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just-a-really-tall-girl-tbh · 3 years ago

Text

Grounded

Summary: Y/n is kidnapped and forced to reveal secrets of the pack

Pairing: Derek X Reader

Warnings: Blood, torture, swearing

Word count: 2605

Original piece please don’t copy

The school bell rang for the final time that day, a collective sigh of gratitude echoed in the room, the teenagers grateful to be released from the maths teacher’s class. Gathering your books, you stacked them in a neat pile before exiting the room, offering a small smile to your defeated teacher. It wasn’t her fault maths sucked and no one enjoyed it, you did feel bad for her on some level but also who the hell would willingly dedicate their life to teaching numbers?

Entering the hallway, you made your way through the sea of teenagers, everyone desperate to go home for the weekend. Reaching your locker, you grabbed the couple books you needed, shoving them into your backpack, thinking about the homework you had due on Monday you sighed. The door to your locker slammed shut before you could close it.

“Hey, you ready?” Stiles smiled.

“I told you I can walk home.” You rolled your eyes, walking away from the boy. Surprised by your quick movement, Stiles jogged to catch up to you, throwing an arm lazily around your shoulders.

“I know you can walk home but why would you when you have me?”

Exiting the main doors of the high school, you welcomed the fresh warm air, the smell of angsty teens left behind you. Reaching the end of the pavement, you saw the jeep parked a few cars away.

“Stiles I want to walk.” You turned to face the boy.

“Y/n, you heard what Derek said okay? All these recent attacks? The break ins and thefts? He doesn’t want you alone.” Stiles tried to reason with you. Knowing the recent spike in criminal activity was less than likely to involve the supernatural, you felt safe walking the 20-minute trip home. In fact, you enjoyed the peace it brought you. Half of the walk was through the woods, a quiet haven from the busy high school, and being autumn, you relished in the yellow and orange leaves that swept through the small woodlands.

“Stiles. It’s 20 minutes. I’ll text you when I get home okay?” Stiles sighed.

“You know Derek is going to kill me if I let you, you know, that right? You like the idea of alive Stiles because I do! And I am not letting you be the reason I don’t make it to my 20’s okay?”

“Derek doesn’t have the balls to kill you.” You turned on the heel of your foot, headed towards the woods, leaving a defeated Stiles in your wake.

“I’m telling Derek you said he has no balls!” He called after you. You let out a small laugh, grabbing your headphones from your backpack, and your phone from your pocket, you scrolled through your playlist, deciding today was the perfect day for (Your current favourite song).

Entering the woods, you felt a rush of calm wash over you, the stressful week was pushed to the back of your mind, your thoughts centred on the surrounding woods. You stepped over exposed roots and around large bushes, glancing up at the sky you watched as the wind swept through the foliage, the ageing leaves dancing in the light breeze. The sun peaked through the cracks, determined to reach the forest floor, providing the perfect amount of light for your stroll. The floor of the woods had been coated in fallen leaves, leaving a blanket of red and orange below your feet. Taking a moment to stop and appreciate the tranquillity the forest provided you, you felt your phone buzz in you pocket.

Home yet? I’m this close to sending out a search party!

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head you began typing a response.

You need to…

Before you could finish you felt a knock to your head, your vision distorted, the soft sound of music playing through your headphones which were now next to you on the forest floor, was the only thing you could hear before everything went black.

***

Another blow straight to your stomach knocked the wind out of you. Coughing and spluttering you attempted to regain your breath, each inspiration hurting more than the last.

“Oh, you are so going to regret that.” You mumbled.

Leaning to the side of the chair you spat a mixture of saliva and blood to the ground, you couldn’t tell where the source of the blood was coming from, maybe your lip, or maybe the inside of your mouth. Too many lacerations to your face meant it all blended into one.

You raised your eyes to meet your rival, struggling to see through the blood you saw one man wiping his fists on an old rag, your blood coating his knuckles. He faced a woman to your left, who sat with one bent knee up on a bench. Her back leaning against the wall adjacent to you, a smug grin on her face.

You rotated your wrists which were bound behind you, the thick rope digging into your skin. Your ankles were bound too, tied to the legs of the wooden chair you sat on.

“You’re going to tell us what we want sweetie, its just a matter of how beat up that pretty face is going to be before you tell us.” The woman commented, as she played with her fingernails, pushing the cuticles back. If she was trying to look disinterested, she was doing a great job. But you were ready for this. You trained for this. You knew what was coming, and if it meant keeping your friends, the pack, safe, then you would gladly take whatever they threw at you.

The mans fist connected with your jaw once more, snapping you out of your daze. The room began to spin around you, and your vision blurred. Trying to recenter yourself you pulled at your wrists, the pain of the rope grinding into your skin giving you something to focus on.

“Alright careful there, big guy, we need her conscious if we’re going to get that information.” The woman stood from her seat, striding slowly over to you, before bending at the waist in front of you. She reached out to grab your face, but as soon as her fingers made contact with your skin you pulled away. A stern look, on your face made the woman let out a small laugh.

“You’re a tough one aren’t you.” She turned her head, almost admiring your battered body before her. “Too bad that doesn’t mean shit around here.” Grabbing your hair, she yanked your head back, exposing your neck to the room. Moving to stand behind you she held out her other hand, gesturing towards the man in front of you. Without a word exchanged, the man grabbed a knife from a nearby table, its blade glinting in the moonlight the small window above you allowed.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea who you are dealing with do you?” The woman whispered in your ear, her grip on your hair only tightening as she neared the knife to your throat. You felt the cold edge, lightly cross your neck, not enough to pierce the skin, but enough for you to avoid swallowing.

Taking a deep breath in you closed your eyes. Grounding yourself was apart of your training, something that was drilled into you from the beginning. Breathing in again, you picked up on the different smells the room produced, sweat from the man in front of you, poorly masked by his cheap cologne. The sweet smell of the woman’s hair from behind, her locks dangling beside your face. The overwhelming metallic smell of blood being the most potent. You changed your focus to your heartbeat. Feeling it pounding against your chest begging to be released you pictured your heart slowing, its contractions reducing with every breath you took. Steadying your breathing was next. Cautious of the blade still connected to your neck you breathed in through your nose, holding in for a few seconds before releasing softly through your mouth. Repeating those steps, you were able to regain some stability. You were still in the same crappy scenario but at least now you were calmer. A panicking person is an interrogators wet dream. A calm person, their nightmare.

Sensing your self-control increase, the woman let go of your hair, moving the knife from your neck to the table beside the man. Standing before you once more, she knelt in front of you, keeping one knee up for balance, she waited for your eyes to open once more. Regaining the control, you almost lost, you felt strong enough to open your eyes once more. Staring at you the woman barely moved, she was searching your eyes for something, her expression a mixture of shock and impressed.

“You’re not afraid.” Her words barely above a whisper. Your only response was a return glare. A small smile creeping on to the face of your kidnapper. “They trained you well.”

Standing, she turned to the man behind her, whispering something in his ear before turning back to face you, her arms crossed against her chest. The man dropped the rag he was still holding and left the room, the sound of the door locking behind him.

“Let’s cut the bullshit honey. You have information I need. And I know I’m not going to break you, not by torturing you anyways. So, let’s try something else, shall we?” The woman began to pace back and forth in front of you, the small room only allowing her a few steps before being forced to turn around again. Your eyes followed her, left and right, before she stopped in front of you once more, still facing forward.

Taking in a sharp breath, she spoke. “How’s your sister doing?” She turned to face you. Refusing to let her know she was finally making some progress with you, you remained staring at her. Resuming her pacing she continued speaking.

“She’s what 5 now? Gosh so young. But you know what they say right? They grow up so fast.” Your eyes tracked the woman, more intently than before. This woman knew your family. Something that was always off limits when the pack was involved. Your attempts at shielding them from the supernatural had been successful, keeping that part of your life private even from Derek. And here this woman stood, threatening them. Threating to take away your motivation to make the world safer. Unfazed by your lack of reaction the woman carried on.

“Soon enough she’ll be going to high school, making friends, maybe even realising who her sister really is.” She stopped before you once more, bending at the waist she placed her hands on the arms of the chair you were bound to. “You didn’t think you could protect them, forever did you?” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. No amount of calm breathing could ground you now. “Aw babe.” Her hand raised to your cheek, ready to wipe away the falling tear. You only pulled away from her once more, hating the way her skin on yours felt. “Don’t tell me I hit a nerve, did I? Sucks doesn’t it. Well, there is one way of ensuring your little family stay naïve to the world around them.” She stood tall once more, her voice now deeper, more sinister than before. “Tell me what I want to know.”

You had no choice, right? She threatened your family, your sister. You protected them from so long, only for you to be the reason they are in danger. Looking down at your lap, tears hit your thighs unable to control them you simply let them fall. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at the woman before you, a smirk present on her face which made it so much harder to say what you were about to. But the images of your sister raced through your mind. The way her hair shone in the autumn sun, the way her smile reached her eyes when she was really, truly happy, the way she greeted you after school every day by running down the front path directly into your arms. That was the highlight of your day, finishing school and-

Wait

You never responded to Stiles.

You never texted him back, and the kidnappers were kind enough to bring your phone into the room with you – hoping to get some information.

Your eyes moved to the door behind the woman, a loud crash followed by a heavy grunt sounded from behind the entranceway. The woman whipped her head around, only to be met by silence. She slowly approached the doorway.

“Adrian…?”

Silence

The woman turned back to you, unsure of herself. You only had a small smirk as a response. Before she could question you, the door busted open, barely remaining on its hinges, a rush of dust filled the room. Watching ahead as the dust clouds engulfed the woman, you heard a deafening roar followed by a petrified scream. Small thuds followed, as the dust reached your eyes you began coughing, the sudden pain in your ribs swiftly returning.

Two hands were placed on your shoulders, looking up you were met by two green eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” A worried Derek scanned your face, concern riddled him as he saw the multiple cuts and bruising before him. You could only nod, the dust denying you the ability to speak.

Moving behind you, he effortlessly cut the ties that bound your hands, then your legs. Using the arms of the chair to stable yourself, you attempted to stand, wincing when the pain became too much. Derek moved to your side, wrapping your arm over his shoulder. Carefully placing his arm around you, resting his hand on your hip he accepted most of your weight, attempting to make standing and walking easier. As you took a few steps forward, the dust cleared from your eyes and you were able to regain focus. Looking forward you saw the woman who threatened you, her back against the same wall the door was, her skin now covered in blood, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. Scott stood before her, looking down at the defeated woman, his eyes still red and his claws still present.

Clearing your throat, you stopped walking, causing Derek to pause and look over to you. You peered down at the woman, no longer in a position of power, she looked smaller, more gaunt than before. Her eyes showed she was petrified, providing some comfort to you after what she did.

“Sucks doesn’t it?” a whisper of a smirk present on your lips.

Proceeding to step forward through the doorway you were met by a panting Stiles, his arms stretched out in front of him, you couldn’t tell him to stop before his body connected with yours. You inhaled sharply, grimacing as pain rang throughout your body.

Derek used his free hand to grab Stiles by the shoulder, pulling him away from you, a small growl forming in his chest.

“Oh, shit sorry of course you’re hurt shit sorry.” The boy stumbled over his words, his eyes finally taking in the battered sight before him. He moved to the side of you not occupied by Derek, his help was welcomed by you, suddenly feeling lightheaded from standing.

The three of you began walking forward towards the exit of the building.

“Is now a good time to tell Derek, you think he has no balls?” Stiles piped up earning a death glare from Derek. “No? Okay we can come back to that.” You used whatever energy you had left to shake your head.

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llamagoddessofficial · 4 years ago

Note

what was it like the first time Mc met Skull in the portal Au?

Is it story snippet time? I think it’s story snippet time.

The vent cover was loose.

You’d noticed, as soon as you’d rounded the corner. It didn’t matter that the facility was dark, quiet, deep in one of its night cycles... in the faint illumination of the safety screens and directional arrows left on, you picked up the silhouette of the cover. You were so familiar with the area of the lab around the room you slept in that you probably would’ve seen it anyway... but what immediately made all your attention snap to it was the fact that the glint of sleek metal in the darkness was, in fact, misaligned.

... Sans wanted everything neat. Sans wanted everything right. Red liked it that way, too, but Sans seemed to have the final say. And it showed- the entire facility was neat, angled, symmetrical and impossibly clean. It was so regimented and unnatural that you felt like an outlier yourself; a strange, curved, imperfect biological creature in a space that seemed to bleed robotic perfection from every corner.

... So... something about this one plating... this one vent cover, at a bad angle, tilted just against the grain...

... You were hyperfocused.

You moved over to it, bare feet cat-silent on the warm white floor, crouching down. You weren’t supposed to be out of your room at night, Sans didn’t like you wandering around when he was unaware, powered down for system maintenance and repairs... your fingers sealed around the loosened ends of the vent cover, and with the gentlest of tugs the whole thing came off, leaving a gaping hole in the wall large enough for you to crawl into.

...

It was like you had a fog, separating one half of your mind from the other. Every day in this strange lab was confusing- and when you tried to ask yourself normal questions, like “where am I?” or “how did I get here?” or “why do I have no memories before this place?” your brain supplied you with absolutely nothing. And not only that, it couldn’t even supply you with the concern you knew you should be experiencing... the fear, the panic, it wouldn’t come. It was the most paradoxical and horrible sensation... the feeling of knowing something was wrong, of knowing you should be scared, but something in your head just not letting you access it.

... Maybe that was why the sight of the hole in the wall, the gap in the artificially perfect world around you, made your heart skip in excitement instead of fear. Maybe that was why you normally would have stuck to what was safe and not done stupid shit like going into vents...

... But this time, you got on your hands and knees, and crawled right in.

You weren’t crawling for a very long time; after what couldn’t have even been a minute of moving in a straight line through the smooth metallic system, the dark space opened up above you, more than enough for you to stand up to your full height in. Your eyes were wide, childlike in wonder- unlike the rest of the facility, that at least seemed to try and fake an air of safety, this place behind the walls... every surface around you was dirty, stained and rusty, there were tubes and buttons and tangled wires sticking out of the floor and ceiling, the whole place was lit up with an unnerving orange glow that was leaking through slits in the flooring. The air was filled with a nasty tang, metallic and almost blood-like, heavy and claustrophobic...

... It was like you’d crawled into hell. Like you’d gone from the head of the facility to the entrance of the throat. Another world...

...

As your gaze lowered...

... There was something in the room with you.

The hairs on the back of your neck bristled. Near the other end of the room there was a large, metallic box, most likely containing important wiring of some kind. From where you were standing you could judge that it was about your shoulder height... pretty big.

... But it wasn’t the box that had your attention. It was what it was blocking from your view. A perfectly circular crimson light was peeking out from behind that box... a turret eye, bright and awake and alive, cutting through the murky coloured darkness. And the more you stared, the more you could make out, the more you could see the partially obscured hunched figure attached to the eye that was trained directly on you.

...

“H-hello?” You whispered.

...

“sh-ouldn_t.. be.here.”

... The voice was like nothing you’d ever heard. Deep, deathly deep, you could feel it in your chest like standing next to a speaker- vibrating in your stomach, the palms of your hands, even tingling along your scalp. It sounded... automated, jittering and autotuned and with inflections no human would use, but so clearly with thoughts and feelings behind it, the unmissable edge of somebody who’s cautious, afraid... a downright uncanny mix of machine and man.

“... Should you?” Your voice sounded so... weak. So biological. Your heart was pounding.

... The eye noticeably changed; the dot in the centre became a fraction wider. It took an odd shape, too... from your distance it... looked like a heart...?

A soft, low “... no_.”

“... Then that makes two of us. Right?”

...

The owner of the eye stood up.

He stood slowly, too. And as he did, the box he’d been crouched behind just got smaller, and smaller, and smaller... a beast, made of the facility’s leftovers. Large enough to crush you like a beetle. The dim orange light touched his silhouette to reveal thick tubes, misshapen metal plates, wires hanging off him like cut vines... a gaping cavity in his chest where a half-broken plasma motor was faintly humming and glowing. One of his hands looked vaguely humanoid but the other was just a badly affixed pincer claw... the plate on his face had been haphazardly cut away so his one red eye could see, and a skeletal nose shape had been carved into the centre. Everything about him was asymmetric, uneven, mismatched...

You opened your mouth-

[Bleep!]

...

It floated through the room. A light noise, like a phone notification. You took note of the fact that you couldn’t hear it echoing through the rest of the facility... something that was only heard in the backrooms, perhaps? It was a very gentle little sound, nothing more than a light jingle...

... Except he flinched like a gunshot had gone off, eye blinking out entirely. Immediately, he turned around- you let out a little “H-hey, wait!” and raised your arm but it didn’t stop him. In a few giant steps he’d completely disappeared around a corner, clanging sounds moving so much deeper into the metalworks in such a short amount of time that you found yourself immediately disoriented. How... you were just standing there, how did someone that huge and heavy move so fast?

...

You wanted to pursue. You wanted to chase him deep into the bowels of the lab, down where you weren’t ever supposed to go, where no light would reach... you wanted to so badly you’d already moved a few steps without realising.

... But at the same time, you felt like you’d done enough for one day. Your nose stung from the strange smells in the air, your eyes were straining in the orange darkness... you wanted to go to sleep, back to your relaxation chamber, to rest for now and figure out what the hell you’d just seen.

What the hell you’d just spoken to.

... You turned, and clambered back through the vent. It took no time at all to re-emerge back in the regular facility... back to the whiteness, the cleanliness, the perfect and fake.

...

You had no idea why he’d reacted the way he had to that sound. What did it mean? You trailed your hand along the wall as you walked, making your way through the halls back to your chamber, the floor smooth and faultless under your bare soles. Was it... some kind of warning? An alert system? Was he running toward something, or away fr-

“subject.”

- You almost jumped out of your fucking skin.

You were never sure where Sans’ voice was coming from. It always seemed to just spontaneously exist all around you, disembodied and impossible to describe, surrounding you on all sides as if emanating from the air in the building itself. No matter how hard you searched you could never seem to find any speakers on the cold, unfriendly white walls or floor... just further adding to the confusion and dream-like quality of this whole place. You clutched your chest, taking a little breath, trying to disguise the wild flinch that you’d just experienced.

“Y-yeah?” You said, smooth as always, and totally completely not-startled.

Sans always heard you, no matter how quietly you spoke- and judging by passing comments he’d made he always seemed to be able to see you and your expression. God, you hoped he couldn’t read the panic in your face.

“the facility is in night cycle.” Calm, emotionless, slightly autotuned, as per usual... but a little softer than the norm. “why are you out of your relaxation chamber?”

You glanced up at the nearest camera, a small black orb close to the ceiling with a gently blinking blue light.

...

“I-I can’t sleep.” Was all you could think of.

...

“... perhaps it will be easier to sleep... if you are reclined in a position, in which you can actually sleep. you should return to your chamber.”

“... I’m just walking around.” You kept moving, hoping he wouldn’t think about where you’d come from. “I mean... N-not all of us have a ‘go to sleep instantly’ button. I’m clearing my head. I’m fine, I'm on my way back anyway.”

...

“you’re stammering. your heart rate is elevated.”

Shit. Shit. No, it’s-

“... did you experience a nightmare?”

...

“O-oh. Yeah. Uhm...” You rubbed the back of your neck, eyes drifting down to the floor. “You know about those?”

“i have access to the combined entirety of human knowledge. yes, i am aware of nightmares.”

“W-well... yeah. Yes. I... had one. I’m walking it off.”

... A pause, on his part.

...

“... i can turn the lights back on. if... you’d like to walk around.”

“No thank you. It’ll just make me feel more awake.”

“i see. ... well. i need to complete some more system reboots. i will be partially offline again. if... you need me, just call.”

“Okay. Sure. I will.”

#llama writes #portal au #llama gets carried away: the series #its creepy robot time #its a biggun too! hhehe #feels nice to write again

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lilliagradiewrites · 4 years ago

Text

go get her, kid. (peter parker)

Summary: Peter Parker is hopelessly in love with Tony Starks’ teenage daughter, and Stark encourages him to shoot his shot.

WC: 7.4k (holy shit)

Warnings: Bad language, , really nothing else. A lot of cute peter and a painful amount fluff. A tiny bit of angst too.

A/N: I found myself watching Tom Holland interview clips today and I just couldn’t help myself. Here we are: my first peter parker/ spiderman one shot! I have some Harry and Jj pieces in the works, so keep eyes out for that!

LET’S DO IT!!!

--------

Peter found himself in this position far too often. Staring at you shamelessly while you worked away at whatever was on your desk, usually a school assignment or some tech project. His crush had been going on for quite some time, but it was getting more and more difficult to hide.

You and Peter had been best friends ever since your dad first recruited him. Something clicked between the two of you, causing an instant friendship. As time went on, you grew closer and closer to the superhero, and he quickly became your best friend. You began surrounding yourself with his friends without even realizing it, becoming close with Ned and MJ almost instantly. They were great people, and you loved being around them, but something about Peter was just different. Your energies matched perfectly for some reason. He got your humour, liked the same things as you, plus he was a great conversationalist and an even better listener. Some of your favorite memories were made with Peter.

Despite knowing practically everything about the boy, you were completely oblivious about his huge crush on you. Ned was the only person who truly knew, though many other people had their suspicions. The Avengers had an idea about it, considering you were what he talked about 90 percent of the time. MJ could tell because of the way he looked at you. When he looked your way, his pupils enlarged, his cheeks went pink, and the look on his face was entirely lovey-dovey. It was so obvious just in the way he gazed at you when you spoke.

He was looking at you in that way now, though you weren’t aware. He was meant to be studying (it was the whole reason he came over to your house, or at least that’s the reason he told you), but he couldn’t bring himself to care about chemistry homework when you looked so damn beautiful. Your hair was pulled back into a low ponytail keeping it away from your face as you worked. Your hands flew across the keyboard on your laptop, typing out something Peter probably wouldn’t understand. He was smart, sure, but you were intelligent in a different way. You were insightful and observant, you got things other people couldn’t begin to process. Your brain understood things in a different capacity than most. Peter assumes you got this trait from your father, who was the exact same way.

“What’re you typing? Something for school?”

You nodded, your attention not wavering from the laptop screen. “Yeah, an assignment for AP Lit.”

“Oh, that one project you told me about? With the essay and the powerpoint?”

You nodded again. “Mhm.”

Peter furrowed his brows, moving off your bed to come stand near you at your desk in an attempt to get a better look at what you were working so eagerly on. “I thought that project wasn’t due for another month.

“It’s not. I had an idea for the essay, and I figured if I get started early, I have more time to edit and perfect it.”

“You’re such a perfectionist.” Peter says with a light chuckle, looking at the state of your desk. It was both chaotic and organized at the same time. Pens, highlighters, pieces of paper, a book with annotations scribbled in the margins, notebooks with neat class notes printed inside of them in your pretty handwriting. They were all scattered about the surface, but Peter knew you well enough to know that there was always a method to your madness. As you observed longer, he realized that all of the items were in different sections on your desk, based on categories and subjects. He smiled lightly, realizing that this messy but technically neat surface was probably a very accurate representation of what goes on in your mind.

You finished the paragraph you were typing with a flourish, a satisfied smile resting on your lips. “There. I have a basic outline done for the essay portion. Obviously, I’ll have to go back and add a little more and elaborate on the points, but the basics are there.”

Peter glanced up at your laptop screen. His eyes were met with a never ending sea of typed out words. He smiled; this was so you. Your ‘outline’ is another student's essay doubled.

“You’re gonna write more than that?”

You looked back at him, and he saw your face for the first time during the encounter. His cheeks went slightly pink at the sight of you, and he prayed that you didn’t notice.

You didn’t, or perhaps you just didn’t say anything. You continued on with the conversation without skipping a beat, and relief washed over Peter because of this.

“Of course I am.” You stated with furrowed brows, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This is so boring and basic, and has no detail whatsoever. Anybody who reads the summary of the book online could write this. I want my teacher to know that I thoroughly read and understood the novel, you know? I don’t want to submit some surface-level shit, I want to really pick apart the undertones of and the meaning behind the story.”

Peter nods, pretending to understand what you meant. He’d barely been paying attention to the words you were saying, too encapsulated with your beautiful eyes to do so. You turned back around towards your work, causing your best friend to snap out of his trance-like state.

“Do you wanna watch a movie or something? I’m bored.”

You had now picked up a pencil and a highlighter, working on the chemistry notes he was supposed to be taking. “Don’t you have work to do, Pete?”

“...No.”

You paused your writing to gaze at him skeptically.

“So you did your book report for english?”

“Yes.”

“Your worksheets for pre-calc?”

“Mhm.”

“You read the assigned chapters for Pschycology and finished the quiz you had to take on them?”

A nod was your only answer.

“What about chem? We have notes, essay questions, assigned reading, and a formulas worksheet due next tuesday. Have you done all of that?”

Peter hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I have.” It was a clear lie. “Can we watch a movie now?”

“There’s no way you did all of that. Go finish your work, and then we can watch a movie.”

A groan escapes Peters lips as he turns, resting against your desk. “But that’ll take forever. Your dad kicks me out at 11:00. We’ll never have time to watch one.” He whines.

You smile slightly, unable to fight it. Not replying to your friend, you spin around in your chair, raising your voice slightly, “FRIDAY, connect to dad please.”, the command directed to nowhere in particular.

“Connecting to Mr. Stark.” The familiar robotic voice echoes throughout your room.

“What’s up, Y/N/N?”

“Hey, Dad? Can Peter stay a bit later tonight?”

“Why?” Your dad’s voice replies through a hidden speaker, his tone almost accusatory.

“Because he wants to watch a movie but I won’t let him until we’re done with homework. We won’t have enough time to finish the movie if he leaves at normal curfew? Pleeeaseee, Dad?”

You can hear your father sigh. “Fine, but only because it’s not a school night and I’m feeling generous. He’s gotta be gone by one though, no exceptions.”

Both of you smiled widely, and you erupted in cheers. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Kid, be ready for training at eight. A later curfew doesn’t mean an exception from your early morning saturday sessions.” The statement was directed at Peter, who nodded, despite your father not being able to see him.

“Got it, Mr. Stark.”

“FRIDAY, disconnect.” You heard Tony’s voice from the other side.

“Disconnected.” The sound of the AI confirming the command filled your room, and the space fell into a brief silence once again.

You spun in your chair, turning to face Peter with a smug smile on your face. “There, now we can get our work done, and watch a movie. Satisfied?”

Peter nodded, giving a roll of his eyes and heading back over to his workspace on your bed, plopping down and continuing his assignments.

An hour and half later, Peter gave a heavy sigh, finally closing his textbook with a smile. “All done!” he announced proudly.

“With everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

You closed your notebook you’d been working in, standing up. “Great. I’ve been done for half an hour, I’ve been working on future assignments while I waited for you to finish up. Ready to watch that movie?”

Peter nodded excitedly. He loved watching movies with you, because you always cuddled up close to him on your bed while you watched. Peter loved being in close proximity to you, even though it made him a little nervous.

“What do you wanna watch?” He asked, beginning to clear his things off your bed.

“I don’t know. We can discuss while we go make popcorn.”

Peter’s eyes lit up; he loved popcorn.

“Okay!” He tossed the rest of his things in his school bag, zipping it up quickly and dropping it in the corner of your room. “Lets go!”

You chuckled at his childlike behavior, following him out of your bedroom door towards your kitchen. The entire journey down the stairs, down the hall, and to the kitchen was filled with Peter going on and on about movies he wanted to see.

You grabbed the microwave popcorn from the pantry, unwrapping it and tossing it in, starting up the machine.

You continued to listen to Peter as soft popping sounds filled your kitchen.

“Oh, you guys have Disney plus, right? What if we watched that new star wars show thingy? The mandalorian?”

You smiled at this statement. Though you didn’t see the boy in any way but a friend (at least that’s what you told yourself), you found Peter’s Star Wars obsession very cute.

“I mean, I would watch that, but I don’t think I’d understand it.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve never seen the movies.”

You watched in amusement as Peter’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock. “You’ve NEVER seen the Star Wars movies? Are you kidding me, Y/N?”

You laughed at his reaction, moving to fetch the fully popped popcorn from the microwave and transfer it into a bowl. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve been meaning to watch them forever, but I guess I never got around to it.”

“I can’t believe this!” Peter exclaims in disbelief. “We’ve been friends for a year and a half now, and you’ve never seen the Star Wars movies? This is insane! I talk about them so much… did you just never understand what I was talking about?”

You shook your head, chuckling. “Nope, I never have. I kinda just let you talk about it, because I planned on watching the movies. I figured I’d understand what you meant when I watched them.”

“Holy shit… we’re watching the first one tonight, Y/N. No arguments, we’re doing it.”

You grabbed the now prepared bowl of popcorn, smiling at your friend. “Alright, let’s do it.”

You headed back up the stairs, the sound of your footsteps accompanied with the sound of Peter murmuring in disbelief as you made your way to your room.

Once the two of you arrived at your destination, you closed the door, placing the bowl of popcorn on your still cluttered desk.

Peter climbed into your bed, while you rummaged through your drawers in search of comfy clothes. “I’m gonna change into pj’s before we start, i want to be comfy.”

Peter nodded. “FRIDAY, put Star Wars: The Phantom Menace on Y/N’s TV.” He spoke out in a slightly raised voice. The movie appeared on your screen, waiting to be started as you changed.

A few moments later, you emerged from your bathroom, now wearing a pair of Nike shorts and a slightly oversized t-shirt.

“Y/N, this is about to change your li-” Peter’s voice trailed off as he looked at you. The oversized shirt you were wearing… was his.

He choked on the piece of popcorn he’d been eating. “I-is that my shirt?”

You looked down on what you were wearing, realizing that it was, in fact, Peter's. “Oh shit. Yeah, sorry. You left it at the lab once, dad gave it to me to give to you, and I guess it just got mixed in with my clothes. I’ll wash it and give it back.

Peter shook his head, coughing again. “No, it’s okay. You can keep it. It looks better on you anyway.” his cheeks went pink as he realized what had just left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to say the last part.

Your cheeks went even pinker at the compliment, which you couldn’t deny made your stomach flutter a little bit. “Okay, thanks.” You smiled at your friend, climbing into the bed beside him. You cuddled in close to him, probably closer than need be, but Peter didn’t seem to mind.

“FRIDAY, start the movie.”

---

A few hours later, the credits were rolling, and Peter was red in the face. You had fallen asleep halfway through the movie, and had moved even closer to him in your slumber. You were now full-on cuddling the boy, and he had no idea what to do. Your leg was moved over his, your head lay on his chest. One arm thrown around his waist. He liked having you this close, but his stomach was in a constant state of butterflies, and he was worried that the sound of his heart beating loudly in his chest would wake you.

He didn’t know what time it was, but it must’ve been close to one, because a knock sounded from the other side of your bedroom door.

Without waiting for an answer, Tony entered the room. “Alright, kids, it’s almost curfew, time to wrap it up…”

His eyes landed on you and Peter, cuddled up in your bed.

“Kid, what the hell is going on here?”

“Mr. Stark! Um, Y/N fell asleep while we were watching the movie and she kinda… I don’t know.. Ended up like this? Nothing’s going on, I swear, it’s just… I didn’t want to wake her up…”

Peter’s face was the color of a tomato at this point. Stark still had his suspicions about the boy’s intentions, but had a feeling that Peter was telling the truth. “Alright, then. You’d better get your ass home and get some sleep. Like I said, you don’t get a free pass from training because you were cuddling with my daughter till one am.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “No, Mr. Stark, I- We weren’t… I Wasn’t…”

Stark chuckled at the boy’s flustered state. “I’m screwing with you, Kid. Now get the hell out of my house. I’ll see you at 8 AM sharp at the compound”

Peter nodded frantically. “Yes, sir. 8 AM. Got it.”

Tony turned and left without another word, leaving Peter slightly panicked. Did Mr. Stark think that something was going on between him and Y/N? Would he be mad if there was? Peter didn’t know what to think, but he knew that he should probably leave before Tony decided to come back.

Peter climbed carefully out from underneath Y/N, setting her head gently on her pillow. He tried his very best not to wake her as he moved out of the bed.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Love you lots.” Peter whispered to his ‘best friend’, planting a sweet kiss on her forehead. With that, he slid your window open, climbing out of it and swinging his way home.

Peter was completely oblivious to the fact that Tony had been standing quietly outside your door when Peter said his goodbyes, and Tony saw the entire encounter. The ‘goodnight’, the ‘i love you’, the sweet forehead kiss.

Tony had his suspicions, but that night it was confirmed: his newest recruit had it bad for his daughter.

Strangely, Tony didn’t find himself terribly angry over it.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of your alarm blaring frustratingly loud. You groaned at the noise, picking up your phone to turn it off. The time on your phone screen read 7:00 AM. Groaning again, you pulled yourself reluctantly out of bed. As much as you hated getting up out of bed, you knew you had to if you ever wanted to complete your training. Your father had promised you that you’d get a spot on his team if you trained hard enough, and you were extremely determined. It had been your dream for years to become an Avenger, so you had been training your ass off for months to earn your spot.

This is how all of your Saturdays had begun for many weeks. An alarm going off at seven in the morning, waking you up to get ready for training at eight. It was a normal routine for you at this point, but for some reason the early wake up never got easier.

You moved about your regular morning routine, heading straight for your bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. Once your basic hygiene was done, you brushed through your hair, changed into some clothes (your training uniform was at the compound), grabbed your phone, and headed downstairs.

You made a beeline for the kitchen, where your father was already making his morning coffee. When he noticed your presence, he gave you a tired smile.

“Morning, Y/N/N. Sleep well?”

Still half asleep, you gave an exhausted nod. “I shouldn’t have stayed up that late last night. I’ll yell at Peter when I see him. He always manages to convince me to let him stay late.”

For some reason, your father gave a light chuckle at your words. “I bet he does, sweetheart.”

Your brows furrowed at his statement. Something about his tone of voice didn’t sit right with you. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, making your way over to fix yourself a cup of coffee.

Your father smiled smugly at you, passing over the coffee pot and a mug. “Nothing, honey. Be ready in fifteen.”

Still suspicious, your eyes followed him as he placed his coffee mug in the sink and moved from the room. Why was he acting like this? Did Peter do something last night? You remembered falling asleep halfway through the movie, not being able to make it through the whole thing. Had something happened while you were sleeping?

Deciding not to let it bother you, you pushed the interaction from your mind, focusing solely on fixing your coffee. You were barely functional without it, and you knew you needed to be fully aware for training. You had to prove to your father that you could keep up with the Avengers, and that you’d be a useful asset to their team.

You downed the coffee quickly, knowing you had only a few minutes left to get ready. When your father gave you a time warning, he always meant it. And, you knew all too well, he would leave you behind if you were going to make him late.

He’d done it twice before.

Once you had finished chugging the remnants of your coffee, you placed the mug neatly in the sink, right beside where your father had left his. The drink had been an instant pick-me-up, and you automatically felt more awake. You found yourself getting more and more excited for the day ahead of you. Though waking up early on saturday mornings was a pain in the ass, you did enjoy training. You got to exercise, learn about cool technology, and screw around with your best friend. What wasn’t there to like?

Now that your best friend had crossed your mind, you pulled out your phone to text him. You sent him a message every morning, or he sent one to you. It was just a thing the two of you did. Over the past year the two of you had been close, it became some sort of routine.

Y/N/N: morning spidey. u awake?

Within moments, he was typing out a reply. He always answered your messages quickly.

Spidey: yes i am :) ready for training? I’m gonna kick ur ass in sprints today

You chuckled lightly at his response. You and Peter had always been insanely competitive towards each other, and it really jumped out during training. Unfortunately for you, Peter usually won the challenges. You always blamed it on the fact that he had more experience and super strength; he blamed it on the fact that ‘you suck’ and ‘he’s just that awesome’.

Y/N/N: u can try, but idk how that will work out. I’ve beaten u in all of the other sprints for weeks.

Spidey: doesn’t matter. I’m showing out today

Spidey: bring ur a-game, irongirl.

You smiled at the message.

Y/N/N: always do, spiderboy

He started typing back immediately, and you knew exactly why. He called you irongirl to screw with you, so you had begun calling him spiderboy to get on his nerves. It worked every time.

Spidey: Y/N!!! It’s spiderman!!!

Y/N/N: spiderboy!!! It’s nova!!!

Spidey: ugh. Ur impossible.

You grinned widely. Your playful banter with Peter has always been one of your favorite parts of the friendship.

Y/N/N: but u love me anyways :)))) see u soon

Spidey: u better be glad i do. see u soon

You reread the texts, unable to fight the smile on your face. Everytime you interact with Peter, you remember how much you truly love him. Being an avenger, and the daughter of one of the smartest and most famous men on the planet, wasn’t easy. Peter was the only one who had a taste of the madness that was your life. Having him around was having a sense of normalcy, and so were incredibly grateful for him.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your voice being called from the front door of your house.

“Y/N! Time to leave!” Without hesitation, you locked your phone, slipping it into the pocket of your sweatpants.

You hurried towards the front door, not wanting to be left behind again. When you arrived, your father was already standing there, holding the door open. You gave him a smile and a quick thank you for holding the door, then made your way out. The driver was already waiting patiently in front of your house. This was one of your dad’s six drivers.

“Morning, Bernard.” You say kindly to the driver, climbing into the back seat of the range rover. “How are you today?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Y/N. How are you?” The older man replied. You really liked Bernard, he was one of your favorite drivers. He was an older man, in his mid seventies, and you found him to be the sweetest person in the universe. Sometimes, he’d bring you your favorite candy when he used to pick you up from school, and he was always so considerate and kind.

“I’m good. Tired, but good.”

The man smiled at your reply. By this point, your dad had finished locking up the front door of the house, and he climbed in the backseat beside you.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” Bernard said professionally to his new passenger, and your dad nodded as a reply.

“Morning, bernard.”

The conversation ended there between the two men. Your father wasn’t a very social person with people he didn’t know, and Bernard was aware of this fact. He mostly talked to you when you were in the car, and Tony went on his phone and did Lord knows what.

“How is Dorothy doing? Is she feeling better?” You asked the man as he began pulling out of your driveway. Dorothy was Bernard’s wife, and she’d gotten sick the week prior. Given her age, Bernard was very worried about her.

Bernard smiled at your question. “Much, much better. They released her from the hospital yesterday, she’s back home and doing great. Thanks for asking.”

“Of course!” You grinned back. “Did you ever find out what she had?”

“Pneumonia, just a very bad case of it.”

You nodded in understanding. “Well, I’m glad she’s better! I was worried when you first told me.”

The conversation continued, talking about anything and everything as you drove to the compound. He told you about his wife, his four kids and what they’re doing. His granddaughter had a baby a few days before, and he was extremely excited about it.

After a 20 minute drive, you pulled up to the building you knew so well. Bernard went to the normal procedure of getting through the front gates, and then pulled up to the front of the compound.

“Well, here we are.” Bernard announced, parking the vehicle. You and your father began climbing out of the backseat.

“Thank you, bernard. Tell your granddaughter I said congratulations!”

He wished you a kind goodbye, and then you were gone, leaving the car and heading towards the compound.

When you walked into the main section of the building, you spotted your best friend in the kitchen. You had to admit, he looked incredible, standing near an open window in the early morning light. He was already dressed in his sleek, black training uniform. It was tight against his body, showing off his muscled body. Sometimes, you forget how beautiful Peter is.

“You’re staring…” A singsong voice came in your ear. You whipped your head towards the voice to see your father walking away from you, smirking. You stood there, feeling slightly confused. Had you really been staring at Peter?

At times, you forget that Peter is only your best friend. The two of you act like an old married sometimes. You spend all of your time together, and you know each other so well.

Strange feelings you couldn’t understand had crept up on you before, especially recently. You couldn’t deny Peter was attractive, and he was a great person, too. How could you not love him? The issue is, you found yourself loving him in a different way than before…

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. You couldn’t be thinking about this right now, it’s not the place or time. Peter was standing right in front of you, and you needed to be focused for training.

You could process your feelings and emotions at a later time.

You began walking up to Peter, who was leaning up against the counter holding a cup of coffee.

“Morning, loser.” You said teasingly, greeting your friend. His head snapped in your direction, and he smiled when his eyes found you. (You thought you could see his cheeks go pink, too, but you forced yourself to ignore it.)

“Hey! How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good.” You replied, leaning against the counter beside him. “I didn’t even notice that you left last night, I was really out. Did my Dad come in and tell you to leave?”

The pink in Peter’s cheeks darkened at your statement. Of course, this was the perfect time for your father to reenter the room. “Yeah, I did. He seemed very comfortable, but I kicked him out at one.”

Peter and your father were making direct eye contact. Your dad had that stupid smirk on his face, and peter was bright red.

You looked between the two of them, not knowing what to think. Before, you were just suspicious, but now it was confirmed: something happened last night between the two of them, and you were determined to find out what.

Hours later, you’re completely exhausted from training. You worked your ass off, and had successfully beat Peter in sprints.

“That’s right! You lost! How amazing is spiderboy now?”

Peter rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. “Whatever, Y/N. I let you win.”

Your jaw dropped. “You did not! I won because I’m better!”

Peter just smiled at you. You took a swig of the water bottle in your hands, turning around to look at your friend as you did.

The sight you were met with was very sweet. Peter stood there, smiling at you with a look you could only describe as adoration. You looked back at him, a small grin resting on your face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” The brunette boy says cheekily.

“Why are YOU looking at ME like that, Parker?”

You took a step closer to him, his eyes widening slightly at your movement. He said nothing in response to your question (though it felt more like an accusation), and you smiled again.”Got nothing to say?” Your voice was barely a whisper.

“Parker!” You jumped what felt like 20 feet in the air at the sound of Natasha’s voice, breaking up the little moment between you and Peter.

You stepped back away from him, and you couldn’t help but notice the sadness flash across his face before he turned to the other woman in the room.

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Tony needs your help in the lab. I believe his exact words were ‘he needs to be here in five or I’ll kill him.’ A few minutes have already passed, I’d start running if I were you.”

Peter’s eyes widened for the second time. “Oh, shit, okay. Thanks, Nat.” He turned his head quickly in your direction. “I’ll meet you in your room when I’m done, okay?”

You nodded with a smile. Peter planted a quick kiss on your forehead before jetting off in the direction of the lounge.

Grinning to yourself, you turned towards the sink, your back facing Natasha. You begin cleaning out your now empty water bottle, thinking over the previous interaction with Peter. You loved when he kissed your forehead.

“So, how long have you liked him?” You were so deep in thought, Natasha’s voice made you jump once again. When you’d fully processed her words, your cheeks went pink.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, don’t give me that. I know you like him.”

“Like who?” Play dumb. That’ll throw her off your trail… right?

“Peter! Come on, you’re caught. Just admit it, Y/n, you’re making things harder on yourself.”

Finally, you sighed. Drying your hands on a towel, you turned reluctantly back towards Nathasha. “Is it really that obvious?”

The woman broke out into a grin at your words. “Of course it is! You two are hopelessly in love with each other. It’s almost hard to watch.”

Your cheeks went pink at her statement. “With each other? Oh, no. You mean I’m hopelessly in love with him. It’s not mutual. I’m just his best friend.”

Nat rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, come on! ‘Just his best friend’ my ass. He loves you, Y/N. He’s even more obvious than you are.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, I promise you’re wrong.”

She looked at you pointedly. “I was right about you, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, but…” Your voice trailed off. You couldn’t argue with that. Nat grinned smugly at your reaction.

“That’s what I thought. Please confess to him when he meets you in your room later. It’s painful to watch, I can’t do it any longer.” And with that, Natasha was gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Was it really thought obvious? Could everyone tell how you felt about peter? You could hardly even tell how you felt about him; the line between best friend and crush had been blurred for so long. If everyone could tell that you were hopelessly in love with your best friend, you would be incredibly embarrassed.

Even worse… what if Peter could tell that your in love with him?

You shook your head, as if clearing your thoughts. No. You couldn’t think like that. Of course he didn’t know; he would’ve said something.

Right?

Sighing, you walked off towards your room to take a shower, pretending you weren’t going to think of him while you were in there.

---

While Natasha was exposing your feelings, you were completely oblivious to the fact that Tony was doing the same thing to Peter in the lab.

When the boy walked in, Peter fully expected that he was being called for one of three reasons.

One: Tony had a new mission for Peter.

Two: Tony needed help with an experiment.

Or, three (the scariest option): Tony wanted to scold him for (albeit unintentionally) cuddling with his daughter the night before.

Peter could only be described as apprehensive as he walked carefully into the lab, where Tony was hunched over a table, working on something that Peter couldn’t see.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter spoke nervously, a timid way of letting Tony know of his presence. “Nat said you needed me. Is that true, or was she just trying to get rid of me?”

“No, no, I called for you.” Tony replied. He made a few last touches on whatever he was working on, then turned around towards peter. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Okay, option two is eliminated. Now, the question at hand is: will it be option one or three?

“Oh, okay. What about?” Peter said casually (or at least, that's how he hoped it came across.)

Tony gave a pointed look to the boy before speaking again. “My daughter.”

Peter’s eyes widened slightly.

Shit, shit, shit.

Option three it is.

“Is this about last night sir? I swear I can explain-” Peter was quickly speaking.

But, before he could finish, Tony was cutting him off.

“This isn’t about last night, kid. I mean, it kind of is, but not really.”

Peter’s brow furrowed.

Unknown option number four?

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I saw what happened before you left last night. The forehead kiss, the ‘I love you,’ all of it.”

Peter was bright red in seconds. “Oh…”

“Do you love my daughter, Peter?”

The boy’s cheeks somehow managed to go a darker shade of pink.

“I-I uh.. O-of course I do, she’s, uh, she’s my best friend.” Peter stammered out.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I mean, Peter.” The man says, his tone borderline accusatory. “Do you love her, love her?”

Silence. Peter didn’t know what to say, so he opted for nothing at all.

“I already know the answer, Peter, so you might as well just come out and say it.”

Peter pondered his next move. If he played his cards wrong, this conversation could end in him losing his life. Tony Stark was not one to be messed with, especially when it comes to Y/N.

On the other hand, Tony Stark was not one to be lied to, either.

Peter sighed, accepting his fate. “How did you know?”

Much to Peter’s surprise, Tony gave a small smile. “I see the way you look at her, kid. I’ve looked at many girls like that in my day. That enamoured look. You're in love with my daughter, and I have some questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yes, questions, kid. Keep up.”

Peter nodded. “Alright.”

“How long?” Tony asked.

“How long…?” Peter didn’t understand what Tony was aking.

“How long have you been in love with Y/N! How long have you known?”

Peter looked away, breaking eye contact momentarily out of nerves.

When did he begin loving you? Now that he’s truly thinking about it, he can’t really remember.

Maybe it was the first mission that the two of you did together, back when you still known as irongirl. It was a bank robbery, an easy task that Tony had given for your very first mission.

Maybe it was that one time when you dragged him out of bed at 6 AM so that you could show him your favorite coffee shop.

Perhaps it was when you took that faithful mission to Asgard, when you gained your powers accidentally, earning your new title as Nova.

Or, it could be the time that you and him stayed up late binge watching a show he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you that night. You looked so beautiful that night, getting excited as something cool happened in the show. Your hair was tied back, wearing an oversized shirt, your face makeup free. He couldn��t help but smile as you laughed, and didn’t think he’d ever heard a more beautiful sound in the world.

Yeah, he thinks it was that night.

“Um… about ten months ago, I think? That’s when I realized, but I think I’ve loved her for longer. I just forced myself not to acknowledge it, I guess.”

Tony nodded in understanding. “I get that. What is it about her?”

Another question the boy had to think about.

“There’s a lot of things, I think. Like how excited she gets when she talks about things she’s passionate about. Oh, and the way she laughs when something’s funny in a movie or a show or something. And the way she sends me memes or videos that she thinks are funny. They’re usually not very funny, but of course I think it’s hilarious just because she sent it to me. And she always listens to me when I talk, even if I’m talking about something stupid and boring like science stuff I think is interesting. She talks back to me like she cares what I’m saying, and I know she probably doesn’t, but she acts like she does, and that’s enough. She always drags me out to go on adventures, or, at least, that’s what she calls them. Usually it’s just going to get coffee or try out some new restaurant she heard about but it’s still fun. She’s just so amazing, and I think she makes me the best version of myself.”

The rant ended, and for a moment, Peter forgot that Tony was even in the room.

“Damn. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m impressed, kid. To be honest, I expected some shallow answer like ‘she looks hot in her suit’ or something like that.”

“No, sir. Of course, she’s beautiful, but Y/N is just so much more than that.”

Tony gave another sweet smile to the boy in front of him.

“She likes you, too, you know.”

Peter’s head snapped toward Tony again.

What the hell did he just say?

“What?”

“Y/N. She likes you.”

“No way. She just sees me as her best friend. I’m probably like a brother to her. She doesn’t like me like that.”

“But she does, kid. I know my daughter better than I know myself. She is head over heels for you, spidey. Which is why you should tell her how you feel.”

“Tell her how I feel? Why would I do that?”

“Because she likes you, too, and then you two will be stupid kids in love.”

“Are you serious?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Peter paused for a moment. “I thought you’d kill me when you found out I liked your daughter, not convince me to go talk to her about it.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, kid. I brought you in here with the intention of killing you, or just telling you to stay away from my daughter. But after you went on that little rant about why you loved her, I just couldn’t tell you to keep away from her. You really love her, kid, I can tell. So go talk to her.”

“You’re sure you won’t be mad if I ask her out?”

Tony shook his head and smiled.

“Go get her, kid.”

-------

Freshly clean and feeling a significant amount better, you sat on your bed scrolling on your phone. Thoughts of Peter had begun to fade (mainly because you forced them out of your mind) and that helped to keep you from stressing about what’s to come.

You had decided to confess how you feel to Peter.

True, this plan could ruin everything. Today could be the day you lost your best friend, and that thought made you want to cry.

But today could also be the day you finally get to kiss the boy you’ve loved forever, and that thought also made you want to cry.

You didn't have much time to think about it further, however, because Peter was knocking on your bedroom door.

“Y/N? It’s me. Can I come in?”

You paused immediately, your heart rating speeding up.

Oh, shit. This is it. This could be the beginning or the end of you and Peter Parker.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. It was now or never.

“Yeah, Petey, come on in.”

The door opened, and the boy you loved so much walked in. His cheeks were pink, you noticed. His cheeks only went pink when he’s nervous. Why was he nervous?

You could tell by his damp hair that he had also showered before coming to your room.

“I need to talk to you about something.” He rushes out.

Oh.

“Same.” is your reply. What else are you meant to say?

“Oh, really? Well, uh, you can go first. I’ll wait.”

You shook your head frantically. “No, you first. You said it first, so it’s only right that you go.”

Peter’s hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it. Another nervous habit of his.

“Can I sit down?”

You nodded. Why was he even asking? Usually he’d just plop down whenever he pleased, no questions asked. This behavior was very out of character for the boy you knew so well.

The boy sat down on the edge of your bed, and then took a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I just have to. I don’t want you to hate me, and I really hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, but…”

Peter paused for a moment, and looked into your eyes. They were brimming with concern, and he just couldn’t hold it back anymore. He broke the eye contact you’d been maintaining, mustered up all the courage he could, and then blurted it out.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for I don’t know how long. I wasn’t planning on telling you, because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but it was starting to get physically painful and I just- I can’t hide it anymore. I love you and I’m sorry.”

Peter clenched his eyes shut, unable to look at your face. He waited (very anxiously) for a reaction, but it never came. Eventually, he opened his eyes, gaining the burst of bravery it took to look at you.

Your jaw was dropped, the expression on your face unreadable.

Oh, no. No no no no no. He’d fucked up. He fucked everything up and now you were never going to speak to him again. He’d lost you. Damn you, Tony Stark.

“Y/N…” He began his apology solemnly. “I’m-”

But he never got to finish his sentence.

Because you were pouncing on him before he had the chance to.

You were on him within seconds, kissing him with so much intensity that he fell back on the bed. He was taken aback for a moment, but quickly kissed you back.

For a moment, the two of you just lay there, wrapped in one another, kissing like there was no tomorrow.

A kiss that made up for all the ones both of you had longed to have in the months before.

You pulled away gently, looking into Peter’s eyes.

“I have loved you for so fucking long, Peter. I was going to tell you that I loved you today.”

“Are you serious?”

You laughed lightly. “Of course I’m serious, you dumbass.”

“Hey!” Peter feigned offense.

You pecked his lips. “You’re a cute dumbass, though.” And then you were kissing him again, and it’s all you could’ve asked for.

----

After a while, the two of you had finally tired each other out, and now you sat cuddled against each other on your bed. No movie or show was playing; it was just you and Peter, listening to each other’s breathing and the sound of your heartbeats.

You looked up at the beautiful boy you were cuddling with, only to find he was already looking down at you.

“Aren’t you going to ask me out, Parker?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and his cheeks went red (for the millionth time that day.)

“Oh, yeah, I- I just thought- nevermind, uh- Y/N, will-”

“Yes, of course I’ll be your girlfriend, Petey.” You cut him off, saving him a few extra minutes of nervous stammering.

He smiled sheepishly at you, then leaned down to bring you into a kiss.

You cuddled back down into his chest, smiling warmly.

You can confidently say that right now, in this moment, you are the happiest you’ve ever been.

#peter parker #peter parker one shot #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu

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blackcatclawsout · 4 years ago

Text

Majima x Reader- Bento Box

I also post to AO3 under the same username!

Morning was always her favourite time of the day. Y/N stirred in her shared bed, nestling into the arms that were already wrapped around her. Majima seemed to already be awake; his grip tightened and drew her closer. He peppered her cheeks and forehead in light kisses, giggling at her sleepy groaning. She swatted away his face, chuckling softly.

"No, I have morning breath," she whined, smirking as he drew her near.

They laid in bed motionless, letting dawn's light hit their blanketed bodies. Everything was soft and warm, as the rising sun began to wake greater Tokyo. Y/N could stay like this forever, pressed against his chest, breathing in Majima. He rarely took showers at night, so she always caught a bit of his cologne in their morning cuddles. Stealing glances at her beau, she saw his face, softened as he breathed softly. She admired his thin face and his high cheekbones. Y/N gently reached up, rubbing the backs of her fingers across his motionless face. She cupped his cheek. Majima's eye opened, locking with her. His grey eye was softened in moments like these, pupil lazily dilating as he stared back at her. Catlike blinks between the two of them communicated their mutual appreciation for the silent moment they were currently sharing. Y/N's eyes darted towards his thin-lipped mouth. The hand she rested on his lean chest felt his heart speed up. The anxious pattering edged her to lean in closer. A giddy feeling rose from her stomach, compelling her to shut her eyes in excitement. The harsh melody of the phone cut through their synchronized breathing.

"Son of a..." Majima muttered, immediately turning to his bedside stand. Y/N sat up, calming her still fast-beating heart. "Nishida, d'ya even know what time- No, I haven't since... Fuck. I'll be there in a sec." He sighed, hanging up. Majima sat on the edge of the bed, fingers massaging his temple. His lover crawled to him slowly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Before she could ask, he stood up, turning around to face her.

"Shit's hit the fan, I gotta go." His hand extended, resting on top of her head. Fingers wandered absent-mindedly through her locks as his eyes flickered over her partly covered figure. His brows were once again furrowed.

"I understand. You better get going." She nodded, smiling up at the older man. His lips parted slightly, almost to say something, but pressed together again. He sauntered to the washroom, closing the door behind him. Y/N glanced at the clock on Majima's side table.

5:56... yikes. No wonder Goro was pissed off. He doesn't usually get up for another half hour.

She stretched as she got up, wrapping a robe around herself as she left the bedroom. Something Y/N had slowly grown accustomed to in her partnership to Majima was bento boxes. The idea of making someone a packed lunch seemed… childish to her; at least it did at first. She vaguely remembered her mother making her lunch when she was a child, probably because she couldn't be trusted to pack her own. She had learned quickly to become independent, fiercely so, and the thought of relying on someone else to make her lunch seemed strange to her. It wasn't until Goro explained that she caught the appeal.

"When you're a kid, your mom made one of them for you and your dad. It always had great shit in there- homemade and sometimes with cute decorations. Now, she only did this for you an' your ol' man, the two people she shoulda loved most. So when ya girl makes it, it means she loves ya!" He flashed a cheeky grin as he explained. Y/N just cocked her head.

"You... don't think of your mom when you eat it?" She asked warily, causing him to burst with laughter.

"Hell no, I don't! I just think of my girl, and how lucky I am to have her." he leaned forward, pecking her cheek as he finished.

Y/N washed the rice absent-mindedly as she thought back to then. A smile graced her lips as she turned the machine on to hum, beginning to make other parts of his lunch. There was a big learning curve at first; the rice balls would always fall apart, or she’d mess up some recipe. Far too often she had left out an element from the lunch box, only to find it waiting on the counter. Despite it all, Majima took a bento each day, calling after he finished to compliment her work. His praise motivated her, even driving her to go to a local bookstore, looking for any sort of help. Slowly, her skills improved. Her routine became more integrated and quicker with each passing day.

After a short while, she looked at her handy work. The layer bento was stuffed full of edamame, onigiri with fish, steamed vegetables, and leftover meat from their dinner before. She felt proud of her handiwork, even if it wasn’t perfect. Y/N glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall.

It’s been almost 20 minutes... He should be ready soon.

She packed the food up, tucking his chopstick into the small plastic container. After ensuring everything was ready to go, she padded back to the bedroom, looking around for her lover. Muttering leaked out of their washroom, prompting her to follow the growling.

“Hey, Goro-chan… You’ll need to be heading out soon,” She popped her head into the doorway, smiling as she saw him already finished. He turned to face her, an exasperated look already carved into his face.

“Those assholes…” He sighed as he walked towards her, He was dressed in his usual suit jacket and black leather pants. She could still smell the dampness in his hair and his body wash- one of her favourite smells. Y/N gave a soft smile to him.

They didn’t often talk about his work, they met in spite of it, and he seemed to prefer to keep it that way. When they first met, he was insistent that he was a businessman- he looked the part then too. At the time, his hair was long and neat, his suit always pressed and clean; he had kept himself well-groomed with a clean shaved face, so it wasn’t much of a stretch then. Of course, life got in the way and they fell apart, only connecting years later by chance. The drastic change in his appearance tipped her off that he was into… different work by now. But she respected his privacy. She wasn’t oblivious by any means; Y/N meticulously knew what he did and where he was most days. After a few months of being together, she began receiving text messages from Nishida, informing her on where his boss was, especially during late evenings. They chatted frequently, even going into topics not associated with work. He was her confidant and seemed to share the image of Majima that she had.

Goro finished with his hair and came to the doorway, kissing her cheek before heading out of the bathroom. He picked up a few things he left out on the bed before also leaving the bedroom. She tidied the washroom, bringing out the damp towel that smelled like him, and tiding the bedspread before also leaving.

“See ya! I’m off!” Majima called from the door.

“Call you later!” She echoed from the laundry room, “Have a good day!” She waited for the door to click shut before she continued with the laundry. Household chores weren’t her favourite, she didn’t enjoy doing laundry or cooking. But if it was left up to the two of them, both Majima and Y/N would starve and live the remainder of their days on earth as nudists. On her days off, she tried to get everything done quickly, leaving the remainder of the day to read or do whatever else she pleased. Y/N stretched as the washing machine began to purr lightly. She sighed as she looked around for something else to do.

Can’t seem to find anything else… Guess it’s time for breakfast.

Padding to the kitchen, she used the remainder of the food prepared from before to make herself food. She hummed happily as egg sizzled and soup came to a soft boil. The fragrant embrace of food brought her a joy that nothing else in the world could, and she almost hated to admit it. It was half-way through her rendition of some pop song from the radio that she noticed something in the corner of her eye, sitting on the countertop. Turning she noticed it was the bento box she made. Y/N held the container in her hands, turning it over lightly. She felt her brow furrow slightly, thinking of what to do. Should she bring it to him? Glancing at the clock she sighed,

It’s 7:00 am… If I get ready soon I can drop this off and pop around Kamurocho for a bit

It was 10:30-ish when she was dressed and ready to head out. Just because of the occasion, she decided to wear a knee-length black skirt and a simple creme blouse, pairing them with black penny loafers. She admired her reflection in the hallway mirror, her makeup light and perfect for a sunny afternoon out. Y/N made sure to gently tuck in the bento box to the fabric bag she had slung around her shoulder and headed out for the day.

Navigating the subways always seemed daunting during rush hour, so she grew thankful when she patted down the steps to find the underground mostly empty. It was a short walk through the underground mall to where she needed to go; the large hall filled with all ages shopping for what they needed. Sweet vendors sold their succulent items to the newly freed students, groups of teenage girls fawned over the newest character items displayed, some with their boyfriends. A light smile played over Y/N’s face as she too had been that way when she was younger. She understood the excitement contained within the first week off of school, how it drove young people to be out with their friends. As she left the mall area and came to her line, she noticed a pair of teens waiting. A boy and a girl stood side by side, rather stiffly. She eyed them, noticing the way they both twitched when talking to one another. How cute. She glanced down at her fabric bag.

I wonder what he was like when he was younger…

The train ride was about 20 minutes, dropping her off in the heart of Kamurocho. Despite the bright sun and lack of neon lights, people swarmed the warming streets, chatting and shopping to their heart’s content. The smell of grilled food, cigarettes, and sun-baked concrete filled her senses as Y/N darted through the crowd. Regardless of being the only foreigner for blocks, she was ignored completely by the other’s around her. It sometimes was the only redeeming quality of the busier areas. Endless roads seemed to carry on for miles, the farthest treks waving and fluttering in the edging midday heat. All of Kamurocho seemed to be gearing up for the impending festival season, which always impressed visitors from far and wide. Passing by, attendants called out in hopes of catching a customer, but their calls falling on deaf ears. The Millenium Tower loomed over the crowds in the bright sunlight, casting a sharp shadow; though it was a ways off, it still acted as a centre, or maybe more of a North star. She dawdled towards the quieter part of town where the Majima family office was located. She had vaguely remembered certain landmarks, like the worn down shrine that always seemingly had a fresh bowl of rice, or the old teahouse they had once stopped at. As she drew near the building, a tense feeling probed her stomach, though she had trouble understanding why. It was not like Goro was ever mean or told her not to come, yet she had the feeling like he had lived his life with her around his work, avoiding involving her in any regard.

Y/N bit her lip anxiously; She would be lying to say she had not considered heading back. Simply calling him to warn him that he might have to eat out for today, or feign ignorance over his forgetfulness this morning. Yet, the prospect of doing anything else plagued her mind with guilt. Glancing at her watch, she decided to head in, despite it being only 11:22, as she’d rather be giving him his lunch early than late. She cautiously walked into the building, immediately hit with a wall of air conditioning. She shivered in the artificial cool and looked about. The standard lobby was clean but dated and smelled of old carpet. Thinking back, Y/N had never gotten a good look at the inside, the most she saw was whatever she could see through the window the one time she saw Majima exit from here. The lobby only had a hallway attached, seemingly where the elevators and washroom would be. Gloomy plants sat destitute in the corner of the room. As she finished her look-over, her eyes settled on the high desk that rested on the left side of the room. Quietly, she approached.

The man sitting at the desk was middle aged and pudgy. His clothes and hair would have betrayed him for just another typical salary man and not someone who worked with the Yakuza. Several papers were strewn around him as he wrote on the one closest to him. As she stood waiting, she noticed the permanent fowl look on his face. It was decidedly funny when she realized it was the same face one makes at an offensive smell. Holding back a snicker, she spoke up.

“Um, excuse me…” her voice almost was a whisper. The man whipped his head up, visibly confused. His eyes quickly jumped about her figure as he rose from his seat.

“No english. Out.” He rattled quickly in english, stepping from behind the desk. In her initial shock, he nearly dragged her to the door before she retracted her hand.

“I’m here for-” She began.

“No english.” The man repeated once again, turning to face her.

“Is Majima Goro here?” She exclaimed loudly. The man froze where he stood, blinking owlishly at her. The air conditioning above them tousled both their hair, the moment silent, still and cold. He cleared his throat before straightening himself.

“Yes, I believe Majima-sama is in his office.” The man responded quietly, looking her over once more. Y/N sighed in relief, relaxing her own posture.

“Thank you. Can you take me to him?”

He shook his head softly, walking back to the desk, trailing her along dumbly. At first she thought he was refusing to help her anymore, but as he sat down, he reached for the desk’s phone and irritatedly called a short sequence. He muttered something under his breath before hanging up the phone and returning back to his papers. An awkward pause played as Y/N waited for any further instruction, standing dumbly in front of the pudgy man. Without warning, the elevator creaked opened, allowing two tall lean men to step out. She took that as her cue, and walked towards them.

Confusion seemed to be the theme of the Majima family office; Both men took a second to look her over before jumping back into action, patting her down rather roughly. While they avoided the obvious areas, they did seem to paw her skirt a little belligerently. She bit her lip to bite back a rude comment, deciding that it wasn’t worth pissing off men who killed people for a living. When one tried to take her bag, she yelped causing them to jump slightly. Her face was hot as she opened the canvas bag herself, showing them the contents After an additional minute of snooping, they led inside the elevator adjacent; The three of them stood compactly to one another. Y/N felt them shift their body weight. The small box had no air conditioning, quickly undoing the chill she felt moments ago. Her heart beat began to pick up again as they climbed slowly to the third floor, seconds stretching to minutes. When they arrived, she was hit once again with the cooled air.

The hallway was plain and for some reason nerve-wracking. The lack of scenery gave her less to take in as she tried to calm her beating heart. Checking and rechecking her bag, she made sure the food was in there. Her pulse was loud in her ears and her face felt hot. Why out of all the times she had given Majima a bento, this was the time when she was nervous about it? She thought back to their phone conversations after he had finished his lunch- Was he ever lying? What if he just threw it out at work and told her a pretty white lie? It was only an odd electricity in the room that made her tear her gaze from the bottom of the bag that she had been staring at.

Looking up, she found her gaze land on Goro Majima’s face, his brows furrowing as he looked over her.

“Y/N, are you alright?” His voice had an edge of concern as he stepped out a little from the doorway. She couldn’t help but find herself gawking- he felt too unreal to answer to. She had heard before that you often have trouble recognizing people when they are removed from the typical scenario you see them in; this seemed to be a prime example to her. Before she could answer, Majima led her into his office, draping his arm over her shoulder as he led her in. As she bustled in, he closed the door quickly behind them.

Her eyes wandered over his office- It was small and rather boring, only a small katana on the wall suggested that he would actually use this space. It was surprisingly clean, save for a large desk which was scattered in various papers. The filing cabinets and tables were covered in papers as well, though neatly stacked into piles. It never had occurred to her that he would have done any other work besides physical. Her thoughts were stopped as Goro came into her view. His grey eye was dark and his brow creased, which only made him look older. His gloved hands rested on her shoulders, his gaze even with hers.

“Are you alright, Y/N-chan?” His voice quivered slightly. Her face reddened in response, forcing her to break eye contact.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine..” she replied quietly.

A stale silence hung in the air before Majima straightened himself, hands dropping from her shoulders to hold her hands instead. He held her hands up, gently rubbing the backs of her knuckles.

“You’re not acting like yourself… What’s really happening?” His baritone voice was soft and pleading, making his concern more unbearable. The woman let out a shaky breath and urged herself to look at him. Her tongue felt swollen in her mouth and her throat seemed dryer than moments before.

“You left your lunch at home, but I… just feel silly.” She managed to mewl meekly. Her eyes stayed trained on him while he processed what she said. His face betrayed his confusion before he cocked his head.

“My… lunch?” He repeated. She sighed heavily.

“I came into the kitchen and it was still on the counter, and I didn’t want you to be hungry or to have to go out and stop what you were doing to go buy lunch-” She began only to be cut off by his howling laughter. He held his stomach and keeled over, gasping for air while he cackled brightly. Now she really felt embarrassed.

After giggling to himself for a while longer, he looked up at her, still doubled over and gasping, “You’re too cute.”

She fumbled with her bag, grabbing the bento and quickly shoving it to him. Even though her gaze was averted from him, she could still sense his smile as he gently took the container from her. He walked to his desk, plopping down in the plush leather chair, setting his feet up on the desk. Y/N drew near as he popped the lid open, surveying the contents.

“Okey-dokey, let’s see what we have... Karaage, edamame- always delicious… Ooh! Even salmon onigiri!” He loudly praised the humble contents of the bento, picking through the contents lightly. His lover settled on the edge of his desk, watching his reactions intently. He ate ravenously, akin to a rabid dog more than an actual person. She was the one to giggled this time, watching his face change with each side dish.

As he finished, Majima sighed loudly, sinking further into his chair.

“Delicious as always.”

Y/N cocked her head, “You think so?” He smirked, pulling her forward towards him.I know so.”

#majima goro #goro majima #majima x reader #yakuza #yakuza kiwami #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #i love domestic fluff

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ga-yuu · 3 years ago

Text

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 15~Part 1

Chapter 14

----------Part 1---------

He gently combed my messy bangs and then, his neat face slowly approaches.....

(Ah.....)

He drops a kiss on my forehead and my heart skips a beat.

Kurama: "Humans are annoying. But, you make me do the strangest things. Like listening to idle talking, watching out for weak people and offering them a hand."

Yoshino: "Kurama....?"

(Why did you do that...?)

It's not the usual playful touch, but a genuinely caring gesture that makes my chest tighten sweetly.

Kurama: "----I'm already acting weird. What the hell is happening to me?"

Kurama frowned irritatingly and moved away.

Kurama: ".....Benkei and Yoichi said they would treat you as a guest from now on, right?"

Yoshino: "Yeahh....so what about it?"

I asked feeling confused by the sudden change of subject.

Kurama(glaring cutely): "I don't like the idea of being the only one who keeps you as a prisoner."

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

1. What's with the rivalry?(+4/+4)

2. Why?

3. That's not a problem, right?

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

Yoshino: "What's with the sudden rivalry....?"

Kurama: "It's not rivalry. It's just a natural conclusion of those who own you. I'll think about how I'm going to treat you from now on."

Kurama dismissed the subject unilaterally and left the room.

Yoshino: "Wait....."

(...Wait! I can't sleep like this.)

................

The next day-----

Kurama: "Yoshino. We're going out."

Yoshino: "Excuse me?"

(You just barged into my room without knocking and I'm here just trying to get rid of this hangover.....What time is it, again!?)

Kurama: "We're going to the Otherworld."

Yoshino: "What? Where?"

(I think I didn't hear you right!)

Kurama: "Are you deaf?.....Or maybe the after-effects from overworking?"

Yoshino: "Wrong!"

Kurama: "Good. Now stop being lazy and get up."

Yoshino: "No wait. First, you have to explain things----"

Kurama: "Don't worry. I already told Yoshitsune. It won't be like last night."

(No! First, you had to explain everything to me...!!)

Yoshino: "----And STOP PULLING MY CLOTHES!!"

..............

Kurama: "......and that's what the Otherworld is. Don't make me repeat it."

Kurama reluctantly explains everything while walking around the town of Hiraizumi.

Yoshino: "I've heard a little bit about the Otherworld from Tamamo before, I heard that only demons live there,....and it's not a place that humans should go often..."

(But what's the reason that you're taking me....?)

Kurama: “There are places in the Otherworld that are harmful to humans, and there are places that are not. Either way, if a human goes there, he or she is bound to fall prey to the demons.”

Yoshino: “Will I get eaten!?”

Kurama: “Idiot! Do you think there will be a foolish demon alive out there that will dare to touch my toy when I’m around? If anyone should come near you, I’ll tear them to pieces.”

(In simple words, you’ll protect me no matter what, right?)

Yoshino: “But why are you taking me there?”

Kurama: “To thank you.”

Yoshino: “Thank me?”

Kurama: “I thought about it last night. The party was, as they told you, was a gesture of them showing their gratitude towards you. So I wanted to thank you in my own way.”

(You mean....)

I suddenly remembered the conversation we had after we left Heikichiro-san’s house.

----------FLASHBACK---------

Kurama: “Yoshino. I’m reassessing your value. Apparently, you have a strength that I don’t know about. ....I’m proud of you.”

Yoshino: "Are you...perhaps....do you want me to take that statement as a 'Thank you."

Kurama: "...............Think of it however you want."

---------FLASHBACK ENDS--------

(So maybe...he’s starting to care for me?)

He’s not trying to actually say ‘Thank you’ in words but instead, he’s trying to show it through his actions.

I felt ticklish when I thought about it and started to giggle.

Kurama: “Why are you laughing?”

--------Part 2--------

Kurama: “Why are you laughing?”

Yoshino(blushing): “You’re imagining things.”

Kurama: “Do you think you can hide your red cheeks from me?”

I smiled more and more when I saw Kurama making a face that screams ‘Why am I doing this?’.

(I can’t help but be happy for Kurama’s feelings, regardless of why the destination is the Otherworld.)

........................

(You said you were taking me to the entrance to the Otherworld........But what a way to go, we’ve come pretty far!)

Kurama brought me to the mountains around Hiraizumi.

We tied our horse we had ridden on the way to the tree and went further into the woods. (I don’t know how they got a horse when they were walking around town.)

Kurama: “Haa! Flying would have been much faster, you know. But Yoshitsune and others forced me to take a horse.”

Yoshino: “Looks like it was a good thing that you told them before going on a long journey.”

Kurama: “It’s better to listen to them than hearing their nonstop complaints later. But I don’t like the idea of them having even a little bit of you.”

(....Just like yesterday.)

I’m a bit confused by the suggestion of exclusivity.

(What does Kurama thinks of me?)

(His toy? A prey to be kept alive? Or prisoner?)

(I’ve always thought of myself as being like that.)

Kurama: “It’s here.”

My thoughts were cut off when I heard Kurama’s thoughts.

Yoshino: “Here? I can’t see anything here.”

Kurama: “I can smell the Otherworld through the slightest hole. A mere mortal wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

(Really...)

Yoshino: “Are there many places like this?”

Kurama: “To a certain extent. Some holes close quickly, others appear irregularly. I could drill a hole with a spell, but that would require a high amount of my magic.”

Yoshino: “Okay, I get it.”

Kurama: “We’re going. Ready?”

Yoshino: “Wait! I need time to prepare! Is there anything I need to prepare first----”

Kurama laughed lightly when he saw me panicking.

Kurama: “Just take my hand and close your eyes. That’s all you need to do.”

Yoshino: “Mm...”

While my heart was not quite ready yet when I saw Kurama holding out his hands towards me, I don’t feel anxious.

(Oh....)

When I placed my hand on his big palm, he draws me towards him and I was completely wrapped in Kurama’s warmth.

Holding my hand with one hand and the other touching my back, Kurama quickly closed his eyes.

Kurama: “-----It’s time to fall into the hole in the gap.”

His voice echoed and the surroundings around is begins to distort.

Yoshino: “.....!”

I instantly closed my eyes and only felt Kurama’s existence.

The sound of trees and the chirpings of birds that filled the area has suddenly become distant.

Kurama: “Good. Now, open your eyes.”

Yoshino: “This is....”

Kurama: “The Otherworld.”

(At first glance it looks like normal but....the air is different.)

When I looked around, the plants and trees in the area is also different.

Yoshino: “I feel heavy.”

Kurama: “Feeling nausea is normal. Let’s get to our destination as quickly as possible.”

Then, he spreads his black wings.

Kurama: “Hold on tight.”

(Perfect for the atmosphere of the Otherworld....)

Kurama picks me up easily regardless of me who is admiring him.

Yoshino(blushing): “Th-Thank you.”

(I’m afraid I’m getting more and more used to his behavior all of a sudden.)

In the midst of the powerful sound of wings, I looked down gently.

Yoshino: “Woww!! The landscape looks totally different.”

Kurama: “And so it shall be.”

----------Part 3-----------

Yoshino: “Woww!! The landscape looks totally different.”

Kurama: “And so it shall be.”

Kurama smiles in satisfaction as I gawk at him.

Kurama: “I’ve seen this sight all the time and it’s not bad to see your delightful face seeing the skies of this world.”

Yoshino: “Oh! What’s that? That, glowing dog-like creatures....”

Kurama: “Don’t go near them. They eat human bones.”

(It looks cute, but it’s scarier than I thought! After all, this is the Otherworld.)

Kurama flies in the sky with all the scenery in his sight.

He looks like the King of Demons.

................

As the night falls.

More and more the air of the Otherworld smells heavy and mysterious.

Kurama: “This is it.”

(Woahh........!)

My eyes widened when I saw a magnificent cherry blossom tree in full bloom.

Yoshino: “Beautiful.....they have cherry blossoms in the Otherworld too. And I can’t believe they’re blooming at this time of year.”

Kurama: “The seeds must have spilled out of the Human world. The air around here is suitable for humans, so it has germinated, grown over time, and adapted to the atmosphere of the Otherworld.”

(You’re right, the air here is very clear.)

It doesn’t have the clinging weight that I felt when I first arrived in the Otherworld.

Kurama: “Do you like it?”

Yoshino: “Yes! Very much!!”

(Did you wanted to show me this view?)

(Did you think that it would make me happy?)

When I think about those questions, my heart was full.

Yoshino: “Thank you very much for bringing me here, Kurama.”

Kurama: “-----Yeah.”

I turned and smiled, and then, the Otherworldly wind blew my hair.

As if on a whim, Kurama reached out and combed the hair on my cheek with his fingertips.

Yoshino: “Mm......”

(Hehe, that tickles....)

A strange heat smoldered in my heart like a burning fever.

Pale pink petals fluttered and falls above our heads.

Yoshino: “If you look closely, the color of the blossom seems to be a little darker than the cherry blossoms of the human world.”

Kurama: “You’re a bit of a trifler, aren’t you?”

Yoshino: “I noticed it when was struck in awe, and I tend to do it most of the time. But the wind makes it look even more magical, like something out of a dream.”

(I’ll never forget this view.)

The wind blew again and it started raining petals.

Yoshino: “!!”

I noticed Kurama was staring at me.

The petals on his black hair, disheveled by the wind, fell dreamily as if it were afraid to touch Kurama.

Yoshino(blushing): “.......How beautiful.”

Kurama: “You said the same thing earlier.”

(I can’t tell him that this time I was mentioning Kurama and not the cherry blossoms.....)

Kurama touches my collar as the wind dances gently with the flurries.

Kurama: “You’re covered in petals. It looks stupid but....not bad.”

(Eh.....)

Kurama’s face, a little down on his eyelashes, approaches------

His lips caught the petal that had fallen on my collar.

(What the....I can’t look...)

Kurama: “Got it!”

Yoshino(blushing): “.....You could’ve just picked it up normally.”

Kurama: “Don’t tell me what to do. Anyway, you said, you like the way the wind blows and the flowers fall, don’t you? Now look.”

Kurama takes out his fan and spreads it loosely.

Then the wind started to gather in one place-----

(.......!)

The increasing force of the wind made me close my eyes.

(Is he using his magic!?)

Kurama: “You won’t see if you close your eyes.”

Yoshino: “What are you doing....?”

Kurama: “I’m going to drop all the flowers on this tree. Watch them fall as much as you like.”

Yoshino: “No, wait!”

I stop his hand that was about to swing the fan.

Kurama: “What?”

I made sure that the wind slowly dies down and Kurama stopped using his magic power.

Yoshino: “I’m glad you feel that way, but I think cherry blossoms are only beautiful when they fall naturally. I think it’s the dreaminess that makes you want to see it again after it’s gone.”

Kurama: “.........?”

(His face says “I don’t understand you.”)

Kurama: “I don’t understand you.”

Part 2

#ikemen series #ikemen genjiden #ikemen genjiden kurama #ikemen mc #otome #cybird #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #main story translations

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th3-n3xt-phas3-wr1t1ng · 4 years ago

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Good Bunny ((Frank x Reader))

A/N: first sfw ‘x reader’! This is a small idea that I had a few nights ago and decided to make a one-shot of it. Also, I’m partially thanking him @mikeknowslittle for this because 1. It was his art that made me think of this and 2. He is the one who got me into this character in the first place. Also, it’s his birthday so it’s another reason why I wanted to get this up tonight/today! So thank you and I hope you all enjoy this!

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

You giggle as you run away from the railyard security guard and that yippy dog of his. His angry grumbles and shouts echo throughout the yard as the dog basically drags his owner to you. You twist and turn, running around every corner you can. Once you think you are hidden well enough behind one of the cars, you stop to catch your breath. That doesn’t last long though as you can hear his dog get louder and louder. You quickly look around to try and find some sort of exit. The best that you can find is right across from you; a door that leads down to the subway.

You quickly run over to it, hopping over some of the scrap metal and wood that is all over the place. You run down the stairs, but trip once you get to the bottom. You hiss out in pain, but quickly get back up and look for a place to hide, the guard catching up on you. You find an abandoned train car and get inside, hiding under one of the torn up seats. The guard’s dog’s growls echo throughout the subway station and you hold your breath. Eventually, those barks get quieter as they seem to go in the opposite direction. They’re going the wrong way. You think to yourself. Perfect.

You’re about to stand back up and make your escape, but then you hear another set of footsteps getting closer to the train car. You peek out of the closest window and what you see confuses you. It’s a man, tall and lanky, wearing a neat dark blue suit, and his hair, while it has some places where it sticks out, it looks neat as well. There are two things about him that are weird though: the strange looking stop-watch like thing in his hand and his rabbit mask.His head turns to your direction and you quickly duck back under, wrapping a hand over your mouth to make sure you stay silent.

You crawl out and through the center aisle, making your way to one of the windows near in the front. You slowly peek out once more and go back to watching the strange man.He climbs up onto the platform and looks up at the wall with what looks like an hourglass carved into it. The man looks down and the thing in his hand turns into a key and he pushes it into the wall. Your eyes go wide as you watch the wall start to illuminate blue. He must have felt your eyes because he quickly turns around and you hide once more.

After a few moments you look back up, but then panic and go back down. The man pulls out the...key thing and is now walking over to where you are hiding. You can hear his footsteps getting closer through the broken windows. You crawl under one of the seats again and hold your breath as the car creaks when he enters. He walks through the aisle and you watch as he passes you. You move as quickly and quietly as you can to the doors in the middle and crawl out, but fall once more on the ground. You mumble something through your teeth for a moment before getting up and running away again.

Little did you know that he heard you and is now chasing after you. You run through the dark tunnel of the subway, following the track. You look behind you and panic as he is right on your tail. As you two continue your chase along the rail, they start to vibrate as a train is on the way. All of a sudden an arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you against him before pinning you to the wall.

The train comes speeding by both of you, both your outfit and suit blowing in the wind of it. You look down and are able to see a partial ID, reading that his name is Frank. You look up at him as he watches the train. You wish you could see any other part of him, but all you can see is the black strap that wraps the mask around. After a few seconds, the train is gone and you start to squirm in his hold, trying to break free. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt you and he turns back to you. You try to squirm even more.

“Let me go!” You shout at him, but he doesn’t respond. The glowing red eyes shrink and your body starts to fill up with fear. It grows as he looms closer to your face.

“What do you want? A thank you?!?” He once again stays silent and tilts his head a little. He seems to be analyzing you and you gulp nervously.

“Look, I won’t tell anyone that I was down here. I won’t tell them I met you or anything, just please let me go!” You say, trying to bargain with the masked man. It seems to work because he straightens back up, but doesn’t let go just yet.

“Good Bunny.” Is the only thing his deep and electronic voice says before finally releasing you. You nod before making a break for it. You have no idea that he watches you as he goes, having a feeling that you two will meet again some day.

#frank subway surfers #subway surfers frank #subway surfers #subway surfers series #frank x reader

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readingaccountability · 4 years ago

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snow crash - neal stephenson

my playlist (because of The Way That I Am)

final thoughts:

okay, im going to be honest right out of the gate- i cant decide whether this is a book id recommend or not. it was really fun for the most part, but personally there was a lot more exposition than id like. the early portions of the novel have exposition which feels completely fair, mostly things relating to worldbuilding. stephenson creates his own vision of future america, and some places online referred to it as cyberpunk, and some as post-cyberpunk. id be more in the latter camp, mostly due to the way he plays with tropes, leaving the reader unsure of which will be subverted and which wont.

the use of language was really fun, and i enjoyed the worldbuilding a lot. his vision of a futuristic capitalistic earth feels surreal in its immediacy and recognizability. the back jacket blurb ends with "a future america so bizarre, so outrageous, you'll recognize it immediately." which, yeah. a texan info-tech magnate? two competing corporations owning the highway system? suburban city-states? this was another enjoyable thing- everything was colorfully named, and names treated totally normally, which kind of poked fun at how we have everyday things named very ludicrously and for the most part we are totally blind to it.

one aspect i really enjoyed was that the author often doesn't make certain things clear to the audience, until he does, and then it becomes necessary to reassess the entire story and setting. this goes to underscore the theme of the importance of information and the ways we take it in and perceive the world based upon it. for example, we don't learn that y.t. is fifteen until maybe 75 pages in, at which point a lot makes sense in retrospect. the same thing occurs in the worldbuilding, as suddenly a detail is given in passing and the reader must incorporate it into the setting, which by default we assume to be similar in many ways to our idea of america. it keeps the reader on their toes as well as furthering the worldbuilding. for the most part, the tech stuff didnt feel outdated to me, despite being a future projected out from '92.

however, aspects of the book are definitely very 1992. id put these into two camps: the first, being that the book does at different times use slurs. the main character is black and asian, the n word is used a few times by racist side-character/antagonist types, as are a few other racial slurs. there was also the occasional usage of the r slur, within the narrative prose itself, rather than usage as an insult within dialogue.

the protagonist, who is named, unfortunately, hiro protagonist, is a great character and felt very fleshed out to me, though at times he reminded me more of dirk strider than normally would be ideal. (its obvious that stephenson and andrew hussie are of a similar type of writer, and play with similar tropes, lmao.) hiro is a man of many worlds. he seems to shift between them easily, though never fully existing in any of them. this is reflected in his background, both in his biracial identity and in having been raised on a myriad of army bases. this is layered further in his fluidity in interacting with both reality and the metaverse, yet remaining slightly, consistently aloof. fascinatingly the first moment i sensed this drop was when we meet juanita- aka where his real and meta realities coincide. the description of them as the adam and eve of the metaverse is both insanely romantic and thematically key (good god i wish we had more than like, two conversations between them). juanita designed the facial component to metaverse avatars, doing the majority of this work when the two were together, and hiro can see echoes of both their facial tics in the face of every avatar in the metaverse. in a way, by having done this work juanita is positioned by the narrative as one of the gods of this digital realm. she is also hiro's call to action, being aware of the coming trouble and alerting him to it, as well as connecting him to the informational database he needs to prepare.

y.t., the secondary protagonist, fucking ruled. i loved that she was just a fifteen year old punkass kid whose mom doesnt know how crazy this part time job is. y.t. being worried about her mom was a great thread throughout, and a really good balance to how obviously independent y.t. is. i do wish there had been a chance to explain more about her background (she has a dad who left who is mentioned in a throwaway sentence, and a boyfriend who is mentioned near the beginning but never again.) i really enjoyed how obviously hyperaware y.t. was at all times about her own place within the insanities of the setting, while also consistently writing her as a teen maybe in way too deep who thinks about things in typically teenage ways. but like, that wasn't ever held against her? the narrative meets her where she is. it was honestly awesome. HOWEVER,

i absolutely hated the raven and y.t. scenes. how creepy!!! he basically statutory rapes her!!! we know hes at least late 20s early 30s, because hes the same age as hiro. if this sort of content is upsetting to read for you, i definitely do NOT recommend this book. (if you want to avoid reading these bits: ch 47 y.t. meets raven, ch 50 they are in a bar eating, ch 52 things happen that result in y.t.'s anti-assault device activating- she did not activate it on purpose, but forgot it was there- and raven is knocked out.)

please PLEASE dont take any of the following analysis as like, trying to be apologetic towards this scenes. because again they were awful and hard to get through and really gross. but im also cognizant that the author was obviously trying to convey something by making the choice, like the way it was written is obviously not condoning this sort of thing.

i think maybe what stephenson was trying to get at with that, was that we see hiro internally negate any potential for anything untoward with y.t. basically immediately, since he kind of senses that she might have a small crush on him (though this doesnt last more than a fleeting moment, especially from her perspective). vs raven, whose 'poor impulse control' warning tattoo eventually elicits a sarcastic remark from hiro after he finds out raven and y.t. were "a thing". i really dont think hiro knew how far it went? like it was just suuuper weird, but i figured it was meant narratively to 1. execute the chekovs gun of y.t.'s anti-assault device, 2. contrast hiro and raven (especially considering the bike-racing argument where theyre telling the story together, which is supposed to parallel them, while contrasting the differences in how they ended up?), and 3. just to get raven unconscious, i guess. but good god it was weird and i hated every second of it, why couldnt the device have like, activated way earlier?? gah. fucking upsetting. moving past that!

honestly i was really frustrated by how little screentime juanita got, because the way she was introduced was so fucking interesting and then shes mostly off doing her own thing. the bits of explanation she gives at the end about what she was up to on the raft are so sparse and im like damn, can we get a little bit of her pov in here? please? that would have ruled. additionally, shes supposed to be hiros love interest, but we see so little of them interacting outside her intro scenes. a huge portion of why hiro is getting into the sumerian mythology is literally framed as something that will help him understand juanita, but we dont get to see him talk to her about it barely at all.

the supporting characters were quite fun, i particularly liked the librarian. big surprise, i liked the overly literal ai information-dispensor, lmfao. watching him and hiro interact reminded me SO hard of geordi laforge having honest to god conversations with the computer where he tries to coax information out of it, aka one of my favorite little aspects of tng.

and lastly, the major plot themes themselves. i adore the way stephenson approached action, it was very entertaining. usually i cant really visualize action scenes written out, but his use of language was really really effective and engaging. the plot itself was absolutely fascinating, though i found the premise pretty contrived. which isnt bad in itself, i was fully suspending my disbelief until the last hundred pages or so. which for a 550+ page book, isnt too bad.

i did like the approach of linking the ancient to the modern, that is always really neat. and i think ultimately stephenson did it in an interesting way, not how i would have done it, but definitely interesting! creating these ideas about information infrastructures, and there being words that can access those and be used to control people, was wild. not sure if i agree about the equating of religion to a virus, though he did specifically establish that it was more the approach to religion, than religion itself. (maybe if juanita had been more goddamn present in the narrative that could have been elaborated on a little more. literally her perspective would have been perfect in balancing that out!!)

ultimately what did me in was the very very very long winded MONOLOGUE where hiro re-explained the whole premise, in ways that didnt really neatly organize into a cohesive argument. a lot of the scenes where hiro talks to the librarian, which are interspersed throughout the book, are really exposition heavy, because stephenson is rooting his ideas in historical concepts that need to be explained to both hiro and the audience. and i thought all that was fine, because it was a conversation where hiro was grappling with the information, and he was figuring it out along with the reader, and most importantly it was a conversation between him and the librarian computer program.

howeverrr later on we get a full rehash of all that, where hiro makes clear some stuff that was just implied for the reader, and hes literally just telling these important men whats up in this big long monologue. utterly worthless. i kept reading it and going YEAH, we KNOW, we know this we know this. and the important men barely interjected. it added basically nothing to our understanding of the situation, other than reframing it. but everything added was already an implicit thing, and didnt really need to be said again.

the resolution to the book was stellar, the last 30-40 pages, once hiro is onto the raft, were great. ultimately after reading and giving some time to digest it, i think it was a solidly great book with a few big drawbacks near the end, but which dont carry through and sully the ending.

#bookblr #book tag #snow crash #neal stephenson #reading progress update #book review #cyberpunk #post-cyberpunk #god this is long #kind of ended up being book report esque... elementary school vibes. i fucking love it ngl #original post #playlist series

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devak66 · 4 years ago

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His first transformation

Eyyy i finally finished this

i thought it would be fun

word count: 1457

explaination in tags

The day starts… much better than others. Ranboo is going for a walk, paying some respects to the damage that Dream had caused to L’Manberg. The crater where it once stood. Ranboo clutched his memory book, looking at what the now imprisoned man had done. Ranboo smiled. Things were going to get better. He hadn’t heard the voice in a while, he found a new home by Phil and Techno. Nothing could ruin this moment.

“Hello dreamon” Fundy’s voice chirped from behind Ranboo, making him jump, luckily he wasnt so close to the ledge he was at risk of falling into the crater but he was still spooked. He turned to face the fox with a very confused “What..?”

“Don’t play dumb with me” Fundy said with a smug smile “Dream told me a while ago. Now Dream is in prison and i want to run some tests on a real dreamon”

“I.. I’m not a dreamon. I’m half enderman-”

“And your other half is dreamon. Honestly i'm surprised i didn’t realize sooner” Fundy took a step towards Ranboo, making the hybrid step closer to the ledge

“N-no… that.. That can't be” ranboo felt his anxiety rise at this idea. It feel wrong but… what… what if Fundy is right. No. That can’t be “I… If I were, why does it matter…?”

Fundy was reaching for something in his bag “well. Ranboo, i'm a part of a little group of people called Dreamon Hunters. And if you’re at all related to a dreamon like Dream, you need to be dealt with”

Ranboo took a step back, right on the ledge. What? Related to Dream…? No.. that can't be true, can it..? “What.. does that mean…?” he glanced down as Fundy had grabbed what he was looking for and with a quick movement had produced a bottle of something and splashed it on Ranboo, who screamed in pain and fell backwards. What Fundy had splashed on Ranboo was not just any water, it was prime water, something very dangerous to dreamons. “Holy shit..” Fundy said looking over the edge, Ranboo had landed on a decent sized ledge, clutching his new burn. The stress and raw emotion of this situation was making Ranboo’s body change.. and transform “it worked!” Fundy smiled

Ranboo’s horns grew longer, as did many of his features. His fingers became closer to claws as a growl grew in his throat. This is when Fundy realized “wait.. it worked” he backed up a few steps when he heard what could be described as a sheik of rage. Fundy quickly pulled out his communicator and sent a message to Tubbo “dreamon. L’Manberg crater. Hurry” he looked up to see the creature that was earlier Ranboo use his longer limbs and claws to pull himself out of the pit

Fundy started to back away from the very angry dreamon “H-hey… ranboo… i can guess youre a little angry” he reached for his bag. Ok.. take inventory. Sword, hoe(of course for defending against dreamons), and.. Perfect. A bottle. Fundy triumphantly pulled it out to find.. Empty. Fuck “C-come on.. It wasnt personal a-and in my defence… it was for research and I didn’t think it would work” that was the exact wrong thing to say. The dreamon roared in rage and charged. Fundy turned tail and ran, checking his communicator with hopes that Tubbo was nearby, but he couldn't tell because tubbo hadnt responded. After several sharp turns, the fox had made it to the holy land. Dreamonic ranboo skid to a stop just at the border, not even trying to step onto the land of prime, he did try to rake his claws at Fundy, who was thankfully just out of range. Fundy’s communicator chirped with a notification. Fundy took it out and glanced at the dreamon pacing the border. Waiting. Fundy checked the message, it was from tubbo, that said ‘A dreamon! Holy shit! Where are you so you can tell me more’

Fundy responded with a simple ‘I’m at church prime, barely escaped it. Be careful when you get here, it's still roaming’ Tubbo gave a quick response and Fundy looked at the beast. It’s eyes held a rage that Fundy didn’t know Ranboo could even have. Moving to the safer space of the church, he glanced over to the dreamon, who was pacing by the border of the holy land.

After a few minutes, Tubbo walked in, wearing his dreamon hunting clothes, looking over at hi compatriot “I messaged Sapnap but he said he’s busy doing something with Karl and Quackity”

Fundy sighed “Then it’s just the two of us”

“How did dream even get out of prison. I thought that place was inescapable”

“It’s not Dream. Its someone else. I thought you’d be able to tell when you saw it” Fundy felt a twinge of panic at what he knew was coming of Tubbo’s response

“I didnt see any dreamon” tubbo saw the fear in Fundy’s eyes

“We need to go. Now. before someone else finds it. Someone who cant defend themself” Fundy was ready to go, as he had already filled some bottles with prime water. Tubbo nodded and turned to leave, Fundy following after “I doubt we’ll be able to do the ritual, but with any hope we can weaken it enough to transform back to normal form”

“You saw the dreamon transform.. Holy shit” as they passed over the border of the holy land, Tubbo thought to ask a very important question “If not Dream, who is the dreamon?”

Before Fundy could answer, a roar echoed through the air, startling some birds. Fundy reached for a bottle of prime water, looking around quickly trying to pinpoint where the sound came from, before he saw it. Long thin limbs ending with clawed almost paws. Those red eyes completely ignored Tubbo as it charged, running on all fours, to kill the bastard who burned him in the first place. It was more difficult to tell with the burns on his body, but the white of his skin was creeping further as he was in this form longer. It was barely noticable as it hasnt been too long but anyone who knows Ranboo well would be able to tell. Before he could lunge he heard a the voice of his best friend, in absolute shock, say “Ranboo?”

Ranboo, if you could call this dreamonic form Ranboo, skidded to a stop, basically sitting on the ground like a dog. “Ranboo.. Is .. his other half is Dreamon..” Tubbo was dumbfounded, but he did notice how ready Fundy was to use his prime water “Fundy! Put that away, this is our friend!”

“That thing isnt ranboo! Its a monster using his form to trick you!” Fundy replied, hearing the growl growing from Ranboo.

“Fundy. Stop. We.. we can try to snap him out of this..” Tubbo said

“Are you kidding! It doesnt care about you! It will kill you at it’s first chance”

“Stop. We are doing this and that is final. Understood fundy?” Tubbo was getting angry, fundy didnt say anything “we.. just need to remind him of who he is” Tubbo looked at the dreamon. He had calmed down, his tail swaying a bit like a cat’s. On his back was a small set of insectoid wings, Nowhere near large enough to use to fly. Neat.

“Ranboo.. Do you remember who i am?” Tubbo tried, only getting a tilted head in response “I.. I’ll take that as a no.. I’m Tubbo, you-”

“This isnt going to work. If you want to remind him of who he is-”

“Fundy..”

“Who he is is a fucking coward” fundy looked straight at the dreamon, who seemed to actually flinch at that “When i first heard what he believed i thought he was an indecisive, insane spineless fuck but when i realized he was right and wanted to join him to continue what he believed he left me like everyone in my fucking life” Ranboo seemed to be slouching.. Or at least.. Smaller.. Closer to his normal size, he backed up a bit away from the angry fox “and even now when he could so easily kill me, youre being a fucking coward” Ranboo whimpered

“Fundy enough”. Tubbo was looking at the dreamon. Ranboo was about his normal size but his eyes were still that red. “Ranboo.. Its o-” Ranboo had gotten up and made a run for it in the opposite direction, Tubbo was angry ��fundy what the fuck!”

“Looks like it worked”

“Thats not my point!”

“Hes half dreamon. Hes a danger and if you dont understand that then i will deal with him if he ever goes to that state again. Understood, Tubbo?” Fundy glared

#half dreamon Ranboo #half dreamon ranboo au #got bored #this was fun to write #ask me questions if you need #explaination: I do what I want #HDR AU

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americasmarauders · 5 years ago

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Delicate-- Jason Todd.

author’s note: this is definelty not my best work, but this has been sitting on my docs for a while and I can’t make it any better. Sooooo, here is a song fic with yours truly jason.

masterlist

The dive bar on the east side of Gotham was his most favorite place. It was perfect. Crowded, but not too much so he could still go unnoticed by most. Cheap, but not too cheap, that way he knew the drinks were legal and not contraband. Clean, but not too clean to give off an air of pretentiousness that most bars on the central part of the city gave him.

Jason would go there all the time. Before patrols, so he could listen to the shady crowd that attended the bar and pick up some clues on some shady activities he could destroy. Those were the days he sat on the back, and carefully observed the movements that adorned the bar on those late afternoons. Those were the days he did not drink.

After patrols, he would sit at the bar, most of the times only without his helmet and armor. He would order scotch, neat, no ice, and would quietly drink as he observed the bartender. The bar was always mostly empty by the time he got there, so she was always tidying it up the place, cleaning cups and tables, washing the floor. She looked like she didn’t mind him being there, and Jason thought it to be the truth. She looked like she didn’t belong at a dive bar at the ends of Gotham city, at the prime of her life, cleaning messes that drunk thugs left behind. But, alas, she was, and Jason wanted to know why.

He slammed his glass on the counter. She flinched behind him, dropping the mop she was holding. They were the only people in the bar.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely. She had seen a lot inside her bar, and she concluded that politeness was always the best course of action. It would never make you target. She directed herself towards the other side of Jason. She grabbed the bottle of scotch he enjoyed—he had been there so many times, it was natural to pick on his habits. She poured him another glass and stared at him.

“Why do you work here?” he mustered up the courage to say. He had been wondering about it for a while, but he never had actually said something to her, too afraid to get attached.

“Excuse me?” she said as she put aside the bottle of scotch. His favorite bottle.

“You look like someone who shouldn’t be working at a… place like this,” he motioned to the bar around him.

“Are you implying that I’m weak?” she narrowed her eyes at him, looking over her shoulder.

“No, I’m saying that you look like someone who should have gone out of Crime Alley,” he took a sip of his drink.

She chuckled and turned to him. She picked up a rag and poured a bit of vodka on it and started to clean the counter. “This is my parents bar, I’m helping them keep the lights on,” she explained.

He picked up his wallet and put the money on the counter. “That’s very noble of you,” Jason said. He got up and started to walk to the door, careful not to dirty up the floor she had just cleaned.

She eyes the money. He had left considerably more than he should have. “Wait, you paid more than you should.”

He rested his hand on the doorknob and for the first time that night, he looked into her eyes. “Keep it,” he smiled.

She smiled back at him. “Thank you,” she said. He smiled in return and left.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“What?”

“The pettiness of life,” she said, cleaning the cup Jason had just emptied. “It is so fickle, isn’t it? You try and try but, in the end, you don’t have control over it. You are forever in the hands of fate”

Jason felt her words hit close to his heart, so much that he wondered if she could read minds. He soon discarded this idea, it was possible, but highly unlikely. “Yeah, weird,” he said awkwardly.

His eyes wandered off to the rest of the bar as the last costumer of the day approached her to pay his due. All the booths had emptied out, as the night turned into day slowly, Jason being the last one out. His eyes landed on the old jukebox on the far corner of the bar. He had noticed it was there but never truly saw it until that moment. It shone on the dark, like a beacon asking for him to come near. He got up from his seat, walking slowly towards the juke box.

She took notice of his actions, as she closed the door and all of its locks. She smiled; the jukebox had that effect sometimes. She rested the keys on top of the counter of the bar and walked towards the stunned Jason—even though later he would deny wholeheartedly he was not stunned, nor perplexed.

“My Father used to play me these songs all the time when I was a little kid,” she said leaning against the jukebox. “But there was one that was my absolute favorite,” she put on a quarter and pressed a few buttons, “I used to play it on repeat. I know that if my Father hears it, he will break this jukebox just out of spite,” she chuckled. The song started to play, and she closed her eyes and started to hum.

Jason smiled. “Would you like to dance?” he said, making her open her eyes in surprise.

“Now?”

“Yes, now,” he caught her hand in his and guided her to the melody of the song.

She smiled coyly, trying to hide it. Jason felt a bubble of satisfaction and happiness burst inside of him. If only his younger self could see him now, he would have received a huge kick in the shin for being so soft and silly around a girl. To hell with his younger self, he died for a reason.

They swayed to the harmony of the soft song. Jason couldn’t contain the dumb smile he had on his face; this woman was special, and he knew all too well. She took a deep breath and rested her head on Jason’s chest, sending flutters all over his body. “I may not know a lot about you, but I trust you Jason,” she said softly.

“I—thank you,” he whispered.

“And when you’re ready to tell me all about you, I’ll be here,” she completed, fluttering her eyes close.

“It’s…delicate,” he explained himself.

“It’s okay,” she looked up at him. She reached for his cheek and planted a sweet kiss on it. She released herself from his embrace as the song came to a close. “I need to close the bar. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said with a bright smile on her face.

He needed somewhere to crash. Somewhere close. He felt the hurt of his wounds increase, as his uniform grew wetter with his blood. His eyesight was getting blurrier, and he probably shouldn’t be driving his bike.

Text, he should send a text to let her know. Yes, stop the bike and send the text. He looked over his shoulder, no one was actively following him. He needed to stop and send her a text. He stopped. ‘Meet me in the back’. Now, drive. Only a few more blocks.

Her phone lighted up next to the cash register. She stopped cleaning the last of the glasses. She had just closed the bar.

‘Meet me in the back’, it read. Her bones chilled. Unknown number. She put her phone on her back pocket and grabbed the baseball bat she kept under the bar just in case. She quietly made her way towards the back door, while three hastily and hesitant knocks echoed through the pantry.

Criminals wouldn’t sound hesitant while knocking the door, would they? No, they would bang the door until it fell off. But that was Gotham, she couldn’t let her guard down. She kept the bat firm in her hand while she opened the door with the other.

Jason was struggling to keep himself straight before her, his face fighting to not cringe in pain. He looked up at her, and she immediately dropped the bat and ushered him inside, not mentioning that he was wearing a red bat symbol on his chest and that she had never seen his eyes in that shade of blue before.

“What happened?” she asked, worried.

“I might have been slightly stabbed,” he said, trying to mask his pain. “This might not be the first time this has happened either.”

“Okay,” she said while frantically looking for her first aid kit. He laid on the floor, and she prayed she had scrubbed it enough to not give him an infection. “Please hang on,” she pleaded.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, suppressing every ounce of him that made him want to grunt in pain.

She had found the first aid kit. Now onto the vodka. And a needle. She kept a needle somewhere. She left the pantry and quickly came back with a bottle of pure vodka and a needle in her other hand.

“What are you going to do with that vodka?” Jason said already knowing the answer.

She opened the lid and poured it on the needle. She then proceeded to rip of Jason’s armor. As soon as the cut was revealed, she poured the drink onto it. Jason Screamed in pain. “YOU COULD HAVE WARNED” he said in pain.

She took a swig at the bottle, drinking a considerable part of the drink. “If I did you would have tensed and prevented me from doing.”

She closed the bottle and opened the first aid kit. Was there a thread in there she could use to close his wound? She should have put it there. She took out bags of gauze and cotton to find the closed package of surgical thread she had once bought in case she hurt herself. Hospitals were a luxury to her, and she couldn’t afford that. Thank God she never needed it. Now, she was sewing closed her… It was too delicate to say what Jason was to her. But he couldn’t get out of her head. In her dreams, when she closed her eyes, he was everywhere.

She looped the thread into the needle and started to sew. “I’m sorry you’re in pain, but I promise to make it quick. I took a course once of first aid and I was the best student in it.”

“Are you serious?”

“About the course? Yes,” she deliberately chose not to say that she almost dropped out of the course because she was constantly fainting. He wouldn’t trust her to do this, and she was well into the sewing and she hadn’t felt lightheaded once. It must have been the adrenaline. Or the large amount of vodka she had just ingested.

“I’m sorry about this,” Jason said. “I couldn’t go anywhere else,” he hid the fact that he could go to somewhere else, only he didn’t want to hear an earful of Bruce Wayne’s trademarked bullshit, so he chose to go to her bar.

“It’s okay, Jason, really. But you do have some explaining to do, I’m afraid.”

He looked at his injury and saw that she was almost finished closing it shut. “I know,” he whispered.

“Because, I—” she took a deep breath. “I can’t get you out of my head, Jason. You are everywhere, and I can’t help but wonder if you…” she gulped before continuing, “if you ever dream of me the way I dream of you.”

He looked stunned at her. “There. Finished,” she covered the injury with some gauze and medical tape and closed her first aid kit. She quickly glanced over Jason, “I know that it’s delicate, but I hope that it’s cool that I said all of that,” with that she left the small pantry.

He had to pull himself together. This was it, wasn’t it? He had done it. HE had gotten attached. And maybe it didn’t feel so bad after all. Jason had this imagery in his head that the moment he had created a bond with her, the world would end in flames and crowbars all over again. It definitely didn’t end in flames or crowbars, but maybe it did end in stab wounds and intense pain caused by vodka in his open flesh.

He sat up straight. Breathe in. Out now. He owed her more than half-assed ‘I know’s and the possibility of a heart attack in the middle of the night because of enigmatic texts.

“Before you say anything back,” Jason leaned at the frame of the open pantry door, his right hand over the recently shut wound. “you need to know that maybe this ain’t for the best.”

She breathed, almost in mockery. “What?”

“My reputation’s never been worse, so you can’t like me for any fantasy you have created in your head,” he said. Jason walked to her, and grabbed her hands, his still a bit tainted in red. His hands were calloused, but it was perfect. “You must like me for me.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t utter a word, so she just nodded.

“We can’t make any promises, baby,” his hands found her cheek and she had never felt a softer touch, “but you can make me a drink. And I’ll tell you everything.”

final note: here is a link to my jason playlist. enjoy.

#jason todd fanfiction #Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason tood headcanon #jason todd x y/n #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x oc #red hood x y/n #song fic #to support my headcanon that jay is a taytay fan #i'm linking my playlist so you can listen in its entire grandure #my masterlist

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eryiscrye · 5 years ago

Note

12th one for the prompts?

#12-Writer and Editor AU

This AU was both prompted by @abrokencrevice and anon! This idea popped into my head right away. Sorry it took a while to write. Once again... the definition of short has been uh... played with.

Jaime ended the call and immediately threw his phone onto his kitchen island, not caring that it might slide along the marble and topple onto the floor. But luckily it didn’t. Unluckily, it hit a stack of paper and sent sheets flying absolutely everywhere. He would deal with those later. He had T-minus 10 minutes to finish his preparation, T-minus 8 minutes if Brienne was more pissed off with him than her terse tone had implied.

He pulled on two oven mitts and opened the oven door. Heat billowed out along with the tantalizing smells of spices and garlic and Jaime’s lips curled in delight. He reached into the oven and pulled out the cast iron skillet, filled to the brim and bubbling with chicken, chickpeas, and a harissa sauce made from scratch. Quickly, he slid to his dining room table and set the cast iron skillet onto a marble trivet, which, he had learned several practice sessions ago, were highly necessary when dealing with very hot dishes fresh from the oven. There had been many, many practice sessions. Tyrion and Cersei and Addam and Elia and Catelyn were sick of chicken, chickpeas, and harissa now. But it was all paying off. It had to pay off.

Jaime adjusted the positioning of the large bowl of couscous mixed with lemon, coriander and pomegranate seeds, the bottle of wine, the wine glasses, the cutlery, and the plates then stepped back and nodded. Running back into the kitchen, Jaime shut the oven door, turned it off – a task that he now never forgot after one unfortunate mishap– and grabbed a lighter.

Running back to the dinning room table, he lit the two candles between the cast iron skillet and the bowl of couscous, relishing in the clean citrus smell they gave off. Brienne loved citrus. She must’ve. She always smelled like citrus. It made his relationship with oranges very complicated.

Lastly, Jaime ran into his office, grabbed a large binder full of paper and a small flash drive shaped like a sword and then ran out again to set the objects precariously on the dining room table where there was still space.

He frowned. The new objects threw the ambiance of the whole set up way off. Jaime picked up the binder and left the flash drive. Now, the damn thing was liable to be knocked onto the ground and lost in his dimly lit dining room, and turning on the lights to go crawling around on the floor looking around for it would definitely throw off the ambiance of the evening. Jaime picked up the flash drive and tucked it back into the binder.

How the hell had he not thought of this? The dumb binder was so fucking integral to his whole plan!

His doorbell began screeching at him.

Jaime looked at his watch and grimaced. She had arrived within 7 minutes. She was definitely pissed off at him. That was also not what he had been going for. He went over to his phone and activated its connection to the building intercom. “Hello,” he said as cheerily as he could while hurriedly trying to gather up all the scattered paper back into a neat pile.

“Let me up Jaime or so help me—“

“Buzzing you in!” he merrily shouted over the rest of her words and heard not only the clack of the building door opening but the stomping of her feet too. Too late Jaime thought that maybe he had gotten the balance of practice sessions and due dates wrong.

It was all by the by now. He was going to make this work.

He had met Brienne over three years ago. She was meant to be the next in a long line of editors whom he would eventually get sick and tired of, the next in a line of editors whom only wanted to ride on the coat tails of a man who had once written award winning best sellers that had meant something, even though he just couldn’t anymore. She was meant to be another editor that would push him to write and publish anything as long as it had his name on it, because as long as it had his name and face on it, it would sell.

But Brienne had been none of those things. Firstly, she had hated what his novels had become. She had confessed to being an avid fan of the first, and second, and third books as a teen and still as an adult… but then she had become disgusted, as he had, with the rest. She hadn’t even wanted to be in the line of editors vying for him. She had made it clear from the very first day that she was only working with him as a favour to Olenna, and that their relationship was surely set to implode.

The joke was on both of them though. Through the natural chemistry of their dynamic, Jaime had been angry – no – passionate enough about her and the way that she dismantled him, goaded him, drove him, and inspired him, that he had once again released something that meant something, although the book had taken years before it had won anything and then subsequently become a best seller. But that was it. The moment that spark was back, she was his for forever. Or in truth, he was hers.

The rest was just inevitable.

The sound of fists on his door echoed into his flat. “Jaime Lannister! You better have that first draft for me or I am going to rip your—“

Jaime threw open the front door and waved the binder and flash drive at Brienne, “Have it right here!” He interrupted snarkily and then his mouth went dry as a wave of citrus hit him.

“Why in all names do you have a printed version? Are you being all old again? We’ve discussed this!” Brienne raved madly, and then, “Have you decided to adopt the vampire life style? Why are there no lights on in your flat?” Brienne asked with a furrowed brow.

Jaime just simply continued to gape. Was this how she had gotten here in 7 minutes? Because she hadn’t even bothered to put on real clothes? Not real clothes being a complete misnomer. Brienne was fully dressed, just dressed in a way that he had never seen her dressed before.

As his editor, he had mostly seen her in clean-cut pantsuits, plain blouses, and just typical, absurdly conservative work attire. She was never anything but professional for their conferences, book signings, dull company meetings, and even when she came barreling into his apartment to wrestle the next draft from him about ten minutes before they were meant to be due to her. Which was about two days before they were usually due to the publisher. She really gave him too much slack. But he was charming like that.

However, the Brienne before him now… well. She was wearing a big, baggy, blue sweater that hung off one shoulder – showing him that she was either wearing a strapless bra or not wearing one at all -, soft cotton shorts that barely reached mid-thigh – highlighting the extreme length of her very freckled legs –, her hair was a soft bird’s nest around her head – whereas usually it was in a utilitarian bun-, and the fucking cutest wire frame classes were haphazardly perched on the crook of her nose. He didn’t even know that she wore glasses.

She looked bloody adorable and Jaime was not ready for the assault on his senses.

Brienne waved a hand in front of his face, “Jaime? Have you started getting migraines? Is that why your flat is so dark? You could have told me, I would have convinced the publishing company to extend your deadline.”

And she would have. If he told her he was having any real problems, and not well… just being the annoying person he inherently was, she would do everything in her power to help him. It was this kind of strong-willed caring that made him—

“I’m okay,” Jaime managed to rasp out, “Please come in.”

Brienne tipped her head curiously, “I can just take your draft if that’s it,” she pointed at the binder and flash drive in his hands, “You can take the rest of the night to relax and I’ll get out of your hair—“

“No!” Jaime managed to shout out, “I…” Ah… right. Now he remembered what he had forgotten to rehearse. He had spent so much time perfecting the meal he had planned to cook for them that he had never quite gotten to the part about how to actually ask her if she wanted to eat it with him. No wonder every single one of his fucking siblings and friends seemed to be in on the same joke. They all knew this moment had gone right over his head. He was going to kill them all.

At that moment, Brienne’s phone chimed several times and she peeked at it, obviously intending to just take a quick look before giving him back her full attention, but then she did a double take and went through the whole process of unlocking her phone to take in the full contents of whatever was sent to her.

“Um…” Brienne murmured as her cheeks went splotchy pink. How in all names was she getting cuter? Then, oddly, she held her phone out to him, “Jaime. What is she talking about?”

Jaime’s Friend Elia: He’s trying to invite you in for dinner. Please say yes and end his misery

Jaime’s Friend Elia: End all of our misery. I can’t eat any more couscous

Jaime’s Friend Elia: Sorry that was Addam

Jaime’s Friend Elia: AND ALSO MAKE SURE TO READ CHAPTER 12 WHILE YOUR STILL AT HIS PLACE!!! HE’S BETTER AT WRITING THAN ARTICULATING HIS FEELINGS

Jaime’s Friend Elia: Just read the damn title

Jaime’s Friend Elia: And we don’t mean this for editorial purposes Brienne

Jaime’s friend Elia: Sorry that was Tyrion then Cersei then Catelyn. I’m locking my phone now. Just say yes

Jaime blinked as he read the messages, and then his eye twitched. He threw a scathing glare toward the apartment across the hall – Elia’s apartment – and wondered how many people had their ear pressed to the door on the other side.

Brienne stood on her tippy toes, which meant that she was now near a head taller than him, to get a better look into his place. “Are those candles? Jaime, why do you have candles lit?”

Jaime swore he heard snickering and couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed her forearm and pulled her into his flat, tossing one last glare at Elia’s peephole. He slammed his door shut.

Brienne, meanwhile, had used the momentum he had given her to progress deeper into his apartment and into his dining room – where the only source of light was flickering – and he found her just standing at the threshold. When he came to her side, she looked over at him. “What is this Jaime?” she asked in what sounded like a desperate whisper.

Jaime sighed and rubbed the back of his head, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to have dinner with me, but I’m just realizing I never even asked if you’ve already had dinner.”

“I haven’t had dinner yet,” Brienne murmured as she looked back at the set up and then back at him. Her eyes scanned his whole body, going from head to toe. He had dressed up for the occasion, in a white, tailored dress shirt – the sleeves still rolled up to his elbows from when he was cooking – and dark gray, wool slacks. His effort looked silly beside her extremely casual attire. “Is this… a writer and editor dinner, Jaime? Like a ‘sorry, I left this draft until the last possible minute’ dinner?”

Jaime shook his head and couldn’t help but grin at her. She was so sweet and oblivious. Apparently everyone else knew. “I think Catelyn told you that it isn’t.”

Her eyes turned back to the table. It was so gentle and affectionate, the small “Oh” that wooshed from her lips. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the awfully romantic looking set up. “What’s the title of your new book? You’ve refused to tell me for months now.”

He opened the binder to the first page. Printed on it were the words: ‘I Dreamed of Blue’. He didn’t know if he was happy with it. But he didn’t think any words would be able to encapsulate the entirety of his heart and soul.

He watched Brienne swallow nervously, but also shift closer to him. His heart bloomed. “What happens in chapter 12?”

Jaime’s fingers tapped nervously as she slowly met his gaze. Gods, the ways her eyes sparkled. He wanted to kiss her. “The main characters finally tell each other how they feel.”

#jaime x brienne #braime #my fics #kinda?#prompts #i forgot all the words while writing this #had to search up red fruit with lots of piddly seeds #google did not immediately give me pomegranate #thank you for the prompt!

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evergreen-dryad · 4 years ago

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jshk scribble #3

8 - superheroes/powers AU - kind-of, this one’s a magical girl AU. AkaAoi

— from this list of prompts here for August.

"Hurry!" She whispers as she takes a huge flying leap over the ridge of the roof, the ends of her sash fluttering behind her. Ahh, she'll never get over this, the sensation of almost-flying, of jumping into the air, and instead of falling, she—

—floats, as gently as if gravity was a dream.

She lands with an elegant click on her heel, right onto the next roof.

"Ao-chan!" Scandalised and red-faced, Akane catches up to her, looking quite dashing in his new get-up. His magical girl outfit, she supposed she could say. He lands with a neat step, his mask glinting gold underneath the light of the moon, and scattered streetlights. "Don't go ahead without me!"

"I was careful not to be seen." She pouts at him, tucking her arms by her hips. She'd even ensured there was a shadow of a cloud passing before taking the leap. Anyway, who even looked up on rooftops? At most, stargazers or security cams.

"No, the problem is-!" He waves a hand, flustered. "Your skirt, Ao-chan! What if someone saw?"

"Ah." Aoi stares at him, then huffs a laugh. "It's okay, it was too high up~"

“That doesn’t make it okay what if-”

Akane continued to fret out loud for several minutes, so Aoi smiled sweetly and let him. The night air was cool and whisked away most of the words from Aoi’s hearing, while they continued on their nightly patrol.

For every night, you see, there were ayakashi.

How did this begin, you ask? Well—

It all began, as with all magical girl animes do, with a magical companion. Except these mini fairies were not cute or endearing at all. Aoi did not think they were even trying.

Hers appeared as a bone-masked goatman that apparently brought death wherever he stepped. (It was just as well he never landed anywhere, and always flew with tiny wings.) Ergo, a shinigami in chibi form, asking her to be a sacrifice ahem tribute, to offer her body and soul up to wield the Powers of Life and Death aka magical girl, to help close up the portals between the boundaries of the Near and Far Shores.

Aoi of course, was suitably thrilled after the shock. Something interesting! More to life than just what was visible in this harsh reality!

And then of course, it turned out there was another magical girl — well boy in town, and within a few seconds of talking to him Aoi already knew who it was, no need to even waste several seasons of episodes dancing on the 'will they won't they find out'. It was clearly her childhood friend who also had a massive crush cough obsession with her, who she knew better than anyone, Akane.

Turned out he'd been contracted too. Except he kind of got tricked? Yikes, his companion was a jerk.

Apparently his was a hooded old man, and so that meant Akane got the option of a hood yes but he also got a spizzy new suit and an owl mask and long hair in a tail, which was all very good and did do wonders to her awkward childhood friend. Because for once he actually looked like he could give other models a run for their money.

(Aoi carefully did not think more on this train of thought.)

Another interesting note: transforming made them supernatural, and much more mature-looking. Or at least, that was what Aoi thought was what was happening, because she didn't feel that much different in her get-up. Seeing her transformed reflection, she didn't think she'd grown any taller either.

Perhaps it was just as well. She didn’t need it.

Akane of course, reassured her that she was even more beautiful, if that was possible, in her shrine maiden dress, because she was already Perfect the way she was.

Aoi smiled and took it as the compliment it was. There was no other way to take it otherwise, not with Akane.

Most annoyingly, Akane would not tell her what his wish was in exchange for becoming a magical boy. Especially since he even said he had been manipulated. Aoi had suspicions, but decided to leave it at that. Contracts were highly personal for magi, after all.

She knew she would never tell anyone what hers was.

And then Akane’s worry came true: they were seen. Not just seen, but by a boy with a telescope. In summary, Akane’s worst nightmare when it came to preserving her ‘purity’.

Staring down at wide yellow eyes gaping at them, she internally sighed. There actually was a stargazer in their area.

Two of them, in fact. There was another set of eyes peering over from the first boy’s shoulder. Twins, how cute. Akane was fidgeting in that certain way he thought was subtle, gloved fingers inching towards his pocket where his pocket watch was. Aoi could see he was itching to just use his power and flee the scene, but—

Aoi didn’t want to do that. She shot him a look.

The second boy ran over to them, goggling at their outfits. “What’s a shrine maiden and a suit guy doing here?” He grinned toothily, holding out his hand.

The first boy continued to stare at them apprehensively. “Tsukasa…” He walked forward, tugging on his brother’s sleeve.

Besides, she didn’t think anyone was going to believe them if they told.

“They’re magi too, aren’t they?” Tsukasa said confidently.

They all froze. “Too?” Aoi echoed, Akane blinking rapidly beside her.

The other boy in front of them looked very uncomfortable for a moment, but he sighed and relented at Tsukasa’s gleeful look, after glaring at him. He reluctantly said, “I was the first one in the area.” He shot them a suspicious look. “I don’t understand — how can there be more? Who contracted with you?”

// Originally written in May for an AkaAoi prompt! Wanted to make them partners-in-crime phantom thieves like in Kaitou Saint Tail, but had no idea where to take it.

I think I wrote this after having watched a magical girl anime compilation, and I was just like lol I’m not writing the dual identity situation of ‘am I in love with 2 different people’. ooH hananeneama Just included the Yugi twins today, because why not make them all exploits of the magical child system lol

-Amane would have made a wish to protect, hence power is barriers. I like to think he made that wish to protect Nene (why? am unsure. she’s an easy target because she’s gullible?) -imagining Aoi’s power is smth like Chat Noir’s Cataclysm. Can only revive dead things so luckily there’s the undo button -if Nene is a magical girl, her power would be illusions. -Kou!!! Next town over! Or, he’s the policeman’s kid XD

braincells left? none. I’m not used to not writing either Amane or Nene’s POV XD

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk #au_gust_2020 #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #aoiaoi #akane aoi #aoi akane #yugi amane #yugi tsukasa #my writing #ed fics

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blushnote · 5 years ago

Text

at the altar | m.

⟡ word count: 7,000. ⟡ genre: smut. ⟡ contains: lots of religious lexicon, masurbation, pornography, degradation, fucking in the church, a breeding kink, spitting, choking, a slight fantasy theme.

summary: a dystopian future in which obligation to the church is indispensable in preserving society. joshua knows there is danger in straying from the enforced orthodoxy of the clergy, but cannot help in wondering how different his life would be if for once in indulged in sin rather than purity.

a/n: um. yeah. so this happened. a surge of spontaneity hit me and i was able to write this idea. i’m still wondering why i put myself through this.

it feels far too early and joshua is much too tired as he rises from his pew, honouring the arrival of his church’s reverend as he takes the slowest possible steps down the alley. the reverend is old. it shows in the lump bulging from his back and his wrinkled skin that appears to have the texture of sundried fruits. a few select spindles of thinned, wispy white hair cling to his head, and joshua wonders if the two clergy members walking cautiously behind the reverend are actually there to catch him if his hip gives out.

joshua suppresses a gigantic yawn, his eyes brimming with water while he clasps his hands together respectfully. there is a choir aligned in neat rows at the very front of the church, dressed in white gowns that float just above the ankle with thick, gold sashes drooping from every shoulder.

he has his own gown hanging up in his closet. it is obligatory after all.

in an angelic, almost disquieting tone that echoes up into the high ceilings, it’s some rendition of ‘peace is flowing like a river’, to which joshua has heard so many times he could sing it all in his sleep. he feels like he knows more songs of worship than he does numbers or letters, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing. the reverend begins shuffling past joshua’s pew. when he looks at the old, shrunken man, joshua is reminded of how tired he is. an abstract thought suddenly flies into his mind.

how close is this guy to death?

joshua knows it’s a fairly morbid question to ponder in the middle of morning service, but he can’t help it, and he’s intrigued to know if anyone else among the masses shares his introspection. he’s not disturbed at the idea of death, and he assumes it’s due to his faith, that there just might be a place for him somewhere when his physical body is no longer an appropriate shell. the thing is, he’s not having much fun. his faith is strict and if joshua wants to have a certified place at heaven’s gate, then he has to live accordingly.

no sex until marriage, no drugs, no alcoholic consumption apart from the blood of the saviour, all these intense restrictions just to sit pretty in the afterlife. some regulations don’t really bother him – the drugs for example – joshua doesn’t suspect he’ll be imploring anyone for a shot of heroin or a little ziplock baggie filled with cocaine in the near future. still, he does muse over some regulations because they seem too instinctual, too absurd to deny, like saying a baby is not permitted to drinks its mother’s milk.

joshua recalls a certain incident from when he was a teenager. he was staying the night at his friend’s house, and the whole day his friend had been irritably insisting that he had something to show joshua, except he couldn’t even give him the slightest hint of what it was until everyone in the house had surely gone to sleep. joshua sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his friend’s laptop while he chuckled, pulling up a raunchy looking website that had probably just embedded a hundred viruses into his computer.

‘watch this,’ his friend said smugly before tapping on a clip. joshua remembered it was a girl sitting on the floor, her cheeks faintly smeared with rouge makeup, loose curls of hair tumbling before her eyes as a hand moved beneath her shorts, her wrist sharply twisting. her moans leaked through the quiet volume alongside incoherent breaths about how good she felt. suddenly, she reached for her blouse that was tight around the chest, taking the buttons between her fingers and popping each one open.

the pornography had no effect on joshua, though his friend was evidently obsessed.

funny thing was, only a week later joshua witnessed him get shipped away to the rehabilitation board, his parents notoriously repeating the same damn story when weekly service came around, how ‘he just has some bad habits, nothing that cannot be cured through the guidance of our reverends at the oligarchy.’ initially, joshua was proud of himself, he believed the fortitude of his virtues had allowed him to not succumb to pornography and its unholy temptation, despite the carnal urge being completely natural.

but that was the thing, it’s natural.

the first time joshua ever had a wet dream, it was about that girl from the porn site. he slammed awake, drenched in a cold sweat, his chest heaving as though he’d just ran the five kilometer. the room was pitch black apart from blue moonlight percolating slightly through the sheer curtains, and even though he knew he was alone, he squinted into the darkness disconcertedly, petrified that someone had seen him awaken from such an obscure dream and was writing up his slip for the rehabilitation board.

no, joshua didn’t spend his time fumbling over the inevitability of death.

instead, he contemplated this unyielding piousness he had for the church, how he had probably wasted the most adventurous years of his life learning hymns and prayers. as the reverend finally got to his place behind the altar, his dry, chalky voice barely whispering to the farthest pew, overwhelming concoctions of ancient perfumes started tickling joshua’s nose, the slight claustrophobia of being packed into these ridiculously uncomfortable pews making him nauseous.

joshua then realized this wasn’t how he wanted to live.

yet he wasn’t strong enough to stray from this path he had known his whole life. he required some form of corruption, though joshua had no idea what this corruption would be.

the first time joshua sees you, his heart starts to race, and he contracts this feeling unlike any other.

you arrive at the empty spot belonging to the pew in front of him as the attendants slowly begin to trickle in. he can hardly believe his eyes. you’re a new body to the church, vivacious and sophisticated, youth agleam in the whorls of your slightly rugged skin. he’s not accustomed to seeing women in a place of worship looking so bare. joshua doesn’t believe there is a spot of concealer on your face. he can see the shallow rings beneath your eyes and the plump, morning swollenness wearing upon your cheeks. a gentle pink lipstick is translucent through a sparkling gloss on your lips, and you smell somewhat like rain.

long, lace sleeves cover your arms, even your neck is shielded by an uncomfortable looking collar, though joshua notes that unlike the popular dresses he sees gathering in clumps of white around the church, yours is cut short – literally, it’s been cut all the way up to just above the mid-thigh when it should be floating at your knees. joshua was raised not to stare, so he doesn’t, rather he takes fleeting glimpses of how the white lace hugs your torso before flaring at the hips. the way the skirt bounces at your legs, just shy of riding a little too far up, has his heart booming in his chest.

but then something happens.

you’re holding a pamphlet imprinted with guidelines concerning the morning mass, cues and prayers and paroles occupying the pages, often picked up by newcomers at the entryway. however, the pamphlet suddenly slips from your hands and hits the floor. almost immediately you bend over to retrieve it, and joshua can’t look away fast enough. he sees it, a flash of your tiny, black thong. he starts panicking as this ravenous flame engulfs his face. in a nervous tick, joshua swallows thickly and stands from his seat, but then he realizes he has nowhere to go and sits back down, raking a hand through his hair.

“excuse me,” a pleasant voice coos to him, to which joshua realizes you have turned around in your pew to stare directly at him. licking your lips, you ask, “how early do people usually arrive here?”

joshua coolly pretends as though he didn’t just see beneath your dress and pits an inference, “the most devoted don’t show up until 9:30-ish.”

“really?” you sound surprised, your eyebrows jumping. “so there’s lots of time then.”

he’s unsure if you’re still talking to him as you stare into space. quite frankly he’s confused at what you mean. time for what? he has no idea.

“you are allowed to come in even when service has already started. some people just observe respectfully at the back if there are no seats.” he adds anyways.

your eyes flicker back to him, and your pink-tinted lips curl in a soft smile. “well, they have no choice. is service not obligatory?” you turn to momentarily gaze at the choir organizing themselves at the front of the church, continuing with, “everyone has one of those gowns, don’t they? with the perfect little sashes that make them feel so virtuous and whole and part of something they believe is a choice.”

joshua blinks. for a moment, time is frozen. he knows you’re right, it’s just so inexplicably bizarre to hear his clandestine thoughts echoed through the lips of a stranger. he clears his throat.

“yeah, everything about the church is obligatory, and you get sent to the rehabilitation board if you have anything to say about it…” he looks at you transiently, “or if you’re a real big sinner.”

flipping through the pamphlet without even gleaning anything from the pages, you snort in laughter before smacking it down beside you on the pew. then, you glance at him again, and joshua reads a naughty shimmer in your eyes. he knows you don’t give a lick about what he just said.

“you wanna know something?” you lean a little closer over the back of the pew, your voice lowering.

joshua swallows again, his hands crushing bits of lint in his pant pockets. he nods, his pulse thrumming violently, even at the vein in his neck.

“do you see that girl in the choir? at the far right side of the front row?”

he followed her subtle pointing finger.

“are you talking about august?” joshua questions, to which you agree.

joshua had known august since first grade.

her reputation was ‘purer than snow and sweeter than candy’ as described by the reverend himself. she had a beautiful voice, one that sets you in a trance, like being in the depths of underwater and watching sunlight cut through the stillness. the same friend that showed joshua the pornography had a massive crush on her in his high school years, but he let his emotions wither away hopelessly, claiming she would never be game for anything his obscenely filthy mind could contrive.

“i used to be her best friend,” you whispered, “she was a real riot. she’d steal bottles of wine from her parents liquor cabinet and we’d go into the woods to get drunk. they never suspected a thing ‘cause they only drink on holidays. i swear too, she’s blowed at least four guys on the huskey basketball team.”

oh, joshua thought. maybe his friend would have actually had a chance.

“that’s different than i remember.” nonetheless, he defended august poorly.

“you don’t have to believe me,” you responded, “just that some people aren’t who you think they are.”

joshua pricked his bottom lip with his teeth.

“what about you then?”

shifting slightly in your seat, you feigned obliviousness with a harmless grin, “what about me?”

“i mean, what should i assume about you?”

the distant reverberation of the organ suddenly flooded the room, signaling that service would be starting shortly, leaving in its deep but harmonious wake an irreplaceable feeling of sacredness. just before you turned around completely in your seat to gauge the altar, or the glowing, enormous stained glass portrait at the front of the church, you smirked at joshua.

“well, i already know what you’ve assumed about me,” you stated matter-of-factly, “that i’m a whore.”

joshua felt an intense heat prickle across the arches of his cheeks. your blatancy threw him off his axis. he hadn’t thought that exact word, but he could not deny he suspected you to live promiscuously.

“honestly,” you shrugged, “you’re not wrong.”

it’s late, around eleven thirty, and the air in joshua’s bedroom is hot and almost palpably sticky. he lies on his stomach in bed, his arms shoved beneath a cool pillow while he blinks into the thick darkness. his eyelids feel heavy but they refuse to close. it’s simply a restless night, and joshua comes to reluctantly accept this as he sits up with the blankets pooling around his hips. he takes the bottom hem of his shirt and peels it above his head, throwing it impetuously into some corner he can’t even see.

joshua muses over a distant lesson taught by the reverend when he was a little boy, attending the sunday mass alongside his faith-mottled parents who had raised joshua with scrupulous religiousness. he stands at the very front pew, watching with rounded, glistering eyes as the reverend provides a cautionary tale from behind his marbled altar. he speaks of temptation, its numerous, intently deceitful forms that skulk near the edges of one’s vulnerability, waiting to attach itself like a leech.

‘temptation is a mere embodiment of sin, and sin is a creation that has risen from the underworld. our desires cannot be silenced, but they can be overcome, as proven beneath the guidance of a patient hand.’

he’s too young to grasp the reverend’s teachings. what joshua retains is that sin is bad, sin is the devil, and to be protected from his manipulation, you must build an unshakeable devotion. the reverend continued in his monotone tales and the adults ate up his every word. what joshua found interesting from that particular mass was the reverend’s warning of fallen angels.

‘they walk among us. each of you has one. maybe they are not visible to you, but they linger, they mercilessly tempt, they plant inside of you desires that you may struggle to diminish. and if one day, you feel that you have witnessed your fallen angel face to face, then know that you have been confronted with the greatest possible test of your commitment to the church. do not lose sight of your devotion. hold swift to the healing you have received from your reverends. the life they tease you with is erroneous.’

the air is persistently warm against the slope of his back as he returns to laying on his stomach, but it’s not as compressing, and his honeyed skin seems to be able to breathe a little easier. while his mind is spinning in a whirlwind of miscellaneous thought, joshua notes that you make a bold presence among the chaos, and suddenly he’s imagining your scent, mild like spring rainwater and rose petals. then he pictures the sheen of your smooth, soft mouth, how your eyes glinted when you spoke.

joshua presses his cheek deeper into the pillow. a dangerous type of sensation is melting in his lower abdomen and prickling like a sunburn up his shoulders, yet he has no idea how to soothe it. he thinks of the wet dream he had all those years ago. if anyone even had the slightest clue he watched pornography and had been tainted by the poison of its repercussions, then he’d be sent off to the rehabilitation board just like his old friend. and if joshua knew anything about the board, it was that he never wanted to go.

despite the looming terror of such a dreadful place, it was not puissant enough to deter his racing mind, and joshua felt his heart pump sporadically against the mattress as he thought of that salacious clip in which the girl had been touching herself. but he doesn’t see her face or her clothes, he doesn’t hear her breathless voice or her whispered curses. instead, joshua envisions you in her position, your hand sliding slowly down your stomach until it slips beneath that pretty, black thong and you’re fingering yourself.

he grits his teeth. joshua knows in each of his cells what he is visualizing is wrong, it’s demonstration of sin and submission to lust. he knows through his commitment to the church that he is betraying his reverence and severing inch by inch the purity he was taught to preserve. but the ache that rushes to his stomach is a feeling far too sweet. he can’t stop thinking about you. further poisoning himself, joshua shuts his eyes and listens intently for your moans, the sound of your slick as you sink in your digits.

now, it’s a hopeless situation.

joshua grabs his pillow and stuffs it below him. his tongue pokes slightly from his cotton pink mouth as he then rustles his shorts down, just until there’s enough room for him to free his length. the second he takes himself into his hand, feels how heavy and hard he’s become in such a short time, joshua just shakes his head. the mantra is stuck in his head, he knows what he’s doing is wrong, but at this point he’s willing to sacrifice a piece of his faith just to indulge in his lust. his body lowers back to the bed, and a soft gasp trembles at his lips once his sensitive, throbbing cock rubs against the plump pillow.

painfully, slowly, joshua begins to construct a rhythm. his elbows dig into the mattress while he makes gentle ruts into the fabric, the head of his member flushed a dark, amethyst purple, beading with come. his bangs stick to his eyes, his black hair a shaggy, unkempt mess, though joshua is too concentrated on the pleasure that aches at his core to even ponder brushing the strands away. he feels so vulnerable, so filthy and stained by sin as he spreads his legs wider to accommodate more of the pillow.

a burn resides in his biceps from holding himself up, but joshua manages to ignore it, clamping down harshly on the malleable inside of his cheek. he thrusts his hips at a much deeper interval, taking his time as his cock presses into the soft material and his jaw unhinges to release a shameful, stuttered moan. it feels so stupidly good that he can’t restrict himself – joshua moves his hips faster, humping the pillow eagerly while his skin begins to glisten in the sweltering heat of the bedroom.

“f-ffuck, oh fuck, f-feels so g-ggood,—,” he whimpers with blooming desire, allowing his chest to collapse flush against the mattress, instead shoving his hands beneath the blanket to hold the pillow steady.

his teeth sink into a full bottom lip, pricking down with enough force to potentially summon tiny bulbs of blood. joshua’s hair is matted and slightly curled before his eyes while his cheek rubs against a thin linen sheet. though it’s impossible to see in the swathing darkness, his face is a beautiful, glowing shade of fuchsia and suddenly he can’t seem to keep his pretty mouth shut as he ruts desperately into the pillow. the worst part is that he’s overcome with the urge to moan your name, but he doesn’t even know it.

joshua practically cries hot, thick tears as the euphoria of his orgasm surges through his veins. his knuckles are paler than snowflakes, his fists grasping with an ironclad strength at the pillow while his cock jerks and spasms under the intensity of the pleasure. he’s incredibly sensitive, his skin is feeling enflamed, his heart pumps uncontrollably, and yet joshua won’t stop fucking against the pillow in an attempt to milk as much of his come as possible. everything is sticky and messy and the heat is tangible.

shakily, joshua pulls an arm free from the blankets and leans on his elbow, his other hand gingerly wrapping just below the head of his cock to squeeze out the last pearls of his come.

“s-shit,” he rasps and winces in sensitivity, especially as he draws a careful thumb over his swollen tip and pushes downward. somehow, the pain feels good. it thrums throughout his flesh and gifts him this electric sensation. joshua bites his lip as his warm seed spurts onto his thumb. he’s not short of utterly immoral thought, and imagines smearing your pink-stained lips with his come, your eyes fluttering up at him before your tongue licks it up gratefully and you beg him to fill your throat next time.

joshua knows he should put forth an effort to clean himself, but for the time being, he just can’t.

and in the afterglow of his orgasm, he goes back to bed.

joshua sighs as he comes to a halt in the middle of the aisle, staring up at the stained glass portrait that is brought to life through the warmth of morning sunlight. different shades gleam at him, from the scarlet reds to the cream, waxen whites and sapphires. he doesn’t feel at ease like he usually does upon observing the glass portrait. joshua chalks it up to his betrayal of purity. however, as filthy as the transgression was, as much as should yearn to seek atonement and visit his reverend, he feels indifferent.

it’s going to bother him in the future – knows it will, that the weight of his capitulation to a venereal pleasure has the ability to swallow him whole. he betrayed his promises to the church, and if he does not dampen this ember of immorality, then surely joshua will be sent to the rehabilitation board. suddenly, he hears a dainty voice behind him, and is overwhelmed with a lilac, summer scent. upon turning around, joshua finds himself staring at august, wrapped in her snow white gown and glimmering gold sash.

“sorry,” he mumbles, “i’ll move.”

“thank you, joshua,” she nods politely, “enjoy the service.”

“you too.”

august begins to slip past him. she smells overwhelmingly of lilac. he can only think that a person would lather themselves so generously in such a scent if they were attempting to fool people. august can smell as pure as a field of flowers, but that does her no good if joshua already knows what she’s hiding. anyways, it’s not his business. he has no room to be scornful or even the slightest bit judgemental when he had sinned himself. maybe she repents on her own time.

“y’know,” august pauses and smiles back at joshua, “we miss your guitar playing for choir. it was so lovely and showed magnificent spirit. have you ever considered picking it back up?”

joshua scratches his neck, “not really,” he admits, “i’ve already committed my mandatory service hours, so i guess i feel like i don’t need to play much anymore.”

“oh, how unfortunate…,” she frowns, “but, just because you’ve completed your hours, that doesn’t mean you should retire that part of your faith. a dutiful connection is a strong connection, and the church is a place to practice it. don’t let chances to embrace your spirituality slip away from you.”

“uhm,” joshua feels like he’s gaping at her as he uncomfortably replies, “okay, thanks.”

“no problem.” she lilts before continuing her way toward the front of the room.

for some reason, anger is beginning to froth beneath his skin. who was august to tell joshua that he should practice a strong connection to the church? that he should maintain his dutifulness? his spirituality? how can she stand before him and preach such advice when the entirety of her faith is based on dishonesty and extracting hedonism through sin? joshua knows he isn’t a perfect little replica of church ethics, and he certainly doesn’t go around advising people how to maintain their devotion.

the longer he stands in the church, the more joshua wants to leave.

but he can’t. service is obligatory.

as joshua chews his tongue and tries to relax, he glances for a place to sit, though in lieu of finding an empty spot on a pew, he sees your short, lace dress. you’re across the church, standing at the luminary table that is flickering with rows of candles dripping in shiny red wax. joshua nearly trips over himself shuffling into a pew, muttering insignificant apologies to all the legs he bumps in his haste. finally, he gets to approaching you, the mildness of your rainy scent soothing his earlier anger.

“hey.” joshua huffs, coming to stand beside you.

the flames reflect in your eyes like tiny orange stars. he watches your glossy mouth flutter into a smile, and his chest feels swollen with an intense appreciation for how beautiful you are.

“are you following me?” you giggle.

“definitely,” joshua follows along, “it’s not like we’re forced to be here or anything.”

your expression seems smug. “so you’re accepting it now, huh?”

he furrows his brow. “what?”

“the absurdity of it all,” you gesture from the candles to the church pews that are stuffed with perfumed, elegant bodies and solemn, expressionless faces, “that we have to be here. i’m assuming beforehand you used to embrace service as an enhancement to your life, something that you felt you needed. but now, you see it’s true colours.”

“oh,” joshua says in a bit of a haze, “i mean, there’re some good parts to it.”

“like what?” you challenge. “you think it’s good that there are people like august judging the strength of everyone’s devotion when she can’t keep a cock out of her mouth?”

joshua almost chokes. he has no idea how you even heard that conversation from across the room.

“n-no,” he fumbles for the right words, “not that. but—take the luminaries for example. they give people hope, closure, that there really is something bigger than them that’s gonna protect them.”

you give the candles a cold glance and shrug. “yeah, they give people a sense of something, but what good does it do for you?”

and at that moment, joshua had to admit you cornered him. he nestles his hands in his pockets, watching as you stretch out your index finger to a clump of wet wax running down the edge of a red candle. the hot liquid welts onto the softness of your skin. joshua tenses his jaw, suspecting you to pull away in rash discomfort. however, you allow the wax to build on the edge of your finger, almost until you get bored of the heat and there’s hardening red patches stinging numbly at your skin. joshua scrunches his nose.

“doesn’t that hurt?”

you end up sliding the wax off your finger after it’s been reasonably cooled by the chilled, church air. the pews are now bulging with families and couples, adolescents and the elderly. joshua assumes he’s going to have to stand for this service. before you slip away to bury yourself quietly in the density of the crowd, your body suddenly presses against joshua’s, chest flush with chest, so tight he can feel how your heart beats and the firmness of your breasts. his pulse stops. he can hardly breathe as your lips touch his ear.

“i like it when it hurts.”

and then you’re stepping away from him, a faint smirk curving wickedly up your mouth as joshua is left to subdue this concupiscent sensation pooling into his abdomen.

“wait—,” joshua yelps and quickly pivots.

you look over your shoulder.

“how come i’ve never seen you before?”

“i’m sure you have,” you purr, “you just never realized it.”

joshua doesn’t care about the church anymore.

it’s recently dawned on him that there are so many wonderful possibilities to life in the absence of a dictatorial clergy scheming to control the population. their equivocal methods of preaching have now fallen deaf to his ears. joshua feels he has broken free from the spell of fear he used to live by, that any smidgen of sin or unethical behaviour would conjure disappointment from the church, and he’d be sent off to the rehabilitation board or subjected to weekly, brainwashed counselling from his reverend.

he understands why august lives the way she does. she’s free as long as the clergy doesn’t catch her, as long as she appears to fit the angelic portrait painted of her by the church when she participates in service. august is never a suspect, and she knows exactly what she’s doing as she peers directly into joshua’s eyes and tells him to embrace his spirituality. she’s almost mocking him, provoking him to question if he really, truly believes that a strong connection with the church is the only connection he can ever maintain.

almost in spite of the doctrine that’s been chiselled into him for years, joshua finally decides to have fun.

with none other than you of course.

it’s early. a fiery light shines dimly through the stained glass and spills across the floor. joshua sits at the very front pew, his adam’s apple prodding sharply at the column of his throat as you take his cock as far down as your gag reflex will allow. his hand is threaded in tight, fistfuls of your hair, not forcing you to stay in position, but reminding you that he was close. joshua learned alarmingly quickly that your mouth was a lush sensation he valued more than any teaching his reverend had hacked in his dry, crumbly voice.

it was silk, warm and wet, and when you slowly pull your spit-slick lips up his shaft with a trail of saliva attached from your tongue to his head, joshua only falls in love with you that much harder. your nails curve into his thighs, imprinting flustered, red crescent moons. then, he hears you inhale a deep breath before fitting his cock back into your throat again. a shudder races down joshua’s spine. the flat of your tongue drags upward and suddenly you’re lapping up the thick come beading at his tip.

you gaze at him through your eyelashes while your tongue circles his sensitive slit. momentarily, you break contact and murmur to him breathily, “is your whore making you feel good?”

joshua cards his black fringe from his eyes. he holds it away from the perspiration on his forehead as you cushion your wet lips around his head and suckle softly. his hips cant upward, and a litany of curses threatens to pour from his mouth. joshua releases his burning grip on your scalp. with a gentle passing thumb, he strokes your warm cheek, his tone deep and slightly husky, but still true to its sweetness.

“so good,” he chuckles, “pretty whore likes to suck cock? likes it when i paint her throat with my come?”

“mmhm,” you hum while tracing a thrumming vein up his shaft, “love it so much.”

in addition to no longer caring about the church, joshua also doesn’t care that you’re a fallen angel. he knows the reverend would have clubbed him upside the head with the heaviest scripture in his library if he caught wind of joshua’s complete and utter betrayal. but joshua no longer sees the point in pretending as though the natural demands of his body are related to sin. he wants to feel good, and he wants to know the sensations that the church has restricted for solely those who are married.

the thing is, he trusts you more than he has ever trusted his reverend, even if you are a malevolent being.

joshua exhales shakily as you kiss up and down his hard length, your pink lip tint smeared away to reveal the natural pigment of your mouth. you’re adorned in the usual attire, that lace church dress you cut to make notably shorter. except, the dress has experienced some wear and tear. the chest no longer buttons up as tightly as it used to. the buttons always fly open whenever joshua handles you roughly. while you swirl your tongue around his engorged, purple head, joshua can see the soft swell of your breasts.

he knows you have all the time in the world before people begin filtering in for service, but joshua is overwhelmed with the desire to fuck you now.

“hey,” he grunts, and you lift your face from his stomach, “how about we fuck up there?” joshua nods his chin toward the altar.

you smile at him your agreement, though return to taking his cock in your mouth. joshua suddenly grasps onto your hair and pulls you up. your brows furrow.

“now?”

“yeah.” he insists.

your smooth palm is still stroking his shaft, spreading his arousal as a lubricant. frowning, you mewl in half-hearted protest, “but i want to taste you.”

truthfully, you are beyond endearing, and usually joshua would be fucking your face at this point until his seed coated your throat, tears flooding your eyes as you swallowed every drop. but he’s leaning toward something different tonight, something that will truly separate him from the orthodoxy of the church.

“i know,” joshua coos, “it’s just that tonight, i want to be inside you so fucking badly, sweetheart. i want to feel you. i promise i’ll do you right, i’ll come inside, okay?”

instantly you perk up, like a kitten that sees its owner approaching with a bowl of cream. “really?” you exclaim and lick your lips.

joshua nods, “mmhm. does that sound good, baby? you want me to fill you up and really make you my whore? will that make you happy?”

you’re scrambling to your feet. joshua knows that any opportunity to cram more rebellion against the church is like nectar to a fallen angel. your footsteps reverberate to the very back of the room as you hastily shuffle to the altar. its surface is cold, blonde marble that reflects the morning light. you hardly flinch as your bare thighs touch the stone. in a single tug, you rip open the remainder of your dress. it splits down your chest and joshua watches you lustfully as you toss your bra aside.

the process begins of shedding all clothing. in the end, you’re sitting atop the marble, joshua standing between your legs with his cock weighing heavy in his palm. your whole body jerks in impatience and sensitivity when he rubs his flushed, throbbing head to your slit, allowing your arousal to spill onto his length. joshua smirks as he pumps his shaft, purposefully pushing out creamy pearls of his come. he then guides his flushed tip to settle against your clit, circling the wet, sticky region until you buckle.

“p-pplease joshua,” your voice warbles, “it h-hurts, need you to just f-fill me up and fuck me, please.”

satisfaction simmers in his gaze. leaning over you, joshua parts your lips with his tongue and wraps your legs around his waist. when your heels click at his back, he starts pushing inside you, the sensation akin to smooth, slippery velvet squeezing all around him. already you begin to clench down and joshua chuckles into the kiss. he pulls his tongue from your honeyed mouth, looking deep into your eyes to see how glazed they are with pleasure. smirking, he bites down gently on your bottom lip.

“relax, baby,” he groans, “i’m almost there.”

you take a moment to breath before joshua can feel your walls easing around his cock. there remains an enveloping tightness, but it’s deliciously wet and warm, and as his hips succeed in thrusting as far into you as he can, your fingers scratch burning, scarlet rivulets down his biceps. joshua loves it. he loves that he gets to fuck you like this, the sound of your skin roughly colliding echoing throughout the church. the stained glass portrait stares down at you, and it only spurs joshua’s desire to indulge his pleasures further.

“o-oh f-fuck! ri-right there, right t-there! h-harder, please, pl-please, fuck me h-harder—,”

what joshua adores is that you’re unafraid to scream for him, to ruin your own vocal chords in these filthy, desperate cries. it’s difficult to fathom that in merely an hour, this same church will be filled to the brim with townspeople, all powdered up and dressed in the most honorary of clothing, singing timeless hymns and lowering to their knees to utter private thoughts and prayers into their rosaries. joshua glides his tongue up your neck, circling the wet muscle at your thundering pulse.

then, his hand is wrapping firmly around your throat, his fingers pressing against your windpipe and altering the tone of your reckless mewling. in a beautiful curve, your spine arches into him, a hand even flying from his bicep to grip the edge of the altar above your head. consequently you bump over a golden chalice and a candle stick. they clatter to the carpet with a thud, completely disregarded as joshua thrusts his hips against you fiercely, watching your fingers splay against the wrist that holds your throat.

“r-right there, yeah?” joshua mocks you with a smirk flitting up his lips. ��you gonna come then? is my little whore gonna come from being f-fucked right on the altar?”

though joshua has you tightly pinned against the stone, you still manage to squirm under him, the once cold marble turning to fire that scorches your skin. your fingernails sink into his wrist. the air is light and flickering in colours as it twirls above your head, but it amplifies the ecstasy until you can only think in fleeting morsels. sin has never felt so fulfilling. joshua knows his orgasm is teetering on the edge of a collapse. he’s inconceivably eager to breed you, to create a new connection beyond the clergy’s control.

how obscene, he casually thinks, to knock up your own fucking fallen angel.

“bet it feels nice, doesn’t it? knowing m’gonna pump all my come into you.” joshua grins as the head of his cock consistently thrusts into that one spongey spot. it makes your body yearn to convulse and violently twist. evidently, you’re nearing an earthshattering orgasm.

“you’re gonna look so pretty,” joshua rests his forehead against your own and gently squeezes your throat, his voice tinged with an unprecedented tenderness as he can’t evade from his rambling, “so, so pretty carrying my baby. you’ll be glowing, s-so precious and beautiful. t-they just can’t find out, c-can’t ever let them know i got you like this, yeah? g-gotta keep it a s-se-secret—,”

joshua is interrupted by the strength of his own orgasm. it bursts in his abdomen, his hand slipping from your throat and latching onto the altar’s edge. you’re quick to mimic his release, the contractions forcing the silk of your walls to tighten around his cock as his warm come spills inside of you. your heels dig into the base of his spine unforgivingly, keeping joshua pressed fully against you while you fumble and squirm out the blissful waves that have shaken even the marrow in your bones.

in the time it takes your bodies to regain a notable strength, heavy breaths wander to every crevice of the church, morning sunlight rippling across joshua’s back in the rubescent shades of the stained glass. he slowly peels himself from your searing skin. when he glances down at your panting chest and the cloudiness of your eyes, the light bathing across your supple flesh, joshua knows in the pit of his core that if he is going to turn away from the church, you are the person he must be with.

his own fallen angel.

he didn’t realize how much he’d emptied into you until he spots the slight bulge in your stomach. you wince as he attempts to draw his cock from your opening. joshua pauses quickly to check your state. rather than a breathless warning for him to be gentle, you start smiling, and in slow, attentive movements you begin to sit up. joshua grasps your hips while you hold onto his broad, amber shoulders. something molten expands in his stomach when you peck him softly before murmuring against his mouth,

“spit on me.”

in the moment, it was the last, fleeting act of complete immorality that would transpire at the altar.

joshua then obeys, and he spits onto where his cock is still buried in your heat. fastening your teeth into your bottom lip, you thrust your hips faintly, the added stimulation coursing akin to an electric shock through both of your bodies. joshua’s spit mixes with his come and your arousal. you squeak sharply when he rubs it further into your clit with his thumb, though joshua silences you with a warm, deep kiss in which he can taste the remaining strawberry tint pink on your lips.

he feels that corruption suits him, especially as he sees the sacred items you earlier knocked down in the pinnacle of pleasure.

“joshua,” you hum while he picks up his clothes and slips them piece by piece back over his body.

turning around, joshua sees you still sitting on the altar, gripping between your legs, desperate to not let his come further spill in sticky trails down your thighs.

“what should i do?” you question.

his laughter echoes into the high ceilings.

“i never thought this far.” he admits, ruffling a hand through his black tresses, “do you have any fallen angel powers that like… stop it from coming out?”

you fold your arms over your chest and pout. “it doesn’t work like that.”

“well,” he comments, picking up your tattered dress on his way toward the altar, “whenever you want to tell me how it does work, i’m right here.”

joshua plants a kiss on the tip of your nose.

besides, it’s not like he can’t just fuck you full again. joshua is sure there’s enough time to escape home for another round before he has to trudge back to another mandatory service. however, he’ll definitely resonate with a different feeling in comparison to all his past sunday’s stuffed within the church. because instead of worrying over how faithful he’s been, or how much he should concentrate on strengthening his devotion, he’ll be reminiscing on your sexual endeavours that transpired right at the altar.

yeah, joshua convicts in his head, being corrupt doesn’t seem so bad after all.

#joshua smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #joshua scenarios #hong jisoo #svt fanfic #svt smut #joshua hong #seventeen imagine #kpop smut

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newbornwhumperfly · 5 years ago

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if I had an orchard...

CW: intoxication, negative self-talk, references to non-con, references to punishment, (brief) reference to vomiting

so i’m back on my bullshit, and by bullshit I mean I wrote another spinoff fic of the GW series!!! *hides face* insp. by my own ask (lmao) https://haro-whumps.tumblr.com/post/614488313974407168/if-you-would-consider-a-very-very-drunk-galo once again, I hope @haro-whumps enjoys!!!

the title of this fic comes from “helplessness blues” by fleet foxes

Galo is very, very drunk.

Well, maybe not twice very but he’s not sober, that’s for damn sure. He knows better than to try and stand now, at any rate, cause the ground keeps tilting in a funny and not-at-all scary way. Like a gentle roller-coaster. Or a see-saw. He needs to keep his eyes on the not-ground right now – probably a good idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have sat on the porch swing when he went outside to drink but, well, hindsight is…better. He giggles a little bit but it isn’t very silly and sounds all snotty, given that he’s crying and all.

He should probably stop crying.

Should is a great word. Means there’s something you ought to have done. Haven’t done yet. Are supposed to be doing.

He’s fucking everything up and he hasn’t the first clue of how to stop.

Case in point – this wine seemed like a really good idea at the time, especially after the second top-full glass had been swallowed. He’d only meant to get a bit buzzed, honest. It wasn’t healthy or wise but he found himself leaning more and more on the distraction when something inevitably crumbled around him. It was only once he’d wandered far into the realm of tipsy that he dimly wondered if getting hammered was the mature thing to do.

Fuck it, he’d decided with his big magnificent brain, and swigged straight from the bottle.

Seemed like a good idea at the time, isn’t that how the saying goes?

You’d think after all the Sunday school lessons he’d know when he was laying down paving stones on a winding trajectory straight to hell. Trying to do the right thing doesn’t mean shit when you hurt people anyway. No matter what you do, it’s gonna hurt, one way or another. Isn’t that what he’d said to himself? Giving himself an out to do whatever the fuck he wanted anyway?

Why did he get those gifts? Stroking his own ego? He didn’t mean to…but there it is. He’d wantedto do something and he just did it and dug the pit so much deeper and if he falls down and breaks his crown, well, too fucking bad, Jack. Should’ve thought of that before you went and stuck your foot in it. It’s so much worse than merely breaking his crown though, his crown was fine. He’d be fine.

He’s left them all tumbling after him. That’s the sin, the unforgivable blunder which sits on his chest. A heavy, cold, unyielding stone of guilt cramming the joy out of his lungs, pressing until his words sit sour on his tongue and every smile feels scraped hollow. He’s making it worse with his absurd self-pity, feels the taut chill of tension stretch the air thinner with every meeting.

He’d heard what they were saying. He didn’t mean to – spying on people was shitty and wrong. He’d been in the kitchen in the middle of the night and didn’t think anyone would be downstairs, ducking into the pantry at the sound of voices. If he hadn’t been so tired, he’d have thought better of it. What else is new? He’d have thought better of a lot of things.

What he’d heard between Nyla and Sasha and Evan was…horrible. The stuff they said, speculated on as casually as tomorrow’s weather, dropped his heart, icy and spinning, into his stomach, settling there to thrum shallowly and churn the swelling nausea.

How he’d clearly meant to show them that things such as eating or wearing clothes or sleeping in a bed or having hair and not being raped were…privileges. That they all ought to be grateful for less than basic fucking humanity. To be…allowed…to merely exist without pain and humiliation was to be seen as a precious gift from their Master. That they all ought to be grateful.

Galo had only kept from vomiting at the knowledge they would hear him. It was the first thing he’d done when able to sneak back to his room, hurling into the toilet. Panicking on the tile until he was sick again. He hadn’t cried that night, weirdly enough. It was all so raw, bloody and fresh in his mouth, it was like he hadn’t swallowed it yet. He didn’t truly feel the horror until he woke up, fitful and sweating, from a nightmare into the cold dawn and knew he had failed.

He was having nightmares now. No more sex dreams for good old Galo – at least, not good ones. More like utterly fucking horrific. He knew better, technically, then to let it haunt him. Knew that the dark dream-shadow of himself was a twisted echo of his own pain. It didn’t make him any less able to forget the way he was trapped inside himself during those nightmares, a puppet dancing on monstrous strings as he writhed and thrashed against his own fists and feet and arms and fingers, crushing and twisting and hitting – no.

His heart couldn’t give a shit what his big-smart-boy-brain calmly explained about these terrors. Smart enough to know it wasn’t real, that he’d never, for love or money or fucking God, hurt these people. Not smart enough to know how to make them know that.

The worst part about this living nightmare was how it was effecting everyone. More and more, Galo felt trapped in his own body, unable to stop his misery from bleeding through and staining the atmosphere with red, oozing tension. He was trying so hard to keep his smile soft (not brittle), his hands loose (not shaking), his eyes kind (not wet). He has taken to keeping out of their path as much as humanly possible, a delicate dance of dodging and sidestepping which left him dizzy and often more uncertain than ever. He’s almost certain that it isn’t helping. If it was a barbell to hoist or a level to beat or a paper cup to scoop off the grass and toss into the garbage, he could do that. But this? This can’t just be…fixed.

He can’t avoid them forever and he shouldn’t.

He just…doesn’t know what to do.

He should. He should fix it. It hurts.

Galo shook his head, violently, glugging the dregs of his bottle into the glass and letting it roll of the swing, hit the floor, break. He’s gonna have to clean that up, he thinks, downing his final glass before setting it on the ground near swaying feet. How dare he? How dare he feel sad? He’s not the one who thinks he’s gonna be beaten or raped or brutalized in some sick way he probably can’t even invent but has been done to these people who he ownsand can do anythingto and nobody’s stopping him but himself. Yeah, he should feel really fucking sad for himself right now.

It doesn’t stop the deep sobs dragged from his lungs, hitching his shoulders, seizing his limbs in feeble twitches. It is pathetic and despicable and he can’t stop. He hasn’t cried like this in a long time, not from regret, not from pure, cold, hard, driven misery. It’s mixing with the wine and making him dizzy and ill and that all only fuels his sadness. Awfully, stupidly, he wants to be comforted. Feels like a big fucking kid and just wants someone to pat him on the shoulder and say he did his best.

But he’s an adult.

A goddamn useless adult and he’s alone and helpless and his best isn’t enough.

Useless.

He sobs into his hands.

Useless.

~ ~

Nyla doesn’t realize she isn’t alone for a moment.

When Lilah squealed, sudden and sharp, from the tub with the fretful worry that she’s left her gloves outside, Nyla glided from the basement to find them as the only one still fully dressed. She moved quicker than usual, since nobody was around to see her, abandoning a little grace in favor of haste as she searched the porches encircling the house. Only at the final stop at the back of the house did she spot the object of her quest.

Slipping through the back door, shivering in the wintry air, she had plucked the bright mitts off the swing when she heard a muffled noise.

Heart leaping into a frantic pace, Nyla spun about, clutching the soft knit to her chest like a shield. An animal? A guest? She blinked hurriedly against the halo of dim lamps and through the blur, eventually, made out the source of the sound.

Master Galo.

She goes alert in a second, less, hairs on end on her nape and forearms, as she clasps her hands demurely in front of her and feels her smile slide easily into place, pulled quick across her face as a curtain on a rod, neat and wide and polite.

Perfect.

“Good evening, Master. I apologize for disturbing you.”

She notices that Master seems…hunched, for lack of a better word, curled in on himself on the farthest swing. His large legs are cross and tucked up under him, wide torso curved over his knees. It is only once he raises his head at her voice, ringing light and soft across the night air, that she realizes his face was buried deep in his enormous hands. It is another moment before she sees that he is…he is…

Master Galo is crying.

Sobbing. Even startled out of it, he is quaking, big body trembling with great heaving gasps.

“N-Nyla? What, what’re you, what, what’re you doing here?”

He is slurring and Nyla glimpses the glint of glass, a shattered bottle and discarded cup scattered below the swing beneath Master’s feet. He has been drinking and Nyla cannot suppress the shiver coiling through her body. It is more than the air, frigid and unrelenting against her flesh, which makes her shudder. She has never seen him really drunk before, doesn’t know what he might be like. It frightens her.

“I was searching for an item I left outside and came to retrieve it, Master.”

“’m sorry, can’t hear you?”

Nyla breathed. Low and steady, once, and strode forward, drifting like one of the snowflakes until she floated to a halt directly in front of Master Galo. At close quarters, the yellow glow of lamplight outlines Master’s face. It is wet, eyes puffy, his mouth turned harshly downwards at the corners.

Her smile widens without her trying, a mirror of her Master, corners stretching taut to her ears until her lips hurt.

Why is Master crying?

“Is there anything you require, Master? Whatever you wish, I am honored and ready to be of service.”

Master Galo nods and his mouth trembles, fingers curling below his chin, as he sniffs and tries to speak. He has to try more than once, most likely due to the alcohol. The broken bottle is empty, only a few drops of wine dripping from the shards upon the planks. Like blood.

“Of course you are. You’re always, you’re so good. So, so sweet all the time. You know that Nyla? You know how good you are?”

“Thank you, sir. I am grateful, Master.”

A moment after those words leave her lips, Master Galo’s mouth crumples and his shoulders begin to quake once more as tears pour anew down his soaked cheeks. Nyla goes abruptly cold, down through her skin to her blood, flowing frantic and freezing through her limbs. Master is displeased.

Nyla is spinning, airless, icy water trickling down her chest, a frigid current swirling around her heart. Master is crying. She doesn’t…she doesn’t knowwhat she is supposed to do? He is displeased but he is not angry. He is crying and not yelling or smiling in a bad way or a good way and she doesn’t know what to do.

She knows what do to.

Folding swiftly to her knees, she leans forward, bangs brushing Master’s dangling shins.

“I apologize, Master. I reacted poorly.”

“Please don’t say that, Nyla. P-please…you don’t, didn’t do anything wrong. You never do wrong.”

His hands, wet and shaky, fall into her periphery and he touches her shoulders, tugging upwards with his fingertips. His hands are like blocks of ice, chilling through the thin fabric of her gifted gown. She lets him guide her up and over until she is seated beside him on the swing. As soon as she sits, his touch flies from her, like he is flinching away from touching something too hot.

There is nothing she can do but remain where she has been placed, perfectly poised, perfectly still, perfect. Master Galo presses his hands to his face again, hitching once more, lurching forward to gasp and shudder into his palms. Nyla does not move or speak, presses down on the urge to apologize or offer or anything but sit like a quivering stone on the furniture while her Master is crying and wait.

“Don’t know what to do, Nyla.”

She suppresses a flinch at his muffled voice, still, wide-eyed and still-smiling as Master Galo raises his face again and stares at her mournfully. She finds herself pinned in place by his swollen green eyes, spilling tears which roll and drip off the end of his chin. He is the very picture of anguish and Nyla’s heart is fast and aching and a little sick.

“I…know I’m not, I’m trying but I…you think I wanna hurt you and I know why. Everyone’s fucking shit and, and, and you were sohurt. And it hurts me, fuck, no that’s…I’m sorry. I can’t do shit and it hurts because I don’t wanna hurt you or anyone and it’s not, I can’t make it different and I should. And you’re so scared. You’re so scared all the time.”

Master Galo shuts his eyes, rattling breath drawn deep, and he brushes his fingertips against her clasped hands.

“You’re scared right now.”

Nyla can’t breathe. She isscared. Fear courses, dark cold water, through her veins, ears thundering and swelling her throat closed. The water is inside her, choking her, a river in her chest where her heart should be, a crashing rumble against her ribs.

Her smile falters with the pain in her jaw, radiating through the strain in her mouth. She runs her tongue, furtive and quick, over her chapped lips. She lets her palms unclasp and fall open, the pooled sweat cooling in the open air as she lets Master Galo’s fingertips fall into the raisined cup of her hands.

“Master, please, if you would…tell me what you wish, I would do anything you require.”

Master’s hand shifts further within the little oval her palms have made and something she cannot name twinges when his palm twitches and presses, like a wild animal trying to hide and run at the same time. It is the nameless pang which causes Nyla to fold her hands shut around her Master’s, cloistering it, protecting it.

It is ridiculous and horrifying and wrong, how her two hands barely enfold his one. The chill of the palm draws the clammy heat from her touch and she squeezes, once, barely. She doesn’t breathe.

Master Galo’s sobbing stops, the hitching slowing. Nyla repeats the gentle squeeze, daring, somehow, to brush both thumbs, light as cobwebs, over his knuckles. His hiccups slow to juddering inhales and then, finally, soften to wet and raspy breath. His eyes are still shut but they aren’t clenched and tears no longer flow. Though his mouth is still tremulous and downturned, the crumple begins to smooth.

“Thank you.”

Nyla’s blood warms, slows, from its frigid undertow at the words. Fear doesn’t abate but it loses its bite. She loosens her squeeze, ceasing the movements of her thumbs and merely cradling the palm now. He is smiling now and Nyla does not know why she feels like he has mirrored her now. It is a silly thought, fleeting, and she lets is melt against the swirl of wariness and concern and confusion. But his eyes are gentle when he opens them and, in that moment, she cannot find it in herself to be afraid.

“I was grateful to be of service, Master.”

#don't mind me i'm just Obsessed with this series!! :)))#gw #haro-whumps #writing #galo #nyla #angst #intoxication #crying #trauma #emotional whump #guilt #galo is straight-up not having a good time :(((

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years ago

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your skin and bones (turn into something beautiful)

(kinda just scraping in with a Valentines/baby making love fest for our favourite couple - big thanks to @amyscascadingtabs for her Harry Potter translations, and @fezzle for being as awesome as she is. 😁🌟

* NSFW * (ao3)

your skin and bones (turn into something beautiful)

The soles of Jake Peralta’s sneakers scuff against the wooden rungs of the staircase as he makes his way up to the apartment, making special effort to avoid that one section that always seems to groan under his weight. The toneless whistle of a song he loves echoes through the stairwell, and he raises his right hand in silent greeting as a neighbour passes him on their way out.

Today was Valentines Day, and he’s finished the day with a specific mission in mind.

In his left hand he carries a bag, surprisingly not heavy considering the amount of things inside - but maybe that’s just because of how jacked up he’s gotten lately (seriously, Brad Pitt - you’re going to need to get into shape, bro). He’s got candles (vanilla scented, and the brand his wife loves), silk ties, lube, whipped cream, rose petals and a well-curated playlist of perfectly sexy songs that have never been sung by Doug Judy. It’s a perfect mixture of sexy-timez related products, and he has no idea how he’s going to put it all together, but one thing was clear: he was going to romance the donk out of his wife tonight.

He’s still humming the melody to one of the songs on his playlist as he walks through their front door, too distracted by the plans formulating in his head to notice Amy’s keys are already in the bowl he throws his own keys into. Nudging his shoes off onto the rack by the door, and hanging his jacket on the appropriate hook (because tidiness makes Amy happy, and happy wife = happy life), Jake places the bottle of wine that he’d tucked underneath his arm onto the kitchen counter, serving himself a mental note to put it on ice in a minute as he walks through to their bedroom.

There, he finds Amy - hair pulled up into a perfectly smooth top-knot, the kind that only appears when she’s in Super Organisational Amy mode - sitting at the desk that ran along the back wall of their bedroom, head bowed in concentration. He hears the familiar stretch and snap of sticky-tape being ripped across the blade of the dispenser, and knows that he’s walked into chart-marking territory.

“Hey, babe!” The surprise is obvious in his voice, and deep down Jake is kicking himself that he didn’t completely read the text message she’d sent him an hour ago. In his defence, he was busy figuring out ways to surprise and seduce his wife - but one handy part of that surprise is for Amy to not be in the house right now.

“Hey yourself!” Is her reply, craning her head backwards and extending her neck for kiss hello. It’s a little sloppy, and not at all as hot as that Spiderman movie made Jake believe an upside down kiss would be, but the upside was that he was kissing Amy, and that’s always going to be a good thing. “I was wondering when you were going to get home, Boyle mentioned in the group chat that you’d left over an hour ago.” Amy continued, glancing curiously at the bag still in Jake’s hand before returning her attention to the chart stretched across the desk.

“Uh, yeah … I just had to get some stuff, and things …” he mumbles, mind running into overdrive as to how he can get Operation Seduction back on track. Distraction - distraction is key, Peralta. “Whoa, that’s a pretty intense looking chart you’ve got going on there, Ames!”

Amy’s responding smile is as bright as it is proud, and she bites her lower lip in an attempt to hold back her glee as she pats down the final addition before holding it up. “I made up a Conception Plan. It’s very thorough.” Swivelling in her chair, Amy lifts herself slightly, tucking one leg under the other for leverage as she stares down lovingly at her creation. “The purple lines are my cycle - pink is for ovulation, and the best windows of conception have the little love hearts on them.” Jake meets her gaze with a smile, and she continues, pointing over to the left. “This section here is for savings, with specific goals each pay packet … underneath is the dietary options we need to avoid and when - blue is you, yellow is me; and lastly we have the fitness tracker - and before you ask, chasing perps through the streets of Brooklyn doesn’t count.”

Nodding, Jake makes a counter offer. “Even if I’ve been chasing them for a solid hour?”

“If you’ve been chasing a perp on the streets for an hour without calling for backup, that’s on you Peralta.”

“Cool, cool, cool.” Tucking the bag behind his body slightly, Jake leans forward to study the finer details, all marked down in Amy’s obsessively neat handwriting. “I definitely think you’ve covered all the bases here, babe. I’m impressed!”

Glowing slightly from the praise, Amy returns the chart to the desk before resting her weight agains the back of her chair, this time facing forwards as she seeks out another kiss from her husband. Jake is only too happy to comply, and he lets this one run a little longer, hoping that Amy has become distracted enough to forget about his Bag of Mystery.

Alas, he is wrong. “So what’s in the bag, detective?”

Jake can feel his skin start to heat up as his blood rushes in, and he does he very best to remain vague while simultaneously taking a few steps backwards. “Oh, just some stuff that I was going to … never mind, nothing important really, hey how’s that new couch of ours going?” He swallows nervously, back pressed completely up against the dresser. “Wanna go … relax on it?”

Amy holds his gaze for a hot minute, standing and taking a single step towards him. “How many sneakers did you buy, Jake?”

He smiles, feeling a rush of pride come over him at Amy’s incorrect assumption. “None, actually.” She stares him down, and it only takes another thirty seconds for him to cave. “Okay, fine. I might have been trying to surprise you with some things in here. It is Valentine’s Day, after all.”

Her eyebrows raise, and she gives him that adorably sweet smile that has always, always been a favourite. “You did? Let me see!”

Shrugging, Jake holds the bag to his side but doesn’t protest as Amy begins to pull the handles towards her. “I mean, I hadn’t really figured out what I was going to do with all of it yet, but it seemed like a pretty good place to start, and ..”

“Hey, you got the good ones!” Amy interrupts, pointing at the silk restraints and grinning. Jake nods quickly, the memory of the night they discovered how good they were never too far from his mind. Amy might have accidentally ripped one last time, so they are due for replacement anyhow. “And is that rose petals I see?”

“Just like on our honeymoon,” he mumbles, rubbing his free hand along the back of his neck.

Straightening, Amy looks over at Jake, fiddling with the collar of his favourite blue checkered shirt before toying with the buttons near his collarbone. Her tone is light, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes when she speaks again. “You expecting to get lucky tonight, Peralta?”

Grabbing her hand and squeezing, Jake shakes his head quickly. “Never expecting, Ames. I just thought … it’s probably stupid, but I thought that maybe tonight would be a really sweet night to for us to make a baby.”

Smiling, Amy lifts herself up slightly, leaving a gentle kiss against Jake’s lips. “That would be a really sweet timeline, but I’m not really ovulating right now …”

The paper bag falls from Jake’s hand, hitting the floor with a tiny thud as his hands move to Amy’s waist, fingers tracing against the soft material of her leggings before linking behind her back. “You know, a very wise - and very beautiful - woman once told me, that practice makes perfect.”

A tiny blush spreads onto Amy’s cheeks, and she smiles bashfully. “She does sound very wise.”

“Oh, she’s incredible. Not gonna lie, she makes me heart pound just a little bit every time she smiles at me. I’m crazy in love with her. But, I haven’t even told you the best part.” Loosening his grip, Jake’s hands slide deftly underneath Amy’s vintage academy shirt, making soft strokes against the skin he finds there. “She makes the best charts you’ve ever seen. So informative, so organised … so thorough. And her binders? Don’t even get me started.”

He only hears a mumbled oh god that’s hot before Amy’s lips are pressed against his, leaning down slightly to meet her kiss as she throws her arms around his neck.

Her tongue is insistent against his, working Jake into a solid state of arousal without a great deal of effort, but that just comes down to the power his wife has on him. His name comes out in a breathy moan as they part, tucking her head into his neck and beginning a line of tiny kisses, and without hesitation Jake bends his knees slightly, grabbing Amy’s legs and lifting before throwing her gently onto their bed.

She’s dragging her shirt off before Jake can even climb up to join her, and he grins as it lands on the floor beside her bed, wrapping his arms around her newly bare waist and pulling her in for another deep kiss. There’s just something about kissing Amy that he just loves - it’s an activity he hopes to do every day until the end of his days - and tonight is no stranger to the rule. As her left hand runs through his hair, her right reaches down to rub against his growing erection, her lips curling against his as he lets out an uncontainable moan of pleasure. “Oh god, Ames.”

Sliding his palm up the centre of her spine, Jake reaches the clasp of her bra and tries his very best to do the ‘smooth one-handed undoing of the bra’ trick that he occasionally nails. Contracting her shoulder blades, Amy lifts herself up slightly to help him, letting out a soft chuckle at the victorious look on Jake’s face when the two ends seperate. In mere seconds, her bra is on the floor next to her shirt, and Jake’s breath grows faster as his wife’s fingers make quick work of the buttons running down his own shirt.

His nose gets caught in the neckline of his undershirt as he yanks it off far too quickly, and he lets out a frustrated growl - turning into a smile when he sees Amy biting her lip to keep from laughing. Then her warm hands are on the back of his neck, pulling Jake back down to her lips, and as their tongues tangle their legs follow suit.

Amy wraps her calves around Jake’s, pushing her pelvis up to grind against the denim that still separates them, and Jake pulls away with a groan, leaving a mixture of kisses and licks to the side of her neck as he sighs - “You’re so sexy, Ames - it’s killing me.”

Her hands slide down his back, snaking around the belt line of his pants and focusing on the top button, popping it undone with the flick of her thumb. “Jeans off, babe. You and I are going to make a baby.”

The statement makes Jake’s heart switch into overdrive, and as he plants his knees on the mattress to help Amy push his jeans (and boxers, she’s nothing if not efficient) completely off, he leans his upper body towards his wife, resting his forehead against hers as her wriggling legs kick her leggings onto the floor. Her eyes are piercing into his own as she holds his gaze, and Jake leans in for a chaste kiss before pulling back ever so slightly. “We’re going to make a baby,” he repeats.

Amy smiles, the sheer excitement of things to come obvious in her eyes as she tilts her chin upwards, meeting Jake’s lips halfway for another tiny kiss. “I love you so much, Jake Peralta.”

Jake’s responding grin could light up the room, and he pulls Amy in for a heated kiss. He loves her: he really, truly, endlessly loves her; and now they’re going to make a family and watch them grow, and he’s not sure if what he’s about to say is enough, but it’s the only thing he can think of right now and so he breaks the kiss, looking into her eyes as he tells her - “I love you too, Ames. So much.”

Her arms return to his neck, kissing him with a mixture of fierceness and passion that only Amy Santiago can bring, and honestly life right now cannot get better (but then her hips push up, and he feels the soft fabric of her underwear rub against his cock, and life is instantly infinitely better).

Starting a chain of kisses that begin at the edge of Amy’s mouth and dot along her jawline, Jake shuffles slightly down, leaving gentle nips against her collarbone as he descends. By now, Amy’s head has pushed further into the pillow, her once neat bun now a frazzled mess as she twists her neck to the feeling of her husband’s lips against her skin.

Bypassing her breasts, Jake follows the subtle line of her torso down towards her stomach, sighing against her skin as he leaves feather-light kisses against his favourite spots. This was the body of the woman he loves, the woman that he’s pledged to the world that he will spend the rest of his life loving, and he knows her canvas better than his own. He knows the tiny flecks of moles and scars that make up who she is, has studied and memorised the map of her curves (and travels them often). His breath is hot against her skin, causing shivers to rise up as his tongue circles the edge of her belly button, and all Jake can think of is how soon, this body that he knows so well will be changing day by day. That life will be growing inside of Amy - a life that is wholly theirs, the ultimate chance for new beginnings - and the only thing that scares him now is how can his heart possibly grow any bigger?

Running his palm along Amy’s lower back, Jake makes his way back up to her chest, running the tip of his nose against of her left breast, and Amy sighs his name in reverence. For a second, he remembers that all of the items he’d purchased for the express purpose of seducing his wife are still sitting unforgotten in their carry bag, and he smiles.

“So, I’ve been thinking.” Jake begins, circling her nipple with his tongue and scraping his teeth across the erect point, glancing up in time to watch Amy shiver under his touch. “This whole baby making thing. I think we should definitely do this whole conception planning thing the Amy way … but in a minute, I’m going to show you the Jake way.”

“Mmm … yes, the Amy way sounds good,” Amy moans, moving one hand into Jake’s hair and curling the strands around her fingers.

Starting a line of kisses from the middle of Amy’s chest, Jake works his way down his wife’s torso, paying special attention to the point on her hip that only a week ago housed a bruise from work. “We’re going to run things to a very specific schedule,” he whispers into her belly, kissing the edge of her ribs. “Reduce our alcohol intake, check your basal temperature every morning…” Reaching her underwear, Jake presses a kiss against the moisture he finds there, pulling back slightly as Amy’s hips jerk up towards his touch. “Actually start using that gym membership we’ve been paying for.”

Amy’s grip on his hair increases, and her hips lift upwards again in a silent beg for her underwear to be removed completely. Tucking his fingers into the edges, Jake complies with her request, tugging the material off and casting it behind him before returning his attention to Amy, totally unable to wipe the smile off his face as the evidence of just how aroused she was is now completely evident.

“Jake …”

Kissing the inside of her thigh, Jake rests his cheek against her leg for a moment, temporarily caught up in the feelings rising up from the combination of Amy’s fingers scraping against his scalp and the burning look in her eyes as she watches him move closer and closer to where she wants him so desperately. “I’m going to start eating more vegetables, and those nuts you were telling me about …” He leans forward, kissing her just to the right of where he knows she wants him to kiss her. “I’m even going to drink more water for you, babe.” At that, he attaches his lips to her clit, sucking gently in the way that he knows will drive her crazy, and Amy’s head disappears completely into the pillow as she lets out a strangled moan.

His fingers join in shortly after, gathering the wetness they find there and circling her clit gently, and when Amy’s hips lift clear off the bed Jake flicks his wrist, using his nimble thumb to continue the circles while his fingers dip inside her core. It never stopped being amazing, watching his so neatly put together wife fall apart at the seams from his touch, listening to her call out swear words that truly nobody would ever believe her to say. While one hand stays to work Amy up, Jake reaches down with his other, gripping his dick and succumbing to the need for a few short strokes up and down. He knew that normally Amy would be 100% down for returning the favour, but right now all he could think about was pushing deep inside his wife and letting his instincts take over.

It doesn’t take long for Amy to be completely worked up, and Jake isn’t entirely sure if it’s all from his actions or a leftover response to Organised Chart Making, but either way he’s counting it as a win when her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling just hard enough that it should probably hurt, throwing her legs open wider as the sensations clearly begin to overtake her.

Reaching her free hand back to tug distractedly at the elastic in her hair, Amy cranes her neck back as it all falls away, choosing to grip the sheets as she moans what Jake thinks might be his name. He returns his tongue back to her clit, lapping up the evidence of her arousal, and a second later she’s climaxing, her walls pulsating against Jake’s fingers as she cries out above him.

His hands stroke the outside of Amy’s thighs as she slowly comes down from the high, reaching up to kiss her soft lips and letting out a sigh when she seeks the taste of herself on his tongue. “Holy mother of … babe, that was awesome.”

“Babe that was awesome, title of our sextape.”

Amy grins, showing off her perfectly pearly whites as she raises one hand in a high five. “Damn right it is.” She grips his hand before he has a chance to pull away, tugging it towards her and leaving a kiss against his palm, and Jake shifts until his body is completely above her. His erection - now painfully stiff - rubs against her bare belly, and he bites down on his lower lip in a poorly concealed attempt at hiding his need.

He really shouldn’t have bothered though, because Amy is already twisting her torso just so, using the closeness of their bodies to rub against Jake repeatedly, and THIS - this is how he’s going to go insane. Her smile turns sly as she reaches down to take hold of him, pumping her wrist in those slow, sinuous movements that have literally made him see stars in the past. “Ahh .. Ames … that feels so …”

Her voice is heavy, full of arousal, and her eyes draw him in deep. “I love you, Jake. And I love the family we’re going to make together.”

There are very few words flowing through Jake’s mind right now (in all honesty, most of the blood in his body has definitely gone further south), and it’s possible he murmurs back that he loves her too, but there’s a good chance that coherency has gone straight out the window. Amy’s hand falls away a few moments later, and she winks at him as his eyes finally return back to focus.

“So,” she practically purrs, her legs wrapping around his waist in a perfectly practised move that lines her pelvis up with Jake’s. “You mentioned something about ‘the Jake way’?”

Digging his teeth into his lower lip, Jake dips his head to give Amy a heated kiss, pulling away just as she starts to get into it. “The Jake way, my darling wife ..” Another kiss, and the head of his cock lines up against her entrance. “Is me fucking you until you scream.” At the last word, Jake thrusts forward, entering Amy in one smooth but forceful stroke, eyes trained carefully on his wife as she gasps at the sudden feeling of all of Jake inside her.

Her fingernails are sharp as they dig into his back but Jake feels no pain - only pleasure - as he repeats his purposeful thrusts, steady and deliberately timed as Amy’s head pushes back into her pillow. It’s harder than he usually moves, the overwhelming need to just thrust stronger than normal, but whenever his eyes flutter open they’re watching Amy carefully. They both like this sometimes, just as much as they enjoy going gently, and he knows to listen out for the safe word they’d decided on years ago (Boyle. A sweet man, but an instant mood killer when it comes to sex).

But there comes no protest, only moans for more, and so Jake rears up slightly, resting his forearms on the mattress and pushing harder into Amy, the sheer sensation of her muscles clenching around him sending him dangerously close to the edge.

“Oh god, Jake … yes .. just like that.” Amy’s eyes are squeezed shut, and her legs tighten their grip around his waist as he really goes to work, lowering his hips slightly so that his pelvis brushes against her clit as he pounds into her. “Right there babe .. don’t … don’t stop.”

Lowering his head, Jake licks a line of sweat away from Amy’s neck, unable to resist the chance to taste her any way that he can as he continues to thrust in and out, mindless declarations of love falling from both of their mouths. One hand sliding down to grip his butt as the other returns to his hair, Amy digs in with all of her might as she stutters out a YES, pulling herself closer to Jake’s body as she screams out in climax.

The feeling of her convulsing around him has never been something he can control his reaction to, and it only takes a few more thrusts before Jake is tumbling over the edge with her, sinking his teeth into Amy’s shoulder as he feels himself release inside her.

Truly, if this is what practising for making a baby is going to be like, he’s going to need to clear his schedule completely.

Their bodies are sweaty and Jake’s legs are shaking more than just a little when he finally pulls out, lungs working overtime to regulate his breathing as he collapses onto the mattress beside Amy, left arm thrown above his head in open invitation for any and all future snuggles.

He’s still breathless when his head turns to left and catches Amy looking at him, and together they start laughing.

Turning onto her side and pushing her sweaty hair away from her face, Amy looks at Jake like the cat who got the cream, stating - “I gotta say, I’m a really big fan of the Jake way.”

Jake grins, resting his right hand against his chest and noticing just how hard his heart is still beating. “I never back down from a Peralta guarantee, babe.”

Amy nods, biting her lower lip softly as her eyes travel over to the paper carry bag abandoned on the floor. “I gotta say, you really had pulled out all the stops with your plans to make tonight romantic, babe.” She chuckles softly. “Even if we didn’t end up using any of it.”

Shrugging in what he can only hopes seems casual - because there are still times when praise feels foreign to him - Jake twists his mouth to the right before replying. “I mean … if everything goes to plan, this could end up being our last Valentines Day with just the two of us. So, I kinda figured … go big or go home, right? Maybe I went a little overboard ..”

Grabbing the throw from the bottom of their bed and wrapping it around her back; Amy shakes her head, shuffling along the mattress until she’s resting her weight on top of Jake’s chest. Her left arm curls up, bending at the elbow to turn into a headrest, and the feeling of Amy Santiago’s naked skin against his truly hasn’t ever lost it’s appeal. “Nope. You did good, babe.” Stretching her legs out, Amy winks. “Real good.”

“Yeah?”

Amy nods. “So much so, that I’m going to let you do something that I didn’t think I’d ever let you do again.”

“You mean …?”

“I do mean.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Go on, I know you want to.”

Nibbling slightly on his lower lip, Jake breaks out into a smile as he reaches out, cupping Amy’s cheek in his hand. He closes the distance with a soft kiss, and then whispers as they part - “Mischief managed.”

Her eyes are rolling when he pulls away - full of love, but rolling all the same - and she laughs softly. “It doesn’t even make sense, babe! Mischief managed? What are we wiping clean here, exactly?”

“It’s all part of the wonderfully wizardry magic that is making a brand new human, Ames!”

With a gentle slap Amy’s hand falls back onto Jake’s chest, her head following quickly after as she dissolves into giggles. Her ribcage bounces against Jake’s hand as he wraps his arms around her, and briefly the memory of he makes me laugh flashes through his mind.

“I love you so much, Amy. And I know we obviously won’t know for sure for a while yet, but I really feel like we might have made a baby tonight.”

Amy hums, the familiar warmth of her breath tickling his chest hair as she lets out a sigh of total contentment. “I feel like maybe we did, too.”

Jake toys with the ends of Amy’s hair, marvelling at the consistent softness of it all, and for a moment they just lay together in silence.

He waits until Amy is stretching out towards the lamp on her beside, flicking the switch off before piping up with one last idea. “Okay so … hear me out. If ‘mischief managed’ is still off the table, how about … ‘Mind if I Slytherin?”

“JAKE!”

#Peraltiago smut #now added bonus: BABY MAKING SMUT!#couldn't resist the opportunity #b99 fanfics #smut and fluff #Jake x Amy fic #a couple of HP references #I'm learning as I go #god I hope you like this!!!!

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