. He’s used to ducking out at parties early. He’s used to laying in bed and listening to the songs through the walls until the voices slowly fade and the house is empty again. He listens to Kyle stumble up to bed and knock into the walls and yell “I’m okay” when he does.

He’s not used to having… company.

Danny sits up like a puppet on too few strings. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s still hot,” he sighs.

“It’s the alcohol, dude.”

Danny runs his hands over his face, and then reaches back and starts pulling his hoodie off. It drags his shirt up with it and Wes can’t help but look. He looks at the multitude of scars staining Danny’s skin and the way his muscles move over his ribs and—he pulls his gaze away and studies the floor instead.

“This is your bedroom, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Doesn’t look how I thought it would.”

Wes wrinkles his nose. “How'd you think it would look?”

Danny takes his time looking around the room, hoodie pooled in his lap, before he looks at Wes and gives a boneless shrug.

“I dunno. More,” he holds his hands up, splays his fingers, “raah!”

“I… don’t know what that means.”

“You know! Like… newspaper-clipping red-web on all the walls,” Danny says, smile creeping back.

Wes squints at Danny. He pushes off his dresser.

“That’s still all you think of me?” He picks a pillow from his bed and throws it at Danny’s face. Danny lets out a yelp.

“Besides, I took all that shit down when the truth came out anyway,” he says, trying and failing to keep the inkling of a smile from his voice.

Danny looks at him blankly for a second before he starts to smile again.

“Wait, was that… Did you just make a joke?”

Wes snorts.

“You did! Holy shit, Wes has a sense of humor, this is bigger news than my shit. I gotta tell everyone.”

Danny looks soft, sitting like this in the middle of his bed, eyes warm in a way Wes didn’t realize they could be.

Something in him loosens.

“Good luck getting people to believe you…” he says.

“Oh, how the turn tables,” Danny says, and for a bit all they do is smile at each other.

Danny looks away first, he glances up at the light and squints.

“You got a light that isn’t so fuckin’ bright?”

“I thought the light sensitivity was supposed to happen the morning after drinking.”

“You’re full of jokes tonight.”

Wes rolls his eyes and flips on the bedside lamp and then shuts off the overhead light.

Danny hums and flops back down. “Better,” he says.

It’s silent for a few beats and Danny lifts his head to look at him. He smacks the comforter a few times with a flat hand.

Wes blanches; he’s all too aware of himself, of Danny and the dim light and the closed door.

“Dude, chill,” Danny says, like he can read his mind—wait, he can’t actually do that, right? Ghosts can’t do that?

“Sit down or something. You just standing there watching me is creepy,” Danny says.

Wes swallows his own heartbeat, shakes his head. “Seriously, between the two of us, I’m not the creepy one.”

“Says the stalker.”

“I didn’t stalk you.”

Danny gives him a look, with raised eyebrows and everything.

Wes sits on the side of the bed, scoots back so he’s leaned against the headboard.

“I was… investigating.”

Danny laughs. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say,” and his voice is like smoke—hickory and rough but winding through the air like silk.

They fall into an amiable silence, cotton soft, but cold. Danny has an arm over his eyes again, and his breathing is so slow it’s hard to pick out from the music downstairs.

He rakes a hand through his hair and takes out his phone. He unlocks it and scrolls mindlessly for a while.

He can’t focus.

Not with Danny so close like this. Not when everything is different now. His mind drifts off and he tries to keep track of every breath, wonders if he’s fallen asleep—

“Hey, Wes.”

He jumps. Just a little bit.

“Y-yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

He puts his phone down.

“...For what?”

“For making everyone think you were crazy.”

Wes twists his hand in his comforter. Why the hell is Danny apologizing to him? After everything he’s done to him… tried to do to him. It gets stuck in his throat.

“It’s… You don’t have to—” he wishes he’d had a few more drinks.

“Nah. I do. Looking back, I didn’t handle you knowing very well.”

He chews on his lip. He’s never felt so out of place.

“Danny…”

Danny moves his arm and looks up at him and his courage almost shrivels.

“I’m the one who should apologize. Not you. I—” He balls his hands into fists. “What I did, trying to basically out you, that wasn’t… that wasn’t okay.”

“You didn’t know the whole situation.”

“Did I need to? It was still fucked up and. I’m sorry. I was so wrapped up in wanting to be right that I didn’t care what it could have done to you.”

It feels like glass coming up from his throat.

He’s lost sleep, engraved in the ceiling all the ways he fucked up, all the times he's glad now that no one listened to him. His eyes feel hot and there’s no way in hell he’s going to fucking get emotional in front of Danny.

“It all worked out in the end,” Danny says. He says it easy, gentle. “You were still technically right, though, so… There’s that.”

Wes huffs. “Yeah. I guess.” He fights through all the mess. “I don’t know how this didn’t happen sooner though. You were terrible at hiding it.”

Danny props himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, I'm a great liar.”

Wes leans his head back on the headboard. “Sure, but you’re reckless as hell. How many times did you stick your arm through your locker in front of God and everyone?”

Danny smiles wide and bright.

“Honestly, after a while, it was just fun to see how far I could go before anyone noticed.”

Wes can’t help but chuckle. “Pretty far, obviously.”

“No kidding.”

Wes runs his palms over his jeans.

“You’re good though, right?” Wes looks anywhere but Danny. “At home and all that.”

“Oh. Yeah. It was, uhm, a lot for my parents. But we’re getting there.”

“Good… That’s good.” The words feel sharp and blocky, and he doesn’t know what else to say. What else can he say?

His buzz pulls away from him, pulls him down, makes his lids heavy.

“How do you think Dash is doing?” Danny says.

“Pf. If he isn’t hugging a trashcan right now, I’ll be shocked.”

Danny laughs.

Wes leans over onto some of his pillows.

“How are you this okay after drinking all that?”

Danny shrugs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m feeling it. My guess is something to do with the healing factor ghost shit.”

“Right, makes sense.”

He feels tired and heavy and the darkness at the corners of the room get fuzzier.

“Paulina brought her own champagne glass,” Danny tells him. And he laughs because, who does that?

He rolls onto his back and they stare at the ceiling.

“Are you kidding? Paulina does that, it’s Paulina,” Danny says.

They stare at the ceiling like it’s not a ceiling, like it might become more than just ceiling. Wes imagines it disappearing completely.

Danny likes stars, doesn’t he?

When Danny talks again it’s like he’s far away. An arms length, an atmosphere’s length… he doesn’t know.

Danny says, “sucks that I’m missing the Super Smash Tournament.”

Wes tries to keep his eyes from slipping shut. The bed pulls him like quicksand, the smell of sleep. “Trust me, dude, Kyle always wins anyway.”

Danny says something, something about who he mains or doesn’t main. It becomes all the same, the sluggish rise and fall.

At some point between light and dark Wes decides that he likes the sound of Danny’s voice. He somehow likes that the room is colder than it usually is.

And maybe somewhere between all that he decides some other stuff too.

—

Wes wakes up before Danny. The sun streams in through a gap in his curtains, pooling on the wall and floor.

He doesn’t have a headache, but his neck hurts like hell.

Danny is lying on his side faced away from him and, fuck, thank God. He thinks about last night, about Danny in his arms and he—

He sits up and rubs his hands over his warm cheeks.

Water. He should get some water.

He slips out of his room and goes downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet.

Well.

Mostly.

He can hear the sink running and the clink of glass. When he comes around the corner he sees Kyle washing dishes. The house is only half as trashed as he thought it’d be.

Kyle looks up at him as he walks in.

“Morning.”

He grunts, going to pluck a clean glass from the drying rack.

“Hangover?”

“Nah. Slept wrong.” He fills his glass at the fridge and downs it all at once. The water helps wash the sour taste from his mouth. Ugh, he should still brush his teeth.

He fills the glass again and heads back upstairs. He pushes back into his room and when the door creaks he sees Danny jump.

He walks around the bed and offers the glass to a squinting Danny.

“Awake?” he asks.

Danny groans and pushes himself up. His hair is messy, hanging in his eyes. It's infuriating.

He rubs the side of his face and when he takes the cup their fingers brush.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“We have pop-tarts and cereal and shit downstairs.”

Danny gives him a thumbs up while he drinks.

He wants to ask if he’s okay... He decides to leave it for later.

Wes leaves his room and goes back to the kitchen. When he gets there, he pulls the pop-tarts down from the cabinet.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Kyle says, “if you wanna clean the dining room, I’ll clean the living room.”

“Nope, no. This was your thing, dude. You threw the party.”

“But Wes,” he whines, “Dad’s gonna be home tonight.”

“Then you should probably get started,” he says and claps him on the shoulder on his way to the toaster.

“Dude, cold blooded. You’re just gonna watch me slave away for hours and not even help your own brother?”

“Uh... yeah.” He slots the pop-tarts into the toaster. He turns towards Kyle and leans against the counter, grinning at him.

Kyle gives him a look.

“How much.”

“No. No, I’m not gonna be bought this time.”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Kyle.”

“Fine, you drive a hard bargain. Forty.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“‘This time?’ What happened last time?”

They jump and look at Danny as he comes down the stairs. He has his hoodie slung over a shoulder and the half empty water glass in his hand.

“Holy shit,” Kyle says.

“It’s not important,” he says, sending a glare at the back of Kyle’s head.

Danny walks up to the counter and sets the glass down to pull his hoodie on.

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, voice pitched up. “I didn’t believe it when everyone was talking about it last night, holy shit.”

Danny tugs the hem of his hoodie down and gives Kyle a confused look that he moves over to Wes.

He returns the look, just as lost.

“Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You two hooking up last night,” Kyle says, like it’s obvious.

It feels like for a second time stops—

Hooking up?

Hooking up?!

His heart skips in his chest and heat rushes to his face and the tips of his ears. He feels like he’s been slapped across the face.

Danny looks like a deer in the headlights.

“Uh—”

The toaster pops.

“Which, can I just say, I totally called it. I knew there had to be another reason Wes was so obsessed with yo—”

“Kyle!” he snaps, his voice higher than he anticipated. “Kyle, oh my fucking god, shut up. We didn’t— Nothing happened last night, we just—”

His breath feels tight in his throat and he wants to lock himself in his room forever. He can’t make himself look at Danny.

“Who the hell told you that-that we—”

“Uh, dude, a bunch of people saw you guys go into your room together. You know Pualina was telling me that Danny was all over yo—”

“Okay! Thank you, Kyle!” he cuts in. “Jesus fucking—” He buries his face in his hands.

This is it, this is how he’s going to die.

“I’m just glad for you two! I mean, like, jeez, finally!”

“Kyle, I’ll help you clean if you shut up right now and never bring this up ever again.”

Kyle stops, face lighting up. “Dude, deal.”

“Cool. Now please leave.”

“What?”

Wes grabs him by the arm and starts dragging him out of the kitchen. “Leave. Go get the cleaning shit from the garage or some shit, I don’t know.”

“Oh. Ohhhh, I see. I get you. I’ll leave you two kids alone to enjoy your breakfast together,” he says with a wink and holy fuck, he’s going to kill his fucking brother.

Kyle heads for the stairs and calls down, “Lemme know when it’s safe to come back down!”

Wes drags his hands down his face. He lets out a slow breath and he tries to ignore his pounding heart.

Wes goes to the nearest counter and puts his head down. The surface is cold against his burning skin. He groans like an injured animal and at this point he really wishes someone would put him out of his misery.

“Well…” Danny says from behind him.

He hears Danny moving and the sound of the fridge being opened. He looks up, watches as Danny takes orange juice from the fridge. When he turns around he sees his face is red too.

“I mean… hardly the worst rumor to get spread around about us,” he says. That stupid smile makes its way onto Danny’s face.

“I once had this dude tell everyone at school that I was a ghost. It was super weird.”

Wes shakes his head. “Dude, shut up.” But he can’t help the grin that pulls at his lips.

Danny laughs, a quieter thing today than it was last night.

“I can have some, right?” he asks, lifting the OJ.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

They fall into silence while Danny pours a glass and Wes goes to numbly retrieve his pop-tarts.

“It’s probably spread through all of Casper now, huh.”

Danny glances at him. Something dances through his expression. He hums as he takes a drink of his juice.

“Uh. Probably further than that, now that everyone knows I'm… you know.” Danny shoots him an uneasy look.

Right. Right.

This was just getting better and better.

He takes a bite of his pop-tart. It crumbles in his mouth like sand.

“Are you… okay?” Danny asks. He reaches back and rubs his neck, and dammit, now he’s just adding insult to injury.

He looks at him, and he sees the nerves in the way he holds himself, stitched into the way the light hits him. He’s not asking just one question.

Wes swallows.

“Yeah… Yeah, I mean, like you said. There could be way worse rumors,” he says. He looks at Danny like he’s too far away, like he enjoyed last night way more than he should have. And he sees it in Danny too, some sort of mirror.

“I think so too,” Danny says, heavy the way he exhales it.

They break eye contact and Wes doesn’t really know what to do, what to say.

“Well, uh. You have cleaning to do, I guess. I should probably get home before my parents get too freaked out.”

Wes nods. “Yeah, probably.” He wonders if Danny knows what’s in his voice. The dark from last night is clouding his mind, pulling him, begging him to just say it.

“Yeah… I’ll, uh, see you at school?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

But Danny doesn't move.

He lingers like a shadow. He looks like he wants to go. He looks like he wants to stay.

“Wes,” he says.

Wes looks at him.

He worries at his bottom lip and moves along the counter towards him.

“Thanks. For last night.”

He lets out a puff. “Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t die the rest of the way from alcohol poisoning.”

Danny rolls his eyes.

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were pretty bad.��

“Not even.” Danny smiles.

And they’re close again, sharing each other's space.

“It wasn’t… awful, I guess,” he says before he can stop himself. “Even with you being a pain in the ass the entire time.”

“Maybe we could do it again sometime,” Danny murmurs.

“What, me looking after your drunk ass the whole night?”

Danny snorts. “No, I was thinking more like I match you drink for drink instead,” he says.

“At least then you’d last till the Smash tournament.”

Danny glances away.

“I didn’t mind missing it too much, actually.”

Wes’s breath gets stuck and his heart beats like a drum in his ribcage.

“Really?”

“Yeah…”

In some ways it’s just like last night; Danny’s close enough he can feel the movement of his breath between them.

“It’s way more fun, bothering you.”

It’s a slow motion sort of thing, a hair raising thing.

“Well you’re an expert at it by now.”

Wes thinks about theme parks. Sitting at the top of the sky and just before his stomach drops—

“Always room for improvement. I could get better at it if you want me to.”

And what if he does? What if he wants to see Danny in all the ways he can? What if he wants to know Danny for real this time?

Maybe he wants pictures, proof that it’s real.

Maybe it’s always been leading to this.

Maybe it’s fucked up.

Wes having the power to hurt him all over again.

“Drink for drink?” he says, barely a whisper.

“Drink for drink,” Danny says—closer, closer, breath against his lips.

Danny gives him time to pull away. But Wes doesn’t. Something to do with what he decided last night.

“Prove it.”

#Unidentified Flying Ship #danny/wes #Danny Phantom #danny phantom fanfiction #my writing #DP Shiptember 2021 #drunk prompt #one-shot #wes weston #wesley weston

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